Chapter 682: A Basin of Clear Water

When Jiang Feng arrived at the Prince's Residence, night had already fully settled.

All the lights of the entire residence were lit, and along both sides of the passage from the main gate to the main hall stood Royal Guard clad in black armor.

Each had a tense expression, hands resting on their sword hilts, eyes vigilantly scanning the surroundings.

The maids and servants who usually attended the Prince huddled beneath the corridor columns; some hurried out of the main hall carrying basins of bloodied water, the surface dotted with dark red foam that, under the lamps, cast an unsettling hue.

Just as Jiang Feng's carriage stopped at the residence's gate, a figure drenched in blood rushed forward.

Song Dianjun's armor bore several cracks, his left sleeve soaked with blood that dripped dark red liquid, his steps unsteady yet still swift.

His face was smeared with blood, eyebrows and mouth corners coated with dried clots, his eyes showing the fatigue and burning after a fierce fight, and a desperation like a drowning person clutching the last floating log.

"Mr. Jiang! You finally came!"

His voice was hoarse and urgent, each word seeming forced from deep in his throat.

"The Prince was attacked by unknown assailants while inspecting Yuzhou, and our Royal Guard suffered heavy losses!"

His voice grew lower, his fist clenched, knuckles whitening, as if he intended to carve the names of those fallen brothers into bone.

"We earnestly ask Mr. Jiang to intervene and save the Prince!"

Jiang Feng gave him a glance, saying no superfluous words.

"Take me to see the situation first."

Song Dianjun seemed activated by those four words, spun sharply, and strode heavily toward the main hall.

When Jiang Feng followed him into the main hall, the dense scent of blood hit him like a solid wall.

In the center of the main hall lay a wide soft couch; Jiangnan Wang reclined upon it, his complexion as pale as wax, lips devoid of color, his chest wrapped in thick gauze soaked with blood, dark red fluid continuously seeping out.

Several copper basins stood nearby, the water within turned a murky deep red, with a layer of dark fluffy matter floating on the surface.

Three elderly men with white hair and beards gathered beside the couch.

They wore plain long robes, sleeves rolled to the elbows, each bearing a solemn expression.

The elder at the front was slightly stout, with a square face, his graying beard neatly trimmed.

At this moment his brows knit into a furrow, both hands pressed on Jiangnan Wang's chest, faint cyan light swirling in his palms, yet the glow was extremely weak, each flicker dimmer than the last.

Song Dianjun stepped forward, bending his waist, his voice tinged with cautious urgency.

"Ge Lao, Mr. Jiang has arrived. His Divine Medical Art is praised even by the Prince; perhaps you could let him take a look..."

Before he could finish, the elder known as Ge Lao snapped his head up, his gaze sweeping Jiang Feng like two knives, his voice bearing offended severity.

"We are currently rescuing the Prince; please do not disturb us!"

His tone was decisive, exuding unquestionable authority, like a veteran battlefield commander.

The two elders behind him also lifted their heads, eyeing Jiang Feng's implausibly youthful face and his half-worn gray robe, a hint of displeasure curling their mouths.

Jiang Feng stood a few steps before the couch, his gaze passing over Ge Xuanzhen's shoulder to Jiangnan Wang's ghastly white face, then glancing at the blood-soaked gauze on his chest and the dark red water in the copper basins; his mouth twitched slightly, revealing a faint, wry smile.

He spoke, his voice low, yet his words instantly tightened the air in the main hall.

"If you keep rescuing him, I'm afraid I'll end up eating Jiangnan Wang's Seventh-Day Banquet."

At those words, Ge Xuanzhen's eyes widened dramatically.

He abruptly turned, his hands still raised, fingertips stained with Powder and blood, his voice booming like a thunderclap in the hall.

"Where does that Huang Mao brat come from, daring such shameless boasts! Old brother has practiced medicine for over forty years, apprenticed under Imperial Medical Institute's chief Zhou Wenbo, served the residence for thirty years; the Prince's life is sustained by me! You, a wet‑nurse infant, dare to speak so recklessly here?"

Song Dianjun stood between the two, torn left and right, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.

He was so urgent his voice trembled.

"Ge Lao! This is Mr. Jiang; even the Prince follows Mr. Jiang's orders. He truly masters the Medical Dao deeply; perhaps you could let him have a look..."

Ge Xuanzhen let out a cold snort, unmoved.

"I know nothing of any Mr. Jiang; I only know that now I alone can extend the Prince's life! If the timing is missed, who can bear that responsibility?"

Song Dianjun opened his mouth, about to speak, but Jiang Feng had already circled past Ge Xuanzhen.

His pace was neither fast nor slow, as if he hadn't heard the earlier words, and he stopped beside the couch, bending down, his gaze landing on the gauze over Jiangnan Wang's chest, then a glance at his subtly rising chest and his almost translucent pale face.

Ge Xuanzhen reached out to block, his fingers nearly touching Jiang Feng's cuff.

But Jiang Feng, as if he had eyes on his back, casually shifted his shoulder, letting the hand pass by empty.

Ge Xuanzhen's brows tightened further, about to flare.

Yet he saw Jiang Feng already squatting at the couch's edge, raising his hand, hovering above the wound on Jiangnan Wang's chest, not touching, merely a few inches away.

"You..."

Ge Xuanzhen's voice choked in his throat.

Jiang Feng ignored him, his gaze fixed on the wounds, eyes slightly narrowed.

The wounds were deep, three slash injuries, each cutting from chest to abdomen, the blade edges neat and smooth as if sliced by something exceedingly sharp.

Within the depths lay fine, spider‑web‑like black veins, spreading outward at an extremely slow pace, like a drop of ink falling into clear water, diffusing gradually.

Jiang Feng's complexion shifted slightly.

He had seen this technique before. He was intimately familiar with the aura of those black veins, as if left by an ancient sword method; the sword qi, upon cutting flesh, clings deep in the wound, continuously eroding surrounding blood, flesh, and meridians, hindering healing and true‑qi restoration.

This method carried a familiarity he had once felt somewhere else…

"Mr. Jiang, how about it?"

Seeing Jiang Feng's odd expression, Song Dianjun grew even more anxious.

"Hmph, what else can be done? That assassin laced the blade with poison; what can he do?"

Ge Xuanzhen let out a cold snort, disdainfully saying.

But Jiang Feng replied calmly.

"Just bring another basin of clear water..."