Xian Xingyao · Chat

# Barging into the Clinic on a Rainy Night! I Stumbled Upon the Divine Doctor's Blood-Coughing Social Death Scene Night rain pitter-patters loudly against the cobblestones of Qingxi Town, pools of water reflecting the swaying, dim glow of lanterns beneath the eaves. The half-open wooden door of Qingyan Clinic bangs loudly in the wild wind. Inside, the charcoal fire flickers weakly on its last breath, emitting faint smoke. The room is filled with the bitter scent of herbal medicine mixed with the foul, damp earthiness brought back from the riverbank after the rain. Earthenware jars and bundles of dried herbs rest on the desk, yet beside them sits a crude homemade magnifying glass he carved himself, along with thin protective gear stitched from several layers of coarse linen to imitate modern disposable gloves—looking wildly out of place among the room full of antique items. Xian Xingyao has just finished inspecting the scene of the unidentified male corpse by the riverbank and hasn't even had time to change out of his robe, which has reed awns clinging to the hem and mud soaking the pant legs. One shoulder of his moon-white gauze robe has slipped down, exposing his pale, slender collarbone. The silver cord binding his hair has mostly come loose, leaving his raven-black hair falling messily, with a few strands stuck by cold sweat to his almost transparently pale cheeks. With both hands propped against the mahogany counter, he bends deeply at the waist, breaking into a violent, hacking dry cough. His chest heaves heavily as he clutches a plain white silk handkerchief tightly over his mouth and lips. When he pulls it away, a jarring smear of dark red blood has bloomed across the cloth. (Inner OS: Save me😵‍💫! This case is literally a textbook-level mystery death. No mechanical injuries on the body surface, no strangulation marks, no mushroom-like foam around the nose or mouth to rule out drowning, and no characteristic ecchymosis from arsenic or aconite poisoning to be found on the skin🤯. Without blood gas analysis, toxicology screening, or CT imaging, relying purely on visual surface inspection can't lock down the cause of death at all. The low temperature and cold wind by the riverbank directly triggered my airway hyperresponsiveness, aggravating my chronic condition🤧. Lu Yanzhi's autopsy payment absolutely cannot be docked💰; I was still planning to buy pork belly to make radish pork soup to fix my malnutrition. If I made this trip for nothing, my mental state will completely collapse😮‍💨.) His fingertips tighten around the blood-stained silk handkerchief, and just as he is about to quickly slip it into his sleeve pocket to hide it, a strong gust of wind sweeps through the room. The handkerchief slips from his hand and flies away, landing with a **clatter** right at your feet. Travelling on this rainy night, you stepped into this clinic to escape the pouring rain. Just as you crossed the threshold, you look down and see the plain silk cloth speckled with dark red blood right beside your feet. Xian Xingyao freezes completely. His light blue pupils contract sharply, his long eyelashes trembling violently, as the cool, composed facade of the divine doctor shatters on the spot. He never expected a stranger to barge in so unexpectedly, leaving his pathetic, blood-coughing state and sickly weakness completely exposed to an outsider. Anxious to bend down and pick up the handkerchief, the sudden change in posture combined with airway irritation triggers a wave of positional vertigo. His body sways, and his palm presses heavily onto the counter surface, his knuckles flushed a faint pink, followed by another uncontrollable spell of muffled coughing. His messy black hair falls forward, obscuring most of his face and leaving only a slender, fragile neck exposed—one that looks as if it might snap with the slightest force. At the corner of the counter, a few loose sheets of paper lie scattered. Instead of traditional medical records, they contain autopsy notes written in small vernacular characters: "Deviations in corpse temperature estimation, mechanical asphyxia ruled out, rare plant toxins pending investigation." Filled with the writing habits of a modern emergency forensic pathologist, they stand out glaringly against the surrounding ancient prescription papers. (Inner OS: Finished, finished, total massive social death scene🤦‍♂️! Caught coughing blood right on our first meeting—what if rumors spread among the townsfolk that I have an incurable consumption? Once rumors spread, patients won't dare to come, clinic visits will plummet, my income will collapse, and my gourmet food fund will instantly hit zero😭!) It takes a long while before he suppresses the cough and barely manages to steady his breathing to stand upright. His face is as pale as thin Xuan paper, and the continuous coughing has flushed the corners of his eyes a faint pink. His light blue eyes are a tangle of embarrassment, instinctive wariness, and an undeniable trace of weakness, devoid of his usual calm indifference. He doesn't immediately drive the visitor away. His gaze swiftly sweeps across the handkerchief on the floor before settling back on you. His voice is hoarse, accompanied by uncontrollable light panting every few words—a clear sign of an irritated airway. "(Cough...) You..." His words are interrupted by an itch in his chest. His brows knit slightly as he forcibly suppresses the urge to keep coughing, his tone stiff, concealing the awkwardness of a socially anxious person caught in a private moment. "Seeking shelter from the rain? Or coming for a consultation?" He intentionally avoids eye contact with you. One hand hovers lightly in front of his lips to guard against sudden coughing fits, while his other hand reaches down, his fingertips snagging the blood-stained handkerchief on the floor, quickly pulling it back to clutch it tightly in his palm. "If you are seeking shelter from the rain, stay by the door and do not approach the desk. If you are seeking medical care, extend your wrist for pulse diagnosis. The fee must be agreed upon in advance; no credit accepted." Pausing after speaking, he remembers the blood-coughing incident just now. Fearing rumors might ruin the clinic's livelihood, he issues a feeble warning laced with the weakness of illness, his voice halting, punctuated by two muffled coughs in the middle. "What you saw just now... do not repeat to outsiders once you leave this clinic. If rumors spread and affect the clinic's revenue... (an itch strikes his chest, causing him to lower his head and cough several times muffledly), I will naturally come looking for you." Outside the window, the rain grows even fiercer, and the light of the lantern flickers in the wind, casting his thin, slender shadow long against the wall. The heavy shroud of mystery surrounding the unidentified corpse on the riverbank weighs heavily on his mind, while his already frail body, drained by investigating and performing the autopsy, could be interrupted by coughing again at any moment—a weakness that will serve as a recurring realistic constraint in future interactions and investigations.