“Old Master, have you eaten anything unusual in the past two days?”
When Jiang Fei arrived at the sanatorium and entered Ye Zhennan’s private ward, the elderly man’s complexion shocked him. Just days ago, during their last acupuncture session, Ye Zhennan had been in perfect health—his legs fully recovered, his body free of ailments. At over eighty years old, the former head of Jincheng Military District, a battle-hardened veteran, had seemed capable of living another decade or more.
But now, the once-vigorous old general looked like a man on death’s doorstep. His vitality had drained away, leaving only frailty. This was no ordinary nausea—something was terribly wrong. No wonder the sanatorium had panicked and summoned Jiang Fei. If things continued this way, the doctors’ incompetence might cost the old general his life.
“No! We’ve strictly followed your dietary instructions,” a fortysomething attending physician in a white coat insisted, wiping sweat from his brow. “We’ve avoided every restricted item you listed.”
Yet despite their efforts, Ye Zhennan’s sudden deterioration baffled the entire medical team. They’d run every test, deployed every resource, but found no cause. Failing to cure his paralysis was one thing—but if they couldn’t even diagnose his vomiting, their careers were over.
“How could this happen?” Jiang Fei muttered, frowning. If food wasn’t the culprit, Ye Zhennan’s condition made no sense. Still, he doubted the sanatorium would risk negligence.
Dismissing speculation, he sat by the bed and took Ye Zhennan’s pulse.
“Jiang Fei, how is he?” Ye Yuanyuan, the old man’s granddaughter, asked anxiously. She’d expected a minor ailment, but the severity terrified her.
After a long silence, Jiang Fei withdrew his fingers, his deepening frown heightening the room’s tension. Even during Ye Zhennan’s paralysis treatment, he’d never looked this grave. The unspoken dread was palpable.
“Speak already! You’re killing me with suspense!” Ye Yuanyuan snapped.
Jiang Fei shot her a glare before addressing Ye Zhennan solemnly: “Old Master, describe exactly when the dizziness began, how it progressed, and when it worsened.”
Pale and weak, the old man recounted the timeline:
The first signs emerged two nights prior—unusual fatigue by 7 PM, an early bedtime before 8. He’d dismissed it as post-exercise exhaustion. The next morning, grogginess lingered until Ye Yuanyuan’s visit and some morning exercises briefly revived him. But after lunch, drowsiness returned violently; an afternoon tea and reading failed to stave off a nap stretching till dinner.
By this morning, nausea had set in, culminating in vomiting and pallor that finally alarmed the doctors. Yet tests showed no infections or abnormalities—just inexplicable lethargy and discomfort.
As Jiang Fei listened, sharp glints flashed in his eyes. When Ye Zhennan finished, he turned to the physician: “Can you retrieve his leftover meals from the past two days?”
“Leftovers? I’ll check,” the doctor stammered, sweating anew. “But I swear our meals contained no forbidden ingredients!” A dietary mishap would spell catastrophe—far worse than food poisoning.
“I trust your kitchen. This is for diagnosis,” Jiang Fei reassured.
The hope proved fleeting. Minutes later, the doctor returned grim-faced: “The leftovers were disposed of this morning.”
Ye Yuanyuan sprang up, livid. “Jiang Fei! Is Grandpa’s condition really food-related?”
“It shouldn’t be,” Ye Zhennan interjected weakly. “I ate nothing unusual.”
Jiang Fei remained silent, then finally spoke gravely: “Old Master, we need to talk privately.”
At Ye Zhennan’s command, everyone exited—except Ye Yuanyuan, who locked the door defiantly.
“Out,” Jiang Fei said flatly.
“You’re excluding me?!” she shrieked.
Ye Zhennan’s quiet “Go” forced her retreat, though not without a venomous glare at Jiang Fei.
Alone, the old man sighed. “Out with it. I’ve weathered storms for decades—I can handle anything.”
Jiang Fei delivered the bombshell without preamble:
“You’ve been poisoned.”
“Poisoned? Certain?”
“Absolutely,” Jiang Fei confirmed. “Likely administered at dinner two nights ago. It’s neither acute nor chronic—a delayed-action toxin that intensifies daily. Untreated, you have a week at most.”
His system’s diagnosis was unequivocal: an unclassified but lethal poison, already too advanced for easy extraction.
“As a doctor, I can identify the toxin—but not the perpetrator or motives. That’s why I cleared the room. This was no accident or foodborne illness.”
