Chapter 747: The Rules Set by That Person
An Hua and the Divine Official’s conversation by the window was not loud, but the room was so quiet that everyone still heard it clearly, and then each harbored their own thoughts.
If that person revealed their identity, they would inevitably gain unimaginable benefits from this pill—benefits that meant far more than mere wealth, and more importantly, power. But clearly, that person had never had such intentions from the very beginning. Why? Was it to maintain their own mystique, or for the sake of safety?
An Hua still could not understand why the imperial court and the state religion had been unable to find out who that person truly was. Could it be that this medicine called Cinnabar Pill was a divine nectar fallen from the divine kingdom? After all, since the pills were distributed to each military prefecture at regular intervals, there must have been many clues left behind—such as who was responsible for delivering the medicine.
“Wenshui Tang Clan,” the Divine Official said, knowing what she was thinking. “The ones delivering and distributing the medicine are all members of the Tang Clan.”
The medical hall was located on the widest and most grand avenue of Songshan Military Prefecture. Across the street was the military prefecture’s headquarters, while behind it was an inn on Meihan Street. That inn was the most famous and best-equipped establishment in this military town, bustling with people coming and going every day. But many did not know that the most expensive suite in the inn was separated from the Holy Medical Hall by only a single wall.
A middle-aged man sat in a grand armchair, silent, his expression somewhat gloomy. This did not reflect his mood at the moment, but rather the fact that too many affairs had drained too much of his energy. His clothing was simple, but the material was very fine, with an understated air of nobility—he was likely someone from the merchant world.
The sounds from the other side of the wall became extremely faint after passing through, so much so that even the keenest-eared thief would struggle to make them out. But he lowered his head and listened with great concentration, as if he could catch every detail of the conversation on the other side. From this detail, one could vaguely discern that this man’s cultivation realm was extraordinary—he was very likely a true expert.
The conversation in the Holy Medical Hall continued.
An elderly medical officer said, “This is something everyone on the front lines cares about deeply, so people have been secretly investigating all along. What can now be confirmed is that the Wenshui Tang Clan is only responsible for transport and distribution, not the true owner of the Cinnabar Pill. In fact, we believe that even the Wenshui Tang Clan does not know who that person really is.”
This sounded hard to believe, but it was very likely the truth. In the beginning, people were more concerned about how the Wenshui Tang Clan would allocate the medicine.
What was the most precious thing in the world? Of course, it was life, which could never be relived. A medicine that could save lives was naturally a treasure that everyone wanted to obtain.
Having the power to allocate medicine meant holding the power of life and death over many people.
This kind of power was terrifying, but at the same time, it was an extremely heavy responsibility.
Delegating this power to others to implement, from another perspective, was actually shirking responsibility—or rather, being irresponsible.
In An Hua’s view, the person who could create the Cinnabar Pill must have been kind-hearted and concerned for all living beings, and would certainly not act in such a way.
“That person did not fully entrust the power to the Tang Clan,” the Divine Official said to her with a smile. “They set many rules in advance. First and foremost, it is strictly forbidden to investigate their identity or origins, or to ask where the name ‘Cinnabar Pill’ comes from. Additionally, analyzing the medicine’s composition is prohibited.”
Only then did An Hua understand why, when she had earlier suggested that the state religion and the imperial court should replicate the pill, the room had fallen so silent, and why people had looked at her so strangely. It turned out that this was a rule set in advance by that person—or rather, it was a taboo regarding the Cinnabar Pill.
So how was it distributed? Distributing the Cinnabar Pill to over a dozen military prefectures was not difficult. Even though she was not skilled in such matters, she could roughly imagine that the allocation method was based on the number of soldiers in each prefecture. This method was the simplest and fairest. The real difficulty lay in how to allocate it to specific wounded individuals.
Songshan Military Prefecture was one of the larger ones among the front-line prefectures. In the month with the highest allocation, it received only six pills; in the month with the lowest, only two. And even in the most peaceful month, when no major battles occurred, there were at least a hundred severely wounded soldiers on the verge of death.
“Those who can be cured by Holy Light techniques or the medical officers are not given the pill,” the elderly medical officer explained. “No matter how severe the injury—even if a limb is severed—as long as the person does not die, they are not given it. The decision of who gets the Cinnabar Pill has nothing to do with age, rank, or family background. First priority goes to clergy, second to formation masters.”
An Hua quickly understood why the allocation was done this way.
The clergy on the front lines could all, to some extent, perform Holy Light techniques. Saving one divine official with a Cinnabar Pill meant that official could save many more people in the future. Formation masters bore the most critical tasks on the battlefield, faced the greatest pressure, and had extremely high casualty rates. They were also highly respected, so being placed second was acceptable.
The Divine Official continued, “Next, it depends on the wounded person’s cultivation level and the severity of their injury. The higher the cultivation level and the more severe the injury, the higher their priority in the sequence.”
An Hua was somewhat puzzled. Why would cultivators of higher realms be more likely to receive the Cinnabar Pill?
The general suddenly said expressionlessly, “Because this is war. Saving a strong person is more meaningful to the human race than saving an ordinary person.”
From a purely rational perspective, this statement made sense, but… weren’t all lives supposed to be equal?
Regardless of rank, family background, or age, was there still a distinction between the noble and the lowly?
An Hua suddenly felt a chill.
An angry voice rang out from outside the door: “This is unfair! Are the lives of us ordinary people not lives at all?”
A wounded soldier from the Holy Medical Hall had somehow come to stand outside the threshold, a crutch tucked under his arm, his trouser leg hanging loosely—he had likely lost a leg on the battlefield.
Clearly, this wounded soldier’s indignant protest had occurred more than once in Songshan Military Prefecture and elsewhere.
No one paid any attention to the wounded soldier. The room remained quiet, and even An Hua said nothing, merely lowering her head in silence.
Reality was cruel. That person’s method of distributing the Cinnabar Pill did indeed seem cold, but no one could deny that it was correct.
“Then… who determines the severity and urgency of the injuries?” An Hua looked up at the Divine Official and asked.
Clearly, this was the truly important question, and also the truly troublesome one.
…
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(This chapter is 1912, continuing to make up for the deficit from the repeated update that day.)