Qin Dynasty: Who offended my frail and sickly minister?

Xia Wuqie took a deep breath, opened Zhou Wenqing's clothes, and then took out a silver needle from the medicine bag. The needle tip was as thin as a hair and flashed with a cold white light.

His hands were very steady. With a slight dip in his wrist, without the slightest hesitation, the first silver needle was precisely inserted into the Tanzhong acupoint. It was fast, accurate, and steady, without the slightest error.

Even so, the moment the silver needle pierced his skin and touched his meridians, the pain instantly swept through his entire body, and Zhou Wenqing's body still trembled violently.

His brows were furrowed tightly, his jaw was clenched, his cheeks were stretched into two hard ridges, his knuckles were clenched until they turned blue, and a suppressed, muffled groan rolled out of his throat.

The voice was very low, but it made everyone present hold their breath.

"teacher!"

Fusu gasped softly, instinctively leaning forward, his hand outstretched, then abruptly stopping.

He was afraid that getting too close would affect Xia Wuqie's acupuncture, so he had to swallow back the worry that was on the tip of his tongue, shrink back, and step aside. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he held them back. He gripped the hem of his clothes with both hands, his knuckles turned white, and his fingertips were marked with red marks from the fabric.

Xia Wuqie kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, and the second needle was inserted into Neiguan. The pain suddenly intensified, as if someone was chiseling at the bone with an awl.

Zhou Wenqing instinctively sprang upwards, but was held down by Li Yi.

The muffled groan in his throat suddenly rose, turning into a broken and painful moan. His muscles tensed and stiffened, and his limbs twitched slightly involuntarily.

"Zicheng..." Han Fei pursed his lips and lowered his brows, calling out softly.

He stood with his hands behind his back to one side, seemingly calm, but in reality, his hands were already clenched tightly in his sleeves, the veins on the back of his hands were bulging, and his gaze was locked on Zhou Wenqing's face, with an undisguised anxiety hidden in his eyes.

The third needle is inserted directly into the Jueyinshu point.

The needles stirred the meridians, and intense pain surged forth like a tidal wave, engulfing the entire body in layers.

"Ugh—"

Zhou Wenqing finally couldn't hold back any longer, and a hoarse scream burst from his throat. He gritted his teeth so hard that he almost broke them. His breathing became rapid and difficult. His body writhed violently, and cold sweat soaked through his clothes, making him look even thinner and more pained.

"Hold him down," Xia Wuqie commanded in a low, deep voice.

Li Yi gritted her teeth and nodded, her jaw clenched, fine beads of sweat appearing on her forehead and sliding down her temples, her arms tightly supporting her husband's shoulders and back.

He dared not use too much force, for fear of choking the master, nor dared to loosen his grip too much, for fear that the master would break free. His arms were stiff as stone, his muscles taut like iron blocks, and his eyes were fixed on the needle in Xia Wuqie's hand, not blinking.

Fourth stitch, fifth stitch, sixth stitch—

Each needle prick brings a jolt, each tremor a sharp pain.

Zhou Wenqing struggled even more fiercely, his breathing intermittent, as if he were fighting for air with something unseen. He was weak and struggling, and broken screams kept bursting from his throat, making people's hearts clench.

Han Fei turned his head away, unable to bear to look any longer.

Zicheng...you've suffered.

Fate is cruel, and heaven is jealous of talent. Such a refined and elegant person was unfortunately frail and suffered from heart disease, which is truly regrettable.

But that scar on Zicheng's chest...

His eyes darkened slightly.

Looking at the man in his arms, writhing in pain, Li Yi felt as if he had returned to the time when he first met the man. Only this time, the man was so badly injured under his protection.

He was filled with worry, guilt, and self-reproach. Knowing that his husband couldn't hear him, he still couldn't help but whisper to comfort him, "Sir, just bear with it a little longer, it'll be over soon, just bear with it a little longer..."

When I opened my mouth, I realized that my voice was so dry and hoarse, as if it had been polished by gauze.

He regretted it. He shouldn't have stopped the hundred generals. He should have skinned and dismembered those beasts, tortured them to death, and then chopped them up to feed the dogs!