CH-066

Shulec and Father Simeon had gotten their cold medicine prepared by the herbalist Yvonne, who lived in Savoy town — Finnian's aunt.

It was also this illness that gave Shulec, for the first time, a clearer understanding of the medical system in this world: doctors here could only be afforded by nobles and the wealthy. Ordinary people either toughed it out, tried their luck at an apothecary, or went to a barber to be treated.

Herbalists and apothecaries might sound similar, but they were actually quite different.

Apothecaries typically had systematic, professional training; their methods were standardized, but their prices were steep. Herbalists, by contrast, relied on knowledge passed down orally through families — accumulated practical experience over generations — and their fees were far more affordable.

It was said, though, that in areas under deep religious influence, herbalists were often squeezed out — because they were competing for business with the Church's infirmaries.

The reason Finnian's aunt Yvonne had chosen to settle in Savoy town was in part due to this very situation.

After spending time with her, Shulec found her to be remarkably reliable.

She was not the type to simply recite formulas by rote, nor was she someone who only fell back on folk remedies. She genuinely understood herbs and knew how to prescribe based on a person's actual condition.

For example: plantain, a commonly used herb for colds.

Yvonne immediately pointed out that it was for treating heat-type colds.

Of course, there was no concept of "heat-type cold" in the medieval world.

Yvonne simply said, "That's a summer remedy. Winter calls for a different formula."

She brewed elderflower tea with honey and gave it to him and Father Simeon to drink.

And then there was the eggnog — that had been Shulec's own suggestion.

As a child he'd seen it in a picture book, which claimed that cracking an egg into heated red wine, with sugar or honey added, would cure a cold.

He'd tried it himself, and produced only red wine egg-drop soup.

When Yvonne heard this, she didn't laugh at him. Instead she brewed a "professional version" of eggnog for the two of them to drink.

It looked like soy milk — smooth and thick, without a single stringy bit of egg — and it had cinnamon powder added.

Shulec recognized that flavor — the spice from apple pie. But he also knew that in the medieval world, cinnamon was a staple in a physician's medicine chest.

Just from these two small things, Shulec decided this herbalist was someone he could trust.

Later, when they set out for Dunstan, they had specifically bought another batch of cold medicine. They'd finished it all on the road.

Now they were simply hoping this pharmacy in Dunstan would carry the remedy Yvonne used.

They stopped in front of the largest pharmacy in Dunstan.

Ramon hopped down from the carriage as soon as they arrived. "Lord Alis, Father Simeon, I'll be right back."

Both of them were thoroughly stuffed up, so they simply gave brief acknowledgments and sat obediently in the carriage, chatting quietly to each other.

And they weren't talking about anything as grand as the bishop selection — they were talking about food.

"You know, when you have a cold, yellow peaches are really the best thing."

There was a hint of nostalgia in Shulec's voice as he said this.

He still remembered that during his university days, the classmate from Dongbei used to tell him: "Got a cold? Yellow peach preserves — best thing for it."

Of course, Shulec knew yellow peaches had no real medicinal value — it was pure psychological comfort at best. But ever since that first time, he'd never forgotten that sweet, sticky taste.

It had become a kind of ritual for Shulec.

Every winter when he came down with a cold, he always made a point of eating yellow peach preserves.

These words made Father Simeon feel, as he often did, that Shulec really was like a pampered young lordling from a noble house.

Peaches were fruit that only aristocratic estates could afford to grow. To want them in winter, on top of that — that was practically the height of luxury.

"Bishop Hugo says he still has some," Shulec said. He hadn't originally meant to bring it up this soon, but they were less than half an hour from the church by now, and they'd already arranged to meet as soon as they arrived, so Shulec could no longer help himself. "When we meet in Dunstan this time, he said he'd bring some for us. We can eat them together."

When had it ever been "us"? It was blindingly obvious that the moment Father Alis mentioned it, Bishop Hugo would have been falling over himself to bring honey-preserved yellow peaches immediately.

But looking at the sparkling light in his eyes as he spoke, Father Simeon couldn't help but think he was utterly adorable.

When you thought about it carefully, Father Alis wasn't even nineteen yet — barely an adult. Though he was always steady and dependable in everyday life, not a hair out of place, whenever he encountered food he liked, that barely-concealed childishness would quietly spill out.

Thinking this, Father Simeon couldn't help but let the corners of his mouth curl upward, an irresistible urge to get a little closer to the young man rising in his chest.

Before Father Simeon could respond, Ramon's voice rang out.

"Lord Alis, Father Simeon."

He'd come back so fast from buying the medicine that Shulec thought he must have forgotten his money.

So Shulec reached for his own coin pouch first.

But before he could even get it out, Ramon, wary of letting cold air into the carriage, spoke through the felt curtain with careful discretion: "Lord Alis, the pharmacy apprentice says a cold can be cured with a simple bloodletting. He says bloodletting therapy is the most popular and effective treatment, and is asking whether you'd like to try it — it only costs one silver coin. If you'd rather buy medicine, that would run you five silver coins."

Normally, Ramon would never have been tempted by novelty or gimmicks in the big city. He knew Father Alis's character — very frugal, and when sick, definitely not one to spend extra money unnecessarily.

Father Simeon, hearing that buying medicine here would cost five silver coins, clicked his tongue. "This is more expensive than Carson—" "Blood—"

But he didn't finish the sentence, because he caught the look on Shulec's face.

"…Is it good?" came a muffled reply.

Shulec was well aware that bloodletting had been the fashionable treatment of choice in the medieval world, apparently popular right up until the nineteenth century.

"It wouldn't be effective for our kind of cold. Bloodletting mainly works to bring down a fever — we got sick from catching a chill, not from heat."

But more than anything else, Shulec simply didn't trust Western bloodletting.

In Chinese medicine, there was indeed a practice of therapeutic bloodletting via acupuncture — but that was grounded in the theories of meridians and acupoints, precise needling at specific sites, with clear and measurable effects.

Western bloodletting was an entirely different matter. There were no clear standards. No one even regulated how much blood was taken.

And the follow-up to stop the bleeding was thoroughly inadequate.

He still remembered the most notorious example: America's first president, George Washington, contracted laryngitis and had 3,200 milliliters of blood drained from him in a single day. A normal adult male of average build only has about 4,500 to 4,800 milliliters of blood in his body, and losing more than 1,200 milliliters could be lethal.

How could Shulec ever trust Western bloodletting? It was trading your life for a treatment.

"Just buy the medicine." Shulec's voice was muffled by congestion, so he pulled the curtain open a sliver to speak with Ramon.

Worried that Ramon might one day be swayed by the bloodletting craze and go off to have it done, he added: "This bloodletting treatment isn't something to use casually — it isn't safe. Don't go along with it yourself in ordinary circumstances, all right?"

Regardless of whether they were exchanging words in front of the pharmacy or chatting in the carriage, the two of them always seemed to draw attention from passersby.

Not to mention that despite their plain attire, the occupant of the carriage carried an innate cool composure — like the wind off a snow-capped mountain, so clean it felt almost unapproachable. With snowlight falling on him, the young man looked even more coldly refined, almost intimidating in his beauty. It was difficult not to glance twice, even in passing.

But the only person who actually stopped in their tracks was a young man walking by with a book tucked under his arm, wearing a pair of spectacles.

Hearing someone question bloodletting, he was intrigued.

Father Layton studied the other person's clothing carefully, unable to place his identity — and yet the man's manner toward those around him was warm; he was gentle with the servants or attendants nearby.

This small observation created a flicker of goodwill, and Layton worked up the nerve to step closer and ask, "You don't believe in bloodletting therapy?"

He hadn't even gotten his answer before he found himself wanting to press further: "May I ask what you think of the — theory?"

Shulec noticed the hard-to-hide fervor and excitement burning deep in his eyes, then glanced at the growing cluster of passersby beginning to pause and observe their exchange, and felt a twinge of unease.

He gave a quiet cough and said hoarsely, "Ramon…"

Ramon immediately understood, stepping forward to block the strange stranger with his body and saying politely, "Our Lord Alis is unwell — please allow him to rest."

The moment Father Layton registered the name "Father Alis," he froze, as though someone had struck him sharply on the back of the head. His eyes locked onto the young man in front of him.

Then Layton noticed something fluffy in the young man's arms moving — and it even blinked at him. He snapped back to his senses as if from a dream, staggered backward a large step, and walked straight into the person behind him. Before Shulec could even get out the word "careful," Father Layton bolted away at a run, as if he'd seen a ghost.

Shulec and Ramon stared at each other blankly. "……"

Inside the carriage, Father Simeon had taken another sip of water to soothe his throat, and, noticing the odd silence outside, called through the curtain: "What happened?"

Shulec was equally baffled, and after sending Ramon off to buy the medicine, climbed back into the carriage and said hesitantly to Simeon, "…It seems Naxi frightened him?"

At the sound of its name, Naxi sat half upright. "……"

Clearly displeased at being called frightening, it nuzzled its head against Shulec's chest in protest and attempted to bite Shulec's sleeve — though it didn't keep it up for long. Very quickly it settled down again, snuggling against Shulec for comfort, and turned its belly over to have it rubbed.

*

Shulec had barely arrived at the Dunstan Cathedral when he received a message sent by Bishop Hugo, requesting his presence in the reception room.

When he pushed open the door and stepped inside, he spotted at a glance the bowl of yellow peach preserves on the table, and the row of biscuits laid out neatly beside it — clearly prepared especially for him.

His eyes lit up slightly, and his steps lightened, though he quickly recovered his composure.

Shulec's first act was to push the closed doors and windows of the reception room open a crack, ensuring the air inside could circulate, so that his illness wouldn't spread to Bishop Hugo. Only then did he take a seat across from the old bishop.

He sat up straight, working hard to suppress any signs of being too eager for the food.

Bishop Hugo watched the young man's carefully controlled, well-behaved expression and inwardly suppressed a laugh. But the moment he thought about the cold that still hadn't fully cleared up, warmth of concern returned to his expression.

"Still not better after all this time?" Bishop Hugo frowned.

"Just lingering symptoms. A little medicine will speed things along."

Shulec gave a light reply, the reassuring undertone in his words carrying more weight than anything else.

Bishop Hugo said no more on the subject of his health. He shifted the topic cleanly and directly: "Alis, do you know why you've come to Dunstan this time?"

Shulec stole one last glance at the bowl of peaches before raising his eyes and answering earnestly: "To take part in the bishop selection for the Savoy Parish."

Bishop Hugo noted the look in his eyes and smiled more deeply. This young man in front of him was self-contained and reserved, without a trace of ambition visible. He spoke in a gentle tone, yet his words carried a hidden edge: "You have the opportunity. And you still don't want to be bishop?"

Shulec answered without hesitation: "No."

Being a bishop sounded utterly exhausting. And Shulec had long known that becoming Bishop of Savoy would mean even less money than he had now. He absolutely was not doing it.

He declined so plainly that Bishop Hugo was not the least surprised.

Bishop Hugo looked at the young priest before him with an expression full of patience and understanding — still young, with limited experience, as pure as a blank sheet of paper. He gave a gentle nod and said warmly, "I understand what you mean. You don't need to worry."

He said it with such certainty — like an aged elder giving tender reassurance to a grandchild.

Children at this age wouldn't understand these things, and shouldn't have to worry about them either.

Leave the rest to Grandfather.

Bishop Hugo felt confident he could carry on for another twenty years.

Shulec didn't understand the layered meanings behind the old bishop's words.

Not that he had much chance to think about it.

Because in the next instant a blur of movement caught his eye, and before he could even look properly, Bishop Hugo's voice rang out.

"Come on, eat those yellow peaches you mentioned."

Bishop Hugo scooped up a piece of yellow peach with a small golden spoon and held it out in front of Shulec, adding, "Don't you want to cure your cold?"

Shulec's gaze was immediately drawn over. He reached out to take the golden spoon — but Bishop Hugo intercepted it.

"You're the patient. I'll feed you. It'll be easier this way."

Shulec's instinct was to refuse: "…That's fine, I can manage on my own."

The words had barely landed when Bishop Hugo's brow fell slightly, and a faint expression of sorrow crossed his face. In a voice of self-pity and complaint, he said: "To think I have spent my entire life alone, without a single relative by my side. It is rare enough to encounter someone with whom I feel a connection, someone I can care for — a chance to enjoy even a touch of warmth like that of family. And yet you so ruthlessly reject my care…"

His tone was so low it sounded like an indictment of the cruelty of fate.

Shulec gave in helplessly and opened his mouth. But he was only willing to eat one bite.

Bishop Hugo immediately beamed. "Good boy."

He was quite certain in his heart: Father Alis could not do without him after all.

As long as he was here, Father Alis would never suffer even a little.

This scene was witnessed by a number of clergy who had found various pretexts to steal a peek at the relationship between Bishop Hugo and Shulec.

They all craned their necks —

Before them, Bishop Hugo, the most powerful and untouchable figure in the Northern Territories, so high and mighty in ordinary life, was tenderly and patiently spooning honey-preserved yellow peaches into a young priest's mouth, one bite at a time. The priest was cradling a little fox as fluffy and white as fresh snow, his expression serene and otherworldly — like an angel descended from a painting into the mortal world.

The whole scene looked as though Bishop Hugo regarded this young man as the most precious thing in all the world, terrified of letting him suffer even the tiniest inconvenience.

This was outrageously indulgent, wasn't it!

Terrifying. Simply terrifying.