Li Lianhua spots Di Feisheng's slightly less than triumphant return through the window over his desk, where he's currently taking notes on recipes he'd like to try. The visibility isn't great, for once not even owing to any advancing illness, so he doesn't notice anything wrong with his gait and there's no reason to meet him in the kitchen while he takes care of his usual post-trip tasks.
And no need either, it seems, since Di Feisheng comes to meet him instead. There's something off about the footsteps approaching his room even before Di Feisheng enters carrying himself like he knocked a potted plant off the windowsill. If he'd gotten into a fight outside that Li Lianhua is expected to pay the clinic or carpenter bill for - something that has, pretty shockingly, not really happened yet but is probably only a matter of time - there would be a lot more smug triumph to those understated words. This can only be worse.
So there's already a displeased twist to his mouth when he turns around to face the man and sees the long gash running up his torso ever so slowly dampening the torn fabric with blood. That Di Feisheng, always so helpful, knowing this is just what they needed in this weather. "Why, is it snowing blades? Where did this come from?" he asks, nodding at the cut. Though as much as he'd like to stick with petty annoyance, Li Lianhua can't help but notice the lack of healthy flush to Di Feisheng's skin, growing more ashen by the minute. That admission really was too grave. He sighs, practically a scolding of its own, though it may also serve to push back the concern trying to nest in the pit of his stomach. "If you're going to pass out, do it over there," he gestures with his brush towards the unused bed in the room, "Fang Duobing isn't here to carry you."
Why is it always 'how did you get into a fight with a blizzard' and never 'were the snow ghosts fun they looked fun'
This reception is more or less as expected, but still feels a little bitchy unjust, is met with a head tilted look that is, unfortunately, as accepting as it is reproachful. What happened to all the deep empathy or whatever? There's something to be said about fair weather friends in here, though someone else would need to do the saying. Nevertheless Di Feisheng will accept direction without argument, though any contrition has all but evaporated in favor of something more sullen, or as sullen as someone can be who has started to list just a little off course on his way to a bed he won't admit to needing. It's just that the cold is really making its presence known with a kind of leaden ferocity in the wake of adrenaline and exertion, and that makes the distance feel a little like it's happening in the horrible hallway instead of open space, and sitting down might stop that.
"I'm not going to pass out," is something he can still assert firmly in passing, however. And even if he did, at least it wouldn't be on the floor of a cave full of monsters, covered in blood. Some people really have a lot of nerve. Di Feisheng would like to hold on to that energy, but he is more invested in not shivering; for once, it doesn't feel like an oven at all in here. But then, Fang Duobing is gone, apparently, so no one's been here to fuss, it must be. "It's not a natural storm, there are--" What, exactly? He has to choose carefully, considering; he risks a quick look to Li Lianhua, which does nothing to tell him how this knowledge will be received, but probably not well, no matter how he delivers it. "Things in it, with swords. Ghosts, spirits, take your pick. Don't go outside."
That unsteady path to the bed is observed out of the corner of his eyes as Li Lianhua puts away his notes and brush but goes uncommented on, or at least it would have if Di Feisheng wasn't still lively enough to talk back. "Mmm," is the response in passing, with exactly as much patronizing vagueness as that statement deserves, coming from a man who has passed out in front of Li Lianhua so many times it might start counting as a hobby soon. Some people really do have a lot of nerve.
So while the potential for Di Feisheng fainting is basically just a return to form, the information he's tracking in from the storm is not. Even his sparse words are enough to have Li Lianhua picturing a ghostly apparition amid the white haze outside his window and he risks a glance that way, his shoulders tensing. He'll suppress a shiver, though, out of respect for Di Feisheng's struggles at this time.
Anyway, that's what outside is out there for and not in here. What would he go outside for? Fang Xiaobao is running all their errands, after all, which is now adding a considerable weight to his concern. Not that Xiaobao can't hold his own against some things with swords, but he's no Di Feisheng quite yet and they truly can't afford any more injuries. Since Li Lianhua is all but useless now.
So first, he scoffs. "Eh, Lao Di, are you so close to death that you believe in ghosts now? Sit down, sit, sit." This, while reaching down and retrieving the little device that's been propping up an uneven desk leg. He gets to writing, which does nothing to stop him talking. "How many? Did you recognize their fighting style? Take your robes off." He will actually start helping in just a moment, right after he finishes this message. Xiaobao, get back to the house without delay and be on guard. There are armed enemies in the storm. Di Feisheng picked a fight he's not going to be proud of later. Don't argue.
Well, then clearly he's passed out often enough to be able to speak definitively on the subject, and besides, now it's a matter of honor, or something. He still doesn't need to be told even once to sit down, however, much less twice; very privately he will allow it's probably a good call, and his consciousness may not be fleeing but it's definitely hedging its bets and cataloguing the exits. No amount of sulking can entirely camouflage how getting off his feet was less a choice and more a compromise, or how deliberate the act of focusing has become, as he sits with his arms braced at his sides and his eyes pinning nothing to the floor. This isn't his first run-in with unexpected consequences of being reduced to a powerless state, but it's souring into one of the worse ones very determinedly. He barely even cares that he's been mocked about ghosts by Li Lianhua, who again has no right to be standing on that high ground, however it's meant.
Though the rest of the words serve their presumably intended purpose of luring him out of a kind of encroaching mental greyness, even if it's only for a round of beleaguered staring at the terrible man who is texting through his tribulation. Not incomprehension, but definitely a little bleary to be being asked for such a report. Di Feisheng would not have said there were ghosts if it were similar circumstances to the last "ghosts" they encountered, so he's not sure it matters as much as it usually would, what numbers they have and from which traditions they hail. But he will answer nonetheless, with a bit more vitality than he's got for the process of disrobing. It should feel like going the wrong way to lose any layers while this cold, but it mostly just feels difficult, or doesn't feel at all, which is worse.
"Two, maybe three, if it was even the same ones. They could nearly disappear," because they were snow spirits, and not just people taking advantage of poor visibility conditions, is how he would like to continue this briefing, but he's reached a point in his sluggish compliance that calls for first concentration and then dismay. The familiar discomfort of peeling fabric away from a wound is deceptively absent and then shockingly present in a way that strikes him even paler, too late to avoid. It hadn't been easy to see--still isn't, really, not the way any twisting to try and look sounds a warning--but a new consideration is taking shape nonetheless. "...The blades might be poisoned."
There will have to be a slight delay in the helping, as Li Lianhua first makes sure his message has been seen and then goes to dig through a cabinet for a clean towel. Di Feisheng is still disrobing on his own power and responding sensibly, so he's unlikely to collapse in the next minute while Li Lianhua gets at least a little better prepared to deal with this. But there is no more extraneous chatting or messing around, all going quite sour at Di Feisheng's audible surprise, a sharp intake of breath that can't mean anything good. He really shouldn't be this close to losing consciousness from a single slash, unless it's a lot deeper than it appears. ...Or he's been poisoned, as he helpfully supplies.
"Let me see," Li Lianhua says as he sits down next to his patient, and it's far more order than suggestion. He guides Di Feisheng's near useless hands away from his half undone clothes and the wound now on display, still weeping less blood than should be expected and taking on a ghastly pale tint. While he's got a hold of his hand, he might as well slide two fingers over his pulse briefly, just to check. He expects to find it erratic, with any luck learning what type of poison it might be and how far it's spread.
What he is not prepared to find is emptiness underneath a faint heartbeat. His fingertips linger a moment too long to pretend to be a casual touch and real concern flashes across his features, before he manages to banish it to a slight crease between his eyebrows. No matter the kind of poison that could do this to Di Feisheng, if he still had any yangzhouman left it would be almost nothing to expel this and stabilize him, surely. Or maybe it's that very lack, the ever progressing loss of his own senses that has left him unable to feel even Di Feisheng's internal force, make an accurate assessment of the situation now. Of all the times to be half a ghost himself, does it have to be when Di Feisheng's well-being is at stake? Close to death indeed.
But there are things he can do yet, even in this state, at least until Fang Xiaobao returns and can provide real tangible relief for this. That boy better not be dallying. His jaw is working against the bitter knot of worry and frustration and loss as he finishes removing his bracers and helping him out of his robes with as little movement as possible. "I'll get water to clean this," is his assessment at last, serious enough but with none of the uncertainty or urgency he feels, and if Di Feisheng has any wherewithal left for seeking his gaze, he won't find Li Lianhua willing to oblige. "It looks to be acting like frostbite, I'll need to restore blood flow before I can bandage it."
Maybe Li Lianhua is a little more than a fake doctor after all, he thinks, operating just a beat behind but agreeable to being examined once he catches up. The attitude doesn't seem fake, at least; very competent, very brusque, and very much more involved than Di Feisheng thought was going to be necessary, when all he knew was that there wasn't as much blood as he'd thought there might be. This is rapidly turning out to be so much more of a hindrance than he imagined. He doesn't have it in him to be anything more than vaguely woeful about it. And of course, cataclysmically trusting.
What Li Lianhua is not is especially reassuring, which is fine, it would actually be an uncategorizable red flag if he were, but if he thinks he's doing a good job keeping the severity of the situation obscured for the benefit of the patient's mental wellbeing, he must have slept through that day of the doctor training he doesn't have. Making that face while examining someone's pulse and then refusing to look them in the eye thereafter could arguably send some kind of message, to someone less in command of their own body than Di Feisheng. As he is relatively sure he isn't dying immediately, it's only of some concern, but he still can't help but notice.
The cold is so present now he can't imagine there was a recent time he wasn't wracked by it, though it manifests only in tremors rather than the teeth-chattering it feels like it should be. At least this means he isn't completely relying on Li Lianhua's help, but his cooperation is feeling increasingly like token efforts only, which makes him scowl. His tolerance for being helpless is surprisingly high, but it isn't a trend he wanted to revisit so soon.
He doesn't call Li Lianhua on whatever verdict he's not giving just yet, suspicions of poison presumably confirmed, though even eyes glassy with fatigue can see the worry he's bit down on like he's the one about to get a wound dressed. Di Feisheng knows better than to believe water or blood flow will be a relief; the numbness won't be missed but is serving its function well enough (and better than someone who has been relying on qi circulation for decades can really understand).
It almost doesn't seem worth the energy expenditure, to pry into what had Li Lianhua looking for a second like he was the one who saw ghosts. He is going to be as informative as he wants to be, and no more, so the effort really is likely to be wasted. But surely even he can see the absurdity in being tight-lipped about an injury that isn't even his. How this doesn't conflict with trusting Li Lianhua is its own special technique that probably deserves preservation in a cryptic manual. "Just frostbite?"
Whatever cooperation he can muster is appreciated on this side as well. Unlike certain other people, Li Lianhua doesn't particularly enjoy having to undress a barely conscious Di Feisheng, untying belts and knots and maneuvering his arms so he doesn't jostle the wound. It's obvious, and no wonder, that he'd really rather be doing all that by himself. Perhaps what should be a wonder but isn't, is the complete absence of any protesting or suspicion, this time actually awake enough while he's being treated to express as much. He'd have every right, certainly, to demand some control in this process. Even if it would be an added hassle in an already tense situation, but it's not like Di Feisheng ever lets that stop him.
But how could it be a wonder? Li Lianhua has already seen his name scratched into that man's palm under even more dire circumstances. Then and now it can really only shake loose a private sigh, resignation tucked away next to fondness in the stern line of his mouth. Maybe Di Feisheng wouldn't be so docile if he knew how powerless Li Lianhua has become. But probably not.
At least this time he doesn't smell like dead fish. Though his skin feels about as clammy, to be honest, and the intermittent tremors in place of actual, warming shivering only give rise to more dread. Di Feisheng should have far too much vitality coursing through his veins and meridians to be losing so much body heat. Though he has just enough left, apparently, to question him after all. Still no suspicion, but some sort of affable doubt that has Li Lianhua's gaze flick up to meet his despite himself. How is that Di Feisheng still so perceptive, even with eyes that are starting to look like those of a dead fish too? And why is Li Lianhua nearly considering being forthright with him? Either Di Feisheng really has lost his inner force, which he wouldn't need Li Lianhua to tell him, or the problem is with Li Lianhua, which won't matter as soon as Fang Xiaobao returns. Either way they have other things to worry about.
He clicks his tongue and huffs. "What 'just'? You don't think frostbite will give you enough trouble?" It's like he's never treated the homeless of a town in winter. "Especially in this location, across this length," he says like Di Feisheng really should have done a better job avoiding this cut, while brushing his hair to the other shoulder so it won't stick to the wound. "If this doesn't heal well and quickly, you'll lose range of motion at best, an arm at worst. Let me tell you, even Di-mengzhu won't scoff at necrotic flesh this close to his heart." He drapes the blanket around his shoulders for him to hold onto, then gets up to deposit the clothes on the chair and stoke the fire with a few impatient thrusts of the poker, adding several logs to the embers.
It really ought to be pretty amusing, to be graded on his wound placement and draped in a blanket in the same few breaths, like being caught in a particularly judgmental whirlwind. Though it's possible that things are happening a pretty normal amount at a pretty normal pace and it's just his perception that's staggering to keep up. Di Feisheng remains unmoved by the frostbite fearmongering, either way, but hasn't quite got any amusement to spare beyond a quiet scornful exhalation, eyes lowered in reflexive self-assurance even as unconsciousness threatens. How could it be a wonder, indeed, when this seems almost ridiculous in its familiarity.
Though seemingly not to Li Lianhua, who seems to have an undercurrent of real uncertainty? Fear? Something very much less familiar under the fractiousness, and that has him cracking his eyelids open again despite their weight to watch him as long as he can, and turn the discrepancy over in his mind. Placing and re-placing pieces. This also is familiar, and devoid of urgency, even when he isn’t under the influence of any sort of injury.
Not that he thinks Li Lianhua needs to lie, at least about how much trouble frostbite could be, fake doctor or not. He just has a lot of something too concrete to even be called faith, in all the varieties of resourcefulness at their collective disposal, to feel something as pointless as dismay. A loss of inner force doesn’t change the nature of the person who cultivated it. His diminished energy is better spent re-settling in a more meditative pose, with the added benefits of more efficient warmth conservation and blanket distribution. At least, for everyone's sake, no further argument seems to be forthcoming.
Li Lianhua's woefully uncathartic firepoking is interrupted by the unmistakable feeling of Di Feisheng's gaze on his back, which is as unsettling as it is unfair, honestly. Who's the one barely sitting upright? Who went outside and got poisoned by ghosts in the snow? Who goes and fights ghosts in the snow? Di Feisheng had better worry about himself, instead of throwing him appraising looks.
Is he not allowed to be concerned? It's not that he wouldn't like to have that kind of unshakable confidence in their abilities, but under the circumstances it's hard not to consider all possibilities. What would he do with a permanently injured Di Feisheng in the house? What would Di Feisheng? He's the one always going on about not letting himself be an invalid. For someone like that, what would be the alternative? No, he can't let it come to that.
Li Lianhua sets the poker down quietly with none of the righteous exasperation he's feeling that normally has him tossing utensils down like the final piece of damning evidence in an interrogation. When he turns around to deliver enough further arguments for both of them, that stoically resolute pose Di Feisheng has already settled into, comfortingly unchanging and unchanged, makes Li Lianhua exhale a single relenting breath instead. Surely that man really will outlive anything.
"I'll be back in a moment. Do not fall asleep while I'm gone, do you hear me?" he pre-emptively scolds, pointing at Di Feisheng for emphasis. "If you pass out, I'm emptying the water bowl over your head instead." Being threatened with something so stupid will perhaps at least be annoying enough to keep him busy while Li Lianhua goes to fetch warm water and a pot of hot tea. When he returns, he's balancing both on a tray and humming the kind of absent-minded tuneless melody he sometimes gets into while puttering around the kitchen.
Li Lianhua is allowed to be concerned, but it really isn't a worthwhile use of his time, or easy to understand as it pertains to himself. There's no such thing as a permanently injured Di Feisheng. And there nearly wasn't last time either, but isn't that the point. Doesn't Li Lianhua have enough to do right now without borrowing so much trouble? Not everyone is confused about which way to aim their determination; Di Feisheng's confidence isn't solely for the other two people in this household, though they certainly effect the outcomes of things formidably enough. Obviously, the alternative would be to keep trying things until something works, and that's precisely what Di Feisheng would do. Besides, if Li Lianhua is really so concerned, there are worse things in the world than frostbite.
The care with the poker would be appreciated, if Di Feisheng's close attention had just held out a little longer. It seems a shame to ruin the effort with all the haranguing and pointing, is as much as Di Feisheng feels like comprehending, owl-eyed and lightly astonished out of what only the generous would call meditation. Being threatened is less annoying than it is mystifying, even if he feels very strongly about not having a water bowl emptied over his head. Why's Li Lianhua so hell-bent on keeping him awake anyway? He's on a bed now, no one has to carry him, he would probably wake back up easily enough. He doesn't plan on passing out, but does Li Lianhua think he's stupid enough to land on his bad side if he does? He might, because he's terrible. Good thing he isn't here to see Di Feisheng's balance waver when he shakes his head at the thought.
A bowl of water upended over him has nothing on the prospect of being treated like one of Li Lianhua's kitchen experiments anyway, but at least this bedside manner seems much less fraught with unexplained concern. "Am I allowed to fall asleep soon, or do I have to be awake and useless to learn a lesson?"
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Date: 2024-01-11 12:35 am (UTC)And no need either, it seems, since Di Feisheng comes to meet him instead. There's something off about the footsteps approaching his room even before Di Feisheng enters carrying himself like he knocked a potted plant off the windowsill. If he'd gotten into a fight outside that Li Lianhua is expected to pay the clinic or carpenter bill for - something that has, pretty shockingly, not really happened yet but is probably only a matter of time - there would be a lot more smug triumph to those understated words. This can only be worse.
So there's already a displeased twist to his mouth when he turns around to face the man and sees the long gash running up his torso ever so slowly dampening the torn fabric with blood. That Di Feisheng, always so helpful, knowing this is just what they needed in this weather. "Why, is it snowing blades? Where did this come from?" he asks, nodding at the cut. Though as much as he'd like to stick with petty annoyance, Li Lianhua can't help but notice the lack of healthy flush to Di Feisheng's skin, growing more ashen by the minute. That admission really was too grave. He sighs, practically a scolding of its own, though it may also serve to push back the concern trying to nest in the pit of his stomach. "If you're going to pass out, do it over there," he gestures with his brush towards the unused bed in the room, "Fang Duobing isn't here to carry you."
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Date: 2024-01-11 10:33 pm (UTC)Why is it always 'how did you get into a fight with a blizzard' and never 'were the snow ghosts fun they looked fun'This reception is more or less as expected, but still feels a little
bitchyunjust, is met with a head tilted look that is, unfortunately, as accepting as it is reproachful. What happened to all the deep empathy or whatever? There's something to be said about fair weather friends in here, though someone else would need to do the saying. Nevertheless Di Feisheng will accept direction without argument, though any contrition has all but evaporated in favor of something more sullen, or as sullen as someone can be who has started to list just a little off course on his way to a bed he won't admit to needing. It's just that the cold is really making its presence known with a kind of leaden ferocity in the wake of adrenaline and exertion, and that makes the distance feel a little like it's happening in the horrible hallway instead of open space, and sitting down might stop that."I'm not going to pass out," is something he can still assert firmly in passing, however. And even if he did, at least it wouldn't be on the floor of a cave full of monsters, covered in blood. Some people really have a lot of nerve. Di Feisheng would like to hold on to that energy, but he is more invested in not shivering; for once, it doesn't feel like an oven at all in here. But then, Fang Duobing is gone, apparently, so no one's been here to fuss, it must be. "It's not a natural storm, there are--" What, exactly? He has to choose carefully, considering; he risks a quick look to Li Lianhua, which does nothing to tell him how this knowledge will be received, but probably not well, no matter how he delivers it. "Things in it, with swords. Ghosts, spirits, take your pick. Don't go outside."
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Date: 2024-01-16 12:23 am (UTC)So while the potential for Di Feisheng fainting is basically just a return to form, the information he's tracking in from the storm is not. Even his sparse words are enough to have Li Lianhua picturing a ghostly apparition amid the white haze outside his window and he risks a glance that way, his shoulders tensing. He'll suppress a shiver, though, out of respect for Di Feisheng's struggles at this time.
Anyway, that's what outside is out there for and not in here. What would he go outside for? Fang Xiaobao is running all their errands, after all, which is now adding a considerable weight to his concern. Not that Xiaobao can't hold his own against some things with swords, but he's no Di Feisheng quite yet and they truly can't afford any more injuries. Since Li Lianhua is all but useless now.
So first, he scoffs. "Eh, Lao Di, are you so close to death that you believe in ghosts now? Sit down, sit, sit." This, while reaching down and retrieving the little device that's been propping up an uneven desk leg. He gets to writing, which does nothing to stop him talking. "How many? Did you recognize their fighting style? Take your robes off." He will actually start helping in just a moment, right after he finishes this message. Xiaobao, get back to the house without delay and be on guard. There are armed enemies in the storm. Di Feisheng picked a fight he's not going to be proud of later. Don't argue.
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Date: 2024-01-20 05:12 pm (UTC)Though the rest of the words serve their presumably intended purpose of luring him out of a kind of encroaching mental greyness, even if it's only for a round of beleaguered staring at the terrible man who is texting through his tribulation. Not incomprehension, but definitely a little bleary to be being asked for such a report. Di Feisheng would not have said there were ghosts if it were similar circumstances to the last "ghosts" they encountered, so he's not sure it matters as much as it usually would, what numbers they have and from which traditions they hail. But he will answer nonetheless, with a bit more vitality than he's got for the process of disrobing. It should feel like going the wrong way to lose any layers while this cold, but it mostly just feels difficult, or doesn't feel at all, which is worse.
"Two, maybe three, if it was even the same ones. They could nearly disappear," because they were snow spirits, and not just people taking advantage of poor visibility conditions, is how he would like to continue this briefing, but he's reached a point in his sluggish compliance that calls for first concentration and then dismay. The familiar discomfort of peeling fabric away from a wound is deceptively absent and then shockingly present in a way that strikes him even paler, too late to avoid. It hadn't been easy to see--still isn't, really, not the way any twisting to try and look sounds a warning--but a new consideration is taking shape nonetheless. "...The blades might be poisoned."
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Date: 2024-01-23 12:16 am (UTC)"Let me see," Li Lianhua says as he sits down next to his patient, and it's far more order than suggestion. He guides Di Feisheng's near useless hands away from his half undone clothes and the wound now on display, still weeping less blood than should be expected and taking on a ghastly pale tint. While he's got a hold of his hand, he might as well slide two fingers over his pulse briefly, just to check. He expects to find it erratic, with any luck learning what type of poison it might be and how far it's spread.
What he is not prepared to find is emptiness underneath a faint heartbeat. His fingertips linger a moment too long to pretend to be a casual touch and real concern flashes across his features, before he manages to banish it to a slight crease between his eyebrows. No matter the kind of poison that could do this to Di Feisheng, if he still had any yangzhouman left it would be almost nothing to expel this and stabilize him, surely. Or maybe it's that very lack, the ever progressing loss of his own senses that has left him unable to feel even Di Feisheng's internal force, make an accurate assessment of the situation now. Of all the times to be half a ghost himself, does it have to be when Di Feisheng's well-being is at stake? Close to death indeed.
But there are things he can do yet, even in this state, at least until Fang Xiaobao returns and can provide real tangible relief for this. That boy better not be dallying. His jaw is working against the bitter knot of worry and frustration and loss as he finishes removing his bracers and helping him out of his robes with as little movement as possible. "I'll get water to clean this," is his assessment at last, serious enough but with none of the uncertainty or urgency he feels, and if Di Feisheng has any wherewithal left for seeking his gaze, he won't find Li Lianhua willing to oblige. "It looks to be acting like frostbite, I'll need to restore blood flow before I can bandage it."
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Date: 2024-02-04 11:37 pm (UTC)And of course, cataclysmically trusting.What Li Lianhua is not is especially reassuring, which is fine, it would actually be an uncategorizable red flag if he were, but if he thinks he's doing a good job keeping the severity of the situation obscured for the benefit of the patient's mental wellbeing, he must have slept through that day of the doctor training he doesn't have. Making that face while examining someone's pulse and then refusing to look them in the eye thereafter could arguably send some kind of message, to someone less in command of their own body than Di Feisheng. As he is relatively sure he isn't dying immediately, it's only of some concern, but he still can't help but notice.
The cold is so present now he can't imagine there was a recent time he wasn't wracked by it, though it manifests only in tremors rather than the teeth-chattering it feels like it should be. At least this means he isn't completely relying on Li Lianhua's help, but his cooperation is feeling increasingly like token efforts only, which makes him scowl. His tolerance for being helpless is surprisingly high, but it isn't a trend he wanted to revisit so soon.
He doesn't call Li Lianhua on whatever verdict he's not giving just yet, suspicions of poison presumably confirmed, though even eyes glassy with fatigue can see the worry he's bit down on like he's the one about to get a wound dressed. Di Feisheng knows better than to believe water or blood flow will be a relief; the numbness won't be missed but is serving its function well enough (and better than someone who has been relying on qi circulation for decades can really understand).
It almost doesn't seem worth the energy expenditure, to pry into what had Li Lianhua looking for a second like he was the one who saw ghosts. He is going to be as informative as he wants to be, and no more, so the effort really is likely to be wasted. But surely even he can see the absurdity in being tight-lipped about an injury that isn't even his. How this doesn't conflict with trusting Li Lianhua is its own special technique that probably deserves preservation in a cryptic manual. "Just frostbite?"
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Date: 2024-02-09 10:51 pm (UTC)But how could it be a wonder? Li Lianhua has already seen his name scratched into that man's palm under even more dire circumstances. Then and now it can really only shake loose a private sigh, resignation tucked away next to fondness in the stern line of his mouth. Maybe Di Feisheng wouldn't be so docile if he knew how powerless Li Lianhua has become. But probably not.
At least this time he doesn't smell like dead fish. Though his skin feels about as clammy, to be honest, and the intermittent tremors in place of actual, warming shivering only give rise to more dread. Di Feisheng should have far too much vitality coursing through his veins and meridians to be losing so much body heat. Though he has just enough left, apparently, to question him after all. Still no suspicion, but some sort of affable doubt that has Li Lianhua's gaze flick up to meet his despite himself. How is that Di Feisheng still so perceptive, even with eyes that are starting to look like those of a dead fish too? And why is Li Lianhua nearly considering being forthright with him? Either Di Feisheng really has lost his inner force, which he wouldn't need Li Lianhua to tell him, or the problem is with Li Lianhua, which won't matter as soon as Fang Xiaobao returns. Either way they have other things to worry about.
He clicks his tongue and huffs. "What 'just'? You don't think frostbite will give you enough trouble?" It's like he's never treated the homeless of a town in winter. "Especially in this location, across this length," he says like Di Feisheng really should have done a better job avoiding this cut, while brushing his hair to the other shoulder so it won't stick to the wound. "If this doesn't heal well and quickly, you'll lose range of motion at best, an arm at worst. Let me tell you, even Di-mengzhu won't scoff at necrotic flesh this close to his heart." He drapes the blanket around his shoulders for him to hold onto, then gets up to deposit the clothes on the chair and stoke the fire with a few impatient thrusts of the poker, adding several logs to the embers.
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Date: 2024-03-02 07:19 pm (UTC)Though seemingly not to Li Lianhua, who seems to have an undercurrent of real uncertainty? Fear? Something very much less familiar under the fractiousness, and that has him cracking his eyelids open again despite their weight to watch him as long as he can, and turn the discrepancy over in his mind. Placing and re-placing pieces. This also is familiar, and devoid of urgency, even when he isn’t under the influence of any sort of injury.
Not that he thinks Li Lianhua needs to lie, at least about how much trouble frostbite could be, fake doctor or not. He just has a lot of something too concrete to even be called faith, in all the varieties of resourcefulness at their collective disposal, to feel something as pointless as dismay. A loss of inner force doesn’t change the nature of the person who cultivated it. His diminished energy is better spent re-settling in a more meditative pose, with the added benefits of more efficient warmth conservation and blanket distribution. At least, for everyone's sake, no further argument seems to be forthcoming.
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Date: 2024-04-07 10:36 pm (UTC)Is he not allowed to be concerned? It's not that he wouldn't like to have that kind of unshakable confidence in their abilities, but under the circumstances it's hard not to consider all possibilities. What would he do with a permanently injured Di Feisheng in the house? What would Di Feisheng? He's the one always going on about not letting himself be an invalid. For someone like that, what would be the alternative? No, he can't let it come to that.
Li Lianhua sets the poker down quietly with none of the righteous exasperation he's feeling that normally has him tossing utensils down like the final piece of damning evidence in an interrogation. When he turns around to deliver enough further arguments for both of them, that stoically resolute pose Di Feisheng has already settled into, comfortingly unchanging and unchanged, makes Li Lianhua exhale a single relenting breath instead. Surely that man really will outlive anything.
"I'll be back in a moment. Do not fall asleep while I'm gone, do you hear me?" he pre-emptively scolds, pointing at Di Feisheng for emphasis. "If you pass out, I'm emptying the water bowl over your head instead." Being threatened with something so stupid will perhaps at least be annoying enough to keep him busy while Li Lianhua goes to fetch warm water and a pot of hot tea. When he returns, he's balancing both on a tray and humming the kind of absent-minded tuneless melody he sometimes gets into while puttering around the kitchen.
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Date: 2024-05-06 06:50 am (UTC)And there nearly wasn't last time either, but isn't that the point.Doesn't Li Lianhua have enough to do right now without borrowing so much trouble? Not everyone is confused about which way to aim their determination; Di Feisheng's confidence isn't solely for the other two people in this household, though they certainly effect the outcomes of things formidably enough. Obviously, the alternative would be to keep trying things until something works, and that's precisely what Di Feisheng would do. Besides, if Li Lianhua is really so concerned, there are worse things in the world than frostbite.The care with the poker would be appreciated, if Di Feisheng's close attention had just held out a little longer. It seems a shame to ruin the effort with all the haranguing and pointing, is as much as Di Feisheng feels like comprehending, owl-eyed and lightly astonished out of what only the generous would call meditation. Being threatened is less annoying than it is mystifying, even if he feels very strongly about not having a water bowl emptied over his head. Why's Li Lianhua so hell-bent on keeping him awake anyway? He's on a bed now, no one has to carry him, he would probably wake back up easily enough. He doesn't plan on passing out, but does Li Lianhua think he's stupid enough to land on his bad side if he does? He might, because he's terrible. Good thing he isn't here to see Di Feisheng's balance waver when he shakes his head at the thought.
A bowl of water upended over him has nothing on the prospect of being treated like one of Li Lianhua's kitchen experiments anyway, but at least this bedside manner seems much less fraught with unexplained concern. "Am I allowed to fall asleep soon, or do I have to be awake and useless to learn a lesson?"