Raindrops danced and mud splashed.
People were rushing in and out of Zhaosu Temple. The awning had been erected. The strong and bitter smell of boiled herbs was everywhere. The guards guarding the stove covered their mouths and noses with kerchiefs.
Qi Huilian wrapped his head in cloth and distributed the medicinal soup with Sylvester Ji. Seeing the comatose man speaking vaguely, he looked at it for a moment.
Sylvester Ji quickly put away the bowls. Seeing that the master was not moving, he asked, "What's wrong?"
"This is the Dancheng epidemic." Qi Huilian opened the patient's collar, "The rash will spread all over the body, and you can't stand it. It's contagious."
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