The ox cart swayed and rattled along. The white-haired old man turned his head to take a look—the youth still showed no sign of waking, and there was no color in his face either. He felt even more that the youth’s injuries were serious, so he kept his head down and urged the cart on, hoping to send the young man to the town’s medical hall as soon as possible.

Snow began to fall from the sky again. The mountain road, crushed under the cart wheels, was left with ruts of varying depth. Melted snow gathered in the tracks into puddles, patches of snow here and there, mixed with damp soil, all in a filthy mess.

“Old sir!”

The ox cart rattled loudly, and the old man was somewhat hard of hearing, so the voice came to him faint and unclear. At first he did not notice, until it was called again from behind: “Old sir! Stop the cart!”

The rumbling sound of another cart drew near. The old man turned his head to look, then hurriedly pulled the rope to stop. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “What is it?”

The one driving that cart was a young man in coarse linen clothes. He let out a breath of relief. “Old sir, how many times have I called you? You finally stopped.”

As he spoke, he pointed behind him. “This young lady says the one lying on your cart is her elder brother.”

Behind him stood a girl covered all over with snowmelt and mud. Her face was smeared with dirt as well. The old man looked closely, then exclaimed in surprise, “Oh my, girl, how did you end up like this? Did you fall?”

Shang Rong climbed down from the young man’s cart and bowed to thank him, then walked to the side of the old man’s cart. Turning her face slightly, she looked at the youth lying there with his eyes shut, and said, “Uncle, I found the thing.”

“Found it?”

The old man, hearing this, immediately let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good, that’s good. Hurry and get on the cart. This old man will take you siblings to town right away.”

“Many thanks.”

Shang Rong said softly. Seeing the old man extend a hand, she used the strength of his arm to climb onto the cart. The ox cart began to sway once more, the mountain scenery shifting on both sides, but she hugged her knees, having no mind at all to look up.

At some point, her eyes had grown moist. Her lashes fluttered. Carefully, she knelt down and quietly looked at the youth. After a moment, she reached out her hand toward him.

She deliberately smeared the mud that coated her palms all over his face, using both hands, spreading it carefully.

The youth’s face was soon covered with quite a bit of mud, no longer so pale and eye-catching. Shang Rong finally stopped, but the instant she withdrew her hands, her wrist was suddenly seized.

Before she could cry out in alarm, her wrist was yanked hard, pulling her whole body forward. The youth’s eyes snapped open—colder than the glint of light on a sword.

Her heart pounded violently. Shang Rong’s eyes widened in terror. The force in his hand tightened even more. The pain was intense, yet she did not dare make a sound.

“Didn’t you run away?”

His voice was extremely soft.

Shang Rong clenched her teeth and said nothing. At such close distance, Zhezhu watched her slightly reddened eyelids, the damp mist in her eyes. Suddenly he released her hand, but then pressed down on the back of her neck, forcing her head even lower.

His faint, weakened breath brushed her ear: “You should be glad you came back, otherwise…”

“Otherwise what?”

Shang Rong lifted her eyes to look at him, her voice also pressed low. Her own face was smeared and disheveled, looking utterly wretched, yet she said, “You know, I’m not afraid of death.”

Zhezhu paused for a moment.

She appeared gentle and pitiful, yet sometimes there was always a trace of pride that refused to yield.

“Of course I know you’re not afraid of death,” His eyes curved just slightly, forming a beautiful arc. “But there must be people you fear, otherwise, you wouldn’t have run.”

Shang Rong parted her lips, but could not refute his words. She could only turn her face away, avoiding his scrutinizing gaze.

“It was my fault.”

She thought for a moment, then said softly, “On the mountain I promised you I would accompany you to find a doctor, yet halfway I wanted to go back on my word. I truly shouldn’t have.”

Her sudden apology surprised Zhezhu somewhat. She really did look like someone who had done wrong, and now, with the back of her neck held between his two fingers, she was like a docile cat with no temper.

The damp, cold mist in the mountains had been baked thin by the sunlight. The ox cart rocked and rattled endlessly. Even with mud smeared across the youth’s face, his brows and eyes remained refined and clean.

He released her. His fingers moved slightly, crushing the oil paper wrapped around something. The next instant, he stuffed that thing into her mouth.

Caught off guard, Shang Rong met his gaze in astonishment at such close distance.

The youth’s breath brushed her face like a breeze. His voice was still very, very soft, hidden beneath the rattling of the cart, heard only by her: “You didn’t throw me away. This is a reward.”

The sweet and sour taste grew stronger. Only then did Shang Rong realize—it was a plum candy.

The sky was clear and bright. In his pupils, her faint reflection could be seen. For some reason, Shang Rong hardly even dared to breathe. She shrank away from him as if fleeing, forcing herself to sit upright in the biting wind.

Yuling Town was close to Nanzhou City and counted as no small town. There were many people coming and going, with a trace of prosperity. At the town entrance stood several simple tea sheds. Porters and laborers who could not afford the teahouses in town often drank a wen¹Wen: a small unit of copper coin currency in ancient China; commonly used for everyday small payments.’s worth of loose tea here, resting and warming themselves. It was extremely noisy.

“To dare assassinate the current Son of Heaven on the official road, those rebels are truly bold!”

“Isn’t that so? Quite a few soldiers have come to town now as well, likely searching for the remaining rebels.”

“…”

Amid the clamor, these scattered words faintly reached Shang Rong’s ears, but until the ox cart entered the town, she heard not a single word about her own disappearance.

Had they concealed it?

Had they not yet realized she had run away on her own?

Perhaps they believed she had been taken by the rebels?

It concerned the dignity of the Great Yan imperial house. Perhaps the Son of Heaven did not wish word to spread that she had fallen into the rebels’ hands.

Shang Rong’s thoughts were in utter chaos. Only when the ox cart stopped before Kangping Medical Hall did she come back to her senses. Supporting Zhezhu as he got down from the cart, she thanked the old man once more.

Zhezhu sat down casually on the narrow couch. The young apprentice saw that the mud on his body stained the white ramie cloth beneath him, and his expression darkened slightly, but the old physician waved a hand at him, signaling him not to speak.

When Zhezhu removed his robe, revealing the cloth on his arm already soaked through with blood, he reached to tear it off, but the old physician hurriedly said, “No, no.”

The old physician stepped forward and ordered the apprentice to bring scissors that had been heated over a flame, then carefully cut open the cloth stuck to the wound, skillfully removing the remaining fabric little by little. He had practiced medicine for decades—how could he not see that the injury was caused by blade or sword? New wounds had been added atop old ones. Just by looking at the youth’s brows and eyes beneath the grime, he sensed something unusual.

Yet he asked nothing, only saying, “Young master, this wound must be cleaned, otherwise it will fester and rot.”

“Mm.”

Zhezhu sounded indifferent, merely responding weakly.

“This wound is quite deep. Cleaning it will cause unbearable pain. I shall have someone fetch some mafeisan²Mafeisan: a traditional Chinese anesthetic powder used in ancient medicine to numb pain during surgical procedures..”

As he spoke, the old physician was about to call the apprentice.

“No need.” Zhezhu interrupted with two words.

The old physician paused, finding it strange, but he could only order the apprentice to prepare the instruments and hemostatic medicine. As he cleaned the wound, he watched the youth’s expression carefully, afraid he would be unable to bear the pain. Yet no matter how he looked, the youth never once frowned, never said it hurt. His arm did not tremble in the slightest.

After reapplying medicine and bandaging the wound, the old physician stroked his beard, seeming to realize something in a flash. “Young master, I observe that you also seem to suffer from a strange illness…”

The youth suddenly raised his eyes and fixed his gaze on him.

The old physician swallowed the rest of his words at once, an inexplicable damp chill appearing in his palms.

The plain gauze screen was very long. Zhezhu looked toward the faintly outlined slender figure behind the screen.

It suddenly grew quiet inside. Shang Rong found it strange—just now she seemed to have heard the old physician mention some kind of “strange illness.” She leaned a little closer toward the screen when, all at once, a fingertip poked her earlobe through the thin plain gauze.

She straightened instantly and stepped back. Through the screen, she vaguely saw the youth’s figure. Then came his clear, cool voice: “Come here.”

A faint, inexplicable itch lingered on her earlobe. Shang Rong stepped behind the screen and saw the old physician seated upright at the desk, wiping his face with a towel. The atmosphere was truly somewhat strange.

“She has red rashes on her neck.”

Zhezhu was putting on his outer robe. The collar of his white inner garment was still slightly open. Sunlight streaming through the lattice window fell upon him. His tone was calm, plain and concise.

Red rashes?

Shang Rong herself did not know, but along the way her neck had indeed felt somewhat itchy. Yet her hands were dirty, so she had endured it and had not scratched even once.

The old physician beckoned to Shang Rong. “Miss, come sit.”

Shang Rong sat on the wooden stool before the desk. The old physician only glanced at the red spots on her neck, then took her pulse. After a moment, he said, “Some people are born unable to wear overly coarse clothing. Wearing it will cause such red rashes. Miss, your symptoms are already considered mild. Some people develop them in patches. But you also have a deficiency condition, and now you have caught a chill. You must take some medicine decocted and drunk.”

The old physician quickly wrote a prescription and instructed the apprentice to fetch the herbs.

After leaving the medical hall, Shang Rong followed Zhezhu through the bustling streets. The surroundings were entirely unfamiliar, everything made her feel very uncomfortable.

When they reached a secluded part of a deep alley, a withered tree bent and curled, its branches laden with accumulated snow. Zhezhu suddenly stopped. Shang Rong stopped as well and looked up.

“Wait for me here.”

Zhezhu slightly lifted his chin, signaling her to hide behind the pile of miscellaneous items stacked at the corner.

Shang Rong leaned against the old brick wall, squeezing into that narrow gap. Through a tattered woven bamboo mat, she vaguely saw the youth’s slender, bamboo-like back.

No one had swept the snow in the deep alley. Each step he took made a soft rustling sound.

The sound gradually grew distant, then disappeared.

Between heaven and earth, Shang Rong could hear only her own breathing. Her feet were deeply buried in the snow, already numb. She silently hugged her knees, hiding in a corner no one knew of.

She did not know how long passed. Sleepy and exhausted, she curled up with her forehead against her knees, drifting into drowsiness. In her haze, the faint sound of bells approached.

Shang Rong raised her head and saw a slender dog with glossy black fur. A small bell hung at its neck, and a broken length of rope was tied to its collar, dragging along the ground.

It made constant threatening sounds, its pale white fangs bared.

Shang Rong was so frightened she fell back onto the ground. Behind her was a wall, before her the vicious dog—she had nowhere to retreat. In panic, she grabbed a handful of snow and threw it at the dog. Taking the chance, she got up, circled around it, and ran.

She had not run more than a few steps when she realized the slender dog had not chased her. Turning back, she saw half its body thrust into the place where she had been hiding just now. Before long, it dragged out half a chicken leg and began to eat it.

Behind her came the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow.

Shang Rong turned her head. An old man in black robes had at some point appeared behind her. His complexion was somewhat dark, his face lined with many wrinkles, his brows sharp and unruly, several spots scattered across his cheeks—yet his features somehow felt familiar to her.

“It also knows that’s a good place to hide treasure.”

He looked toward the slender dog crouching by the wall, gnawing on the bone. His eyes curved slightly. Though his face was aged, his voice was astonishingly cool and clear.

“…Zhezhu?” Shang Rong stared at him in shock for a long while.

He abandoned the deliberately hunched posture and stood upright. The curve of his eyes deepened, like a crescent moon. He tossed the item he was carrying to her feet. “Put them on.”

Shang Rong lowered her head. It was a pair of lotus-colored cloth shoes, lined inside with dense white rabbit fur. They were not exactly beautiful, but with one glance she could tell they must be very warm.

“Thank you.”

Shang Rong’s lashes trembled slightly as she spoke softly.

Supporting herself with his arm, she stood and removed the pair of soft embroidered shoes whose soles were already worn through, then put on the rabbit-fur cloth shoes. The fluffy soles were so soft it felt like stepping on clouds.

Snow began to fall from the sky again.

The biting wind blew at her heavy, damp sleeves. She lifted her head and met those clear, crystalline eyes of his—something no decaying exterior could conceal, the youthful spirit that belonged to him alone.

“Stick it on,”

He opened a wooden box before her. Inside lay a thin, semi-transparent thing. The medicinal fragrance mixed with the sour smell of some unknown liquid drifted out. She heard the youth’s calm and light voice:

“I’ll take you to eat something good.”

Footnotes

• 1
  Wen: a small unit of copper coin currency in ancient China; commonly used for everyday small payments.
• 2
  Mafeisan: a traditional Chinese anesthetic powder used in ancient medicine to numb pain during surgical procedures.