Chapter 14

Gao Nuan recounted the story of the boy afflicted by the pox to her younger brother. Gao Zhao and Yu Shensi were astounded—such a thing was unheard of, unprecedented.

“Perhaps Heaven took pity on him,” Gao Zhao finally sighed after a moment. Witnessing someone’s desperate will to survive, even the King of Hell would hesitate to take him; he had no better explanation.

Yu Shensi, however, wondered secretly: could this anomaly mean the boy was a transmigrator like himself, protected by some novice’s shield? When he first arrived in this world, suffering from hunger and illness, a few hearty meals had restored him remarkably fast.

He dared not share such speculations with Gao Nuan and her brother.

He asked, “Will you keep bringing him food?”

Gao Nuan had been deeply moved by the boy’s tenacity—something she herself could not match. The strength he carried made her want to assist him, not out of pity, but to draw from his resolve. She believed that someone with such will would do great things in the future; a helping hand now might one day return the favor.

The boy’s illness had improved, and though caution was still necessary, her initial fear had diminished. Seeing her youngest brother still so small, she withheld her deeper thoughts, simply saying, “He’s the best eyewitness we have.” To ease their worries, she assured them she would be careful and explained that tomorrow she intended to buy medicine at the village pharmacy.

The boy’s symptoms had eased thanks to the wild roots he dug up and ate, but there was danger—he could accidentally ingest something poisonous. Niushan was a graveyard for the surrounding villages, rarely visited except for rituals; villagers knew little of its plants.

Yu Shensi quickly asked, “Do you know what medicine to buy?”

Gao Nuan was momentarily stumped. She had been young when she had chickenpox, never saw the doctor’s prescription, only remembered honeysuckle and forsythia; the rest was unclear. Her illness had been mild, unlike the boy’s severe symptoms, and the medicines would differ.

There was no way to ask a doctor without raising suspicion of a pox outbreak, which would bring trouble to her family.

Seeing her hesitation, Yu Shensi smiled. “I know what to buy.” He ran to the book chest, rummaged through a pile of “miscellaneous books,” and produced a medical text. To their surprise, it was “The True Canon of Pox and Measles,” detailing treatments for highly contagious illnesses like chickenpox and measles.

The book was thorough, covering diagnosis, symptom analysis, and treatment methods for different stages and symptoms, complete with case studies and prescriptions. Even those without medical training could follow it and apply the remedies.

Gao Zhao laughed, patting his younger brother. “You always read strange books and actually found something useful. I’d forgotten we had this one.” He hadn’t paid it much mind when organizing, as it had little relevance to the civil service examination, and later forgot about it.

Yu Shensi hadn’t studied it deeply, just skimmed enough to see its practical content—he treated it as a reference. When he first met the boy, he had thought of this book, but hesitated to mention it since Gao Nuan was determined not to intervene.

Now, it was just what they needed.

Gao Nuan referenced the boy’s symptoms, found the proper treatment, and located similar cases and prescriptions. Yet, seeing the list of medicines, she hesitated.

The siblings had saved barely over ten taels of silver in the past two years, and these medicines would cost a fair sum. She would have to embroider countless pieces and copy books for many days.

She looked to Gao Zhao for advice.

Gao Zhao remained silent for a moment, then said optimistically, “We can earn more silver. The New Year is coming soon; I’ll not only write memorial texts for others but also couplets. Maybe we’ll earn it back before year’s end!”

With her brother’s reassurance, Gao Nuan felt at ease.

—

Villagers rarely called for doctors for minor illnesses, relying instead on experience to buy herbs. The pharmacy clerk was used to such requests. Upon hearing Gao Nuan’s list, he asked, “What illness is it?”

She lied, “Fever, cough, excess internal heat. We’ve used these before for recovery.”

She purchased herbs for dispelling wind, clearing heat, detoxifying, and removing dampness. The clerk, young and inexperienced, saw nothing amiss. The village pharmacy stocked only common remedies, and Gao Nuan managed to buy only half the required herbs—already spending over one tael of silver.

When she returned home to prepare the medicine, the neighbor Granny Four smelled the decoction and came to ask who was sick. Gao Nuan used Gao Zhao’s sprained ankle as a pretext. “It’s for Xiao Zhao’s foot bath.” Granny Four believed her.

Gao Nuan poured the medicine into a gourd, took some food, and brought them to the pox-ridden boy.

The boy had expected their acquaintance to end with yesterday’s offering, never imagining she would return, bringing medicine and food.

He felt better today than yesterday—though his body still itched unbearably, the pain had lessened, his throat was more comfortable, and the pox was beginning to scab. With medicine and food, his recovery would speed up.

He drank half the medicine in one gulp, grimacing at the bitterness. After a breath, he raised his head and swallowed the rest, coughing hard. Two sips of warm water steadied his breath.

“Why did you decide to help me?” he asked curiously.

Gao Nuan replied, “I didn’t save you; you saved yourself. I merely lent you a hand.”

The boy was quiet for a while, then said in a low voice, “I will remember your kindness.”

Gao Nuan laughed, “Get well first—then we’ll talk.”

Over the next few days, Gao Nuan used her visits to her mother’s grave as a pretext, bringing medicine and food daily, even finding a clean set of clothes for him. She always left the items on a stone ten paces away, letting the boy retrieve them while she kept her distance.

She positioned herself upwind, believing this would prevent contamination; then, she thoroughly washed herself at home to ensure safety. Now, the boy could walk with a stick, and as the scabs fell away, his strength returned.

Gao Zhao and Yu Shensi went about their days as usual, showing no symptoms but remaining vigilant. They burned mugwort at home for prevention, and when villagers asked, they still cited Gao Zhao’s injured foot. Mugwort was commonly used for sprains, so their explanation held.

One day, Gao Nuan went again to the small pond east of the ancestral grave, but the boy was gone.

His illness had improved enough not to risk contagion, nor would he be seen as unlucky anymore.

She knew he wasn’t the type to forget kindness—he would return someday. Yet, his silent departure left her displeased. She needed to uncover the truth behind the events and expose her uncle’s crime; the boy was the key witness.

Descending the mountain, she reached the village entrance and saw several women sunning themselves, sewing shoes, and chatting by the wall.

Aunt Gui boasted to the others about Meier’s good marriage. Now, heavily pregnant, Meier did nothing; even clothes for the unborn child were made by her mother-in-law, who feared tiring her. She also praised her own son, Tigerhead, who was making progress under Scholar Fan; among Fan’s students, Tigerhead was the most promising. The other women voiced their envy.

As Gao Nuan approached, their eyes turned to her. Usually unnoticed, today they realized she had grown into a young woman—fair-faced and blossoming, as beautiful as a flower.

“Fourteen, isn’t she?” one asked.

“She’ll be fifteen at New Year.”

“She’ll be looking for a husband soon. I wonder which family will be lucky enough to marry the daughter of a top scholar.”

“Surely a young master from an official’s household, not someone from our village.”

“Yes, if she married locally, it’d be like a flower stuck in dung.”

The women whispered among themselves.

Gao Nuan greeted them with a smile.

Aunt Gui, listening to their words, felt her pride instantly vanish. She recalled how Meier had told her that Nuan had cursed her with early death and marital discord. The thought angered her—whatever quarrel girls might have, such words were too harsh. She’d wanted to confront Nuan, but her husband stopped her, urging her not to trouble a motherless child, especially since their son had studied with Nuan’s family for years and her father had contributed to repairing the ancestral hall. So, she had held back.

Later, she told Sabao’s mother, who didn’t believe her.

How could her own daughter and son-in-law lie?

Aunt Gui smiled brightly, but her words were biting. “During the mourning period, I never saw Nuan go up the mountain daily to pay respects. Now that the mourning is over, she goes every day. Is she hiding something up there?”

Her words were unpleasant, not only to Nuan but to the other women as well. Especially the last remark, which was harsh—such insinuations could damage the reputation of a girl at the blossoming age.

Aunt Wang nudged her, hinting she had spoken out of turn, unaware that Aunt Gui had done so deliberately.

Gao Nuan suppressed her anger, pretending not to understand the barb, and replied gently, “Now that the mourning is over and I’m soon leaving the village, I won’t be able to visit my late mother often. That’s why I go every day.” Noticing a woman embroidering a wristband, she praised, “Sister, your embroidery is beautiful. I saw one at Zhang’s shop, not as fine as yours. The clerk bought it for eighty coins and sold it for double, with many girls scrambling to buy—very popular.”

Her compliment about the embroidery struck a chord; the woman remembered the eighty coins, far more than what she herself received.

After Gao Nuan left, the women realized why she hadn’t let Tigerhead’s mother sell her embroidery after last year’s harvest.

Not far away, she heard the women arguing with Aunt Gui about the matter. Everyone knew Aunt Gui took more than one coin for running errands, but since a trip to the county took a day, they tolerated it. However, the price difference for the wristbands was significant.

Aunt Gui cursed Nuan in her heart, not expecting the girl to outmaneuver her. After last year’s incident, she’d raised prices for neighbors. Over time, she was unafraid of Nuan’s accusations—there was no proof. Yet wristbands were new this year, and she had indeed profited from them.

A few days later, Gao Nuan learned from Granny Four that the women and girls no longer let Aunt Gui sell their embroidery.

A few more days passed. Gao Zhao and Yu Shensi showed no signs of illness—they had avoided the pox. The siblings' anxiety finally eased, and Gao Zhao no longer feigned injury, staying home.

At last, the three were ready to visit their uncle in Tianwan Village. They had received no news from him for over half a year, not even on the day they finished mourning, leaving them uneasy. Tianwan Village bordered Shuanghe Village to the northeast, so they planned to stop by Shi Village and find the boy’s parents for more evidence.

At the end of the eleventh lunar month, the north wind carried a biting chill, reddening faces and making hands reluctant to leave their sleeves.

The siblings packed their bundles the night before and departed early, taking a detour through the county town to Tianwan Village. By noon, they caught an ox cart heading to Shuanghe Village.

On the cart, they chatted with the driver, casually mentioning the boy with the pox. They hoped to probe, but unexpectedly, the driver knew the family.

“You don’t know how strange it was,” the driver said, as if sharing a shocking secret. “The boy was bought when he was barely alive—everyone thought he’d die within two days. But a few days ago, he came home lively as ever, startling his parents—they thought they’d seen a ghost! Rumor has it the person who bought him asked a mountain spirit to cure him. Now, his parents are looking everywhere for the benefactor!”

The siblings exchanged glances, understanding the boy’s intention. Gao Nuan felt gratified—her help had not been in vain.

“Have they found him?” Yu Shensi pressed.

“When I went to town yesterday, I heard they had some clues—not sure if they’ve found him yet.”