Chapter 46: The Day You Also Need My Help

A dull thud echoed as Yang Dahui’s wife collided with the edge of a protruding stone slab, causing blood to gush forth instantly, and she lost consciousness completely.

Meanwhile, Yang Dahui continued to slurp his corn porridge, oblivious to the muffled sound at the door.

Enduring the searing pain in his throat, he managed to drink a few more sips of porridge before standing up to fill a bowl for his disabled son and taking it into the bedroom.

When he came out, he still hadn’t seen his wife, so he walked to the entrance to check.

Through the dim light of the pine oil lamp, Yang Dahui saw his wife lying in a pool of blood.

He hurried over to lift her, but upon seeing her bloodied face, he was so scared that his legs turned to jelly.

There were no doctors in the village; the nearest was a half-hearted village doctor from the neighboring village.

Yang Dahui knew very well that if he carried his wife to the neighboring village for medical help, he might not make it halfway there.

In their village, only Old Man Ji and another middle-aged man surnamed Hu had ox carts.

Two years ago, a dispute over land had arisen between Yang Dahui and the Hu man, leading to a complete breakdown of their relationship. They hadn’t spoken in years and would spit at each other upon sight, making it impossible for him to borrow an ox cart.

The Hu man might even celebrate the news of his wife’s injury, lighting firecrackers to commemorate the misfortune that had befallen Yang Dahui.

After some consideration, Yang Dahui reluctantly went to knock on Old Man Ji’s door.

At that moment, Hu Zhaodi was climbing onto the bed, sitting cross-legged in preparation to practice her skills.

Hearing the knocking, Hu Zhaodi frowned, put on her shoes, lit the pine oil lamp, and went to open the door.

Old Man Ji was the village head now, so it was normal for villagers to come seeking help.

When she opened the door, Hu Zhaodi was met with the anxious face of Yang Dahui.

Upon seeing Hu Zhaodi, Yang Dahui suddenly knelt down with a “thud,” his hands flailing in a chaotic gesture.

Hu Zhaodi felt overwhelmed and couldn’t make sense of his actions.

In desperation, Yang Dahui bumped his head against the door frame and gestured as if blood was flowing down from his forehead.

After a moment of confusion, Hu Zhaodi finally understood that someone in Yang Dahui’s family had injured their head.

With irritation, Hu Zhaodi said, “If someone in your family has hurt their head, why aren’t you taking them to see a doctor? Why are you coming to me?”

Yang Dahui pointed at the ox cart in Old Man Ji’s yard, his face filled with pleading.

“Oh, you want to borrow the ox cart? Sorry, it’s not mine; I can’t make that decision,” she replied.

Just then, Old Man Ji emerged from the bedroom, draped in a coat.

“Zhaodi, who is it?” he asked.

Hu Zhaodi turned to him, “It’s the former village head.”

“What’s the matter?”

Hu Zhaodi shrugged, “He wants to borrow the ox cart. It seems someone in his family has hurt their head.”

As the village head, Old Man Ji felt obliged to help, even if he was reluctant.

With a sigh, he put on his clothes and went to harness the ox cart.

Hu Zhaodi felt a pang of sympathy, but she didn’t want to get involved with Yang Dahui’s family.

If nothing was wrong, it would be fine, but if something happened, that family would undoubtedly blame her without hesitation.

Yet, she also couldn’t bear to send the elderly man out at this late hour.

With a silent sigh, she grabbed the pine oil lamp and rushed out of the yard.

By the time Old Man Ji had harnessed the ox cart, Hu Zhaodi returned with Brother Ji.

Hu Zhaodi snatched the whip from Old Man Ji’s hand, saying, “Mr. Ji, you should go rest. Brother Ji and I will handle it.”

Brother Ji chimed in, “Yeah, Dad, you should go back and rest! Zhaodi and I will go, don’t worry; I’ll make sure to take care of her.”

Old Man Ji wanted to say something, but Hu Zhaodi pushed him back into the house, insisting, “Go rest! With Brother Ji here, you can relax.”

Hu Zhaodi pushed Old Man Ji back into the house, quickly closed the door behind her, and grabbed a torch to light it. She said coldly to Yang Dahui, “Let’s go!”

Brother Ji and Hu Zhaodi jumped onto the ox cart, and Yang Dahui hurriedly followed, head down.

The three arrived at Yang Dahui’s home, where his wife was bleeding even more profusely.

Yang Dahui lifted his wife onto the ox cart, not bothering to grab any bedding for her.

Brother Ji remained silent, driving the ox cart toward the neighboring village.

By the time they reached the home of the half-hearted village doctor, it was already deep into the night.

Yang Dahui approached the door and knocked.

After a long wait, an impatient voice called from inside, “Who is it? Can’t you let me sleep at night?”

Yang Dahui was too distressed to respond, continuing to knock.

“Coming, coming! You’re so impatient!”

With a creak, the village doctor opened the door.

In the dim light of the pine oil lamp, he recognized Yang Dahui.

“Oh, I thought it was someone important. It’s just the former village head from Dawai Village! What do you want?” The doctor deliberately emphasized “former,” his face twisted in disdain.

From the doctor’s disgusted expression, it seemed there was some unknown grudge between him and Yang Dahui.

Yang Dahui, his face full of humility, pointed at his wife in the ox cart, opening his mouth but unable to make any sound.

The village doctor retorted, “What? Have you lost your voice?”

Yang Dahui pointed at his mouth, his face pleading, and then turned to lift his wife down from the cart and present her before the doctor.

Upon seeing Yang Dahui’s wife covered in blood, with a large gash on her forehead, the village doctor felt a surge of unease.

He quickly stopped Yang Dahui, saying, “Hold on, hold on! She looks like she’s about to die. Don’t carry her into my house; if she breathes her last there, I don’t want that bad luck!”

Yang Dahui’s eyes turned red, and he couldn’t speak, so he slowly knelt down with his wife.

The doctor looked down at him with contempt, “Oh! So you, Yang Dahui, can kneel down and beg? Do you remember Zhu Cuihua from your village? She’s my cousin. When she knelt down to plead with you, how did you humiliate her?”

Yang Dahui froze in place, disbelief written all over his face.

The doctor smirked, “Didn’t expect that, did you? You’ve come to me for help? After humiliating my cousin and nearly causing her to die from despair, now you have the audacity to beg?”

Yang Dahui set his wife down and knelt upright in front of the doctor, repeatedly bowing his head, pleading for the doctor to save his wife.

Though just a half-hearted doctor, he at least had some medical ethics.

With a sigh, he squatted down and checked Yang Dahui’s wife’s pulse.

He examined her injury, lifted her eyelids, then shook his head and sighed, “My skills are lacking; I can’t help you. You should go.”

Yang Dahui panicked and bowed his head even more fervently.

If his wife died, who would take care of his paralyzed son?

No, he couldn’t give up.

Even if there was the slightest hope, he couldn’t let go!

The doctor said coldly, “Even if you bang your head against the ground in front of me, it’s useless. You’ve wasted so much time; she’s lost too much blood. I really can’t save her.

You didn’t even try to stop the bleeding when she had such a big cut. What good is it to come here and beg? Unless you have ginseng to keep her alive and take her to the county hospital, maybe there’s a slight chance.”