Chapter 8

When their bodies slammed onto the river’s surface, the tremendous impact sent a jolt of dizziness through Shao Qing’s mind. The tree trunk unceasingly carried them straight downward.

Desperately fighting to stay conscious, Shao Qing used one hand to shield the head of Wei Jing—who had already fainted—while the other clutched the trunk tightly, pressing her own head against her arm. She had chosen this trunk not only to serve as driftwood. If the riverbed’s edge wasn’t deep enough, she also prayed it might provide a sufficient cushion.

With a dull “boom,” the lowest end of the trunk crashed directly into the rocky bed below. The shock was so severe that Shao Qing’s head could no longer rest on her arm, and it abruptly banged against the trunk.

Her vision went black for a moment; in her daze, barely any time had passed. But when she finally forced herself to open her eyes again, she and Wei Jing were being tossed by the churning river, rapidly drifting downstream.

Though the original owner wasn’t adept at swimming, the former Shao Qing—who had once been an avid outdoor enthusiast—was a skilled swimmer, an instinct engraved deep in her soul. Almost immediately upon regaining consciousness, her legs kicked instinctively, using the trunk’s buoyancy to push herself upward.

The light gradually grew stronger, and the instant she burst through the water’s surface, Shao Qing turned her head and looked back. The spot where she had jumped into the river was far behind her now; the massive rocks and low trees appeared as dark, ink-green patches with no visible gap, and the figures in black or blue were nowhere to be seen.

Though safety was not yet assured, an overwhelming joy in having survived the ordeal swelled within her. Clutching Wei Jing tightly with the arm that embraced the trunk, she wrapped the trunk between them. Freeing one hand, she used her hands and feet to battle for balance.

Tossed up and down, the cold river water intermittently submerged her mouth and nose as Shao Qing desperately fought to reach the shore. Yet the rushing current mercilessly thwarted her efforts.

Amid this strenuous struggle, at some indeterminate moment, the rain ceased, the wind died down, and the sky gradually darkened. Exhausted beyond measure, she could only cling on tightly to Wei Jing and the trunk, sinking into darkness.

…

When Shao Qing opened her eyes again, dusk had fully settled over the evening, and the last glow of the setting sun bathed the horizon in its gentle light.

A single ray of orange-red twilight pierced her eyes. She quickly shut her eyes and shielded them with her hand before opening them again. Her head felt dizzy, and her vision dimmed. After blinking laboriously, clarity began to return. She stared at the dark red horizon for a long moment. Then, moving her other hand, she realized something was biting or tugging at her. Startled, Shao Qing finally came fully to her senses.

She was on a riverbank—a place of mixed yellow sand and mud, with clusters of reeds sprawling into the river. The river’s surface was broad and level. She found herself lying on the bank, with her lower body still soaked in the river water. Next to her was a tree trunk, and on the other side of that trunk lay Wei Jing.

Had she survived? They had been washed ashore by the river.

Overjoyed, Shao Qing quickly sat up to check on Wei Jing. A sudden bout of weakness and dizziness made her stagger for a moment, and she rushed over only after a while.

“Husband?”

Her first instinct was to check his pulse and breathing. Although his pulse was faint and his breathing shallow and erratic, they were unmistakably present.

In that instant of joy, Shao Qing’s eyes welled with tears. “How wonderful, how wonderful! We both survived!”

Without delay, she untied the long sword that had been secured to the tree trunk and removed all the bindings from both of their arms. Though her limbs trembled with weakness, her spirits soared, and full of determination, she quickly inspected Wei Jing’s mouth. Using the tree trunk for support, she applied pressure to help him expel the water.

Wei Jing’s face and lips were as white as porcelain, yet he hadn’t coughed up much water. Carefully, Shao Qing lowered him and pressed his abdomen. Finding it not swollen, she deduced that not much water had accumulated. It was clear that his condition was caused by severe injuries compounded with lingering toxins.

Hurriedly, Shao Qing pulled open his garment to examine his wounds. As she unwrapped the bandages, faded herbal remnants fell away, revealing that the wound at his collarbone had been blanched by prolonged exposure to the water.

They couldn’t go on like this. Right now, Wei Jing needed a healer and warmth more than anything. But the desolate landscape—with a howling, chilly river wind and no sign of people or villages in sight—left Shao Qing, weakened and penniless (and still an escapee), with no means to carry Wei Jing off to seek medical help. She stood up in a panic, glancing around anxiously. After a moment’s thought, she bent down to drag Wei Jing away from the water’s edge, then hid among the reeds before proceeding along the riverbank in search.

In her past life, Shao Qing’s old hometown was a small town by the great river. She remembered that fishermen would always construct modest sheds along the river, complete with stoves and piles of firewood for cooking and resting, so they could take temporary shelter during heavy rains. She mused that this was all ancestral wisdom, unchanged through the ages, and she set out to find any such sheds.

Alas, after following the riverbank upstream for two or three li—even reaching the foot of the mountain—she still found no sign of one.

By then, the setting sun had disappeared, and the world lay shrouded in darkness. Exhausted and weakened, she forced herself to suppress her disappointment, rushed back to her original spot to check on Wei Jing, and then turned around to head downstream again.

Further downstream, clusters of reeds grew thickly one after another, startling several wild ducks into flight. Panting heavily, she finally burst out from a tall cluster of reeds and, at last, spotted a small, low shack several dozen meters ahead.

It was an extremely rudimentary shack—barely taller than an ordinary person—with a thatched roof and wooden plank walls that let in drafts. There was no bed; only a few narrow wooden boards served as a makeshift mattress. At its center lay a hearth. Against the mountainside, the local farmer’s firewood was of little value, but in one corner, the space was piled high with logs.

Yet, it was precisely this crude little shack that nearly brought Shao Qing to tears of joy. Leaning against the empty doorway, she gasped for breath in large, heaving gulps before hastily returning to retrieve Wei Jing.

With the cool river wind of the night blowing, she knew she had to quickly get Wei Jing brought over to safety.

Moving Wei Jing was no easy feat. Shao Qing’s limbs felt weak, her head pounded with a low, relentless hum, and her body screamed that it had reached its limit. Yet she dared not pause—she knew full well that once her strength was spent, she wouldn’t be able to rally it again. She had to muster one final burst of energy to pull Wei Jing over.

The riverbank offered little more than a scattering of sparse, short trees, far from enough to fashion a makeshift stretcher. Fortunately, the ground was mostly yellow sand. She grabbed the vine rope and cloth strips she had cut earlier, tied them around Wei Jing’s shoulders and back, and dragged him forward with every ounce of strength.

Step by agonizing step, with frequent stops as sweat poured down her face, she eventually managed to haul Wei Jing to the humble shack.

Collapsed on the ground, she lay there for a long while before barely managing to sit up. The bed, assembled from wooden planks, was very low—and she had no strength left to lift Wei Jing onto it. All she could do was remove the planks from underneath and push him up onto the bed.

There was something to start a fire—a pair of flint stones—but they were unfamiliar to Shao Qing. At that moment, however, she could only feel grateful. When she picked up the two pieces of flint and struck them with a “da-da-da” rhythm to spark a flame, she even managed a bitter little joke to herself, hoping that all the hardships of her life were done and dusted at the beginning; otherwise, a lifetime of misery would be more than she could bear.

At last, fortune smiled on her just this once. Despite her inexperience, a few sparks flew out after several dozen strikes and landed on the dry grass spread in the fire pit. The fire finally caught.

She carefully added more twigs and wood, and soon, the fire in the pit blazed robustly. Red flames danced, and a surge of comforting warmth washed over her face. Then, Shao Qing realized her wet clothes clung to her skin, and she had been shivering uncontrollably. Without pausing to attend to herself, she hurried over to strip Wei Jing of his soaking clothes, then stoked the fire even further.

For these two who were only half strangers, none of that mattered anymore. With her eyes closed, she gathered a good bunch of dry hay and used it to cover the unsightly part of him.

Once everything was temporarily set up, Shao Qing caught her breath. She didn’t have time to take care of herself—she grabbed her sword and went outside to chop some low branches off the trees, then headed into the reed marsh to collect two clutches of wild duck eggs.

She tied the branches together to make a drying rack for her clothes and started to undress. After a moment’s thought, she decided not to strip completely but only to dry her outer shirt and trousers first; once they were dry, she would change into a set of inner garments.

Wei Jing was of secondary concern—the key was that Shao Qing was terrified that an outsider might suddenly appear. This makeshift hut didn’t even have a door, which made her feel extremely unsafe.

The wild duck eggs, still covered in mud, were thrown into the fire to roast. Since Wei Jing couldn’t eat them now, she had no choice but to resort to the old method and feed him some raw egg liquid.

After getting everything in order, the night had grown very deep. Exhaustion made Shao Qing’s vision go dark. She barely managed to check Wei Jing’s breathing and pulse, and she found that he seemed a bit improved. All her energy left her in one gulp—she immediately collapsed to the ground, fainting.

…

In the middle of the night, Wei Jing developed a fever.

Dazed and half-asleep, Shao Qing suddenly felt extremely cold; startled, she regained consciousness. Her inner garments were still half wet, and the chill seemed to seep right through her bones. Shivering uncontrollably, she reached out with trembling hands to feel the roasted outer clothes—finding them dry, she quickly changed into them.

While tying her belt, she moved over to the wooden plank bed and, by the light of the fire, took a look.

“Oh no!”

Wei Jing’s lips and face, which had been ghostly pale before, were now a vivid red, and his whole body burned up. Yet when she touched him, not a drop of sweat was found. He was running a fever!

What should she do? What should she do?

Shao Qing knew many methods for nursing a feverish patient, but now, she had no tools or medicine at her disposal—not even the means to boil warm water for him to drink. The cool river breeze flowed in through the doorless opening of the ramshackle hut. Fearing he might catch a chill, she quickly dressed him in his dried outer garments before snatching up a burning log and racing out. She intended to search outside for any of the few antipyretic herbs she was familiar with—such as moneywort—that might help reduce his fever.

A solitary, cold moon hung slantwise in the sky as the tide rolled in with a rhythmic sound. The river breeze rustled the nearby reeds with a “swish-swish,” and it turned out that aside from the reeds and huddled stunted trees, the riverbank was filled with nothing but various wild grasses of differing heights.

Shao Qing searched desperately with wide eyes for a while but found nothing. She had no choice but to rush to the riverbank. She wet a strip of cloth and scooped up a handful of river water, holding it in her mouth.

When someone has a fever, the most fundamental remedy is to drink plenty of warm water. However, she couldn’t boil any water—and she had no container to do so—and the icy raw water was far too cold to give to Wei Jing directly.

Under normal circumstances, Shao Qing would have found such a measure utterly repulsive. Yet now, with no other option for saving his life, every taboo had to be set aside. She applied the wet cloth to Wei Jing’s forehead. After a brief pause, she leaned over and pressed her lips to his.

He was parched; the moment he sensed the moisture, his lips parted and he began to suck it in. Even after she fed him, he still craved more.

After making seven or eight trips, Wei Jing finally seemed satisfied. His responsiveness began to return—his breathing grew heavier, and before long, he broke into a sweat.

Shao Qing wiped the sweat off him several times and finally removed his soaked outer garments, replacing them with dry inner clothes. His temperature finally began to drop. Overjoyed, she burst into tears—even though she was utterly exhausted, she couldn’t help but collapse onto the wooden plank bed, murmuring, “Please, get well soon.”

After escaping together and sharing life and death, Wei Jing was no longer, in her heart, that optimal means of escape she had once calculated. No matter what, she longed to see him recover.

She mumbled to herself, not expecting any reply—but as soon as she finished, a large hand landed on the top of her head.

“… Don’t cry.”