Chapter 24

As night fully descended over Huagou Village, lively shouts calling children home for dinner echoed everywhere.

The farther toward the village’s edge one went, the fewer the houses and the quieter it got. By the time one reached the foot of the mountain, only the sounds of insects, frogs, and rustling trees remained.

A lone, dilapidated thatched hut sat shrouded in the sprawling shadows of the mountain behind it. The thin grass rope tied to the door had frayed and snapped; the mountain wind blew the battered door open with a loud bang, hitting the wall and shaking down clumps of yellow dirt.

Moonlight poured through the doorway, seamlessly blending with the faint candlelight inside.

He Jinshan maintained the exact same posture as when Jiang Heniang had left, his gaze sweeping toward the distant darkness outside the hut. Suddenly, he chuckled softly.

The wind sure was strong tonight.

If the candle had been blown out, he wondered if that little brat—afraid of the dark—would’ve cried.

The chuckle tugged at his stomach muscles, immediately triggering a sharper pain in his wound, like a slapback from a prickly little girl.

He Jinshan gritted his teeth and stifled a groan, lowering his head to look at his abdomen. After a moment, he couldn’t hold it in anymore and began shaking with laughter.

The more it hurt, the funnier it felt. And the more he laughed, the worse the pain got.

The “look” that kid had left him in was just too ridiculous.

There he was—dim lighting, a crumbling thatched house, a sunken, cold brick bed. A handsome, rugged man half-dressed, broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted, long legs fully exposed—a true “green” temptation.

While applying medicine, Jiang Heniang had held his shirt hem in one hand and nervously smeared on green herbal paste with the other, clearly overwhelmed.

He Jinshan had reached to just take the whole shirt off—it would’ve been easier.

But she had widened her eyes and pressed down on him with all her might, shaking her head like a rattle drum, absolutely refusing to let her “Little Uncle” strip and show off.

Eventually, her clever little brain had figured it out: she undid the buttons on the lower half of his shirt and tied the hem into a bow around his waist, exposing only the wounded part of his lower abdomen—leaving the chest modestly covered.

As for his legs, one pant leg was rolled up to the thigh, while the other remained untouched—preserving his modesty.

She hadn’t bandaged the wounds afterward, so the “stunning” look had remained just like that.

Back in his days abroad as a Peregrine mercenary, he’d been through countless battles—digging out bullets with bare hands, fighting in rainforests on a broken leg. Out of all the injuries he’d ever sustained, this was the most cautiously treated, the least professional, and the most bizarre.

And yet… it didn’t feel half bad.

That clumsy little kitten, looking so serious while fumbling around—was kind of amusing.

Staring down at his not-yet-healed body, He Jinshan wasn’t even aware that the smile on his face was growing wider and wider.

Suddenly—movement in the distance.

His smile vanished. He tilted his head and pressed his ear to the wall to listen.

One person. Not carrying anything. Sprinting downhill at full speed.

Their trajectory—headed straight for this hut.

The muscles along his shoulder and arm tensed as the approaching footsteps grew clearer. His large hand gripped an object tightly, fingers slowly curling around it.

At under a hundred meters away, the running abruptly slowed to cautious, stealthy steps—clearly trained.

Footfalls on dead leaves and wild grass were barely distinguishable…

Then—thud.

The runner was now off the mountain path.

Only twenty meters from the hut.

Shing—

The faint sound of a blade being drawn deliberately and quietly.

He Jinshan’s eyes narrowed. With a snap of his thumb, the iron spoon in his hand—bent to the extreme—snapped in two.

Whoosh—

The spoon handle shot out through the window corner like a missile.

Thunk—It struck its target in the chest, fifteen meters away.

A low, pained grunt rang out, followed by retreating, staggered steps growing fainter and fainter until they disappeared entirely.

Inside the hut—

He Jinshan leaned against the wall, breathing slightly heavier, a sheen of sweat across his brow.

His previously over-tensed muscles slowly relaxed. The moist, tearing sound of rapidly regenerating muscles in his abdomen and right leg became more pronounced—louder even than last night.

It was accompanied by a dull ache, like growing pains during adolescence.

A confident smile tugged at his lips.

As he’d suspected, his body was coming back—being rebuilt from this crippled shell.

The gunshot wound in the original body’s waist and abdomen hadn’t been too serious. What had truly forced the original owner out of the military was nerve damage in the leg. A later wolf attack had only made things worse. Even modern medicine couldn’t fully repair that.

This miraculous recovery… like his transmigration, simply defied logic.

Fascinating. Just who would trek across mountains in the dead of night to kill a crippled former platoon leader?

A glint flashed through He Jinshan’s eyes, like a long-starved wolf discovering new prey.

He spun the broken spoon head between his fingers and flicked it—clang!—pinning it to the wooden door that had been swaying in the wind, silencing it instantly.

Some of the herbal paste on his body had rubbed off during the scuffle. He Jinshan scraped a bit with his finger and rubbed it between his fingers.

He recognized the herbs—they could indeed clean and disinfect wounds. But the roots had a mild toxicity, and dosage had to be controlled.

With how Jiang Heniang had slathered it on—like spreading scallion pancakes—it wouldn’t be long before blisters formed. Like a chemical burn.

He Jinshan remembered how he’d hesitated for two seconds… and then let that little brat go to town playing “doctor” on his injured leg.

He had to be under some kind of spell.

With one long finger, he scraped off the thick layer of herbal paste from his leg and tossed it out the window.

Clean up the evidence.

…

—

BZZZZZ—

BZZZZZ—

Jiang Heniang jolted awake, fumbling around under the blanket until she found the vibrating alarm clock shaped like a rooster and shut it off.

She glanced at Jiang Yanqiu across the room and breathed a sigh of relief.

The sky outside was still gray—barely dawn.

She quietly hugged the alarm clock and turned her back, squinting at the time. It wasn’t even five yet.

Groaning, she pulled on a pained expression and struggled to roll out of bed with small, careful movements, finally getting up.

Morning air in Huagou Village was fresh and still. It wasn’t until she neared the village’s edge that the loud crowing of roosters could be heard.

She really was up earlier than the chickens.

Rubbing her tired eyes, Jiang Heniang trudged toward the mountain base with unsteady steps. After seven or eight days of this routine, she could practically sleepwalk her way there.

She gently untied the newly replaced grass rope “lock” on the door, hunched down sneakily, and crept over to the bed, sitting down on the floor beside it.

She rested her head against the brick bed’s edge, reached out to gently place her hand on the man’s large, warm hand—and closed her eyes, hoping to sneak in a nap.

Her plan had been to just rest her eyes during their usual “charging” session—but after so many early mornings and tiring days in the fields, she quickly dozed off for real.

The moment her breathing evened out, the man—who was supposed to be sleeping—opened his eyes, sharp and clear.

He looked down at his immobilized right arm under her cheek.

He Jinshan raised his left hand and rested it behind his head, studying her thoughtfully.

Did this little brat… have some kind of imprinting complex?

Every single morning before dawn, she’d come here, sit by the bed, stare at him. Poke here, touch there. Never said a word.

Then she’d fall asleep holding his hand—only to quietly sneak away an hour later.

After dusk, she’d rush over again, reapply the medicine, stay a while, and leave.

Twice a day—like clockwork.

Her little face had gotten thinner from exhaustion. Look at those dark circles.

Not sleeping at home—was she trying to train hawks?

He Jinshan couldn’t figure it out, but he was getting used to waking at this exact time every day.

To lie still. And wait for her to touch him.

What if I suddenly “woke up”… how would she react?

As he stared at her, a mischievous thought crept in. He gently tried to pull his hand away.

The sleeping girl mumbled in protest, furrowing her brows, then blindly reached out with both hands and clutched his wrist tightly, pulling it back.

Her soft cheek pressed firmly into his palm, and only then did her expression relax again—falling back into deep sleep.

He Jinshan’s eyes flickered. His fingers froze.

That squishy cheek in his hand—was like a bomb.

Her gentle breathing… the fuse.

And then, a thought he hadn’t dared consider before emerged—growing stronger, impossible to ignore.

This little brat… does she like me?