Chapter 1

“Hey, hey…”

A plump woman in a bright scarlet hemp jacket stumbled breathlessly into the Yu family’s courtyard. The moment she stepped inside, she plopped herself down heavily on the ground, her flesh jiggling three times in quick succession. After catching her breath, she shouted in a loud voice:

“Something’s wrong! Brother Yu’s wife, your eldest girl has run away!!”

From inside the house came a young man, around twenty-two or twenty-three, with a dark, diamond-shaped face and well-proportioned features that suggested he had once been a handsome lad. But he was hunched over, his eyes dull and lifeless, his whole demeanor giving off an unimpressive, beaten-down air.

“What?! What did you say?!”

Yu Dahong’s voice was filled with shock — his timid daughter, the one who wouldn’t make a sound even if beaten with a stick, had actually dared to run away?

Behind him, Tan Hongmei jogged out. She was slender and not bad-looking, but life had been harsher to women than to men, and it made her seem older than Dahong.

“Where did she run to? Go find her! Go get the brigade captain, have him bring people to search with us.”

She had already taken 200 yuan in bride price from Wang the Cripple — if the girl was gone, that money would have to be returned.

The plump woman pointed toward the back mountain. “She ran into Pine Mountain.”

Pine Mountain was about two li (roughly one kilometer) behind Yu Family Village. It was deep and wild — ten years ago wolves had still been coming down to snatch people. Even the foot of Cang Mountain rarely saw anyone passing through.

If that little girl went in there, she’d probably be eaten by wild animals within a day.

Yu Dahong gritted his teeth. “We still have to look. Go gather a few men from the clan, bring weapons, and come with me.”

“Huff… huff… huff…”

Under a red pine tree, a young girl leaned against the trunk, gasping for air. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and licked her dry lips, parched from running.

Yu Huai had arrived in this body three days ago.

In the 21st century, she had been a burned-out graduate student of traditional Chinese medicine — and yes, she herself was the “dog” in the saying “dog-tired,” working herself to the bone. At first she had just been curious about Chinese medicine, thinking it was something precious passed down from the ancestors. In a moment of impulse, she’d chosen it as her major, only to find that the all-nighters lasted longer than her own life.

On the way back from a free clinic with her advisor, she’d suddenly felt dizzy, collapsed, and her heart stopped. She knew she had died of sudden cardiac arrest. Her soul had floated above, watching her advisor press her Renzhong point, even pull out acupuncture needles to stab her Neiguan and Yongquan points — but it was useless.

When she woke again, she was in 1984, in Yu Family Village, as Yu Dahong’s twenty-year-old eldest daughter — also named Yu Huai.

Same name, different fate.

This Yu Huai had never seen a kind look from her parents. Since childhood, she’d been sent to work the fields, feed pigs, and care for two younger brothers. At mealtimes she was always the last to sit, eating only leftovers. And now, for the sake of 200 yuan in bride price, they were selling her to an old cripple old enough to be her father.

Unable to accept it, the original Yu Huai had run headfirst into a wall one night. That was when the modern Yu Huai came over — with a huge lump on her head. Her family hadn’t cared, so she’d gone up the mountain to gather sanqi (Tianqi root), frankincense, and myrrh, boiled them up, and nursed herself back.

She was not the type to sit and wait for death. She had lived twenty-five years — surely she could handle a “little problem” like this.

In her eyes, any difficult situation could be solved if you were willing to risk it all. She had stolen matches, a quilt, and some food from home, and hidden them in the mountains. The money was locked in a cupboard; she didn’t have the key and couldn’t pick it with wire, so she had given up on that.

By 1985, China still wasn’t wealthy, but it was much better than the ’70s — if she could get out, she probably wouldn’t starve.

After resting under the red pine for a while, she went to her hiding spots to collect her stashed items, wrapped them in a square cloth, and tied it to herself.

She knew there were wild animals in the mountains — but she feared her man-eating biological parents more.

She had made rough sachets out of mugwort and mint to ward off insects and snakes. As for beasts, she had a sickle from home — and as long as they didn’t bite through an artery, she could treat herself.

She’d stayed in the mountains for about five days. At first she could still hear people calling at the foot of the mountain, but for the last two days, there had been no more voices. Two days later, she finally emerged from her hiding cave — looking like a wildling.

She came out just before sunset, when the villagers working in the fields were heading home. Perfect time to make a run for the city.

She walked step by step down the mountain, one hand on a large wooden stick she’d found for a walking staff, the other holding her sickle, with a filthy bundle on her back.

It was March — no longer bitterly cold, but still chilly when the wind blew. She hunched her neck against the breeze; her patch-covered clothes did nothing to keep out the cold. On Pine Mountain, the only sounds were her feet crunching leaves and the flap of birds’ wings above.

Yu Huai wasn’t afraid. She had faced all kinds of patients, even one mentally unstable man who stripped naked, eyes gleaming, and charged at her with a knife.

Silence was a good thing — if there was a noise, then she’d be alert.

Just as she thought that, she heard a man’s muffled groan of pain from a bush ahead on her left. Her eyes widened, her grip on the sickle tightened, and she was about to turn and leave when the man in the bushes spotted her.

He was faster. A dark shadow flashed, and suddenly something cold was pressed to her forehead.

Yu Huai froze. She cursed silently in her mind — just her luck to run into someone with a gun. In 1984, gun control wasn’t as strict as it would become later.

She didn’t dare look up, but she could see that the man’s chest was solid — in a fight, he could probably take down three of her.

He wore a black one-piece jumpsuit, his arms muscular and brimming with strength, veins standing out — perfect for acupuncture. Moving her gaze down, she saw a narrow waist, firm hips, and long, powerful legs.

As a medical student, she knew the human body well — and this man was a specimen. But then she noticed that the skin on the side of his hiking boot was abnormally swollen and red, with dark purple discoloration around two small puncture marks — a snakebite.

The gun at her forehead pushed forward slightly, making her head tilt back.

The man spoke.

“Where are you from?”

His voice was like stone rubbed against sandpaper — rough — yet his deep timbre was as rich as a fine cello, warm and dense in texture, every word wrapped in an air of refined elegance.