Chapter 005

005  

Gu An chewed on a blade of dogtail grass, watching the straight-backed figure with thoughtful eyes.  

“Brother Anzi, do you think Xiao Qingyin might really have been affected by her older brother’s death?”  

Gu An didn’t respond, but his mind drifted to how Xiao Qingyin used to look at him in the past.  

She had always been afraid of him since childhood, yet she loved tagging along after him. Even when he played boys’ games like Sandbag Throwing or Fighting Rooster, she would watch with eager eyes. His friends used to tease him, saying it was no fun having a little “childhood sweetheart” follow him everywhere. Every time he tried to scare her off, she’d just well up with tears, looking pitiful.  

Later, he deliberately took her to catch mice and small snakes, scaring her so badly she screamed and covered her head. After that, she never dared to follow him again.  

At first, he was glad. But after a while, he noticed she didn’t have any other friends—just tagging along with Qing Laotou on his medical rounds, buried in piles of herbs. That didn’t sit right with him.  

This silly girl—if she wasn’t playing with him, she had no one else. How could she be so clueless?  

As they grew older, they both understood the meaning of their Childhood Sweetheart Marriage Arrangement and realized they weren’t each other’s type. Gradually, they started avoiding each other. Even though they lived in the same alley, they barely saw each other once a month.  

“Just two months apart, and a person can change this much?” He rubbed the faint stubble on his chin, puzzled.  

“Ah, forget about that. News came from the fertilizer factory—are we still going or not?”  

“Of course we’re going.” Gu An scuffed his Green Rubber Shoes against the ground, taking a few steps before warning Gangzi, “Don’t tell anyone about today. And don’t ever make me wear this kind of outfit again.”  

“Got it. My Brother Anzi’s working in the steel mill’s security department now—gotta keep up appearances.”  

Damn it!  

***  

Qingyin walked through two alleys before finally spotting a simple wooden stand by the roadside. On the plank, the words “Key Duplication” were scrawled messily in red paint.  

“Uncle, do you sell locks?”  

“Show me your referral letter.” The stall owner was a man in his sixties, with graying hair, a scruffy beard, and an empty right sleeve. His expression was indifferent.  

“I don’t have one. Can I pay extra instead?”  

The uncle looked up, his hawk-like eyes scrutinizing her. She did look familiar.  

“Here’s my household register. See? I’m registered under my real name. Will that work?”  

The uncle didn’t even blink. “Fine. Not like you’d dare run off anyway.”  

Qingyin exhaled in relief. She didn’t know much about locks and keys, but things were well-made in this era—just pick the expensive ones.  

Expensive always had its reasons.  

“How many keys do you want?”  

Qingyin could’ve gone to someone else, but she had a strong impression of this grandpa. “Uncle, I came here specifically for you. However many keys come with one lock, I’ll take them all.”  

“Usually, it’s three. If your family’s big, I can make two more.” The uncle didn’t seem bothered, not even looking up as his rough fingers worked deftly.  

To Qingyin, the locks all looked the same, but he could instantly point out the pros and cons of each. He swiftly picked out three keys from a bunch that looked like a cluster of grapes—his eyes and movements sharp and practiced.  

“Uncle, what did you used to do for work?” Thanks to her entrepreneurial spirit, Qingyin could strike up a conversation with anyone.  

“Sewage cleaning.”  

Qingyin paused, unsure if he was serious or just brushing her off.

It was clear that Uncle didn’t want to chat with her. He found the lock and key, took the money, and waved her off impatiently.

“Grandpa!”

“Grandpa!”

Two girls, one big and one small, came running over from nearby. The older one was about eight or nine years old, with thick eyebrows and bright eyes, full of energy. The bangs on her forehead were soaked with sweat, sticking to her skin like a little ruffled animal.

The younger one was only five or six, delicate as a porcelain doll, though she seemed a bit listless. “Sister, wait for Er Ya!”

The old man, who had been cold as ice moments ago, immediately broke into a smile. “Slow down, Er Ya, don’t fall. Da Ya, wait for your sister.”

Da Ya turned back then, waiting for her sister to catch up before taking her small hand. The two of them skipped over to the stall, looking up at Qingyin curiously.

“Why are you home from school so early today? Did Grandma make dinner?”

“Grandma didn’t cook. Dad came to pick us up to eat out,” Da Ya answered quickly before busying herself jingling the keys.

Uncle’s expression darkened, but he said nothing in front of the children.

Er Ya looked a bit wilted, leaning against the key-cutting cart as her big eyes studied Qingyin.

Qingyin, with years of clinical experience, immediately noticed something was off with Er Ya. “Uncle, has your granddaughter been feeling unwell lately?”

“She’s been coughing for months now, and it just won’t go away.”

“My sister has taken sooo many medicines—white ones, black ones, flat ones, round ones—and she’s had lots of shots too, little ones and IVs…” Da Ya gestured animatedly as she described her sister’s condition.

No wonder she looked so drained, with a bluish tinge at the bridge of her nose and pale lips. Qingyin recognized it immediately: a classic case of Liver-flourishing and Spleen-deficient Cough. Most doctors outside the profession tended to fall into the trap of treating the cough symptomatically. Patients and families wanted quick results, so they often relied on suppressants to stabilize the symptoms. But the more they did this, the more the cough dragged on. Chronic coughs were far harder to treat than acute ones.

Er Ya’s condition had clearly developed into a chronic cough. Continuing to throw random medications at it would only make things worse.

In her past life, the grandfather who adopted Qingyin had been a Barefoot Doctor. Though he lived a simple life in the countryside, his medical skills were astonishingly refined. Not only was he well-regarded in the surrounding villages, but even city folk sought him out. Qingyin had grown up by his side, reciting the Medicinal Properties Rhyme and Decoction Formula Ballad before she could even speak. Once she learned to write, she helped copy prescriptions and accompanied him on house calls, seeing as many patients as any regular doctor.

Based on her experience, Er Ya’s condition wasn’t serious—just a couple of doses of spleen-regulating herbal medicine would do the trick. But Da Ya…

Meeting her gaze, Da Ya stuck out her tongue playfully, then deftly pulled out a red string and began twisting it between her fingers.

Her slender fingers moved with nimble precision, like little sprites dancing. Occasionally, she twisted the string into an intricate pattern and shot Qingyin a smug look, her whole demeanor brimming with vitality.

“Uncle, forgive my bluntness, but your Er Ya’s illness isn’t serious. There’s no need to run around seeking treatment—just give her more yam when you get home. But your Da Ya’s condition… is a bit more concerning.”

Not wanting to scare the children, she lowered her voice and leaned closer to Grandpa’s ear. “Da Ya’s situation is much more serious than her sister’s. If it’s not addressed, it could be dangerous.”

The one-armed Grandpa wasn’t surprised she’d noticed Er Ya’s illness. But to claim that the cough—which hadn’t improved despite months of treatment and visits to hospitals of all sizes—was a minor issue?

And that the always lively, monkey-like Da Ya was the one in critical condition?

Bullshit!

Grandpa’s initial goodwill toward her vanished instantly. “I have no grudge against you. Why are you cursing Da Ya with illness?”

Qingyin quickly explained she wasn’t cursing anyone, but the one-armed grandpa waved her off impatiently, as if shooing a fly. “Go away, don’t bother me.”

Since he started this street stall, he’d encountered many onlookers—some curious about his earnings, some hoping to see him make a fool of himself, others looking for dirt on him. But this was the first time someone had come straight up and cursed Da Ya with sickness.

“Who sent you? Go back and tell whoever’s behind you that I’d rather die than agree.”

Qingyin was baffled. “You’ve misunderstood. No one sent me. I’m from the Qing family at No. 16 Apricot Blossom Lane. My father is Old Doctor Qing—you must have heard of him.”

The one-armed grandpa paused, studying her carefully. The resemblance in her features was unmistakable.

“Fine, you can go.” Old Qing had done him a kindness once.

Seeing his attitude soften, Qingyin decided to press her point: “Da Ya’s condition means she mustn’t be startled. Please remember that.”

The old man waved dismissively as he began packing up his stall. Just then, a green military jeep pulled up, and a middle-aged man of average height stepped out. “Dad.”

Old Liu’s face darkened. “Who are you calling ‘Dad’? I couldn’t possibly have such an accomplished son.”

“Daddy!” Da Ya, oblivious to her grandpa’s scowl, lit up and dashed over, throwing herself at the man. “Daddy, why don’t you ever come home? My sister and I miss you so much!”

The man hugged her, then scooped up his younger daughter. Seeing how pale and sickly the little one looked—like a wilted bean sprout—his heart ached. “Don’t worry about those other doctors who couldn’t help. This time, I’ve arranged for the head of pediatrics at the provincial hospital. A leader helped make the connection—they specialize in childhood illnesses.”

The old man’s expression remained sour.

Da Ya, sensing the tension, quickly changed the subject by mentioning the woman who’d said she was sick. Qu Jianjun chuckled. “You’re bouncing around like a little monkey—how could you be sick? Probably just some quack.”

With his older daughter complaining of hunger and the younger one listless, Qu Jianjun decided to take them to the state-run restaurant across the street before heading to the hospital. Along the way, the older girl chattered like a sparrow, even flailing her arms excitedly at one point, much to Qu Jianjun’s amusement.

Even the scowling old man was reluctantly persuaded to join them.

As Qu Jianjun stood outside the glass display window ordering food, Da Ya darted over, peering around curiously.

Next to the window was a small service door leading to the kitchen. Normally unremarkable, but Da Ya’s curiosity got the better of her—she kept poking her head in for a look.

Qu Jianjun was busy telling the chef about his father-in-law’s dietary restrictions when a piercing scream rang out. Reacting instantly, he turned to see his older daughter collapsed on the ground.

He rushed over and scooped her up. A kitchen worker explained, “The girl saw me slaughtering a chicken—must’ve scared her.”

Uncle Liu hurried over too. “Da Ya can’t stand the sight of blood. The doctors said she’s got something called… Blood Phobia.”

“Alright, alright, don’t be scared now, it’s gone, it’s gone. Let’s go home.” As usual, he gently patted the child’s back, expecting her to calm down in a few seconds. There was just no helping it—a child so bold yet terrified at the sight of blood.  

But today was different. Da Ya not only didn’t snap out of it but suddenly started convulsing, her limbs writhing like a centipede. At first, her eyes rolled back, and soon, foam bubbled from her mouth.  

Qu Jianjun was stunned. He’d heard his mother-in-law mention over the phone that their eldest daughter fainted at the sight of blood, but this… this was nothing like that.  

Other diners nearby quickly chimed in: “Pinch her philtrum, hurry!”  

“It’s epilepsy—get chopsticks, put them in her mouth, don’t let her bite her tongue!”  

Panic surged in Qu Jianjun’s chest, but his military training kept him steady. Following their advice, he first wedged chopsticks sideways into his daughter’s mouth, then pressed hard on her philtrum.  

One press—no response. Thinking he hadn’t used enough force, he gritted his teeth and pressed harder. Still nothing. The convulsions only grew more violent.  

Within moments, the child’s philtrum was bruised and bleeding. An elderly woman suddenly whispered, “Could it be… she saw something unclean? Is she… possessed?”  

Even though she didn’t dare say “possessed” outright, the crowd immediately recoiled, stepping two meters away. These days, such talk was dangerous—what was “Smash the Four Olds” for if not to root out superstitious nonsense like this?  

Uncle Liu didn’t believe in supernatural nonsense either, but something suddenly occurred to him. His eyes darted around until they lit up, and he shouted toward the street, “Young lady, wait a moment!”