Chapter 9: Awake?

Several men climbed down to the riverbank, first dragging the two bodies ashore before checking for signs of breath.

None of them held out much hope.

The two bodies were a man and a woman. By their faces, neither was very old. Both had been soaked until their skin turned pale and bloodless, their chests showing no visible rise or fall.

It was only after hauling them ashore that the men noticed the wounds.

The back of the woman's head was matted with fresh blood, and her arms and legs bore what looked like sword and blade injuries — flesh torn open in ragged gashes.

The man's condition was even worse: his abdomen had been run clean through.

It would have been a miracle if either of them were still alive.

Without much expectation, one of the villagers reached out and checked for breath.

What he felt made him jump.

"Good heavens — there's still air coming out!"

The man's expression turned to alarm. He yanked his hand back and stumbled two steps away.

Not that anyone could blame him for being startled. The wounds on those two looked grievous, and after floating downriver pale as sheets, they looked every bit like corpses.

Who could have guessed they weren't corpses at all, but two living people?

In that state, and they were still breathing?

The villager who had checked came back to his senses, shaken with disbelief.

Given their condition and injuries, there was no way they should still be alive.

The other men heard the news and were equally stunned.

"They… they're still breathing? In that state?"

"Are you sure you checked right? They're really still breathing?"

One of the villagers crouched down in skeptical disbelief to check for himself.

A faint, cool breath brushed against his hand.

Weak and slow — but unmistakably there.

Not quite dead yet.

He checked the woman beside them as well.

She was breathing too.

Equally faint — like a candle guttering in the wind.

Strange beyond belief. Wounds this severe, chests barely moving, floating on the river like corpses.

And yet they were alive.

The villager withdrew his hand, his face wearing the expression of a man who had just seen a ghost.

"They're really breathing. Both of them. They're still alive."

The rest of the men had no choice but to believe it.

They had come expecting two corpses. Instead, they had two living people on their hands.

Corpses would have been simpler — just do the decent thing and bury them.

But two living people put the villagers in a real bind.

"What do we do now? They're still alive — should we bring them to Old Doctor Song and see if he can save them?"

"Can they even be saved? They're breathing now, sure, but with breath this faint and wounds this bad, can they really pull through?"

"Then what? They're still breathing — two living people, and young ones at that. We can't just stand here and watch them die, can we?"

"Whether we can save them is one thing, but I'm worried about getting mixed up in trouble. Look at their clothes — that fabric doesn't come cheap. And they've got sword wounds all over them. What if rescuing them brings trouble down on us?"

The men argued back and forth for a while.

In the end, fearing that the two would lose even their last faint breath while they kept bickering, they made a decision.

They would bring them to Old Doctor Song. The men would pool some grain together to pay the doctor, and at least give saving them a try.

Whether they lived or died after that would be up to fate.

"Old Doctor Song! Come quick, we need help! Someone's dying!"

The men carried the barely-breathing pair into a courtyard enclosed by mud-brick walls.

The yard was small. Medicinal herbs were scattered here and there, drying in the sun, and a pile of firewood was stacked against one wall.

It was noon, and the warm smell of cooking drifted through the air.

Hearing the shout, Old Doctor Song — white-haired and wrinkled with age — set down his bowl without finishing his meal and walked out with a furrowed brow.

Though he was nearly seventy, his legs were still strong, and he strode out briskly despite his wife calling after him to stop.

"What's happened? Who's dying?"

In his youth, Old Doctor Song had worked as an apprentice at a pharmacy in the county town — fetching herbs, decocting medicine, doing odd jobs.

Over time, though he had no formal master, he had absorbed a great deal of medical knowledge through observation, enough to treat minor ailments and injuries.

He had later returned to the village, married, and settled in Song Family Village as a barefoot doctor.

With his skills and knowledge, he had always managed a decent living.

The men told Old Doctor Song everything — how they had found the two at the riverbank, leaving nothing out.

Remarkably, the journey from the riverbank to the doctor's home was no short distance, and yet through all that jostling, the two — whose breath had already been so faint — had somehow clung to that last thread of life.

The furrow in Old Doctor Song's brow eased slightly.

When he had first heard someone was dying, he had feared it was one of Song Family Village's own. It turned out to be two strangers pulled from the river.

Still, a doctor's heart is a compassionate one. Old Doctor Song looked over the two people the men had carried in.

They lay on the ground, barely clinging to life, placed there by the men who had brought them.

Their white robes were no longer clean — stained with the green of crushed grass, the yellow of mud, and the red of blood, filthy all over.

Old Doctor Song examined their wounds and took their pulses.

The slight easing of his brow returned to a deep furrow.

"Wounds this severe, and their pulses are so weak… Even the doctors in the county town couldn't save them, let alone I."

The men exchanged glances, then said, "Old Doctor Song, try your best — treat a dead horse as if it were still alive. We can't just wash our hands of it. These are two lives, after all."

Old Doctor Song let out a sigh and nodded.

In truth, he thought there was no saving them.

But he couldn't simply do nothing. Even if a person had only one breath left, they were still alive.

Besides, he had no rare or precious medicines here — just common, inexpensive herbs. He would give them some medicine and see what happened.

"I understand. Don't get your hopes up — in my judgment, these two won't make it."

The men nodded. "Alright, we understand. We'll bring grain later to cover the cost."

Old Doctor Song shook his head. "No need. I just checked — both of them have silver sewn into their inner garments."

That was good news. No need for the men to pay out of pocket.

Life was hard for poor villagers. If they hadn't believed that human life outweighed everything else — and if it hadn't been a matter of pooling just a small amount of grain — they wouldn't have brought the two strangers to a doctor at all.

The men helped carry the barely-living pair inside the house, then each went home.

* * *

Evening.

Old Doctor Song was boiling medicine, the bitter smell drifting through the air.

A little girl of five or six, wearing a pink flower in her hair, rested her chin in her hands. Her chubby baby-fat cheeks were adorably childlike.

"Grandpa, why haven't the big brother and big sister woken up yet? It's been all afternoon."

Old Doctor Song patted the top of the little girl's head, his eyes warm with affection.

"They'll wake up. Ruru, remember to go check on the big brother and big sister every thirty minutes or so, and come tell Grandpa right away if anything changes."

Song Ruru nodded, her eyes clear and bright.

"Brother said the big brother and big sister won't wake up, but I don't believe him. Father said our Song Family Village is protected by Lord Xuanqing, so the big brother and big sister will definitely wake up."

Old Doctor Song laughed heartily. "Yes, yes, Ruru is right. The rice porridge in the kitchen should be cool enough by now — would Ruru be so kind as to go feed the big brother and big sister?"

Song Ruru nodded eagerly and trotted into the kitchen, then came back out carrying a small bowl of rice porridge and ran into the room next door.

On the kang bed inside lay a man and a woman, dressed only in white inner garments, their faces pale and their breathing faint.

Song Ruru checked their breath first, then picked up the small spoon and began feeding them the porridge, one tiny spoonful at a time.

She finished feeding the woman, then went over to feed the man.

The porridge slowly dwindled. Song Ruru fed the last spoonful.

She was just about to hop off the bed when she noticed the man's eyelashes flutter — a sign that he might be waking.

Song Ruru's eyes lit up with delight. She whispered, "Big brother, are you waking up?"

Mu Tong's consciousness stirred in a haze as he heard the soft, childlike voice.

He finally opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was the innocent, cherubic little face before him.

The little girl had wide, round eyes, a faint milky scent about her, chubby baby-fat cheeks, and rosy lips.

Mu Tong, having just regained consciousness, felt a sudden surge of heat rush through him.