Chapter 12

Over the next few days, Chen Jue kept to the same routine. He hiked every mountain around Pingshan Village he could cover in a day, and got a rough idea of where the medicinal herbs were distributed.

Ginseng was mostly in the cedar groves on the sunny side of the second ridge.

Cordyceps was also in the cedar groves, but harder to find—buried under thick layers of pine needles. But since the locals didn't seem to know what it was, there was plenty of it, growing in clusters of seven or eight. Chen Jue had picked quite a bit over the past few days.

It was his biggest haul yet.

The question was whether anyone around here would buy it. Cordyceps was an expensive supplement in modern times, but back in ancient days it wasn't necessarily prized—it was discovered as early as the Jin Dynasty, but wasn't written into medical texts until the Qing Dynasty.

He didn't know if people in this era even knew about it.

Besides these two valuable herbs, he collected the rest according to the season.

Herb picking depended on the season. Many were gathered in spring, mostly ones where you used the flowers or leaves, and plenty more in autumn.

Now it was the tail end of spring heading into summer, so Chen Jue collected accordingly.

He planned to stay in the village until the kid was about eight months old, gather herbs before winter hit, and then leave this mountain hamlet.

Though he had to admit the village was nice—a good place to retire—if he were on his own, he might've considered staying longer, like a vacation. But now he had a kid to think about, and he needed to give him better conditions.

His medical skills would only be put to good use once he got out of this mountain village.

Of course, these plans would have to wait until he went to the county seat to check out what the outside world was like. If it was all chaos and war, he'd stay put for now.

He did have questions about the foreign invasion, though. From what Zhou Qingshan described, the Tartars sounded like northern nomadic tribes. Northern nomads usually attacked the Central Plains to steal grain, but this was the lean season between harvests—why would they come now?

What were they even here to steal?

Chen Jue couldn't figure it out. He'd asked Zhou Qingzhu, who told him the current dynasty was called the Daliang. As for the emperor's name, age, or achievements, Zhou Qingzhu naturally had no clue.

Zhou Qingzhu only knew there was a county magistrate in the county seat.

That meant if he wanted more specific info, he'd have to go to the county. The county here was about the size of a town, Chen Jue figured.

He could go tomorrow. Uncle Liu said he was going to the county too. Zhou Qingshan's condition had improved enough that he was stable day-to-day, so Uncle Liu could step away.

Chen Jue decided to go with him, learn the way, and know how to get there in the future.

Most importantly, his rice jar was almost empty. Honestly, it should've run out ages ago.

It had lasted this long thanks to the locust blossoms from the mountains. The kid in his belly didn't reject locust blossoms, so Uncle Liu's steamed locust blossom cakes, locust blossom buns, and the occasional treat of fried locust blossom omelets—Chen Jue didn't mind the eggy smell anymore.

He ate a good amount every day, so the rice jar had held out until today—just in time for tomorrow's trip to the county market.

As Chen Jue was sorting the herbs he'd gathered, Zhou Qingzhu came running up, out of breath, calling to him from across the vegetable garden.

"Jue Geer! Come quick! Come check on my big brother!"

Zhou Qingshan had relapsed after being stable for seven days.

When Chen Jue got to the Zhou house, the room where Zhou Qingshan stayed was a mess—bowls, chopsticks, a small table, and over a dozen pairs of straw sandals, finished and unfinished, were scattered all over the floor. Hemp thread and scraps of fur were tossed everywhere.

On the kang was just a single quilt, and under it was a trembling Zhou Qingshan.

He was still shouting, his voice hoarse: "Go away! All of you! Don't waste your time on a useless cripple like me! Just let me die!"

Uncle Liu's brows were furrowed with worry. He'd been doing so well these past few days—why did he have to go and relapse?

He looked at Chen Jue like a drowning man grabbing at straws: "Jue Geer, come take a look at him. What's wrong with him? He was fine just a moment ago."

Chen Jue looked at Zhou Qingshan, who was clearly resisting anyone coming near, and didn't approach. Instead, he gestured for Uncle Liu to step outside and told Zhou Qingzhu to clean up the broken bowl pieces, in case Zhou Qingshan tried to hurt himself.

Once they were outside in the yard, Chen Jue asked, "Did anything unusual happen today, or did anyone say anything specific to him?"

PTSD was a mental illness that could flare up anytime. Sometimes a sudden noise—like a gunshot—could trigger a relapse.

That was why he'd told Uncle Liu and the others not to let Zhou Qingshan see anything like knives.

Uncle Liu wouldn't have gone against that.

Sure enough, Uncle Liu frowned and thought hard, then shook his head: "No, nothing. Nothing unusual happened at all."

Chen Jue tried a different angle: "Then tell me what happened right before he suddenly lost it."

Uncle Liu racked his brain: "...Tomorrow we're going to the county, right? I told him that tomorrow we'd sell the straw sandals, rain capes, and bamboo hats he'd woven, make some money, and then go with you to Carpenter Liu's to have him make that kind of crutch you mentioned. That way he could stand up again. And once we saved up more money, maybe we could even make that... prosthetic leg. Once he got used to it, maybe he could live like a normal person..."

Uncle Liu said dejectedly: "That's all I told him. I wanted to make him happy—to think he could stand again, replace that leg. Even if that leg you mentioned is fake, as long as he could stand and walk, he could live a normal life! But he just exploded..."

Chen Jue couldn't see anything wrong with what Uncle Liu had said either. It was all positive and encouraging—the kind of thing you'd say to comfort a patient.

Zhou Qingshan had clever hands and could weave straw sandals. His weren't just made from soaked wheat straw—he also wove in hemp thread and scraps of animal fur left over from his hunting days. They were sturdy, durable, and had a rough, wild sort of handsomeness.

So his sandals sold better than the regular ones.

Chen Jue had seen them a few days ago and genuinely marveled at the creativity of ancient people. Who in modern times could weave shoes? People just bought them.

Back then, Zhou Qingshan had been energized by the praise and had woven all these in just a few days. So his mental state had been fine before.

"I'll go in and see him," Chen Jue said, entering the room. Zhou Qingshan had already pulled the quilt off by then. Seeing Chen Jue, he gave a bitter smile: "I've relapsed again, haven't I? I've been wasting your medicine these past days... Don't bring me any more."

What did he mean, "wasting"?

Chen Jue glanced at him. Zhou Qingshan was still eaten up by guilt. This family carried too heavy a burden of conscience.

Sure enough, when Zhou Qingshan saw he wasn't speaking, he kept putting himself down: "What reason does someone like me have to stand again? How could I live a normal life? Why didn't I die on the battlefield? Why didn't I die on the battlefield with Dalin?"

So that's what set him off.

The words "live a normal life" had set him off, plunging him back into survivor's syndrome—also called survivor's guilt.

Chen Jue now understood the root cause, and sat down on the edge of the kang.

"Tell me about you and Huo Lin," Chen Jue said. Seeing Zhou Qingshan's confused expression, he added: "About the past. I... married in late, so I don't know what happened between you brothers."

These past few days, whenever Chen Jue came to see him, he'd only asked about his condition, so Zhou Qingshan had gotten used to treating him like a physician. He even thought Chen Jue seemed more like a doctor than the real physicians who'd treated him. The way he asked questions, the cool tone of his voice—it was just like a doctor.

So when Chen Jue asked, Zhou Qingshan seriously thought back. Actually, he didn't need to think hard—these were memories burned deep into his heart. As he spoke, he broke down sobbing.

In the end, he kept coming back to the same words: "Huo Lin's father saved my father back then—he was our family's benefactor. All these years, Huo Lin and I hunted on the mountain together, and he taught me so much. He was my good brother, but I couldn't bring him back.

I've wronged Old Man Huo for the rest of my life. I don't deserve to live. Why didn't I charge forward back then? I'm the older brother. And now I'm just a burden to my family—wasting medicine and food... I don't deserve to live..."

Because of the gē'er and fūláng customs, people here called their father "Dada" and their husband's father "Dad."

Chen Jue listened in silence.

Uncle Liu let out a long sigh at the doorway, now realizing what had triggered his son's sudden episode.

Chen Jue was silent for a moment. Uncle Liu's family was honest and kind-hearted, and with that kindness came a heavy conscience, so their guilt ran deep. On top of that, the Huo family's favor weighed on them, making it even harder to break free.

Chen Jue looked at Zhou Qingshan, whose gaze had gone dull, swallowed by some emotion, and snapped his fingers in front of Zhou Qingshan's face.

Zhou Qingshan stared at him blankly. Chen Jue had to point at his own belly and say, "Huo Lin is dead, but his child is still here. I don't have any relatives in Pingshan Village, and raising him alone won't be easy, so I'll need your help. If anything ever happens to me, I'm entrusting this child to you."

In case he ever traveled back to his own time again.

He had to plan for every unknown possibility.

As soon as he finished speaking, Uncle Liu hurriedly said, "Jue Geer, don't say such things—quick, spit three times to keep bad luck away."

"..." Chen Jue, dragged into it by him, had no choice but to spit.

Zhou Qingshan, forced to pull himself together by his words, found himself saddled with a huge responsibility—he had to keep living, at least until the child was taken care of, and only then could he think about dying.

He said solemnly to Chen Jue, "Don't worry. I'll work hard to earn money from now on, and every bit of silver I make will go to him. I'll send him to a private school, make him a scholar-official, so he can uphold the Huo family's name and let Huo Lin and Old Master Huo rest in peace in the afterlife..."

A scholar-official?

No need for anything that impressive.

Chen Jue thought to himself, knowing how grueling the imperial exams were in ancient times—Fan Jin going mad after passing the exam was a well-known tale.

It wasn't something you could ace just by being smart.

Even with his own extraordinary intellect, almost photographic memory, he'd never even considered taking the exams.

He didn't particularly like the idea,

and he didn't want the child to go down that path either.

But he didn't say that, only nodded: "Then remember what you said—every bit of silver goes to him."

Once a person throws himself into figuring out how to make money, he won't have time to think about dying.

Uncle Liu chimed in from the side: "Jue Geer, rest assured. Your father-in-law carried Qingshan's father out of a snowdrift in the mountains back then—that's a debt of gratitude as vast as the heavens. You're Dalin's husband, and now you carry his child. If you don't mind, I'll treat you like my own son from now on.

Qingshan will be your elder brother. We'll take good care of you both. Don't say such unlucky things anymore. You'll live a long life—you're such a kind-hearted soul..."

Chen Jue watched him silently. Was he kind?

Then why had he been pushed down the stairs to his death?

He didn't need anyone to answer that—Chen Jue could answer it himself, because he'd also caused the death of two lives.

How could one life of his repay two?

Chen Jue closed his eyes, refusing to sink into that emotion.

He was a doctor.

He had to overcome this demon in his heart.

He saw himself as the executioner who had killed Jiang Xinhe.

Though he knew it wasn't his fault—he'd done his best.

But because of Jiang Xinhe's obsession, her fixation on the child had become his curse.

Jiang Xinhe wanted the child to live; he wanted to take it away.

The child's life or death became the first thing on his mind every day.

Day after day, it became his knot.

And now, it had become his demon.