Chapter 7

These were all questions Chen Jue wanted answered, but in the past few days, he'd only seen Uncle Chen's family and had no one else to provide material for his research.

He needed more information to understand why men could give birth in this world before he could feel confident about his own delivery.

He'd have to take this slow; no point rushing it.

Chen Jue withdrew his scrutinizing gaze from Zhou Qingzhu and let it fall on Uncle Liu's place.

This yard, like his own, was so bare you could see it all at a glance—nothing worth staring at. Uncle Liu set down his vegetable basket, patted his granddaughter on the head, and headed inside. He was going in to see Zhou Qingshan.

Chen Jue followed him into the back room.

Uncle Liu smiled and said, "No need to help, really. You sit outside; I'll just pop in and check on Dashan."

Chen Jue said, "I'll go in and see him too."

Uncle Liu paused mid-step: "...This... you want to see Dashan? He... he's still in bed and hasn't cleaned himself up. Not really fit for you to see him."

Chen Jue looked at his troubled expression and, combined with his words, finally understood.

So this ancient world didn't just keep men and women apart—even the gē'ér had to be shielded.

For a second, Chen Jue didn't know what to say.

It hadn't even crossed his mind. He was a man—a doctor, no less.

He'd done surgeries, and back in school, he'd dissected more bodies than he could count.

It wasn't just about nudity—he could sketch every part of the human body blindfolded. Besides, he looked like a man.

Chen Jue kept the thought to himself, not wanting to make things awkward for Uncle Liu. Every world has its own rules, after all.

So he simply said, "Then I'll wait here. I've got a few things I want to ask Brother Qingshan."

Uncle Liu figured he was here about Huo Lin and nodded. "Sure, go ahead. I've tried asking him myself, but he won't answer. Don't know what's gotten into him."

Uncle Liu stepped inside. "Dashan, your brother Dalin's husband is here to see you."

His voice was deliberately cheerful, but there was no answer from inside.

The mud-brick walls weren't soundproof, and Chen Jue heard nothing from Zhou Qingshan. He figured the guy hadn't even moved.

Sure enough, Zhou Qingshan lay still in the far corner of the kang, like he couldn't care less about the world outside. He even tugged the blanket higher, like the noise bothered him.

It was April already, getting warm, and he still had himself buried under the covers. Uncle Liu's chest ached, but he forced a bright tone and kept talking. "Qingshan, Shan, why don't you tell Jue when Dalin's coming back? He's been waiting day and night. Didn't you two leave together? You're back—so why isn't Dalin?"

Chen Jue didn't react. He hadn't been pining day and night. If Uncle Liu hadn't mentioned Huo Lin, he wouldn't have given the guy a second thought. Still, he didn't argue. Maybe the original owner had been pining—no harm in listening.

What mattered was finding a way to get through to Zhou Qingshan.

Uncle Liu tried again, a few times. "Dalin—the Huo boy from up the hill. Old Man Huo taught you both hunting and archery. You remember, right?"

Zhou Qingshan finally reacted—but way too hard.

Chen Jue heard it from the outer room.

Zhou Qingshan let out a sharp, piercing wail. A bowl went flying and smashed by the door.

Chen Jue stood in the doorway, watching Zhou Qingshan clutch his head and shout: "I don't know! I don't know! I didn't see him—no, I did! I saw him!"

He was rambling, all over the place. Uncle Liu, like he was used to this, had his hand raised behind Zhou Qingshan's back—frozen, not daring to touch him, because Zhou Qingshan had already yanked the blanket over his head.

The look on Uncle Liu's face was gut-wrenching—grief held back behind a forced smile.

Anyone seeing Zhou Qingshan like this would feel their heart sink.

He was skin and bones—the parts sticking out from under the blanket were almost skeletal. With the blanket over his head, his broken leg was exposed, wrapped in layers of linen so stained with blood you couldn't tell the original color.

Those bandages hadn't been changed in a long time. Given the state he was in, he probably wouldn't let anyone near him, so they couldn't be.

His other leg could bend, so that was fine, and he could sit up, which meant nothing was wrong from the waist up.

It was his head that was the real problem.

Chen Jue watched him grip the blanket, hands shaking like he was having spasms, yanking it tighter over his head like it still wasn't enough.

He kept muttering: "Dalin, I didn't see him! No—I saw him! He's dead! He's dead!"

Uncle Liu let out a gasp and, forgetting the blanket, grabbed at it, demanding: "What?! What'd you say?! What happened to Dalin? Tell me! Didn't you two leave together, go off to... to do your corvée? How could he... how could he..."

Uncle Liu's lips trembled—he couldn't bring himself to say "dead."

Chen Jue hadn't seen this coming either. A second ago, he'd been thinking that if Huo Lin came back, he'd talk to him about who got the kid. He'd even planned to skip town early to avoid running into the guy. Who'd have thought he... was dead?

Uncle Liu was frantic, still yanking at the blanket, demanding answers.

Chen Jue stepped in and stopped him. "Uncle, give him a minute to calm down. He'll talk when he's ready. I can wait. I trust him."

Since he wasn't the original owner, Huo Lin's death didn't hit him hard, so his voice came out eerily calm—almost cold.

Maybe that's why Zhou Qingshan finally lowered the blanket, revealing a pale face, though his eyes were still blank and unfocused.

He could talk now, but his voice was flat, no emotion at all.

"Fine, I'll say it. Two and a half months ago, I went with Dalin. We didn't know we'd be soldiers—thought we were going to build roads and dig ditches. The fifty-some people from our village were all assigned together, and we figured that was good, that we could look out for each other. But when we got there, they gathered us into a military camp, started training us that very afternoon, and after half a month of training, they handed us some rusty weapons and sent us to the battlefield."

Uncle Liu's hands were trembling the whole time: "You weren't digging canals, you were fighting a war... No wonder, no wonder your leg..."

He didn't finish, and Zhou Qingshan didn't pay attention to his words either, continuing on his own.

"Shitou and Tiezhu were assigned to the kitchen crew, cooking for the army. Huo Lin and I, because we knew archery, were picked out first and sent to the front lines to fight the northwestern Tartars. The general made us picked ones the vanguard..."

He paused slightly here, his fingers twitching unconsciously, making his voice tremble a little: "I... I didn't dare go up. They were the northwestern Tartars! Their blades were so shiny—curved, long—one swing, one head...

I couldn't draw my bow anymore. I could usually hit a wolf, but that time my arrows went wide again and again. Those men were scarier than wolves...

Some people ran, and the general beheaded them. One was from Liujia Village—the butcher's son from next door to the gē'ér's husband's house. His head fell to the ground, still steaming and rolling... I was so scared I could barely walk. The general said if we didn't charge forward, we'd all die..."

Zhou Qingshan closed his eyes: "Just then, Huo Lin shouted 'I'll go!' and charged forward. I couldn't stop him...

After that, I followed him up too. He was killing like crazy, and so was I."

He waved his hands wildly, as if still swinging a blade, his voice turning shrill: "The blade had gone dull without me noticing. It wasn't a good blade to begin with—not as fast as the enemy's. Their blades were too fast. One swing, and Huo Lin fell. He fell right in front of me."

He repeated: "He fell. The blade struck his back—so long, so fast. He went down like wheat. Those men rushed up quickly, layer upon layer. I wanted to run up to see him, but my leg... was also chopped off."

I don't know who it was, with that blade—bright and gleaming. I only felt a flash of white light pass, and then I fell with a thud... It hurt so much, I clutched my leg and rolled on the ground... I don't know how long I rolled, and when I woke up again, I was in the military camp...

His eyes were glassy and unfocused, his face twitching spasmodically. He was drooling from the corner of his mouth as he kept repeating those words, unaware of it himself.

He was stuck in the horror of the battlefield, unable to pull himself out.

PTSD, combat post-traumatic stress disorder.

Just like he'd figured.