Chapter 8

Chen Jue felt a surge of anger as he looked at Zhou Qingshan's face.

As a doctor, he had seen death countless times, but that didn't mean he was used to it. Even without witnessing the death toll firsthand, he knew exactly what it was like. Piles of bodies stacked on bodies—hell itself would be no worse.

Sending ordinary civilians onto the battlefield like that was no different from sending them to the slaughter. Or perhaps that was exactly the strategy those so-called generals had devised—to sacrifice these frontline soldiers for other arrangements.

They never intended for these men to survive when they placed them on the front lines.

Anyone who witnessed so many deaths would be left with trauma.

Chen Jue wasn't a psychiatrist, but he had studied some psychology and knew about post-traumatic stress symptoms.

Seeing Zhou Qingshan still trapped in his memories, Chen Jue stepped forward and patted his shoulder a few times, while pressing hard on the web between his thumb and index finger. Only then did Zhou Qingshan seem to snap out of it, his trembling hands falling still.

His eyes finally landed on Chen Jue, and his eyes immediately reddened.

He wailed and pounded his chest: "Brother Jue, Da Lin is dead! Da Lin is gone! He died right in front of my eyes—so many people covered him layer after layer. The ones cleaning up the battlefield said they couldn't find him... he's gone... I let him down!"

He screamed with all his might, his grief so raw that even onlookers were moved to sorrow.

Chen Jue opened his mouth slightly, wanting to say something, but found he had no standing to speak. He wasn't the original owner of this body, and he didn't know Huo Lin.

Though he felt the weight of it, he didn't share the same agony.

In that moment, a bizarre thought crossed his mind—that Huo Lin was destined to die anyway, or to put it differently, he was never meant to exist in this story.

If this was a scene concocted by heaven to punish him, then the people close to him would never survive.

It matched his original identity as an orphan.

If this world was all an illusion, why should he grieve?

He stood there, utterly indifferent.

In his past life, many said he lacked empathy, that he didn't deserve to be a doctor.

Maybe they were right.

In this moment, he felt no profound sorrow.

He heard Uncle Liu muttering in disbelief: "How could this be? How could it be war? I thought they were digging canals. I thought you broke your leg in the mountains and were sent back first... I thought Da Lin would surely come back once the digging was done..."

Zhou Qingshan was consumed by his own grief: "I saw him die with my own eyes—right in front of me... I couldn't bring him back..."

Chen Jue remained silent. He didn't comfort Zhou Qingshan either, just watched him pour out his grief.

Uncle Liu pounded his thigh for a while, then looked at Zhou Qingshan reproachfully as he kept pounding his chest: "No wonder you've been here all these days without mentioning Da Lin at all, just moping around by yourself. I thought it was because of your leg injury that you were feeling low. How was I to know you were hiding this... How could you hide something this huge!"

"You... you'll make it impossible for me to face your father after I die! Da Lin's father saved your father's life!"

Uncle Liu pounded the edge of the heated brick bed (kang) until it thumped: "...How is Brother Jue supposed to go on? How can he survive alone with an unborn child..."

Couldn't he manage alone with a child?

But seeing the two of them so devastated, Chen Jue said nothing.

The loud wailing of Uncle Liu and Zhou Qingshan drew the attention of Qingzhu and Nannan outside.

After the two entered and heard that Da Lin was dead, they too began wiping away tears.

Chen Jue felt like an outsider looking in.

As Zhou Qingzhu wiped his tears, he noticed Chen Jue's frozen expression and suddenly wrapped his arms around him. He thought Chen Jue was so devastated he couldn't cry. Look at how stiff his body was as he allowed himself to be embraced.

With this in mind, Zhou Qingzhu patted his back and said, "Brother Chen, I know you're hurting. Go ahead and cry—you'll feel better."

Uncle Liu also seemed to come to his senses and hurried to comfort Chen Jue, taking his hand and saying, "That's right, don't be afraid. From now on, I'm your family. Qingshan and Qingzhu will be like brothers to you. Anything you need, they'll help with..."

Chen Jue hadn't expected Zhou Qingzhu to hug him so suddenly, which made his body stiffen. He was gay.

Though Zhou Qingzhu was currently a fifteen-year-old youth, he was still male, and having him embrace him felt a bit like holding a girl.

He wanted to pull away but didn't move. This family made him miss Dean Chen, Director Zhou, and the Buddhist head nurse.

Uncle Liu's family wept bitterly for Da Lin once more.

Chen Jue stood there like a wooden statue, silently watching.

But something moved in his heart.

This family truly seemed to have a deep bond with the Huo family.

Chen Jue then understood that the kindness he'd received these past few days was because of his connection to the Huo family. Since no one else had visited except Uncle Liu's family, the Huo family didn't seem to mix much with outsiders.

Perhaps because they were new to the area, they weren't well-liked.

Of course, it would only get worse, because with his personality, things would only decline.

Chen Jue thought this calmly, fully aware of his own flaws.

After Zhou Qingshan's weeping subsided, Chen Jue glanced at him and noticed he seemed a bit better.

When PTSD and a brother's death in battle came together, the guilt of surviving alone actually tempered some of the battlefield fear.

And with the guilt released through this cathartic outburst, some of it was purged. Given time, he would get over it.

Time heals all wounds—there's no substitute for it.

He would heal in time.

Chen Jue thought to himself.

"Uncle Liu, I'll head back now."

He had originally come to check on Zhou Qingshan, but instead had learned of Da Lin's death.

Though Zhou Qingshan said the soldiers hadn't found Da Lin's body, the odds were that he was dead.

In this era of swords and spears, Chen Jue had never experienced the brutality of war, but he could well imagine it. With real blades and rudimentary medicine, the chances of surviving an injury were far too low.

Many soldiers died because care came too late after battle, or from infected wounds.

Zhou Qingshan had survived because his leg had been severed cleanly in a single stroke. He then rolled, clutching his leg, which not only helped stop the bleeding but also kept him from being trampled.

He was truly lucky—the blade was sharp, so less pain and blood loss; it was clean, rust-free, and unlikely to cause infection. The wound was in the cold north, so it deteriorated slowly. He received timely treatment afterward, and thanks to years of hunting, he was in good physical shape. That's why he survived.

But Da Lin's situation was far worse. After being struck down by the great blade, he fell, and without any treatment, he was trampled and crushed by the crowd.

If Huo Lin was really as badly hurt as Zhou Qingshan had seen, there was no way he'd survive.

Chen Jue let out a soft sigh. He had no real connection to Huo Lin, so hearing about his death didn't hit him as hard as it did the Zhou family.

Of course, there was no joy or relief in it either.

He didn't want to deal with Huo Lin, and his return was a real headache—not just the engagement being called off, but also the custody fight over the kid. Still, he never wished the guy dead or hoped he'd just disappear forever.

He wasn't a very empathetic person, but he had a basic conscience. Those problems couldn't hold a candle to a human life.

Even if he had no conscience, he had his medical ethics.

The medical oath: To save the dying and heal the wounded means fighting death step by step in the toughest situations, pulling lives back from the brink.

Dean Chen had said it countless times, and Chen Jue could recite it in his sleep.

Chen Jue walked back in silence, one step at a time.

Zhou Qingzhu had followed him out, figuring Chen Jue was still stuck in his grief. Not knowing how to comfort him, he just kept trailing behind. Finally, Chen Jue turned around and said, "Go back and look after the kids. I'll come by when I have time. I'm heading up the mountain to pick some herbs for your big brother."

Zhou Qingzhu blinked. "Herbs for my big brother?"

How had he gotten over it so fast? Not only was he not blaming his big brother, he was actually gathering herbs for him?

Chen Jue didn't explain. He just nodded. "I'll come back once I've got the medicine ready."

Zhou Qingzhu stared blankly at his retreating back, feeling like something was off. Brother Chen Jue seemed like a completely different person—was it because he was too upset...

Under Zhou Qingzhu's pitying gaze, Chen Jue made his way back to the little courtyard at the foot of the mountain.

Back home, Chen Jue grabbed a machete from the woodshed and sharpened it on the whetstone until it gleamed. He still liked his blades bright and gleaming silver.

Once the blade was ready, he slung the basket off the wall onto his back and headed up the mountain. It was the fourth lunar month, when grain stores were running low between harvests, but wild greens were plentiful. But Chen Jue didn't want wild greens. The garden he'd been shown earlier still had plenty of crops the original owner had planted. What he was after now were staples, nutritious meat, fish, and other high-protein stuff.

It might be tough, but he'd look. If he came up empty, he'd earn some money and buy what he needed.

There were plenty of medicinal herbs at the foot of the mountain too—plantain, dandelions, goosegrass, and spurge all along the roadside. Chen Jue ignored all of that and headed straight into the mountains.

On his first trip into the mountains, finding food was secondary—scouting the terrain was the main goal.

He wanted to find a route where he could gather herbs that would sell for a good price.

He was almost three months along now, and the pregnancy was pretty stable. Given that he'd fallen into a river, hit his head, and blacked out without any signs of a miscarriage, the kid was pretty tough. Aside from malnutrition causing low blood sugar, the rest of his body was in decent shape.

That was the result of years of gathering herbs in the mountains.

Chen Jue took a deep breath in the mountains, propped his foot on a rock, bent down, and tied his linen pant legs tightly. The cloth shoes on his feet were still in good condition—perhaps the original owner had made them sturdy from frequent trips into the mountains.

Although the fetus was stable now, by the time it reached seven or eight months, his belly would be large, and going up the mountain would become inconvenient. Plus, in five more months, the weather would turn cold, and he wouldn't be able to wander around for food.

After that came childbirth, and he wouldn't be able to go up the mountain for at least three months afterward—he couldn't exactly carry a baby while digging for herbs.

Besides, he still had no way to check on the baby's condition. Without modern high-tech equipment, he couldn't tell if the kid was healthy. If this one had congenital heart disease like Jiang Xinhe's kid, then... that would be rough.

Chen Jue looked down at his belly. He couldn't curse the child inside.

He also couldn't afford to be idealistic.

He had to do everything possible to ensure this child was born safely and raise him to adulthood.