Chapter 48

Chapter 48

The horse galloped at full speed, and at the town's gate and checkpoint, Rong Feng dismounted with Bian Hong in his arms. The soldiers who should have been guarding the city were few and far between, and those present only hid in the gate tower, taking a distant look—as long as those entering weren't bandits, they let them through.

The surrounding villages had all been hit by the plague, and the town itself was no exception. Moreover, the only well-known medical clinic around was located in this very town, with countless people coming in daily seeking treatment.

At the city gate, even the stable official who would normally tend to horses was absent. Silver Frost had nowhere to be tied up, and seeing his master hurrying into the town, he clattered his hooves and followed the two.

Rong Feng ran down the street, with few people on either side. Even the usually bustling mutton soup shop was closed. Whenever he encountered people, they had their mouths and noses tightly covered, carrying load after load of medicine, heading home to brew it for the sick.

Rong Feng kept his eyes straight ahead, panting hard, and rushed straight to the clinic's entrance. But once he actually arrived, he stopped in his tracks.

In front of the clinic, people were queued up in a long line. Some who couldn't stand anymore leaned against the walls on either side of the door, crouching or standing, waiting to enter for treatment.

But besides those going in, there were also those being carried out—bamboo stretchers draped with white cloth, with family members trailing behind, sobbing in a cluster.

Only then did it hit him that before riding into town, in the mountain gully far outside, smoke had been rising, with people carrying empty bamboo stretchers nearby.

Clearly, those who left the clinic feet-first, having breathed their last, were taken to be cremated and their ashes buried.

Rong Feng's heart tightened. He looked down at the unconscious Bian Hong and, without a word, strode right into the clinic. This didn't sit well with the people in line, who came forward to block him.

"First come, first served—you need to get to the back."

"What are you looking at? We're all sick here. Why should anyone give way?"

"Hey, the one you're carrying is as good as dead—don't waste the medicine. Get out of here."

Before the man could finish, he was scared stiff by Rong Feng's fierce glare. Those eyes were terrifying—and one of them was blue. He shouted, "It's the Living Ghost! Help!"

Then he scrambled off, forgetting all about seeing a doctor. Seeing this, the people at the door didn't dare say a word, all backing away, clearing a path for Rong Feng.

Rong Feng, his face ashen, was about to carry Bian Hong in when a kid came squeezing out of the crowded clinic entrance, cursing up a storm.

The kid was short, with two buns tied with red string on his head, and his mouth and nose wrapped in thick cloth, leaving only a pair of eyes visible.

"What's all the racket? Keep it up, and nobody's getting in! Grandpa hasn't slept in two days—perfect time to let him get some shut-eye!"

The kid had been all fierce, but the moment he stepped out, he saw the crowd of patients cowering off to the side and the menacing Rong Feng.

Rong Feng had no time to cover his face with a mask or hat. He raised his head, and as the stray hairs on his forehead parted, his indigo eye was exposed, his expression like he wanted to eat someone alive.

The kid first hiccupped in fright, then, still hiccupping, scurried ahead, pulling Rong Feng into the clinic.

"You—you're here, hic—quick, get your wife seen to first, then talk to Grandpa. He's almost out of herbs—if we weren't so short-staffed, we'd have come for you ages ago!"

Rong Feng recognized the kid as the little medicine boy who'd spilled mutton soup all over him, and without a word, he followed behind.

Once inside the pharmacy, the old doctor had just chugged another big bowl of strong tea to stay awake, and was deftly getting his silver needles ready for the next patient.

"What are the symptoms, and how long has he had it?"

The little medicine boy knew right away that Grandpa hadn't looked up—he was probably holding the needles while his eyelids drooped.

"Grandpa! Look who it is!"

The old doctor looked up, and there stood Rong Feng, all disheveled, holding the unconscious Bian Hong as he burst into the room. Before he could even be glad Rong Feng had shown up, he slapped the table in a panic.

"Good heavens! Quick, put him on the couch!"

So Rong Feng stood to the side, eyes bloodshot, watching without blinking as the old doctor took Bian Hong's pulse and applied the needles, then helped the little medicine boy pour the medicine down Bian Hong's throat.

When the old doctor withdrew the needles, Bian Hong seemed to stir a bit, coughing like the medicine had gone down the wrong pipe.

Rong Feng quickly stepped forward, lifting Bian Hong's upper body, and gently patted his back with a big hand to help him breathe.

"How is he?"

Rong Feng had been afraid to ask, but after Bian Hong's light cough, he finally spoke up.

The old man sighed. "Alas, since ancient times, great plagues follow great wars. They often start with the heavy snow, kick in at the winter solstice, are born in minor cold, grow in major cold, and peak at the start of spring."

After saying this, he ran the used needles through a flame. The little medicine boy had no time to listen to Grandpa's medical lecture—in the back courtyard, patients had collapsed, all waiting for him to brew medicine and pour it down their throats.

But whether the medicine actually worked, the boy figured, it probably did—at least it kept people alive longer than those left to fend for themselves out there. And in that time, Grandpa worked nonstop, day and night, to find a real cure for the plague.

In the room, the old man went on, and Rong Feng got it.

At best, it could only buy some time, and how long depended on how strong the person was.

But Rong Feng looked down at Bian Hong, still as light as a feather against him, and didn't know what to do.

The old doctor also stared at the pair. Finally, as if making up his mind, he turned and pulled a piece of paper from the medicine cabinet. Though he hesitated for a moment, he stood his ground in front of Rong Feng.

"When I was young, I ran into a great plague once. My master was still alive then, and I went into the mountains with him, scouring for herbs. The deep mountains were treacherous and deadly, but we found something—several rare miracle herbs that worked on the plague back then."

Rong Feng's head snapped up, but the old man waved his hand. "But these rare medicines are hard to find. Not a single one on this prescription do I have—not here, and not in any other pharmacy either. So, thinking it over, if anyone can pull it off, it's you!"

Rong Feng grabbed the prescription. The paper listed not just the types and properties of the herbs, but also had drawings and marked how to use them—some eaten raw, some boiled, some using only the peel, some only the root.

This gave Rong Feng a huge boost of hope. He was about to get up, itching to head into the mountains right away, but he still didn't let go of Bian Hong.

"How long can he last?"

The old man said nothing, because he had no idea either.

Rong Feng was quiet for a long moment, then folded the prescription and tucked it into his clothes. He looked up and said just one thing to the old doctor.

"Get me dried rations, padded clothes, and animal hides—enough for two."

With that, Rong Feng reached out and touched Bian Hong's face, still warm.

"I'm taking him into the mountains with me."

The old doctor immediately caught Rong Feng's meaning—rather than leaving Bian Hong at the clinic to wait on an uncertain outcome, it was better to bring him along. If they found the medicine, they could give it to him right away.

"But the mountains are cold, and finding the herbs is hard enough—how are you gonna take care of someone at the same time?"

But Rong Feng, hearing this, just raised his mismatched eyes and stared hard at the old man.

"I can."

The old doctor gazed at the young man before him, perched on the edge of the couch, so strikingly different from ordinary folks. His heart was shaken, and he nodded, then called out.

"Boy! Get the gear ready with me—let's send off these two heroes."

The little medicine boy answered with a crisp "Yes, sir," pattering over quickly, still holding a medicine pot that had been licked clean.

So the old man and the boy dropped everything, quickly getting everything ready for Rong Feng—including the small medicine pot for brewing, a medicine grinder, flint, dried biscuits, and rations, padded clothes and caps, and even their most precious winter item: a thick sheepskin blanket, which they handed over to Rong Feng too.

Rong Feng carried the few belongings he had, hoisted Bian Hong onto his back, and wrapped him up snugly in the big wool sheepskin blanket. He stepped out and mounted Silver Frost, who was still waiting at the door, about to head into the mountains.

Before leaving, the old doctor tearfully bid them farewell, "Though I've practiced medicine for nearly sixty years, I've got no skill or talent, can't fix this disaster. For now, I'm leaving it all in your hands—take care of yourself!"

Rong Feng didn't waste any breath on him, just gave a nod, and rode out through the city gates.

The thundering hooves and kicked-up dust startled a few guards at the city gate. All they could do was watch from the city wall as the two of them and the horse slowly vanished from view, riding off toward the vast mountains.

The closer they got to Miemeng Mountain, the rougher and more dangerous the trail got, until it was too rough for the horse. So, on a wooded slope deeper in the mountains, Rong Feng got off the horse with Bian Hong, and gave Silver Frost a pat on the neck.

"Go on, go home and wait for us."

Silver Frost blinked its big, soft, watery eyes, flicked its tail, and watched Rong Feng carry Bian Hong deeper into the woods. It whinnied, and once the two were out of sight, it pawed at the ground, then slowly turned and headed back up the mountain toward home.

Back home, the newly built stable had piles of hay and a trough full of grain—the safest place it knew. It had to go back and wait for its master, just like it had waited for Bian Hong back at the army camp.

Bian Hong slowly opened his eyes to the warm, bumpy rhythm.

His mouth was dry, his body was completely drained, and he had no idea where he was. Everything felt jumbled, like time and place were all mixed up.

Was he on the road to the border for conscription? On a ship sneaking back across the ocean? Or on that old, rattling, bumpy ride at the orphanage entrance?

He fought to open his eyes, and there it was—a familiar, solid shoulder. The last light of the setting sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across Bian Hong's vision.

All he could see was the deep woods falling away behind him. The ice and snow had already melted, and meltwater dripped from the budding branches, catching the last soft glow of the sunset.

This wasn't the old road. Bian Hong thought, this is a whole new path.

His thoughts slowly came together, then blurred again from the fever. Between moments of being awake and out of it, he watched the scenery shift—steep slopes, rocky cliffs, thick woods, and ravines.

What Bian Hong didn't know was that in his brief moments of clarity, he was talking out of his head.

Sometimes it was stuff Teacher Xu had taught him as a kid. Sometimes it was the military rules he'd had to memorize in the Tiger Guard. And sometimes it was a few clumsy Arabic phrases he'd picked up in the coal mine.

But he wasn't talking to himself. In his hazy state, he felt that every word got a response, and so he was all the more willing to speak.

And sometimes, he seemed to recognize Rong Feng, and sometimes not, only turning his face to rest against the man's shoulder, murmuring softly.

He said, "Brother, my head hurts, I feel awful."

Then a large hand would hoist him a bit higher on the back, gently patting his leg.

Until the daylight along the road gradually faded, he found himself in a narrow cave with a fire burning, and a bowl of bitter, mashed, unknown plant roots was fed into his mouth.

That taste was all too familiar. The memory of hunger always lingers fresh in one's mind. Bian Hong recalled the days on the road fleeing famine—even boiled grass roots were scarce, and mostly they ate raw, dry, tough tree bark, because making a fire was a dangerous activity that could attract unwanted attention. Behind him, there were two children who needed to...

Right! Bian Hong suddenly stiffened. As Rong Feng fed him a new herb found that day, his eyes focused, and he turned his face to speak to Rong Feng.

"Yuan Ding, Guan Bao..."

Rong Feng tucked the sheepskin blanket tighter around him. "They're fine, safe in the clan temple, no need to worry."

The man's voice was extremely hoarse, which made Bian Hong glance at him involuntarily, but he had no surplus energy left to concentrate. Soon after, he fell back into a deep sleep.

Rong Feng held Bian Hong like this, letting him sleep between his warm body and the soft sheepskin, while Rong Feng himself gazed vacantly at the small patch of night sky outside the cave, spending yet another night in deep gloom.

Bian Hong in his arms still murmured from time to time.

"Little Lin, was chosen, by new parents, leaving, tomorrow."

"Mm, then let's see him off." Rong Feng responded in a low voice.

"I, I still, have nowhere to go." There seemed to be a hint of choked disappointment.

Rong Feng lowered his head, pressed his face against Bian Hong's, and gently rubbed against him.

"We have a home."

"Once you're well, I'll take you home."