The candle flame flickered softly, casting a warm glow over the crude, dilapidated room. On the bed lay a man, perfectly still. With the blood and dirt washed away, his face revealed itself to be pale, refined, and remarkably handsome.

He appeared quite young, his frame lean without looking frail. Likely due to excessive blood loss, he had slipped back into unconsciousness. His long eyelashes rested against his eyelids, casting fan-shaped shadows under the lamplight. He had a high, straight bridge of his nose, and his dry, chapped thin lips were tightly pursed even in sleep, hinting at a rather stubborn nature.

A face like that, paired with his heavily scarred body, brought to mind a pine tree whose branches had been snapped by harsh winter frost yet still stood proud and upright—or an unpolished jade wrapped in stone, chiseled until riddled with holes. It couldn’t help but make one feel a pang of pity.

Perhaps disturbed by the flickering lamplight or the sensation of being stared at for too long, the man’s long eyelashes fluttered, and he slowly lifted his eyelids.

His eyes were as pitch-black as ink, yet utterly devoid of emotion. The slight upward tilt at the outer corners gave him a natural air of cold detachment.

Fan Changyu showed not the slightest trace of embarrassment at being caught staring. She asked calmly, “You’re awake?”

The man made no reply.

Seeing how cracked his lips were, Fan Changyu assumed his injuries were severe and his mouth too dry to speak, so she asked, “Do you want some water?”

He gave a slow nod and finally spoke: “Did you save me?”

His voice was as raspy as sand scraping across a broken gong, terribly out of match with a face that looked like clear moonlight over fresh snow.

Fan Changyu went to the table, poured a cup of water, and handed it over. “I saw you collapsed in the snowy wilderness, so I carried you back on my back. But the one who truly pulled you back from the Gates of Hell was Zhao Dashu.”

She paused, then added, “You’re staying at his house right now. He used to be a doctor.”

Though he was a vet.

The man forced himself up into a sitting position. The hand he used to take the chipped coarse-earthenware cup was covered in various scrapes, with hardly any undamaged skin visible. After taking a few sips of water, he covered his mouth and began to cough softly. As his messy hair fell loose, the exposed line of his jaw appeared all the paler.

Fan Changyu said, “Drink slowly. I can tell you’re not a local. Earlier, since I didn’t know your name or where you lived, I didn’t report this to the authorities for you. Were you ambushed by mountain bandits at Hucha Pass?”

报官 (Bào Guān - Report to the Authorities): In ancient Chinese society, traveling strangers found severely injured would typically be reported to local magistrate officials to check for criminal ties or runaway status.

He quelled his soft coughing and lowered his eyes, half his face vanishing into the shadows untouched by the candlelight. “My surname is Yan, and my given name is Zheng. There’s a war in the north, and I fled here as a refugee from Chongzhou.”

Lin’an Town was merely a small town under the jurisdiction of Jizhou Prefecture. Fan Changyu had lived here her entire life and had never once left Jizhou, so she knew very little about the current political situation. However, when the local government collected grain taxes back at the start of autumn, she had guessed it was likely for a war effort.

征粮 (Zhēng Liáng - Grain Requisitioning/Taxes): In times of conflict, ancient imperial governments would impose emergency levies or advance grain collection from peasant households to supply military rations at the front lines.

Her eyelids twitched. A refugee fleeing from war, and all on his own. That meant his family had most likely met with disaster.

She asked, “Do you have any family left?”

Upon hearing her question, the knuckles of the hand gripping the coarse earthenware cup turned white from strain. After a long silence, he spat out a few raspy words: “None at all.”

A ruined home and dead kin, just as expected.

家破人亡 (Jiā Pò Rén Wáng - Home Ruined and Kin Dead): A poignant Chinese idiom denoting total devastation—the destruction of one's household and the loss of all family members due to war, disaster, or tragic misfortune.

Having only recently suffered the pain of losing both her mother and father, Fan Changyu understood his state of mind all too well. She pressed her lips together and said, “I’m sorry.”

The man murmured a quiet “It’s nothing”, but somehow broke into another fit of coughing, sounding as though blood were caught in his throat. His coughing grew increasingly violent until he couldn’t even hold the cup, letting it drop to the floor and shatter into pieces. It was a severe, ragged cough that looked as if it would wrench out his very lungs.

Fan Changyu was momentarily at loss. After regaining her composure, she quickly called out for Auntie Zhao while stepping forward to pat his back and help ease his breathing.

拍背顺气 (pāi bèi shùn qì - Patting the Back to Smooth the Breath): A traditional healthcare concept based on Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM). Rubbing or patting the upper back helps lower rebellious qi (stagnant energy or phlegm/blood obstructing the throat) to ease severe coughing fits.

He bore numerous sword cuts and spear stabs across his body; from his shoulder blades down across his chest, he was wrapped entirely in cloth bandages. To avoid pressing against his injuries, his loose inner robe was only loosely draped over him.

With this earth-shattering fit of coughing, his robe slipped open, revealing the well-defined abdominal muscles beneath the bandages in the dim, yellow candlelight. Yet, because he was coughing with such violent force, his wounds tore open, and blood slowly began to seep through the cloth once more.

Fan Changyu called out toward the courtyard even louder: “Daniang, quickly ask Zhao Shu to come take a look!”

Auntie Zhao shouted a response from outside and hurriedly left the house to fetch her husband.

The man continued coughing violently, his originally pale face flushing a deep crimson. By the end of the fit, he leaned over the side of the bed and spat out a mouthful of stanching blood.

淤血 (yū xuě - Stagnant Blood / Clotted Blood): In TCM, vomiting or spitting out dark yū xuě after severe chest trauma is often framed positively. It signifies the expulsion of trapped, stagnant blood blockages, allowing fresh qi to circulate and preventing internal decay.

Fan Changyu was startled. Fearing he wouldn’t be able to hold himself up and would fall to the floor, she hurriedly caught him by the shoulders. “How are you feeling?”

Cold sweat had gathered thick across his forehead, drenching him from his neck down to his chest. He looked as though he had just been dragged out of the water, and a heavy reek of blood radiated off him. With his messy hair falling wildly over his brow, he looked battered, ghastly, and tragic. “Better now… thank you.”

Using the back of his hand, he wiped away the trace of blood at the corner of his lips and leaned back against the bedpost, panting. Exposing his vulnerable throat, he looked like a dying wild beast that had given up its struggle.

His current condition was a far cry from “better”, despite what he claimed.

Looking at the man, Fan Changyu couldn’t help but recall the moment she had first found him. Half-unconscious, he had forced his eyelids open to glare at her—like a dying wild wolf.

By the time Carpenter Zhao finally rushed back in from outside, the man had succumbed to exhaustion and passed out, barely breathing.

Fan Changyu sat by the doorway with a long face, looking like a farmer hit by a sudden famine, pondering her predicament: If this man died, should she carry her good deed through to the end and buy him a cheap wooden coffin for a proper burial, or just dig a random hole and bury him?

Feeling the few remaining copper coins in her pocket, she decided the latter option was better. She and her younger sister still needed to eat, after all. Digging a pit to bury him would be more than generous enough.

After a while, Carpenter Zhao emerged from the room with a heavy expression. Without saying a word, he went straight to the central main room to pour himself a cup of cold tea.

Assuming the man was all but dead, Fan Changyu said, “Zhao Shu, don’t beat yourself up over it. If he really can’t be saved, it’s just his fate. Once he takes his last breath, I’ll carry him up the mountain, find a spot with good feng shui, and bury him.”

风水 (Fēng Shuǐ): The traditional Chinese practice of harmonious spatial arrangement. In burial contexts, finding a location with good feng shui ensures the deceased rests in peace and brings good fortune to surviving descendants.

Carpenter Zhao choked on his tea, coughing for a long moment before regaining his breath. “What nonsense are you talking about?! The man is still alive and well!”

Fan Changyu froze, then scratched her head in embarrassment. “He was coughing up blood earlier, and you walked out looking so grim after taking his pulse. I thought he was going to die.”

Carpenter Zhao said, “That young fellow has a strong constitution. Now that he’s spat out that trapped blood, his life is saved. But that’s all, it only saved his life. Whether he can fully recover in the future depends on careful nursing and his own good fortune.”

In other words, he would likely become a helpless invalid, unable to carry a burden or lift a hand.

肩不能提，手不能抗 (Jiān Bù Néng Tí, Shǒu Bù Néng Kāng - Unable to Carry on Shoulders or Lift by Hand): A common idiom used to describe a physically weak person, a sickly invalid, or a frail scholar incapable of manual labor or heavy physical work.

He asked Fan Changyu, “Do you know where he’s from? Does he have any living relatives?”

Recalling what she had managed to learn from the man, Fan Changyu sat back down on the threshold, once again looking like a famine-stricken farmer. “He said he’s a refugee from the north and that his family are all dead. After fleeing here, he ran into mountain bandits. Right now, he probably has nowhere to go.”

Carpenter Zhao and his wife exchanged a glance, opening their mouths to speak, but ended up looking at each other in silence.

Saving a life in a moment of crisis was one thing, but keeping a sickly invalid indefinitely was a completely different story. Given how severe the man’s injuries were, setting aside the exorbitant cost of medicine, adding another bowl and set of chopsticks meant another mouth to feed.

After a moment of silence, Carpenter Zhao asked her, “What do you plan to do?”

Fan Changyu picked up a wooden stick and drew a couple of circles on the dirt floor before saying, “I’ve already carried him all the way back from the snowy wilderness. I can’t just throw him out now.”

Auntie Zhao grew anxious on her behalf: “Your parents have passed away, and Ningniang is in poor health, constantly needing medicine. Taking in another useless mouth, how are you supposed to manage that?”

Ningniang is Fan Changyu’s little sister’s, Fan Changning, nickname. In historical Chinese culture, 娘 (niáng) was commonly attached to a girl's given name or diminutive as an affectionate, informal endearment, similar to adding "-ie" or "little" in English.

Fan Changyu also felt she had brought trouble upon herself, but there was no other way for now. She said, “Let him rest and heal his wounds first. Once he’s a bit better, we’ll see what plans he has for himself.”

Inside the room, the man, who had just undergone a round of acupuncture from Carpenter Zhao, slowly regained consciousness only to hear this conversation. His dark, jade-like eyes shifted slightly as looked toward the doorway.

Heavy snow had begun to fall again beneath the darkening sky, but illuminated by the warm glow of the indoor candlelight, it didn’t seem quite so cold anymore.

The young girl sat crouched at the threshold in a faded apricot-colored padded jacket, resting her elbows on her knees with one hand supporting her snowy cheek and the other holding a small stick, idly poking and prodding at the ground. Her delicate eyebrows were lightly furrowed, as if she were making a difficult decision.

The elderly couple sighed.

The man’s gaze lingered on the young woman’s face for a brief moment before he withdrew his eyes, slowly closing them to force down the urge to cough rising in his throat.

·•—–٠✤٠—–•·

After returning home that evening, Fan Changyu waited until her younger sister was fast asleep before retrieving a wooden box hidden on the roof beam.

Upon opening the box, she found several land deeds stamped with official seals and a handful of copper coins inside.

大印 (dà yìn - Official Seal/Stamp): Official red ink stamps applied by local government magistrates to land deeds (dì qì), confirming legal ownership and tax registration.

The land deeds were left behind by her parents after their passing, while the copper coins were money Fan Changyu had earned herself from butchering pigs.

Truth be told, her family had originally been fairly well-off. The reason their days were so tight now was that her father had spent a large sum of silver at the end of last year to set up a pigpen.

Her father had been a well-known butcher in town. Thinking it was unprofitable to keep buying pigs from livestock dealers, he had planned to set up a pigpen in the countryside and hire hands to raise pigs himself. Little did anyone expect that before the pigpen was even built, the couple would suffer a tragic accident.

Arranging the funerals exhausted almost all the liquid silver the family had to spare. Left without an income, Fan Changyu had no choice but to go out butchering pigs to earn a living.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t considered selling a few mu of farmland for emergency funds, but according to the laws of the current dynasty, when parents pass away without leaving behind a signed contract or written agreement, their daughters are not permitted to inherit the family estate. If the deceased have no male heir, the family property reverts to the parents’ siblings.

Being a daughter, Fan Changyu could not transfer ownership of the house and land left by her parents, nor could she mortgage or sell them for silver.

Her eldest paternal uncle was a gambler who owed a mountain of gambling debts outside. Bent on taking her family’s house and land deeds to clear his debts, he would drop by to cause a scene every now and then, trying to force her to hand over the deeds.

Fan Changyu naturally refused. Not to mention that the house was where she had lived with her parents for over a decade—she held deep affection for every blade of grass and every tree there. If they lost even their shelter, was she supposed to wander the streets with her younger sister?

Fearing her young sister was too young and might be tricked into letting something slip, Fan Changyu hadn’t even told her where the deeds were hidden.

She tipped out the copper coins from the box and counted them: 370 wen in total. All of it was money she had saved from butchering pigs lately, after taking out daily living expenses.

In truth, even if she didn’t take in that man, her household was already unable to lift the pot lid.

揭不开锅 (Jiē Bù Kāi Guō - Unable to Lift the Pot Lid): A vivid Chinese idiom describing extreme poverty, where a family has no grain or rice left to cook, literally meaning they cannot even lift the lid off the cooking pot.

Relying on butchering pigs for others wasn’t a long-term solution. Business was only good during the twelfth lunar month because many households were slaughtering pigs for New Year celebrations. Once the New Year passed, there would be hardly any business left. Fan Changyu calculated that she still needed to reopen her family’s butcher shop.

She ran the math in her head: a live pig during the twelfth lunar month cost 15 wen per jin. Buying an eighty-jin pig required a capital outlay of one string and 200 wen.

贯 (Guàn - String of Cash): Currency in ancient China was commonly strung together on hemp cords through the center square hole of copper coins. Standardly, one guàn held 1,000 copper coins (wén), though local exchange rates varied.

After butchering, roughly 60 jin of meat would remain. If sold entirely at the fresh meat rate of 30 wen per jin, a single pig could yield a net profit of 600 wen.

If she went a step further to braise the pig’s head and offal, selling them as prepared deli meat, the price would go even higher.

熟食 (Shú Shí - Prepared/Deli Foods): Pre-cooked, ready-to-eat street meats and market dishes bought by commoners to save on costly firewood and expensive household cooking spices.

During the New Year holidays, every household needed to entertain guests. Yet ordinary families rarely have a complete set of seasonings at home, leaving them unable to cook impressive dishes. Most would buy prepared food from the streets, making braised meat quite popular at this time of year.

The idea was solid, but the trouble was that right now, she couldn’t even produce enough silver to buy a single pig.

Fan Changyu let out a long sigh. Gathering the copper coins into her sleeve pocket, she replaced only the land deeds back into the wooden box and stowed it back up on the roof beam.

She had to find a way to pull together enough money for that first pig.

⟡ Aewoo’s Ramble ⟡

A little note about the Fan sisters’ names:

樊长玉 (Fan Changyu) — 长玉 can be understood as “everlasting jade,” with 玉 (jade) carrying connotations of something precious, pure, and virtuous.
樊长宁 (Fan Changning) — 长宁 means “lasting peace” / “everlasting tranquility.”