As Bailan walked, his body grew heavier. Earlier at the Yin Chun House, he had been in shock and fear, all his energy focused on the moment. Now that he had escaped, his body sagged under the strain, every step bringing sharp aches to his muscles and bruises, though he dared not show it.
He regretted not kicking Ning Muyan a few more times.
As a ghost, he had wandered aimlessly for years, yet Ning Muyan had been so good—rescuing him from prison, tending to him on the exile journey. Returning to the capital with family and descendants, he had prospered… men truly were heartless.
Supporting his aching body, Bailan reached the city gate and spent two coins to squeeze onto an ox-cart.
Passing familiar streets, trees lining Linxia Road lush and green, he felt a little comforted. Those past hardships had passed; there was no need to drag them into the present. They were only regrets left behind.
After an hour’s bumpy ride—more than a single incense stick’s time—he finally arrived at Lukou Village, where he had spent his childhood. Standing on the earth he hadn’t touched since his death decades ago, Bailan’s eyes moistened.
He gritted his teeth and hurried back to the little medicine shop courtyard where he had lived with his father. Everything remained exactly as he remembered.
The earthen walls were yellow, black-green tiles on the roof. A small yard enclosed the house, wooden stakes supporting racks, four or five baskets of drying herbs laid out.
He opened the gate. Inside, the house was quiet. His father had gone to another village for house calls, staying overnight with patients, not yet returned.
Though missing his father, Bailan fretted over his disheveled state. Anyone else might just see a pale face, but his father, a doctor, might notice.
He quickly entered, set up a fire to boil water, and prepared to bathe, tidying himself carefully.
While heating the water, he noticed the jars of medicine in the house. He hesitated, then decided to brew a potion.
The weather in Linxia was already growing hot; the water boiled quickly. Bailan carried it into his room, shivering as he stripped off his clothes.
Seeing the bruises covering his pale skin, he winced. The surprise at Ning Muyan had left him shaken and hurt, but now back home, he could examine the injuries properly.
He tied up his hair, stepped into the water, and felt some relief from the pain, though he could not soak long—his father might return.
After cleaning himself, he dressed in fresh clothes and restored the room.
Sitting at the small table, he eyed the brown potion in the bowl. Holding his nose, he hesitated; he knew how bitter the medicine would taste. He considered skipping it—after all, the injuries weren’t life-threatening, at least not yet.
But it’s not fear of ten thousand that matters—it’s the fear of that one chance.
If he were careless, he might get tangled up with that man again, and that absolutely could not happen. Thinking this through, Bailan held the bowl, took a deep breath—
“Down the hatch. Just consider it a clean break!”
He had slept deeply, exhausted as he was, and was only awakened by the sound of the door opening.
“Bailan, are you in your room?”
Hearing the familiar voice, he sprang upright from bed, hastily yanking on his shoes without even lifting his heels properly, and rushed outside.
Only then did he notice that the day had already progressed quite far.
A middle-aged man, dressed in a worn blue tunic, carried a wooden medicine box over one shoulder. Years of carrying such boxes for house calls had left his frame slightly stooped.
The warm, golden sunset of Linxia bathed the courtyard as Jiang Zichun approached. Seeing Bailan, he smiled gently. “I thought you weren’t home when I saw the door closed.”
Standing beneath the eaves, Bailan felt a pinch in his nose. This scene was one he had revisited countless times in memory—even through decades past, it remained vivid. Now seeing it again stirred a tangle of emotions in his chest.
He hurried forward, taking the medicine box from Jiang Zichun with practiced familiarity. “Father, why have you been gone so long? Was the patient particularly difficult this time?”
Jiang Zichun let his son carry the box, sensing the slight complaint in his tone, and smiled, ruffling Bailan’s hair.
“Just an old man who broke his leg. I set the bone and came straight back, but I lost some time walking from the village gate when there were no carts. On the way, I ran into Old Man Liu, who mentioned he had some headaches and fevers, so I stopped by his house. He insisted I stay for a cup of tea. That’s why I’m a little late.”
Bailan set the box down. “The Liu family, the landlords?”
Jiang Zichun nodded and, taking a seat, held his only son’s hand warmly. “Today, Old Man Liu asked about your birth chart. Their fifth son is of marrying age now. I’ve seen the boy—though not as clever as his older brothers, he’s honest and hardworking. What do you think?”
Bailan’s eyes widened slightly. “Father, you’re thinking of marrying me off already? Do you find me troublesome?”
“Where could you get such an idea? You and I have only each other, and I do wish you’d stay at home. But a boy must eventually leave the nest.”
He sighed gently. “I did think of bringing a son-in-law into the house, but we aren’t wealthy. We can barely make ends meet. I feared it would be difficult to find someone, and I didn’t want to waste your time. The village is not small, and there are plenty of good families. Even though you’re young, it’s best to make plans early.”
Worried, Bailan asked, “Father, have you agreed with the Liu family?”
“I haven’t made any decisions without your consent. I only spoke politely with them. Their family is well-off, but I won’t make choices that disregard your feelings.”
Bailan relaxed slightly and sat beside Jiang Zichun, realizing he truly was the apple of his father’s eye. Planning a suitable match within the village was indeed a practical arrangement—but now, how could he go about finding a proper family for himself?
“I don’t want to marry. I want to learn medicine from you, Father.”
His gaze softened, speaking the truth of his heart.
In those dark, lonely days of the past, he had filled his time with acupuncture and pharmacology, imagining a day when the skills might be useful. Even on the three-thousand-li exile journey, he had told Ning Muyan he wished to become a respected physician.
Now that he had another chance at life, how could he simply think of marrying and letting someone else arrange his future?
“Talking nonsense! What if I am gone and you have no husband? What will you do then?”
“Father!”
Seeing him agitated, Jiang Zichun softened his tone. “Alright, alright. You’re still young. If you don’t want to marry yet, that’s fine. I won’t force you.”
Bailan nodded, looping his arm around his father and leaning against him. “You rest, Father. I’ll prepare the meal.”
Jiang Zichun smiled. “Good.”
Bailan lit the fire and began washing the rice. Though he hadn’t done these chores in years, old habits die hard; after a few awkward moments, he found his rhythm.
While the fire burned, he went out to the yard and brought in the baskets of drying herbs.
A little worried, he thought to himself: he was still young and could talk with his father about plans. If he delayed, a few years would pass, and his father would grow anxious. He didn’t want to burden the old man.
For now, he sighed, resolving that with their humble home, he could slowly earn a little by treating patients himself. The extra income would help the household. Thinking this, Bailan finally felt a measure of relief.