Shen Jianqing had not lied. That afternoon, he brought a villager.
The man appeared to be around fifty, about the same age as my father, with a face marked by years, deep wrinkles, and dark skin tinged with waxy yellow—an appearance shaped by a lifetime of labor. He carried a bamboo basket slung over his shoulder.
Beside him was Wan Ying.
She had come too.
The villager set down the basket and took out tools for bone-setting. My heart thudded with a mix of fear and anticipation, but compared to being permanently crippled, any pain was tolerable.
Shen Jianqing stood by the door. Before entering, Wan Ying turned to him and said something.
His face darkened, expressionless, as he looked at her. Wan Ying met his gaze calmly.
I didn’t understand their language, but I could feel the tension between them.
After a while, Shen Jianqing averted his gaze, approached me in a few steps, and said in a soft voice, “I have something to do. I’ll be back later. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt much. I’ll bring you glutinous rice cakes and honeyed fruits.”
I straightened my spine, stiff and alert, and nodded. Looking into Shen Jianqing’s eyes, I felt a strange sensation. No one had ever comforted me like this. My parents believed in toughness and independence; crying over pain was forbidden. If I cried, my father would scold me harshly, saying it was “unmanly” to whine.
I had naturally learned to hide fear and pain. But Shen Jianqing… he had seen it.
He smiled, squeezing my hand, and said something to the old villager. The man nodded repeatedly, and only then did Shen Jianqing leave.
The villager, eyes lowered, began his work with diligent care.
Though the process was painful, it was within what I could endure. Soon, the villager’s hands gripped my foot, and with a sharp “crack,” I bit my teeth as cold sweat ran down my forehead—the misaligned ankle I had suffered for days was finally back in place.
Quickly, he applied a dark green herbal poultice, fitted a wooden splint, and wrapped it layer by layer with grass rope to secure it.
“Phew—” he sighed, wiping his sweat.
I turned to Wan Ying. “Could you thank him for me?”
Wan Ying shrugged ambiguously.
Before I could process it, the villager had packed his basket and suddenly knelt before me!
Kneeling? What—why?!
I panicked, hastily standing on my right leg, trying to help him up. But he shook his head repeatedly, his aged face pleading, his clouded eyes brimming with tears, speaking a torrent of words I couldn’t understand.
“What’s wrong with you?! Get up! You…”
I tugged at him, but he didn’t move, still speaking. I had lived twenty-one years without anyone kneeling before me; I was completely flustered. I had no choice but to turn to Wan Ying for help.
She sighed. “Only you can help him.”
I said, “Then help him up. I will do whatever I can.”
Wan Ying stepped forward, supporting him, saying something to the old villager. The man stopped crying, following her guidance to rise.
I finally relaxed. Having someone kneel before me felt overwhelmingly strange. “What happened?” I asked.
Wan Ying stammered, “Last night… Shen Jianqing brought people… and caught the traitor in the village overnight. According to village rules, the traitor should be exiled into the Cocoon Bug Forest.”
What did that have to do with me?
Seeing my confused expression, Wan Ying explained, “The traitor, Ah Song, is Uncle Lu Qi’s only son.”
No wonder he looked so distressed—it was because the traitor was his son.
She paused, then added, “And his betrayal… was for the sake of your companions.”
Her words jolted me.
He did it… for Qiu Lu, Wen Lingyu, and the others?
I grabbed Wan Ying’s wrist. “What happened to my companions?”
She frowned, and I realized my abruptness. Sheepishly, I let go.
Wan Ying said, “I don’t know the details. They… only brought back Ah Song. Perhaps… they’ve already left.”
“That’s great!
If they leave, they’ll surely send people back to find me!”
“Before, Shen Jianqing said they were affected by some cocoon bug…” I still couldn’t fully relax.
Wan Ying lowered her eyelids, hiding the expression in her eyes. “That… I don’t know.”
I asked, “Then what can I do?”
Wan Ying said, “Once someone enters the Cocoon Bug Forest, death is certain. Unless the leader—or the next leader—allows them to go.”
“The leader… isn’t that your grandfather?”
Wan Ying shook her head. “My grandfather is old. He no longer involves himself in many matters. He handed this entirely over to Shen Jianqing.”
I froze. “Shen Jianqing… is the next leader?”
“Yes.”
The doubts in my mind were finally resolved. That was why the villagers had looked at him with both awe and caution—his position wasn’t ordinary. But I hadn’t expected Shen Jianqing, still so young, to be chosen as the next leader, when the village had many capable adults.
Wan Ying continued, “Uncle Lu Qi is very pitiable, with only this one son. And Ah Song… his betrayal was to save your companions. If it weren’t for that, Ah Song wouldn’t have fled or betrayed. Li Yuze, you must help.”
I had never imagined that our arrival would bring so much disruption to this peaceful Miao village, or that it would affect so many lives.
Uncle Lu Qi’s aged eyelids drooped, eyes filled with silent pleading. I suddenly envied Ah Song—at least his father would kneel before a stranger to save his son’s life.
Wan Ying’s words left me no choice. If I didn’t help, it would be utterly inhumane.
“I’m willing to help. But I may not be able to persuade Shen Jianqing,” I said quietly.
Immediately, Wan Ying’s face relaxed. She gave the first smile I had seen since entering the house and said decisively, “If you can’t persuade him, then no one can.”
She then turned to Uncle Lu Qi, probably explaining that I had agreed. As expected, he tried to kneel again, but Wan Ying and I held him back together.
“Execution day is tomorrow at noon. You must hurry,” Wan Ying said, her long, narrow eyes fixed on me, giving a solemn reminder.
And in Uncle Lu Qi’s hopeful gaze, I felt unspoken words pouring out.
I looked away, nodded, and they soon left.