The old blind man parted ways with them halfway.
Yuan Zhao held Yuan Yuan’s hand, following the woman in stunned silence. Along the way, she explained the situation at home.
The household needing the ritual was surnamed Shi. They had moved back to neighboring Qingluan Village from town. Their husband-to-be had sustained a head injury in a dispute with friends and was gravely ill.
The family had nearly exhausted their wealth trying to treat him, finally seeking the old blind man’s fortune-telling.
The household also had a slightly younger son and daughter, Shi Qingyue and Shi Qingran—names suggesting a wealthy, scholarly background.
By the time they reached Qingluan Village, Yuan Zhao already had a preliminary understanding of the Shi family.
Villagers seemed aware of the situation. At the village entrance, beneath the sturdy old locust tree, a few hardy people had gathered, curious to see what kind of person the Shi family had brought home.
Yuan Zhao smiled warmly at the villagers. Despite his second uncle’s cruelty, he got along well with the villagers—he was a very good little boy.
He had expected Madam Shi to chat briefly with the villagers, but instead, she ignored them entirely, leading them straight ahead, leaving all gossip behind.
“Um… them…”
“Don’t mind them. They’re just petty talkers. Don’t let it disturb you,” Madam Shi gently advised as they walked.
Since arriving, they had overheard plenty of village gossip, mostly mocking their current plight and rejected pleas for help.
Yuan Zhao nodded thoughtfully. “I understand.”
Alongside him, Shi Qingran kept glancing up, seemingly unimpressed by the thin, dark, and shabby-looking little boy.
Yuan Zhao merely smiled at her. The little girl had small pigtails, looking quite cute. He planned to braid Yuan Yuan’s hair similarly.
Soon, they arrived at the Shi household.
Yuan Zhao saw that the family’s current situation was far from what it had been. Their home was dilapidated: old earthen walls with holes and missing roof tiles—likely their original house, long neglected and fallen into ruin.
The journey continued, and although other families’ homes weren’t much better than theirs—certainly not built with green tiles—the Shis’ house seemed excessively dilapidated.
“It’s a bit shabby,” Shi Zhangshi admitted with a forced smile, a tinge of embarrassment on her face.
“No matter, no matter,” Yuan Zhao quickly replied, his youthful voice deliberately cheerful, “a farmhouse that keeps out the wind and rain is already a good house! Life’s meant to be taken slowly! Don’t worry!”
Shi Zhangshi was slightly surprised, clearly not expecting such words from him.
A young boy with a delicate, innocent appearance emerged from inside—the younger son, Shi Qingyue. Yuan Zhao promptly nodded in greeting.
Shi Qingyue immediately recognized him and obediently called out, “Sister-in-law.”
After the brief introductions, Shi Zhangshi led Yuan Zhao to the innermost room, which was clean and tidy, evidently maintained daily despite the comatose patient inside.
“This is my son, Shi Wuxiang. He’s been unconscious for a long time, so usually, feeding and cleaning him is all that’s needed,” Shi Zhangshi explained as she guided him to the bedside.
“I understand. I’ll take good care of him…” Yuan Zhao leaned closer to glance at the comatose man, his voice growing quieter.
He stared at the man’s face in astonishment—it was familiar to him!
“He… he’s a scholar!” Yuan Zhao whispered in shock.
“Yes,” Shi Zhangshi confirmed, “he used to study in town. After a dispute with classmates, he suffered an injury and fell unconscious.” She sighed repeatedly and then asked, “Do you recognize Ah Xiang?”
Yuan Zhao shook his head. How could he recognize a scholar from town?
It was merely a past act of assistance—insignificant to most, yet for him, it had been life-saving. Indeed, this was his benefactor.
Shi Zhangshi didn’t press further. Thinking of her household’s messy situation, she reminded him, “Place your things here and sleep in this room. Yuan’er will stay with Ah Yue. Does that sound alright?”
“Yes,” Yuan Zhao obediently replied.
The house was already simple and worn, leaving no room for complaint. Moreover, having a room instead of a shed for them to sleep in was already a great relief.
Shi Zhangshi added, “I’ll prepare the meal; you should rest first.”
Yuan Zhao quickly put down his bundle casually and rose, a little nervously suggesting, “I’ll help. I’m used to this work at home, so I can do it here too!”
Though he had come as a bride for a ceremonial marriage, he was faking it. If discovered later, perhaps the Shi family might consider his diligence and not sell him out; otherwise, Yuan’er would also suffer.
Shi Zhangshi didn’t refuse. Since he was their daughter-in-law, she naturally wanted to observe his character.
The cooking area was a small shed in the courtyard, with a stove and a single pot, and beside it, some expensive salt—nothing else.
Eager to make a good impression, Yuan Zhao quickly lit the fire with ease, while Yuan’er helped wash the vegetables and warm his chapped little hands.
He worked efficiently and soon prepared a pot of hot, thick porridge with finely chopped radish greens. The dish looked quite presentable.
“Time to eat!” Yuan Zhao, his cheeks flushed, invited them. Seeing the simple meal, he felt a bit embarrassed. “When I go back into the mountains later, I’ll gather more wild vegetables, maybe even trap some pheasants!”
Shi Zhangshi, seeing his eager demeanor, relaxed slightly and advised, “It’s cold outside, better not to go now. I’ll gather more firewood later and warm your kang.”
“We’ll gather the firewood ourselves!” Yuan Zhao quickly volunteered, determined to be extremely diligent.
Shi Zhangshi sighed softly. “Eat first, then we’ll talk about that.”
The simple coarse-porridge meal was surprisingly tasty with the touch of salt—a precious commodity.
Yuan’er was eager to lick the bowl clean and quickly finished his portion.
Yuan Zhao waited until he saw him full, then ate his own half.
“Uh… Husband… he…” Yuan Zhao hesitated, “doesn’t he need to eat too?”
“Just some broth will do,” Shi Zhangshi replied.
Nodding, Yuan Zhao went to serve the soup. Feeding an unconscious person was challenging; he carefully propped Shi Wuxiang’s head, held his cheek, and carefully spooned the broth into his mouth, closing his jaw to prevent spillage—repeating until the bowl was empty.
“Cough…”
Yuan Zhao paused at the bedside. The man remained unconscious; the cough seemed merely a reflex of being alive.
After all, unconsciousness was likely similar to dreaming during sleep—coughs and snoring could occur naturally.
He nodded and left with the empty bowl, eager to organize and head into the mountains for firewood, unaware that Shi Wuxiang briefly opened his eyes before lapsing back into unconsciousness.
The Shi family’s situation was dire—rice, flour, and oil were nearly depleted, with no edible vegetables, and they lacked baskets to carry back the gathered firewood.
“I’ll go with you,” Shi Zhangshi said, worried, especially for her children.
“Mother, you stay home with eldest brother; we’ll handle gathering the firewood,” Shi Qingyue, the younger son, said, taking on maturity beyond his years. “I’ll look after little sister.”
Yuan Zhao smiled. “I know these mountains best; don’t worry—we’ll gather as much firewood as possible.”
Shi Zhangshi didn’t stop them, watching from the doorway until they disappeared.
Before entering the mountain, Yuan Zhao borrowed a farming tool from a villager. Despite their reluctance, he promised to return it, ensuring he could gather firewood efficiently.
With the tool in hand, he could cut firewood and weave baskets to carry even more.
The mountains of the neighboring villages were contiguous, with obvious boundaries, but no one patrolled constantly—he knew these mountains well and where to find flexible brambles.
Quickly, he cut several straight bramble rods and sat down to weave baskets. Brambles were superior to bamboo—they didn’t need sun-drying and were easy to use.
He cut a few thicker sticks for support, making the baskets easier to carry.
Meanwhile, the three children stacked the firewood beside him, following Yuan’er’s guidance, avoiding wet wood and picking only manageable pieces.
After a few trips, four baskets were completed.
“After this, you can put the firewood straight into the baskets,” Yuan Zhao instructed, helping them load their collected wood. “Let’s go—there’s still more to gather!”
“This is so fun!” Shi Qingran exclaimed, thrilled with the baskets.
Yuan Zhao felt proud; he was skilled at such tasks.
Excited by the novelty of carrying baskets, the children worked energetically, and soon their baskets were full. Yuan Zhao carried even more, neatly stacking the wood, and tied extra branches together to carry them down easily.
“Brother! Over there are lots of mushrooms!” Yuan’er shouted softly ahead.
Yuan Zhao hurried over. Mushrooms were rare and valuable; they would add to their food.
But upon approaching, he realized something was wrong—not only were mushrooms scattered on the ground, but also baskets—clearly someone had an accident here.
“Brother—”
“Shh… someone’s here!”
Yuan Zhao instructed them to stay put and cautiously descended the slope, spotting a figure collapsed against a rock, trembling and calling for help.