Du Heng followed Xiaoman to the village’s only doctor’s house.
In the morning wind, the small courtyard was crowded. The doctor had been away for two days, and winter made people more prone to illness, so patients had gathered as soon as they heard he returned. Some came for medicine, some for treatment; it was likely the busiest place in the village that morning.
Du Heng entered with Xiaoman, drawing attention. Several pairs of eyes immediately fell on him. They whispered and giggled to each other. Xiaoman glared at them, and the adults quieted down, though their curiosity lingered.
“Xiaoman, is this your household guest?” one woman asked.
“Looking quite proper,” another remarked.
Xiaoman, hearing the praise for Du Heng, nodded and craned his neck toward the interior. “Are you all done here? If so, I’ll go in first.”
The women urged, “Take a look first, we’re not in a hurry.”
“All right,” Xiaoman replied, guiding Du Heng inside, followed closely by the curious villagers.
“Where does it hurt?”
Inside, the smell of herbs hung in the air. An older man was bundling medicinal packets. Xiaoman hurriedly pushed Du Heng onto a stool. “Doctor Cui, my husband injured his foot earlier and limps when he walks. Can you fix it?”
The doctor glanced at Xiaoman and said nothing, stepping over to examine Du Heng. Du Heng thoughtfully rolled up his pants. The doctor inspected the injury and pressed gently.
“Why didn’t you come sooner? The bone has healed incorrectly.”
Xiaoman’s eyes widened. “Can it still be treated?”
The doctor was calm. “If we treat it, we must first break it where it healed wrong and reset it.”
Xiaoman gasped. “Break a healed bone again? That’ll hurt so much!”
Du Heng smiled lightly—of course it would hurt, but if it would heal, a little pain was bearable.
Seeing Du Heng unflinching, Xiaoman turned to the doctor. “Then break it. Let’s fix it.”
“After breaking, it must rest for at least three months. In the beginning, it’ll be worse than now—you won’t be able to walk properly, let alone do any work. Also, the treatment costs aren’t small. I’m telling you upfront—you agree to pay, I’ll treat it.”
Xiaoman muttered, “It’s not like we’re using ginseng or goji berries for a tonic…” Then, softening his tone, he asked, “How much exactly?”
The doctor replied evenly, “With treatment and dressing changes, it’ll cost at least a thousand wen.”
“Why so expensive?!” Xiaoman exclaimed. Villagers nearby murmured in astonishment.
“In that part of the valley, dowries are only around twelve hundred. Treating a foot costs almost as much?”
“The poorest in the village live there. So it’s normal to spend a little less or a little more—sometimes three to five thousand for a wedding is given.”
“This family will only see a few daughters married out in a lifetime. This is a big matter. Normally, who can afford this kind of treatment? It’s really a burden…”
Du Heng listened to the villagers’ chatter, raising an eyebrow. He understood—without power or wealth, earning even a few copper coins was hard. The doctor asking for what amounted to one or two silver coins for treatment was a heavy load for anyone.
He looked at Xiaoman. Since the foot could be healed, it had to be treated. If they hesitated, the injury would make heavy labor impossible, and even civil examinations required physical capability.
“I’ll pay for your treatment first,” Du Heng whispered in Xiaoman’s ear.
Xiaoman frowned, pushing him away. “You say that, but of course I’d pay if it can be healed.”
Du Heng pursed his lips, quietly observing him.
Xiaoman pouted angrily. “Fine, fine, fine! The village doctor sure charges a lot!”
The doctor remained calm. “In the city, it would be even more expensive. You’ll have no choice but to pay.”
With the arrangement made, the villagers whispered among themselves, unsure what Du Heng and Xiaoman had said, but now it was clear—the treatment would proceed.
“They say that son-in-law really knows how to talk. Such a big sum, and Xiaoman is just spending it like that.”
“Just look at his face—if your husband looked like that and spoke gently, wouldn’t you give him whatever he wanted? You’d barely leave the house in three days.”
“My husband isn’t a cripple,” someone replied, and the villagers laughed heartily.
“All right, all right, everyone go on out. We’ve got to treat this properly.”
The villagers were sensible and, hearing that it involved bone-setting, didn’t crowd around to watch.
Xiaoman stood tensely in front of Du Heng, more nervous than Du Heng himself, who remained calm.
“Xiaoman, you should step outside. It’ll be over soon,” Doctor Cui said, taking out a small hammer and handing Du Heng a wooden block. “Bite down on this.”
“I’m not leaving! What if they mess up my husband’s leg?” Xiaoman protested.
Du Heng patted Xiaoman’s hand. “All right, I’m a little thirsty. Can you get me some water?”
Seeing Du Heng speak, Xiaoman finally felt reassured enough to nod. “Okay, but Uncle, you have to fix my husband’s leg properly.”
“I know what I’m doing,” the doctor replied calmly.
Xiaoman stepped outside, glancing back frequently, sighing. He hadn’t expected bone-setting, or he would have brought Du Heng to the city the day before—what a hassle.
Outside, villagers gathered, spotting him. “Xiaoman, you really are willing to pay to treat him?”
“Of course! If your man got hurt, wouldn’t you take him to a doctor?”
“Oh, yes, naturally. But it’s different with a stranger from outside. What if he’s ungrateful? You get his leg fixed, and he runs off?”
Xiaoman stayed silent.
One man chimed in, “Yeah, eat and drink at your place, and the money’s spent with nothing to show for it.”
“Still, your family has money, so it doesn’t matter,” another said.
“But see, it’s fine now—he’s not bedridden. Being lame has its advantages: he stays loyal, and when taxes come, he won’t be drafted. I’d be secretly pleased!”
Xiaoman frowned. “I’m not letting anyone stay lame just to keep them around. If you think it’s a pity he’s not crippled, you can have Uncle go to Doctor Cui—one hammer and it’s done.”
He then went into the kitchen to fetch hot water.
“Look at this boy! We care for him, and he says things like that? No wonder Mrs. Zhao never let him in the house!”
“Well, it’s not the first day we’ve seen his temper. Mr. Qin had to pay plenty when accidents happened at the kilns. People with money can spend freely.”
After about half an hour, Du Heng’s leg was wrapped like a giant white radish, his face pale as paper. Xiaoman helped him out, and the villagers, seeing his battered state, stopped their chatter.
“Take it slow; the road’s slippery.”
“Oh, what a pain this is!”
The villagers accompanied them to the yard entrance, shaking their heads as the two walked away.
Xiaoman squatted once they were out of sight. “Come, I’ll carry you home.”
“How can you carry me?” Du Heng’s lips were pale, his voice weak.
“You’ve been carried before,” Xiaoman said, frowning. “No one’s watching now, why be shy? It’s just a short walk!”
“Wouldn’t it slow you down?”
Xiaoman glared. “I haven’t complained about you being stingy before. Now you’ve found something else to blame me for.”
Du Heng smiled weakly at him, which only made Xiaoman more impatient. “Stop dawdling—everyone’s out in the fields soon.”
Du Heng lay against Xiaoman’s narrow back, careful not to put his hands on his shoulders, wary of the injury. Still, he was amazed at how much strength Xiaoman had to carry him. Being carried by someone smaller, listening to him chatter nonstop, left him helpless but warm inside.
At home, Xiaoman seated Du Heng on a chair, exhaling deeply. The trip from Doctor Cui’s wasn’t far, but carrying him in one go left him drenched in sweat. Du Heng, though thin, had a large frame.
Wiping his brow, Xiaoman saw Du Heng’s leg still wrapped, previously bleeding, and retrieved a charcoal brazier to keep him warm.
“I’ll go to Second Uncle’s to get some meat for you,” Xiaoman said.
“No need, there’s still some meat at home,” Du Heng said quickly.
“That won’t do. You need proper nourishment. I’ll get a fresh pig’s foot for soup. Doctor Cui said your body is weak—you need to eat well to heal faster.”
Seeing Du Heng’s pale face, Xiaoman felt his heart ache.
“Don’t spend so much… we already paid enough for treatment today,” Du Heng protested.
“Money is for what matters. Save when you can, spend when you must. You just focus on healing.”