Saving a life is worth more than building a seven-story pagoda.
That thought popped into Qin Xiaoman’s head. He dropped his basket and jumped into the ditch, tugging and hauling the man up onto the main road.
Who knew how long the man had been lying there? His whole body was soaked through.
As Qin Xiaoman carried him, icy water ran off the man and soaked him in return, biting into his teeth with cold.
Just as they climbed onto the road, the man slipped off his shoulders with a “thud” and fell to the ground.
“Hey!”
Qin Xiaoman moved to help him up, but the man didn’t respond. He breathed faintly, his body seemingly numb from the cold, eyes blank and distant.
When he finally looked at Qin Xiaoman, a spark of life appeared in his eyes. Clutching Qin Xiaoman’s sleeve, he gasped: “Food… give me some food.”
Qin Xiaoman blinked at the desperate young man asking for food.
Despite the dirt and blood smeared across his face, it was impossible to hide his striking features—high nose, sharp brows, handsome eyes. Even in his pitiful state, the structure of his face was impeccable.
Qin Xiaoman had never seen such a good-looking man in his life. Perhaps because of his age or his shallow fascination with appearances, he couldn’t help staring a few more times.
Moved by the man’s looks, he was willing to give him some food, though he said: “I don’t have any on me.”
“Please… just a bite… I haven’t eaten in three days…”
The man’s voice was weak and broken, his hands clutching Qin Xiaoman’s sleeve as he struggled to stay upright.
Seeing the man looked young, barely twenty, Qin Xiaoman asked: “Who are you? How did you end up in this ditch?”
“I-I’m a refugee from Qiuyang County… haven’t eaten or drunk for days… I… I lost my strength and… fell…”
Qin Xiaoman furrowed his brow. “Where are your family—wife, children, parents? I can take you to them.”
The man shook his head, nearly out of words, but looking at Qin Xiaoman as if he were his only lifeline: “No… no family… parents gone…”
Qin Xiaoman’s mind started spinning, though he kept it hidden.
He said: “I have food at home, and it’s not far from here.”
The man nodded eagerly: “Yes… yes…”
Qin Xiaoman spoke bluntly: “But I can’t just bring a man home. I’m not married yet. If you’re willing to be my live-in husband, I’ll take you.”
Without hesitation, the man said: “I will… I’ll do anything… just give me something to eat…”
The rain grew heavier, the fog thickened, a gray haze pressing down, limiting visibility to barely a few feet.
Evening had fallen.
Qin Xiaoman sighed as he sat in the main room.
He wondered why the guy had agreed so readily—he thought it must have been starvation talking.
After making three pancakes in a row, Qin Xiaoman found the man filthy and smelly, and sent him to wash in the hot water room.
The man obeyed, limping awkwardly with a slanted shoulder.
Only then did Qin Xiaoman realize—this man was crippled!
No wonder he had crawled along the road claiming he had no strength. Qin Xiaoman, overjoyed at having rescued such a handsome husband, had carried him home.
Little did he know he had been tricked!
Annoyed, Qin Xiaoman considered waiting until the man finished bathing, giving him some dry food and clothes, and sending him away—just treating the earlier promises as a joke, since no one else had seen or heard.
It wasn’t that he lacked a conscience, but a man with crippled limbs… how would he survive day-to-day?
Qin Xiaoman had some savings, but he wasn’t a wealthy landowner—he couldn’t support a dependent idler.
What could a cripple do? Heavy labor? Impossible. He’d probably be limited to washing clothes and cleaning dishes at home.
And who would willingly do that? Even live-in sons-in-law in the village refused such work.
Qin Xiaoman ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated. As he brooded, a sudden thump snapped him out of his thoughts.
“What’s wrong?”
He paused, hearing no reply from inside. Frowning, he stood and called again: “Is everything okay?”
Still no answer. He knocked on the door—silent.
The door wasn’t latched, so he pushed it open, only to find the naked man collapsed on the floor.
“Ah!”
Qin Xiaoman rushed over without hesitation, ignoring his lack of clothing, and quickly carried him inside.
He laid the man on the bed, touching his nose to check for breath, and recoiled in horror.
This man… seemed lifeless.
Qin Xiaoman couldn’t believe his bad luck. Yet during times of famine, starving refugees were not uncommon, and this man was so frail that he could have been lying in the freezing ditch for who knows how long.
Thinking the man might still be alive, Qin Xiaoman reached out again to check his breath. He let out a long sigh of relief—there was still air. He must have misjudged him earlier out of nervousness; it was just a fainting spell.
Qin Xiaoman planned to brew him an herbal remedy later. Feeling reassured, he looked at the man lying on the bed—and suddenly swallowed hard.
The man must have washed his face just now. With the dirt, grime, and blood washed away, his fair skin showed through. His features were already striking, and now clean, he looked even more handsome.
Very eye-catching.
There was no one else in the village with a face like his.
Qin Xiaoman thought: It’s freezing outside. If I chased a cripple out, I’d be driving him to his death. Plenty of healthy refugees are starving, and this guy can’t even walk properly.
I carried him all this way, letting him rest a few times to reach home… letting him go now would be a waste.
A person has to have some conscience.
Might as well take the loss.
Who am I, Qin Xiaoman? I can handle this. Might as well consider him an extra companion for meals and conversation.
He comforted himself further: He’s this good-looking; when it comes to business, having him around will at least brighten things up.
He was the kind of person who let things roll off his back, and he quickly accepted that his live-in son-in-law would be a cripple.
Seeing the man soaked and still dirty, Qin Xiaoman didn’t want to waste the hot water he’d prepared from dried firewood. He fetched the remaining water from the washroom and, while still hot, wrung out a cloth to scrub the man on the bed.
Scrub after scrub, the man’s grime was thick. Qin Xiaoman had to use some force, working briskly, almost like a butcher scalding a pig, so that the fainted man’s brows twitched slightly.
Du Heng felt as if someone were performing vigorous gua sha, pressing repeatedly over his chest. After some gritted-teeth torment, the scrubbing paused, giving him a moment to relax—only to be flipped over and continued.
He struggled, trying to ask for gentler hands, only to suddenly remember: he had driven into the mountains on a rainy night to inspect a collapsed water channel and protect crops, then been caught in a mudslide, losing both car and people. How could someone be scrubbing him like this?
Before he could make sense of it, he tried to speak—but his mouth felt heavy, as if filled with lead. The “scrubber” paused, then said:
“Anyway, we’re husband and wife now. What’s to be embarrassed about?”
Then the scrubbing object moved down to his thighs. Du Heng immediately broke free of the mental fog and jolted upright.
He nearly collided with Qin Xiaoman, who was leaning in with a cloth to wash him.
Terrified, Du Heng realized he was lying half-naked on the bed, being scrubbed like a fish on a cutting board. This wasn’t a dream; the young man’s hands were stiff at his legs, caught in the act.
He quickly grabbed anything nearby to cover himself, his face burning red, trying to scoot aside. But his legs weren’t cooperative.
Looking at the youth, strangely dressed in old-fashioned clothes but still male, he relaxed slightly, partially accepting the fact that he had been handled while naked—but having never been to a public bath or exposed himself fully before, it was still a shock.
His cheeks remained flushed.
After catching his breath, he felt soreness all over, especially in his crippled leg, and from the unfamiliar boy and surroundings. He tentatively asked: “You… saved me?”
Qin Xiaoman jumped at the sudden “resurrection,” then was shocked by the flurry of actions—the man tugging the blanket, covering himself, and blushing furiously.
He was about to say: Your legs are broken, and your equipment too. Stop acting so embarrassed! Yet the scene did make it feel like he’d taken advantage of him.
Still, Qin Xiaoman, feeling justified, shouted: “You lost your memory or what? If I hadn’t dragged you out of that ditch, you’d be stiff by now!”
“?!”
Qin Xiaoman rolled his eyes. “What, now that you’ve eaten and rested, you don’t want to admit it? You can leave, I won’t stop you. It’s freezing outside, and if you fall in a ditch again, there might not be a good Samaritan like me.”
Only then did Du Heng realize just how cold he was. He hugged himself and rubbed his goosebumped arms, still not fully understanding what had happened.
The boy noticed his reaction and said disdainfully: “Look at you—acting like a delicate young lady.”
He went to fetch a large bundle and tossed clothes over: “Since you’re awake, put these on. I’m going to cook. Take a nap now, you’ll eat once you get up.”
Qin Xiaoman slipped out of sight behind the door frame and exhaled. This guy’s shyness almost embarrassed him.
Du Heng watched the boy leave, shutting the drafty door behind him. He stared, stunned.
He looked up at a wooden bed draped with curtains, an old wardrobe, and matching desk and stool. The stone-and-earth walls had cracks.
Even without looking up, he could guess the roof was black-tiled.
Such a simple, worn mountain house was common. After graduating college, he had served as a village official for three years. Just as the village was progressing well, he had lost everything.
Yet he didn’t feel like he had truly lost it all. Everything seemed real, though he didn’t understand why this boy was dressed so archaically, or why the clothes he’d given him were of an old style.
As he pondered, a sudden throb struck his head. Fragmented memories trickled into his mind, gradually forming a coherent recollection.
His name was Du Heng.
He was the only son of a merchant family in Qiuyang County. Life had been fine, until poor management and bad luck over the past few years led to total ruin. A disastrous year left him from a young master to a lowly laborer.
Though he hadn’t grown up rich or noble, Du Heng had lived in a household with plenty of food and clothing. He had never done heavy labor, and when misfortune struck and he was forced into hard labor, he couldn’t handle it. His employer, dissatisfied, dismissed him.
With nowhere else to turn, Du Heng joined a group of refugees and arrived at Luoxia County, begging wherever he could. Because of his decent looks, he could usually get a little food.
But this drew the ire of the local long-time beggars. They beat him badly, leaving his legs injured and making walking difficult, and he was chased out of the county town.
This brought him to the memories he had just recalled—the incident in the ditch and being carried to the village.
Du Heng knew that before, he had barely survived. In the ditch, he had already been at the end of his rope. But hunger had been so fierce that he kept thinking of that one bite of food.
He had made it to the village by sheer luck, and after eating, he felt no lingering worries—until he passed out.
Now, he realized he had been brought here by accident—or rather, by the boy who had saved him. For a moment, Du Heng didn’t know whether to feel happy or distressed.
What made his scalp tingle was that, from memory, he realized the person who had brought him back wasn’t actually male.
This “boy,” called “ge’er” (a young master), was able to bear children like a woman and could marry.
Du Heng furrowed his brow. What had that boy said while he was unconscious?
That he was… brought back to be his husband.
?!
Wait—his original self had practically sold him in exchange for a bite of food, agreeing to become a live-in husband.
Du Heng wrapped himself tighter in the blanket. There was no draft in the room, yet he felt colder than he had ever felt in the biting winter wind.
Author’s note:
Du Heng: “Brother… what do I owe you, and how do I ever repay it?”