“Strange—where did they go?”
Shen Nian had already caught sight of the two figures. They were less than two meters away; she was just about to find them.
The man didn’t seem nervous at all, but Shen Nian was. She had no desire to catch a bullet.
If she died by accident, who knew whether she’d get another chance to transmigrate?
Just as she was thinking this, a wild duck suddenly flapped up from right by their feet with a loud quacking, its nest still holding several eggs.
The two men were startled.
The wild duck seemed furious too. It circled back midair and hovered in front of them, pecking at them aggressively.
“Fuck, what kind of hellhole is this? My face is almost scratched up.”
“Let’s go, let’s go—look somewhere else.”
The two were probably shaken. After cursing a few times, they turned to leave, crushing the wild duck eggs in the nest underfoot before walking away.
The wild duck quacked angrily a few times, sounding like it was cursing them viciously.
Shen Nian finally let out a breath of relief. Lowering her gaze, she saw that the man’s filthy hand was still clamped over her mouth.
She didn’t hold back. She drove her elbow straight into his already injured chest. The man let out a muffled groan, his hand trembling slightly.
Shen Nian felt a surge of satisfaction. Enduring the pain, the man rasped hoarsely, “I’ll let go. Don’t scream.”
Shen Nian nodded. Whoever screamed was a grandson.
The man cautiously loosened his grip. The moment Shen Nian opened her mouth—
“Mmm—”
Before a sound could escape, the big hand clamped back over her mouth.
Furious, Shen Nian grabbed his hand, trying to pry it off, but he was strong too.
They struggled for quite a while, nearly coming to blows.
The man was holding a knife. Realizing this woman was strong as an ox, he tried to let go—but Shen Nian grabbed the wrist holding the knife and wrenched hard, snatching the short blade away.
Staring at his now-empty palm, the man froze for a brief moment.
“You—”
The instant he opened his mouth, Shen Nian grinned smugly. She twirled the knife once in her hand and was just about to slap him when the man coughed weakly a couple of times, his vision going black as he passed out.
This bastard’s pretending, right?
He had just tried to stab her!
But then again, if he truly meant to kill her, the knife would already be in her by now.
She lifted her foot and lightly kicked his calf, lowering her voice. “Hey, stop playing dead. Get up already. Can’t win a fight so you pretend? Who does that?”
The man didn’t move at all. Shen Nian cautiously squatted beside him, tentatively checking his breathing, then touching his forehead.
His breathing was weak, his forehead burning hot—likely a fever caused by an infected wound.
Why don’t you just die from it?
The man wore a white shirt on top and black dress pants below, with leather shoes on his feet. One look and you could tell he wasn’t poor.
Shen Nian wanted to leave, but abandoning him here didn’t seem right either.
If he died in the reed marsh, how would she ever come back here to collect duck eggs?
Her mind had already started spinning up a story. She had accidentally transmigrated.
No—hadn’t she already transmigrated?
Maybe the man in front of her had a prominent background. In the future, he might give her a sum of money, then kneel down holding a pigeon-egg-sized diamond ring to propose to her, and then—
Stop. Stop!
She slapped her forehead, shaking her head irritably. What was she thinking?
Enough with these unrealistic fantasies.
Taking a deep breath, she set her basket by his feet, exited the reed marsh first to make sure the two men were truly gone, then came back and easily hoisted the man onto her shoulder. With duck eggs in one hand, she strolled toward the thatched hut as if out for a walk.
Fortunately, in March everyone in the village was busy working their fields. She didn’t encounter a single soul along the way.
She roughly dumped him onto a pile of wheat straw, then squatted down to check his wound.
One look nearly scared her to death.
She pulled open his shirt, revealing tanned, solid eight-pack abs with clear definition—very pleasing to the eye. Unfortunately, yellow pus was seeping from the inflamed wound on his chest. It was obvious the bullet had been lodged inside too long, causing infection.
Well, since she’d already brought him back, she might as well save his life.
In her previous life as a geological technician, her team had regular training sessions. She could handle a wound like this.
Since he was being hunted, it was better not to leave the hut once inside.
Her gaze fell on the steel knife she’d taken from him. Examining it closely, she saw a five-pointed star engraved on the handle.
Could he be ex-military?
Whatever. Why think so much?
If he truly wanted to kill her, she’d already be dead.
She heated a basin of water and set it aside, then went to the door to pull up some dandelion and mugwort. Dandelion could be boiled into a decoction; the mugwort she crushed into a paste with a stone.
The man looked half-dead, his brow tightly furrowed, already delirious with fever.
Shen Nian took a deep breath. She scalded the steel knife in boiling water, let it cool slightly, and then, without hesitation, made the cut.
The man let out a faint groan. In his haze, his eyes cracked open briefly, sweeping over Shen Nian as she focused intently on removing the bullet, before closing again.
Shen Nian’s hands were shaking. A live horse might as well be treated like a dead one.
Soon, she dug out the bullet and gently cleaned away the necrotic flesh around the wound.
A fine sheen of sweat beaded on her forehead. She took the new towel she’d bought, scalded it in boiling water, spread a generous amount of crushed mugwort over the wound, then covered it with the towel.
Now she just needed gauze.
But she hadn’t prepared any.
Her eyes landed on the man’s white shirt. Fine—she’d use that.
She washed it clean, cut it into palm-wide strips, and used them to bandage his wound.
By the time she finished, it was already noon.
Exhausted, Shen Nian still wasn’t done. She turned around and boiled dandelion water to detoxify and reduce his fever.
She’d originally thought about washing him, but she was lazy. Saving him from the brink of death was already generous enough—did he really expect careful pampering too?
She tossed the dandelion into the pot casually, hesitated, then threw in another handful to make it stronger.
Once the decoction was ready, she poured it into a bowl, let it cool, pinched the man’s nose, and poured it down his throat.
He choked and coughed twice, then went still again.
Sweating all over from exhaustion, Shen Nian saw it was already late. She greased a stone, fried herself two eggs, cooked two bowls of thin porridge, and made herself a cold dish of purslane.
Back when she went into the field, with nothing to do at night, she liked curling up in bed reading period novels. The heroines in those books, reborn, would immediately start making pastries or cooking elaborate dishes.
Now look at her—she only got one jin of cooking oil per month. Even one stir-fried dish a day was a luxury.
Still, when you’re hungry, anything tastes good.
The cold purslane had just a few drops of oil and a sprinkle of salt—mixed casually, good enough to eat.
After finishing, she placed the remaining bowl of porridge on the stone table by the straw pile, so the man wouldn’t starve to death.
She’d picked up a few wild ducks earlier; she needed to make a simple nest for them. Then she’d have to cut some bamboo and weave herself a table and chairs.
In short, she’d just make do with whatever was available, one day at a time.
She tucked the machete into the back of her waist, locked the door, and headed alone into the nearby forest.