“Waa—!”
A loud cry suddenly shattered the silence of the wooden cabin, drowning out the howling wind and snow outside.
Wen Yinyue’s whole body relaxed at once, as if all her strength had been drained away. She slumped back against the headboard, the loose strands of hair on her forehead plastered to her skin with cold sweat, yet her eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the tiny figure in Aunt Wang’s arms. That was her son—his wrinkled little face flushed red, his cry bright and clear like a mountain spring. His limbs kicked restlessly within the coarse cloth wrapping, brimming with a stubborn, unyielding spirit.
“He’s born, he’s born! A strong little boy!” Aunt Wang beamed, crow’s-feet creasing at the corners of her eyes. Her rough hands carefully supported the baby as she brought him closer to Wen Yinyue. “Miss, take a look—what fine brows and eyes! And such a loud cry. This child is sure to be blessed in the future!”
As she spoke, she gently wiped the amniotic fluid from the baby’s mouth with a clean cloth. Her movements were practiced and tender—thirty years of midwifery had made her especially attentive to newborns.
Wen Yinyue’s fingers trembled as she lightly touched the baby’s tiny fist. It was clenched tight, and when it brushed against her finger, it even gave a small squeeze.
A warm current surged from her fingertips straight to her heart. Her eyes burned as tears fell onto her fur coat, spreading into a small damp patch. “He… he’s so small…” Her voice was hoarse, yet filled with uncontrollable excitement. This was her child—the first true family she had in this desperate, alien world.
“They’re all like this when they’re just born. In a few days, he’ll fill out,” Aunt Wang said as she laid the baby on the soft felt spread beside Wen Yinyue. “You catch your breath first. I’ll disinfect the scissors again—judging by this, there’s probably another one.”
No sooner had she spoken than a heavy, dragging pain surged through Wen Yinyue’s lower abdomen again. She gripped the bedframe tightly. The contraction was even stronger than when she delivered the first child, yet it carried an unusual resistance. Her heart tightened with a vague sense of foreboding.
Aunt Wang sensed something was wrong as well. She hurried back to the bedside. The moment her hand touched Wen Yinyue’s abdomen, her expression changed. “Miss, the second child’s position is a bit off. Bear with it and push with my rhythm. Don’t panic!”
Wen Yinyue nodded, gritting her teeth as she once again gathered her internal energy in her lower abdomen. This time, she was especially careful, afraid of harming the child inside.
Outside the cabin, the wind and snow seemed even fiercer. The woo-woo of the wind howled in their ears, and the flames in the brazier flickered crookedly, casting solemn expressions on both their faces.
At the end of the hour of Chou, the second child was finally born.
But when Aunt Wang lifted the baby, the smile on her face froze instantly. This child was a full circle smaller than her brother, her entire body bluish-purple. Her eyes were shut, and she lay completely still; even the rise and fall of her chest was so faint it was almost imperceptible.
“Th-this… why isn’t this child making a sound?” Aunt Wang’s voice trembled. In a panic, she patted the baby’s bottom, but there was still no response.
Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. She turned to Wen Yinyue, her eyes full of helplessness. “Miss, what do we do? I’ve delivered babies for so many years—I’ve never seen…”
“Auntie, don’t panic!” Wen Yinyue forced herself upright. Though her body was utterly exhausted, her gaze was unwavering. “Help me get the silver needles and the blood ginseng powder from the bedside. Quickly!”
She had prepared for this long ago. The blood ginseng grown in the valley had been ground into powder and stored in a small clay bottle, and the silver needles were finely polished from ironstone—just in case something went wrong at birth.
Aunt Wang nodded repeatedly and brought the items at once. Wen Yinyue took the silver needles, swiftly selecting the three thinnest ones. She lightly pierced the baby’s Baihui acupoint (the center of the crown of the head). The force was perfectly controlled—enough to stimulate the flow of qi and blood in the brain without harming the baby’s fragile skull. Then she inserted one needle into each Yongquan acupoint (the soles of the feet). Her movements were as fast as the wind, making Aunt Wang hold her breath as she watched.
“Auntie, pour some warm water and mix in the blood ginseng powder. Make it thin.”
Wen Yinyue’s voice remained steady, but fresh cold sweat beaded on her forehead. This was her first time using acupuncture on a newborn. Even with modern medical knowledge to support her, she feared making the slightest mistake.
Aunt Wang quickly mixed the blood ginseng infusion, dipped a bit with a clean feather, and handed it to Wen Yinyue.
Carefully, Wen Yinyue brought the feather to the baby’s lips. One drop… then another… The blood ginseng liquid slid into the baby’s throat. At first there was no reaction. But after about the time it takes to drink half a cup of tea, the baby’s tiny fingers suddenly twitched. Then, at last, a faint whimper escaped her lips.
“She’s alive! She’s alive!” Aunt Wang clapped her hands in excitement, her eyes reddening. “Miss, you’re incredible! I’ve never seen a method like this before—and it really saved the child!”
Wen Yinyue let out a long breath, tears streaming down her face once more.
She took her daughter from Aunt Wang’s arms and gently held her close. This child was weaker than her brother, yet she had a delicate nose and slightly upturned lips. With her eyes closed, the curve at the corners of her eyes looked strikingly like that man in the dark brocade robe from Wen Yinyue’s memories.
Her heart trembled softly as complex emotions surged in her chest. That man—she didn’t even know his name—had given her two children so precious.
“Auntie, look at these two children. What names do you think I should give them?” Wen Yinyue asked softly, wanting both Aunt Wang’s opinion and a way to steady her own thoughts through naming them.
Aunt Wang leaned in to look. Pointing at the eldest, she said, “This one’s sturdy and cries loud. How about calling him ‘Zhuangzhuang’? Easy to raise!” Then she pointed at the daughter. “This girl has great luck. ‘Yaya’ would be fine too.”
Wen Yinyue smiled and shook her head. “I want to give them more proper names.” She looked down at her son in her arms. The little one had already stopped crying and was staring at her with big, round eyes, bright as stars. “He’s the elder brother. He should grow up to be upright and honorable, like the sun—warm and open. Let’s call him Wen Junye. A gentleman as radiant as blazing light, illuminating himself and warming others.”
Then she turned to her daughter, her fingers gently tracing the baby’s cheek. “She’s like a stream—lively and resilient. Even if she starts out weak, she can still survive tenaciously. She’ll be Wen Lingxi.” After a pause, she added, “As nimble as flowing water, able to wind around mountains and run toward distant horizons.”
“Wen Junye, Wen Lingxi…” Aunt Wang murmured the names, nodding repeatedly. “They’re beautiful—learned and elegant! Much better than my ‘Zhuangzhuang’ and ‘Yaya.’”
Watching Wen Yinyue cradle the two children, she couldn’t help but sigh. “Miss, you’re truly capable. You gave birth on your own and even saved a child. These two are bound to have bright futures.”
Wen Yinyue lowered her gaze to the children in her arms and silently swore in her heart: no matter what hardships lay ahead, and whether that man in the dark robe ever appeared again, she would do everything in her power to protect Junye and Lingxi—to let them grow up safely and become whoever they wished to be.
This valley might be remote, but it was their refuge. She would raise them here, teach them medicine, teach them martial skills, and give them the ability to protect themselves.
“Auntie, once the snow eases a bit, I’ll take you back to Li Family Village,” Wen Yinyue said suddenly, keeping her tone casual. “As for the millet we talked about before, I’ll pack you an extra sack. Thank you for your help today.”
She needed to send Aunt Wang back as soon as possible. The effects of the Forget-Worry Grass were wearing off; if Aunt Wang recalled anything she shouldn’t, it would be troublesome.
Aunt Wang waved her hand. “No need to be so polite, miss. Delivering babies is my trade. There’s no rush to leave—once the snow stops will be fine. I can also help you look after the babies for a couple of days. You’ve just given birth; your body’s weak.”
She truly didn’t think much of it. She only felt that this “distant cousin” was kind and knowledgeable in medicine, while completely unable to remember how she had come here or the path outside the cabin.
Wen Yinyue finally relaxed, nodding. “Then I’ll trouble you, Auntie.”
Outside the cabin, the wind and snow gradually eased. A faint morning light appeared on the horizon, streaming in through the window cracks and falling on the two children’s faces, as if edging them with gold.
Cradling Junye and Lingxi, Wen Yinyue leaned against the headboard. Aunt Wang tidied up the tools used for the delivery at her side. The flames in the brazier flared anew, warming the entire wooden cabin.