Zhao Qingsong shook his head without hesitation. He remembered clearly—there was no barefoot doctor in the village.
“I smell Chinese medicine,” Old Chen sniffed. He had noticed it long ago and even found it pleasant.
“Well… about that smell, our village does have a veterinarian,” Liu Baozhu quickly cut in before Widow Liu could speak, afraid she might reveal how Qin Jiao had cured Cui Fifth Aunt. To stop further questioning, she even labeled Qin Jiao as a vet.
But Old Chen didn’t let it go. “I’ll go take a look. It smells like something I used to take.”
He was not someone to be contradicted. Liu Baozhu wanted to stop him but was intimidated, so she could only look helplessly at her husband.
After half a year of marriage, she knew Zhao Qingsong well—an ambitious man through and through. He would do anything that benefited his career.
But Liu Baozhu wasn’t ordinary either. She liked men with ambition.
Zhao Qingsong ignored her and sniffed carefully. “It’s coming from next door.”
How could he forget—he had almost become that family’s son-in-law.
“Aunt Qin, are you home? I’m from the Zhao family at the village entrance.”
Qin Guihua didn’t respond.
Qin Jiao didn’t want to either, but as a doctor, she noticed Old Chen’s weak voice and abnormal cough. No matter her feelings toward Zhao Qingsong, she couldn’t ignore a sick person.
The door creaked open.
Zhao Qingsong’s eyes lit up at the sight of the young woman with glossy braids.
“What is it?” she asked.
He rubbed his nose. “Do you have any herbal medicine? Could you give me some?”
“There is medicine, but it can’t be taken casually.”
Though her tone was calm, Zhao Qingsong felt a sharp edge.
Liu Baozhu, however, relaxed—this meant Qin Jiao had no interest in her husband anymore.
“If Qin Jiao knew, she’d probably laugh at her imagination.”
“It’s like this,” Zhao Qingsong explained. “We have a guest who’s unwell. The smell matches something he usually takes. Could we have some?”
Traditional medicine didn’t follow fixed formulas like modern medicine. Without seeing the patient, Qin Jiao wouldn’t give medicine lightly.
At that moment, Old Chen slowly approached the doorway. “Don’t worry, I won’t take it blindly. It really smells like something I’ve taken before. I just want a little to ease my symptoms.”
After speaking, he was already short of breath.
Qin Jiao stepped closer and examined him.
His face was dark yellow-black, eyes protruding, lips slightly bluish, limbs cold—
And most importantly, she recognized him.
In her previous life, He Liansheng had once been a brilliant young talent in communications, trained under a physics teacher named Chen Bohán.
That teacher—was the man in front of her.
Later, due to political circumstances, Chen Bohán was sent away, while He Liansheng suffered setbacks of his own. They reunited briefly years later, only for Chen Bohán to die in an accident soon after.
Qin Jiao clenched her fists.
She hated Zhao Qingsong and wished him no success—but as someone raised in her country, she also hoped Chen Bohán would live.
Saving him might change the future of an important project.
In that instant, she decided—she would save him.
But she would never let Zhao Qingsong take the credit.
She supported Old Chen casually, her fingers resting on his wrist—secretly taking his pulse.
The pulse was irregular. Combined with his symptoms, it was clearly a heart condition caused by cold obstruction—what ancient texts called “chest impediment.”
Fortunately, she had just gathered some fresh herbs.
Old Chen immediately recognized one. “That’s Allium macrostemon, right? I’ve taken it before.”
She nodded and added dried tangerine peel, cinnamon twig, and a few other herbs, then boiled them.
Zhao Qingsong wanted to stop her, but Old Chen raised his hand.
He sensed something in her gaze—respect, like that of a student toward a teacher.
It reminded him of someone.
At that moment, Qin Jiao casually said, “Brother Qingsong, has Liansheng mentioned when he’ll return?”
Zhao Qingsong froze.
Qin Jiao saw it immediately—so much for “good brothers.”
He had hidden the connection between Chen Bohán and He Liansheng out of jealousy.
“Could you help me contact him?” she continued softly, pretending shyness. “I’d like to know when he’s coming back.”
Zhao Qingsong’s face turned pale.
Earlier, he had told Old Chen he didn’t know He Liansheng.
Now, his lie was exposed.
Old Chen’s gaze turned cold.
After a moment, he looked at Qin Jiao warmly. “You mean He Liansheng?”
“Yes, my husband.”
They confirmed details, and Old Chen’s expression grew brighter.
He hadn’t expected to see his student again.
That night, after taking the medicine, he told Zhao Qingsong, “I need to make a phone call tomorrow—to your factory.”
*
That single phone call changed He Liansheng’s fate.
He had just returned from the north and was preparing to reunite with Qin Jiao when he was summoned.
“You’ve been transferred,” the deputy director said, handing him a document.
It was an official order—from Factory 412.
“They need someone like you. Report within a month.”
Factory 412 was prestigious.
He suspected someone had recommended him—but who didn’t matter now.
What mattered was returning to Qin Jiao.
During the months apart, he found himself thinking of her often—what she was doing, whether she was studying, whether she needed help.
The feeling was unfamiliar, but not unpleasant.
*
Meanwhile, Old Chen stayed in the village after his condition improved.
Zhao Qingsong busied himself with household repairs, trying to appear dutiful.
Liu Baozhu, however, struggled with farm work and soon returned to town, using the excuse of missing the children.
Old Chen saw through everything but said nothing.
Instead, he spent time in the mountains searching for herbs.
One day, he slipped on moss-covered rocks—
But a hand caught him.
“Careful!”
It was Qin Ailan.
She helped him up, even though she carried a heavy basket.
He was deeply moved.
“You’re a good girl,” he said.
He began teaching her—about knowledge, about the world, about thinking.
She listened eagerly.
Soon, villagers noticed something strange—
Old Chen, who ignored everyone else, treated Qin Ailan warmly.
He even brought the Zhao family’s prized radio to her house.
Through it, she began to see a bigger world.
Only Qin Guihua was displeased—worried about associating with someone of questionable background.
But Old Chen didn’t care.
After meals, he would even press money into Ailan’s hand.
Qin Guihua, at first annoyed, soon found herself smiling—
City people’s money was indeed easy to earn.