Cholera, a dreaded epidemic of this era, was beginning to spread.
The first clinical symptoms were acute diarrhea and vomiting.
“Everything Sister-in-law said is true—the river water and the meat are both contaminated.” Mrs. Fang stared blankly at the chaotic campsite, overwhelmed by a mix of lingering fear and profound relief. Her respect for Song Jiaojiao deepened even further.
Upon hearing this, Sheng Erlang turned as pale as paper, trembling uncontrollably. “I drank the river water too. Will I die?”
He despised Widow Ma to the core. If that wretched woman hadn’t flaunted a bowl of water in front of him, he would never have drunk it. The terror of death brought tears and snot streaming down his face. “I don’t want to die. Brother, save me.”
Old Qian, confused and anxious, pressed urgently, “What’s all this talk about dying? What exactly happened?”
Sheng Sanlang had no choice but to recount the whole story again, sighing heavily. “…Sister-in-law suspects it might be cholera.”
“Cholera?” Old Qian’s voice cracked with shock. “Cholera is incurable—it kills people!”
Her outburst plunged the entire family into silence, and even the surrounding area fell quiet.
Contracting cholera was like stepping into the gates of the underworld—an age-old saying passed down through generations. To this day, no effective remedy had been widely known, let alone on a refugee journey with scarce medical supplies.
“It’s all Song Jiaojiao’s fault. She knew the water was contaminated but didn’t stop us.” Amid the silence, someone suddenly spoke with resentment.
Song Jiaojiao felt a chill in her heart upon hearing these words.
“What utter nonsense!” Mrs. Fang sprang to her feet. “Sister-in-law warned you repeatedly and even sent Third Brother to remind every household. It was your own foolish optimism that led to this. How dare you blame her now? You’re treating kindness as ingratitude.”
Everyone felt their cheeks burn with shame.
After a brief silence, anger, regret, and resentment once again clouded their judgment.
“If we hadn’t eaten, would you have given us food and water?”
“Exactly. Song Jiaojiao secretly caught a live chicken but didn’t tell anyone. If anyone’s to blame, it’s the Sheng family for keeping it all to themselves.”
“Since Song Jiaojiao knew the water was contaminated, she must know how to cure it. Let her heal everyone, and we’ll let bygones be bygones.”
Mrs. Fang was almost amused by such shameless remarks. “Tsk, tsk, what audacity! Should our Sheng family also prepare funeral rites and burn paper offerings for each of you when you die? What a pipe dream. I spit on it!”
“How dare you, you wretched woman, curse me to die?”
“Stop arguing. Let’s focus on finding a cure first. We’re all from the same village.”
“Sheng Sanlang is no saint either. He calls himself a scholar, yet he stands by and does nothing.”
“You have no one to blame but your own stupidity and greed. Don’t slander my Third Brother.” Old Qian exploded with rage upon hearing her son being maligned. “You ungrateful wretches ignored his warnings. You deserve to fall ill and die.”
Both mother-in-law and daughter-in-law were known in the village as formidable women, and neither backed down in the heated argument. Tensions escalated rapidly.
As the situation threatened to spiral out of control, Sheng Huaian sighed, pressing his fingers to his temples, a faint trace of worry flickering in his expression. “You’re a physician. Do you have any solutions?”
Song Jiaojiao: “…”
Help! My persona is about to crumble.
She searched through the System Panel for recently recorded plants, her small face tense. “Purslane, this wild vegetable, has good efficacy in preventing and treating dysentery. It can be tried, but the effect cannot be guaranteed. Once severely ill patients become dehydrated, they must immediately replenish with warm salt water. The last point is very important: live separately from infected patients.”
The sweltering summer weather was highly conducive to bacterial growth. With everyone crowded together, the infection area would greatly increase. The best course of action now was—
“Leave the main group, quickly.” Song Jiaojiao made a decisive decision, a trace of resolve flashing between her brows, making her expression appear even colder and more resolute.
Sheng Huaian pondered for a moment. “After all, we are from the same village. I’ll tell the villagers the method. You have everyone quickly pack their things.”
He used his hands to support himself and got off the cart, his steps firm as he strode forward. He stopped right in the center. This series of simple actions left him drenched in sweat, yet his back remained straight as a pine tree from beginning to end.
“Everyone, please listen to me.”
His tall, robust figure stood there, his sharp eyebrows and bright eyes sweeping across the crowd, unleashing a cold, imposing aura as deep as mountains and abysses.
The surroundings suddenly fell silent.
“Purslane has antidiarrheal effects. Everyone can try boiling it into soup, adding plenty of salt to the broth.” Sheng Huaian conveyed the information to the crowd in the simplest terms possible, his voice loud enough to reach every corner. “Patients should be cared for separately from the elderly and children to prevent the whole family from getting infected. Vomit and excrement are best concentrated in one place and buried promptly.”
These words were like a lifeline, bringing tears of joy to everyone’s eyes.
“Great, there’s purslane nearby. We’re saved.”
Those with milder symptoms at home immediately grabbed their hoes to search for the medicine.
Of course.
There were still those who continued to cause trouble.
“Eldest Brother, can you ask Song Jiaojiao to lead us to find water sources and hunt? If she hadn’t hoarded food for herself, we wouldn’t have ended up in this situation. You must take full responsibility.”
“That’s right. It was Song Jiaojiao who harmed us. Make her come out and kowtow to apologize.”
“Otherwise, hand over all your water and food to be divided equally.”
“This is too much.” Mrs. Fang rolled up her sleeves, about to rush forward and fight, but Song Jiaojiao stopped her, shaking her head at her.
“Hmm?”
“Wait a moment.”
Song Jiaojiao pressed her tongue against her cheek, quietly scanning the greedy faces one by one. Her gaze then shifted back to Sheng Huaian, her eyes deep and somber.
How would he handle this?
Having a strong sense of righteousness was good, but one must never be overly soft-hearted.
“Thud!”
Amid the clamor, a dull thud suddenly erupted.
In the open space at the center, the large stone weighing forty to fifty jin made cracking sounds. A gentle breeze blew, and it instantly shattered into pieces.
“Sorry, my hand itched.” Sheng Huaian rubbed his wrist, his voice cold.
The entire crowd fell silent, not daring to make a sound.
Who would smash a stone weighing over forty jin just because their hand itched? It was clearly a warning!
But in the face of absolute military force, the villagers didn’t even dare to utter a peep. They lacked the courage to look up and meet his gaze, each hanging their heads and shrinking like quails.
“To be honest, this treatment method was originally thought up by my wife. Yet you repeatedly slander her goodwill, which is truly disheartening.”
Sheng Huaian sneered, almost explicitly stating the words “ungrateful and repaying kindness with enmity,” like an invisible hand slapping everyone in the face.
They were too ashamed to listen any further, wishing they could vanish into thin air and flee immediately.
No, this wasn’t Song Jiaojiao’s idea—you’ve all been fooled by Huaian! Widow Ma’s eyes burned crimson with jealousy, her hands clutching her skirt tightly. Especially when Sheng Huaian uttered the words “my wife,” it felt like a mockery of her foolish delusions.
She bit her lip, glaring at Song Jiaojiao with venomous eyes. If looks could kill, that little wretch would have died a thousand times over.
“Gurgle~”
Her stomach churned again, and Widow Ma hastily covered her abdomen as she dashed toward the outhouse once more.
But the warm breeze behind her, utterly lacking in tact, carried Sheng Huaian’s warning over. Caught off guard, she stumbled and fell face-first to the ground. Her sphincter relaxed, and a warm liquid sprayed out everywhere.
Now she had no face left to show anyone! Widow Ma buried her head in the dirt in shame, her lips twisting into a distorted smile: once, twice, she’d been ruined by that Song disaster. I swear I’ll never rest until you’re done for.