Aman carefully laid some clean, worn cloth on top of the surface to ensure Zhao Ye’s skin wouldn’t get scratched, and then lifted him onto it.
That night, she massaged his hands and feet, pressing the acupoints according to the old doctor’s diagram.
“Ah—”
Zhao Ye suddenly cried out in pain.
Aman paused, surprised. “Did I hurt you?”
“Yes,” he nodded.
“That’s great! Feeling pain means your muscles aren’t dead—they’re still alive!”
Zhao Ye: “……”
She always said the strangest things.
Aman pressed harder on the acupoints. Some places caused pain, others gave no sensation at all. She memorized all the points that caused pain, planning to ask the old doctor about them later.
“Do you feel any better now?” she asked.
“Yes… much better,” Zhao Ye replied.
After finishing her work, Aman could finally lie down to rest. Her whole body ached. Looking up at the roof above—stars visible through the open beams—she felt a pang of melancholy.
This roof… probably needs repairs, doesn’t it?
“Aman.” Zhao Ye called softly. No reply. She turned her head and saw Aman curled up in the corner.
Breathing steady, chest gently rising and falling, her washed hair spread like water plants on the floor. She had fallen asleep—exhausted from the day.
The starlight sprinkled over her, peaceful and serene.
Zhao Ye tried to lift his hand, but no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t move. His body began sweating profusely.
Zhao Ye…
You cannot give up like this.
Aman is taking such good care of you, and your mother still awaits your return to the capital.
Your grievances… your anger… are they all to be buried here in Ningzhou?
Bit by bit, he tried to will all his strength into his arms and fingers—even moving a single finger would be enough.
But after a long while, his hands still didn’t budge.
He felt dejected.
He gazed at the star-filled sky, the black velvet night above—silent, infinite.
Still before dawn, Aman was already awake.
She checked the seedlings in the back field—all had sprouted nicely. She watered them, patiently waiting for them to grow.
Then she went into the back forest and chopped a lot of bamboo. Seeing Zhao Ye still asleep, she quietly slipped out.
She needed work—money in hand.
The system’s progress threshold had increased slightly, but redeemable items were still limited. She needed white rice, meat, and preferably medicinal supplies—antibiotics, anti-inflammatory drugs—to help Zhao Ye.
Aman’s goal was clear: the county slaughterhouse.
It was the largest in Yong’an County. Inside, the floor was covered with pig blood and bristles, and despite washing, the air reeked of slaughter.
“Where did this little girl come from, wandering into our slaughterhouse?”
“Move aside, don’t block the way!”
Aman pursed her lips. “I’m looking for the boss.”
The slaughterhouse workers began early, killing pigs and distributing meat. Wild dogs scavenged nearby. The ground was sticky with pig excrement, the stench unbearable. Most girls would pinch their noses and avoid this place—Aman seemed unaffected.
“You’re looking for me?”
The boss was a large man with a long scar from brow to jaw—a frightening sight.
Aman didn’t flinch.
The man was huge, holding a blood-stained butcher’s knife. Seeing this fearless little girl, he was intrigued.
“I can slaughter pigs!” Aman declared, tilting her chin proudly.
The air froze for a moment, then erupted with laughter.
“Hahaha! This little girl says she can slaughter pigs!”
“Little girl, you know the pigs here weigh at least 200 jin (≈220 lbs). Can you handle them?”
Aman nodded seriously. She was strong—another 200 jin wouldn’t be a problem.
She had researched: this slaughterhouse paid the most in Yong’an County, but few could endure the work.
Not only slaughtering pigs, but also butchering—both strength and skill were required.
“I can slaughter and castrate pigs,” she added.
“Oh? There happen to be piglets in the back yard. Go castrate one and show me.”
His booming voice made the men’s ears ring.
“Boss, this little girl can’t even handle a pig! Do you know what castrating a pig entails?”
Everyone doubted her, but the boss tossed her a thin, long castration knife with a hooked tip.
Aman gripped it tightly, and the others followed her into the yard.
Ten or so piglets were left—males and females.
Aman held the knife in one hand, a hook and iron frame in the other, nimbly entering the pen.
The glint of the knife startled the piglets, who squealed and scattered.
She grabbed one, pinning it to the ground without the frame. Her strength amazed the onlookers.
“This little girl is really strong.”
Even small, these piglets weren’t easy for a girl to hold.
With swift precision, she slit, clamped, and cut—the men flinched.
Amid the piglet’s cries, Aman sprinkled wood ash to stop bleeding.
Then she caught a female piglet, cut a small incision in the side, used the hook to extract, and tied the wound with hemp rope. Task complete.
The men were stunned—her skill surpassed even veteran castrators.
Holding the knife, Aman asked the boss, “Is this okay?”
“Fine,” he said, his gaze cool and indifferent.
“I’ll castrate all the piglets here. How much will you pay me?” Aman asked boldly.
“How much do you want?”
She counted twelve piglets. Unsure of market rates, she shrugged.
“Whatever you say, I’ll take it.”