Wind rustles the bamboo beyond the screen, snow blankets the mountains before the door. It sounded poetic, but the reality was simply bitter cold and utter isolation.
Northwest China was vast and sparsely populated—so sparse that an entire village might only number a hundred or so households. Even then, houses built with brick and tile were rare enough to count on one hand. The land was plentiful but mostly unsuitable for farming; instead, the villagers kept livestock.
Though it was already the second month of the lunar calendar, the cold still bit like the dead of winter. A mountain rose behind the village, its bald peaks still dusted with unmelted snow.
The Zhou family lived in a small, three-roomed adobe house. In truth, it wasn’t one of the more dilapidated homes in Wangjia Village.
Ye Jia had walked from one end of the village to the other and seen many who were far worse off. The Zhou residence was considered decent, with a black-tiled roof, an enclosed courtyard, and a well dug right against the wall. In these days, most families without their own well had to carry water from the river at the village entrance.
Then again, since no one in the Zhou family could manage the heavy lifting, a well was a practical necessity. A wooden bucket hung from a rope beside it, a gourd dipper resting on the rim. The path from the main gate to the courtyard entrance was paved with stone. But the thatched covering on the roof had been whipped loose by the wind.
No wonder it rains inside when it pours outside, Ye Jia thought. Once the weather clears, I’ll have to fix this roof.
Ye Jia had been confined to her bed for three or four days before she finally couldn’t take it anymore. Now, she stood in the courtyard, staring up at the roof, when two young women walked past, arm in arm.
Seeing Ye Jia up and about, they stopped short.
Ye Jia turned to face them. One of the girls sized her up, then covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a laugh.
“Well, if it isn’t Jia-niang! Feeling better?” The girl had a pear-shaped face, wide at the jaw and narrow at the temples. Her eyes, narrowed to slits, flashed with a sharp, mean-spirited glint as she looked Ye Jia over. “Why aren’t you in town today? I heard Cheng Feng came back the other day. What’s the matter? He didn’t come looking for you?”
Ye Jia stared back, unable to place the voice. She remained silent.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? You’re usually so sharp-tongued. Why are you acting like a mute today—”
The other girl, who had a square face, cut her off mid-sentence. The two exchanged a furtive glance, neither daring to meet Ye Jia’s eyes. “I told you she was too thick-skinned to die. You just had to come see for yourself. Look at her, standing there perfectly fine.”
“What’s there to be afraid of? You just slipped. It wasn’t like you did it on purpose. Who’s to blame if she couldn’t keep her footing?”
The words hit Ye Jia like a thunderclap. Her eyebrows shot up as she locked eyes with the square-faced girl. Suddenly, she remembered exactly who this was.
Zhang Chunfen. She was the younger sister of Ye Jia’s eldest sister-in-law, foster-hosted by the Ye family—and the same person who had pushed the original Ye Jia into the river.
Under Ye Jia’s gaze, Zhang Chunfen immediately lowered her head, desperate to flee. But her companion refused to let her go. In the past, the original Ye Jia had used her beauty to get her way, often belittling the two girls. Now, the companion saw a chance for payback.
“And look at what she’s wearing!” the girl hissed. “Would Cheng Feng ever let her suffer like this? Her face must be ruined—that’s why he doesn’t want her anymore!”
The girl’s eyes kept darting to Zhang Chunfen’s clothes, her voice dripping with jealousy.
Zhang Chunfen, about seventeen, wore a new goose-yellow silk jacket with rabbit fur trim on the collar and cuffs, paired with a red skirt. Silver earrings swung from her ears with every step. If not for her dark complexion, she looked too polished for a country girl. The clothes were a bit short on her, clearly not the right size, but the rest of the outfit was still lavish enough to stun anyone who saw it.
As Ye Jia’s gaze swept over her, Zhang Chunfen turned away. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her expression sullen.
“Are you going to leave or what?” she demanded. “If not, I’m going. I have things to do!”
The other girl tried to keep talking, but Zhang Chunfen turned and strode away. The companion had no choice but to follow, her frustration simmering as she trailed behind.
Ye Jia watched the two women leave, her eyes narrowing slowly. Madam Yu was nowhere to be seen, and a child sat on a small stool by the main entrance, obediently eating. Ye Jia glanced at the child’s bowl. It contained something dark and unidentifiable, and the smell alone suggested it tasted bitter.
A gust of cold wind swept through, and Ye Jia tightened her clothes, stamping her numb feet before heading inside.
She looked down at herself. Her cotton-padded pants, made of coarse cloth, were washed so many times they had turned a faded white. The elbows of her jacket were patched. The cotton stuffing inside had hardened, making the garment heavy yet useless against the cold. Ye Jia breathed out a cloud of white mist. With no other shoes to change into, she could only stamp her feet again.
She had already searched every inch of the small house, leaving no stone unturned—except for the room where Zhou Jingchen lay. But she hadn’t found a single silver coin, let alone a copper one.
The three-room dwelling was small, its entire layout visible at a glance. The grain jar in the tiny kitchen was secured with a small lock. She had lifted the lid only to find no surprise inside—just a thin layer of sorghum at the bottom.
No money, no grain, no land, no sheep. In a poor village in the Northwest, there was a widow, a child, and a man away on military service.
What is this? she wondered. Targeted poverty alleviation?
She let out a long breath, fighting back the curses that threatened to spill from her lips.
After a long moment of sighing in despair, Ye Jia turned back to the bedroom. She finally pried the small wooden box from its hiding place in a crack in the wall.
This was the original owner’s jewelry box. Ye Jia had initially hesitated to touch its contents—not out of sentimentality, for who had time for jewelry when they were starving to death, but because the items had been given to her by Cheng Feng. By rights, they should be returned to him, but she couldn’t afford such luxuries now.
She opened the box to find two pairs of silver earrings, each no larger than a fingernail, a silver bangle the thickness of a chopstick, and a heavy silver hairpin.
She bit down on the hairpin to test it, unsure of its purity. If it was solid silver, it would be worth a decent amount. Gold and silver were hard currency in any dynasty, and Ye Jia considered taking the jewelry to the town’s pawnshop.
Suddenly, she heard Madam Yu crying.
Stuffing the valuables into her bodice, Ye Jia hurried to lift the curtain and go to her.
It occurred to her then that someone was lying in the next room. She had almost forgotten that Zhou Jingchen had been carried back a few days ago, covered in blood. Whatever had happened at the western grounds, he had been brought back barely breathing. As husband and wife, it stood to reason that Zhou Jingchen should have been in her room, but the original owner had found him too bloody and his clothes too filthy. She had blocked the doorway, refusing to let anyone carry him inside.
Madam Yu was gentle by nature and clumsy with words. When the original owner threw a tantrum, she could neither win a fight nor an argument. With no other choice, she had simply wiped her tears and carried her son into her own room.
Since the doctor had warned against moving him, Zhou Jingchen had remained in that west room. But he was nineteen now, and it was improper for a mother and son to share a room. Left with no other option, Madam Yu and her young granddaughter slept on a makeshift bed of blankets in the main hall.
Ye Jia stared blankly.
I have to admit, she thought, Zhou Jingchen’s patience is remarkable. If anyone had dared treat her mother and niece this way, she would have made their lives a living hell.
But then she remembered: in this era, being repudiated by one’s husband was the ultimate punishment for a woman. Regardless of whose fault it was, a discarded wife would be shamed for the rest of her life.
Perhaps, in Zhou Jingchen’s eyes, the original owner was nothing more than a frantic, insignificant jester. She was beneath his notice, and thus, beneath his heart. He had simply let her run wild, letting her scrape together a bit of money—a small price to pay to keep his mother happy and fulfill his filial duty.
Fine, Ye Jia thought. If that’s the case, this is actually easier.
The west room had no door, only a curtain to block the wind. As Ye Jia lifted it, the stench of spoiled blood wafted out. It was mixed with the faint scent of herbs, dust, and the musty smell of a rainy day, creating a nauseatingly foul odor.
The room was pitch-black, hiding any figure within. Madam Yu’s frail frame was hunched over, her sobs silent. To her right, a wooden basin held the wet cloth she was wringing out.
Ancient people have the worst habit of boarding up windows and doors when someone’s sick, Ye Jia thought. This room is as stifling as a poison-insect jar. The clashing odors—blood, herbs, and mold—were enough to kill a healthy person twice over.
On the bed lay a figure. The dim light obscured his face, but she could make out his long frame. He lay motionless, his chest heaving with shallow, strained breaths.
Ye Jia immediately turned to the window and tore down the wooden plank.
Harsh light flooded the room, followed by a gust of cold wind and the raw scent of rain. Madam Yu jumped in alarm, stumbling toward Ye Jia and forgetting to cry.
“Jia-niang, what are you doing?” she shrieked. “Cover the window! It’s freezing, and Yun’an still has a fever—he can’t be exposed to the wind!”
Ye Jia ignored her, tossing the plank aside and letting the breeze sweep through the room.
Usually, Madam Yu would defer to her on everything. But when it came to her son’s life, she couldn’t bring herself to be weak. Now, old grudges and new fury surged through her. She pointed a finger at Ye Jia’s nose, her lips trembling as she struggled to find the words to curse her. She was so angry she could only weep.
This woman is far too weak, Ye Jia thought.
Ye Jia turned to the bed.
The man’s face was half-hidden in shadow, leaving only his refined chin and long neck visible. The exposed skin was flushed bright red with fever. As fresh air flooded the room, his labored breathing gradually steadied.
Ye Jia gestured toward him. “He was suffocating in here. Now you can hear his breath smoothing out.”
Madam Yu’s suspicion lingered, but seeing her son finally settle, her expression slackened.
“Leave the window open for a while to let the air clear,” Ye Jia said, indifferent to the woman’s gaze. “Cover it back up once it gets too cold.”
Madam Yu didn’t reply, her head bowed as she tucked the blanket around the sick man.
Seeing the woman’s submission, Ye Jia rubbed her brow in frustration. She hadn’t intended to get involved, but she couldn’t stand by and watch someone die. “Stay here and watch the boy. I’m going to town to find a doctor.”
Without waiting for Madam Yu to react, Ye Jia grabbed an umbrella from behind the door and stepped out.
Madam Yu didn’t see this as a kind gesture. Instead, she suspected Ye Jia was merely using the errand as an excuse to visit the second Cheng son.
Staying silent didn’t mean Madam Yu was ignorant. She knew her daughter-in-law had a connection in town. She’d played dumb all this time, partly out of fear of offending locals, and partly in the hope that Ye Jia—still bound to them as a wife—would eventually change her mind and settle down.
Setting the woman aside for now, Ye Jia had already put considerable distance between herself and the courtyard by the time Madam Yu chased her out of the house.
Wangjia Village was two or three li from town—a fifteen-minute walk in good weather. But with the rain, the muddy paths added another fifteen minutes to the journey.
This was a harsh, desolate region, and the small town in the northwest was far from prosperous. Its buildings were only slightly better than those in the village—brick and tile—and bore no resemblance to the structures Ye Jia had seen on television in her past life. Shops were sparse on the street, and even fewer remained open in the rain.
After some searching, Ye Jia finally found a pawnshop. She emptied the contents of her hidden stash, pawning everything she had.
The silver earrings were pure, but the bracelet and hairpin were mixed with base metals. In total, she walked away with three liang and two qian of silver. Unsure of the local prices or if she’d been cheated, she simply tucked the money away and hurried to find a doctor.
This was Beili Town, a small county seat under the Beiting Protectorate and a strategic military fortress. It was the westernmost town in the Great Yan Empire, located just over ten li from Fang County. The area was not only impoverished but also highly vulnerable to foreign raids; during the harsh winters, nomadic tribes from the steppes frequently swept south to plunder.
As Ye Jia walked, she noted the lack of variety in the shops—the only ones that seemed to thrive were the knife-makers and blacksmiths.
After a brisk walk, she finally found the town’s only clinic.
The clinic was still open. A young apprentice stood by the entrance, idly grinding herbs. An old man with silver hair was busy sorting through a batch of medicinal roots; he only paused and stepped forward when he saw Ye Jia enter.
Ye Jia explained the situation with few words. Without a moment’s hesitation, the old doctor shouldered his medicine chest and followed her out.
Whether this was a story from a book or not, Ye Jia knew she couldn’t afford to delay. A life was at stake. Considering the doctor’s age and difficulty walking, she gritted her teeth and hired a donkey cart.
With the cart, they reached the village in less than fifteen minutes.
Ye Jia led the old doctor into the house. Madam Yu’s heart finally settled when she saw that Ye Jia had actually brought a physician. Fearing she would get in the way, she quickly scooped up the child and hurried out of the room, urging the doctor to enter.
The old physician first took the patient’s pulse, then examined his external injuries. After a long silence, he turned and snapped, “Waiting until today? Do you want him to die?”
Madam Yu’s face drained of color, her limbs turning weak as she struggled to stand.
“A fever like this,” the doctor continued, his voice filled with anguish as he applied acupuncture needles, “will either fry his brain or wither his body to a husk. A few more days and you wouldn’t have needed to pay for a doctor. You could have just wrapped him in a straw mat and carried him out. Even if we save him now, he’ll likely live a short life.”
Madam Yu broke into a wail of despair. Ye Jia glanced at the man on the bed, her expression unreadable.