Seeing the injured young man—no more than sixteen or seventeen, still of school age in the modern world, now gravely hurt and near death—Chen Zhiwei could not bear to watch a young life slip away.
She decided to save him.
Chen Zhiwei squatted down and carefully examined his injuries.
Besides the grotesque poison wound on his chest, there was a noticeable bump on the back of his head, likely caused by a heavy blow.
This, she realized, was why he was unconscious.
“You’re lucky to meet me,” she murmured, her hands moving efficiently.
She skillfully cleaned the chest wound with spirit spring water, squeezed out some of the dark, poisoned blood, then crushed medicinal herbs from her space and applied them. She bandaged the wound with a clean cloth.
For the bump on the back of his head, she carefully applied a cloth soaked in spirit spring water to reduce swelling.
Once done, Chen Zhiwei scooped him up in a princess carry and headed toward the ox cart, noting that although he looked slim, he was surprisingly heavy.
By the time all the village lights had gone out, she had quietly, cautiously made her way home with him.
At home, it was late at night. She gently knocked on the door. Chen Zhiyi’s anxious voice came from inside: “Who… who’s out there?”
“It’s me, Zhiyi. Sister’s back…”
“Sister! You’re finally back!” Chen Zhiyi rushed to open the door, barely covering herself.
“Zhiyi, clear a space in the storage room. Sister brought someone home to save.”
Zhiyi’s eyes widened at the sight of a handsome young man, much taller than either of them, cradled in his sister’s arms.
“Sis, why’d you bring a stranger home? I already thought—we’d buy a husband if you didn’t want one. But who knows where this man came from?”
“Stop babbling. Help me clear a spot first, then we can lay him down.”
The siblings quickly prepared a temporary sleeping area and placed the young man down.
“Sis, don’t tell me it’s because he’s handsome! Stories say you shouldn’t pick up men from the road. Look at his injuries—he could be trouble later!”
Chen Zhiwei hadn’t noticed before, but now, hearing Zhiyi’s words, she couldn’t help but appreciate his features—sharp, noble, and carrying a hint of heroism.
Zhiyi sighed. “Sigh! Sis, you can’t help yourself!”
“Enough chatter. Put away the beans and rice from the ox cart. Sister will wash up and sleep. These past few days have worn me out.”
Watching her sister’s tired form, Zhiyi reflected on his own behavior. Sister had kept the household afloat all this time—what harm in liking a handsome man?
The next morning, Chen Zhiwei went to the storage room. Zhiyi was already there, holding a bowl of plain porridge and feeding him.
“Look, Sister! Your brother is so diligent and thoughtful! Whatever Sister likes, Zhiyi likes too.”
Chen Zhiwei ruffled her brother’s hair. “Sister will always love Zhiyi the most.”
Zhiyi’s face lit up at this “sweet bomb,” stretching into a grin that nearly reached the back of his head.
“Good morning, Sister!” a low voice suddenly interrupted. It was deliberately playful.
The siblings turned, startled, to see the tall man—still dazed—calling her “Sister.”
They exchanged a glance. “Sis… could he be truly simple-minded?”
“Possible,” Chen Zhiwei said calmly.
“Here, call me Brother. I’ll feed you porridge!” Zhiyi’s childish instinct surfaced after the household split, and he began teasing the big, naïve man.
But the man did not respond, merely stared.
“Hey, you’re not pretending, are you? You called me Sister—call me Brother now, quick!”
“You’re short!” came the blunt reply. Zhiyi put down the bowl, stomping off to the village school, grumbling.
Watching Zhiyi storm off, Chen Zhiwei turned back to the man she had brought home. His eyes were clear, curious, and innocent—truly naïve.
A simpleton, indeed—but that was fine.
Chen Zhiwei handed him a bowl. “Eat. Finish it—no wasting.”
He tilted his head back, drinking the porridge in one go, then looked up, waiting for her next instruction.
She took a clean cloth and wiped his lips and the leftover traces from the porridge. With the dirt gone, his features became even clearer—sharp brows, bright eyes, a high nose bridge.
Even pale, his bone structure was remarkable.
Yet his eyes, clear as a mountain stream, lacked adult depth—only complete trust and innocence.
“Do you remember your name?” she asked cautiously.
He tilted his head, furrowing his brows, thinking hard, then shook his head. “Name? I… don’t remember.” He pointed to the back of his head. “Here… hurts… empty…”
The blow had caused amnesia. Chen Zhiwei understood immediately.
“Then… I’ll give you a new name, alright?” she softened her tone.
His eyes lit up, nodding eagerly. “Okay! Sister choose!”
Chen Zhiwei looked into his pure eyes, wishing him a life free of past troubles. She smiled. “Then I’ll call you ‘Wangyou’—‘Forget Worries.’ Forget all troubles, live carefree.”
“Wangyou…” he repeated softly, savoring the words. Then a big smile spread across his face. “I like it! Wangyou! I’m Wangyou!” He clapped his hands and pointed at her. “Sister! You are Wangyou’s sister!”
His mind was truly like a child’s. Chen Zhiwei’s last doubts vanished. This foundling was indeed a “trouble”—but one that needed care, a “big child” to look after.
“Yes, I am your sister.” Chen Zhiwei tucked him under the covers. “Wangyou, be good. Heal your wounds first, then you can help Sister, okay?”
“Mm! Wangyou will be good! Help Sister!” he nodded vigorously, eyes full of energy.
Mei, arriving for work, noticed a male in the house and warned, “Little Wei, at your age and his, having him stay here could damage your reputation.”
“Sister Mei, you saw for yourself. He’s simple-minded. If I hadn’t saved him, he might’ve frozen to death. Let others say what they want!”
“Still, it’s a life saved. Since you rescued him, you can’t just ignore him. Right now, he won’t cause trouble. Think of him as an extra mouth to feed.”
Chen Zhiwei’s firm expression silenced Mei. After all, it was a life.
Wangyou’s dependence on Chen Zhiwei was extreme, almost shadow-like.
Wherever she worked in the workshop, he sat nearby on a small stool, watching.
She went to the backyard to dry tofu; he followed closely, like a loyal dog.
Zhiyi often returned from school to see this, fuming that the “big simpleton” was stealing his sister’s attention, glaring at him secretly.
Wangyou seemed oblivious to the hostility, sometimes clumsily imitating Chen Zhiwei—helping Zhiyi with his school bag, calling him “little brother,” leaving Zhiyi speechless.
One day, Chen Zhiwei was washing newly harvested beans. Wangyou squatted beside her, eyes wide with curiosity at the beans swirling in water.
“Sister, why wash beans?” he asked.
“To clean them and soak them, so we can make soy milk,” Chen Zhiwei patiently explained.
“Soy milk? Is it tasty?” Wangyou blinked.
“Yes, I’ll make some for you later.”
“I’ll help Sister wash!” He plunged his hands into the basin, stirring randomly, splashing water all over them both.
Chen Zhiwei looked at his drenched but enthusiastic face, those pure, joyful eyes, and swallowed her scolding, leaving only a helpless smile.
She grabbed his big hands, teaching him to rub gently. “Like this, softly, or the water goes everywhere.”
Wangyou tried earnestly, though still clumsy.
That evening, drinking the hot, fragrant soy milk, Wangyou’s eyes widened. He drank two large bowls in quick succession, licking his lips, then gazed longingly at the pot.
“Sister… more…”