The cooling effect of the herbal medicine quickly seeped into her flesh. The burning pain that had tormented her moments ago gradually faded away.
She let out a long, relieved sigh and scooped up more of the medicinal broth, carefully applying it to each wound.
When she was done, she lifted the remaining broth in the bowl and drank it all in one go. The bitter, numbing taste rushed up her nose, making her cough repeatedly.
After resting for a while, she took out a piece of fine cloth, measured it against her chest, and began sewing with needle and thread—making a simple tube-like chest wrap.
In truth, whether she wore it or not made little difference. This body had been worn down so badly it was as thin as a stick, looking no different from a half-grown child, with no curves at all.
But she simply wasn’t used to that empty, hollow feeling, as if something was missing from her body.
After putting on the wrap, she picked up the coarse cloth clothes. The fabric was thick, but the garments were oversized and baggy on her.
She remembered a method taught by her adoptive mother in her previous life, found some scissors, and tailored them into a neat short outfit based on her own measurements.
After trying it on, it fit perfectly—neither too tight nor too loose. The warm, snug feeling wrapped around her body, far better than the ragged clothes full of holes she wore before.
For safety on the road ahead, Ye Qing cut her hair short, copying the style of village boys from memory.
Looking into the water inside a clay jar, she saw a yellowish, sallow face with a stubborn youthfulness in her eyes. Combined with her outfit, anyone would take her for a malnourished teenage boy. There was no trace of a girl left in her appearance.
She tugged at her clothes and couldn’t help but smile.
Taking the small water jar with her, Ye Qing carefully locked the main house door and tied a strand of hair to the latch of the front gate as a makeshift warning. Only then did she head toward the river channel in a light mood.
She hadn’t checked it all day—she wondered how much water the large clay jar had collected.
When she arrived, she couldn’t help but gasp softly.
The jar was already half-filled with clear water, shimmering under the sunlight.
Quickly, she poured the water into her smaller jar and used the same method as before, digging out some damp soil underneath so the large jar could continue collecting water steadily.
With a full jar of water in hand, she hurried home in light, quick steps.
That night, she bolted the door, set a small iron pot on the stove, and cooked a thick vegetable porridge with dried greens.
She added a pinch of salt. As the steam rose, a salty, savory aroma filled the room.
Holding the bowl, she gulped it down greedily. The delicious warmth spread through her body, giving her strength with every mouthful.
Using the remaining heat from the fire, she roasted all her remaining grain so she could eat it on the road later without attracting attention.
Watching the roasted grain fill a larger bag, Ye Qing finally felt a little better.
(Author’s note: “larger bag” is only relative—it’s about the size of an A3 sheet of paper.)
Tomorrow, she would continue searching for food. This small stockpile wouldn’t last long.
She also needed to plan her future route. She couldn’t stay in this village forever.
If things stayed peaceful, without outsiders coming in, she could survive by collecting water from the river channel every day and foraging in the mountains. It wouldn’t be a bad place to settle temporarily.
But judging from the situation, that peace wouldn’t last. Once the limited resources ran out, it would still be a dead end—she had to leave.
Following the fleeing refugees? No. The direction was unclear, her body too weak, and without supplies along the way it would be no different from suicide.
So where should she go?
From the original owner’s memory, the village chief once mentioned that if one kept heading east out of the mountains, they would reach Anning Prefecture. Further east lay a large river called the Liyang River, with many towns along its banks. Perhaps conditions there would be better.
But the journey was far too long for her current condition. She needed to get stronger—restore this body as quickly as possible and gather supplies for the road.
Lying in the soft, warm quilt, Ye Qing finally had the first peaceful sleep since arriving in this world.
Over the next three days, she nearly turned the entire village upside down.
The deeper she went into the village, the more chaotic it became—scattered straw sandals, shattered clay bowls, and abandoned bamboo baskets littered the streets.
Some doors had been removed entirely; others hung crookedly on one hinge, creaking in the wind and making one’s nerves tighten.
Thanks to her past life of watching dramas and reading novels, she actually managed to find useful things.
From hidden compartments and cellars in several households, she dug out five taels of broken silver and 248 copper coins.
She also found a small bag of corn kernels, more than a dozen fist-sized potatoes, several sweet potatoes, and two oil-paper-wrapped packets of vegetable seeds. She packed everything into her basket.
She even tried setting simple traps to catch small animals, but after several days she caught nothing. The drought had been so severe that even mice seemed to have disappeared.
On the seventh day after Ye Qing’s transmigration—
Her body had mostly recovered. She went to the corner of the yard, squatted down, and actually managed to lift a small stone mill.
It was extremely heavy; even village boys could only lift it slightly. Yet she could now hold it steadily in her arms.
The water flow at the river channel had slowed to almost nothing. She replaced the large jar with the smaller one, giving it one last try overnight.
After accounting for the past few days of drinking and medicinal use, she had only managed to collect one jar of water in total.
It was time to find a way out.
The next morning, she locked the door with an old brass lock and hurried toward the river channel.
As expected, only a thin layer of water remained in the small jar, just as she had predicted. She didn’t look back at the drying mud pit and turned to leave.
Halfway back, she suddenly heard a faint groan from the dry grass behind her.
She abruptly turned around—and saw a man lying by the roadside.
He wore tattered clothes, his face smeared with blood, and his calf had a deep wound down to the bone, still bleeding.
He also saw her. His clouded eyes lit up with hope as he rasped, “Water… little brother, please… give me some water…”
Ye Qing’s heart sank.
The village was already empty—where had this man come from?
But looking at his cracked lips and the blood still seeping from his leg, she bit her lip. Two voices fought in her mind—one telling her to help, the other warning her not to.
In the end, the moral education from her past life won out. She placed the clay jar down a few steps away.
The man glanced at her, then dragged himself forward like a starving beast, snatching the jar and drinking desperately.
After a few gulps, he finally caught his breath and collapsed to the ground, panting heavily.
“Thank you for saving my life, little brother.”
Recovering slightly, he cupped his hands in gratitude. “My name is Wang Dazhu. I’m a refugee from another place. I was robbed of food along the way and beaten like this. I barely made it here, only to find this village… completely empty.”
Ye Qing said nothing. Observing him quietly, she kept her distance, wary.
But Wang Dazhu didn’t seem to notice her caution and continued casually, “Little brother, where did you get this water? All the riverbeds along the road are dry.”
Ye Qing’s heart tightened.
Here it comes.
She didn’t respond.