Chapter 52

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Protagonist:

Shaowei

Liu Qi

Shaowei could not fathom why Jiang Fu was putting on such an eager, delighted air — until she saw that huge vat brimming with medicinal broth.

Jiang Fu dipped a hand to test the water temperature, said "Just right," and smiled at Shaowei: "This is a supreme medicinal broth your master carefully compounded for you; not only does it help dispel poison, it can also ease the agony of your attacks, and has the wondrous effect of invigorating blood, relaxing the sinews, and lengthening bone and muscle texture —"

Her mouth spouted a string of flowery praise, and her hands were not idle either — she moved to undress Shaowei.

Jiang Fu had wanted a daughter since long ago, to keep by her side, to bathe and dress and comb her hair and adorn her; the mere thought seemed endless delight.

Ever since she picked up Shaowei, Jiang Fu had been itching to act, especially because Shaowei's hair grew exceptionally fine; Jiang Fu had always wanted to get her hands on it and comb it, but Shaowei never agreed. Shaowei herself was not skilled at combing hair either; each time she merely brushed it through perfunctorily and stopped, neither coiling it into a hair bun nor pinning pearl flowers, just casually gathering it and tying it with a strip of cloth, as long as she did not look like a madwoman.

Now that Jiang Fu had finally seized the chance to bathe Shaowei, she naturally would not let it slip away easily.

Shaowei refused to undress before Jiang Fu come what may, but she was in the midst of an attack, her whole body trembling like a winnowing sieve, utterly weak, like a little chick stricken with fowl plague.

She could have chosen to forcibly mobilize her power to resist at the cost of injuring herself, but Shaowei did not do so; she did not think it through carefully, merely feeling subconsciously that the situation had not yet reached such a you-die-I-live extremity.

Shaowei now placed some trust in Jiang Fu, even if she herself had never truly realized it; the moment this trust truly landed was somewhat laughable to speak of — for no other reason than that Shaowei had witnessed Jiang Fu buying medicine to treat the green ox on the journey.

Even with a measure of trust, Shaowei's unwillingness remained unwillingness; she had no strength to resist, so she shouted loudly: "Zhan Zhan —!"

Zhan Zhan was a very competent guard; it flew in and pecked and clawed at Jiang Fu, and incidentally dropped a glob of gray-white bird droppings on Jiang Fu's head. Jiang Fu, splattered with filth, cried out in alarm and jumped about; Zhan Zhan seized the chance to drive her off, pecking and chasing her out.

Shaowei bolted the door from inside, shed her outer clothes in two or three moves, stepped on the wooden footstool and climbed to the vat's rim, and her whole person slid at once into the warm medicinal vat.

The medicinal broth covered her crown; Shaowei bubbled and gurgled, her wet head emerging.

Just as Jiang Fu had said, this medicinal broth truly had the effect of relieving pain; soaking in it, Shaowei felt the cold and pain in her bones and blood alleviated by more than half.

Only the longer she soaked the more exhausted she grew; by the time the broth cooled completely, the cold-fit's attack window had also been endured, yet Shaowei felt extraordinarily drowsy and dizzy, as if she had drunk ten-odd catties of strong liquor; she barely climbed out of the vat, grabbed her clothes and wrapped herself, returned to the house, flung herself onto the couch, and fell fast asleep with a thunderous snore.

Halfway through her sleep, Jiang Fu seemed to have come over and taken her pulse.

Shaowei had some awareness of it, but even expending the strength of nine oxen and two tigers, she simply could not open her eyes.

As Jiang Fu diagnosed the pulse, she looked at the dense crisscross of knife-scar traces on that small forearm and sighed softly: "Such a new little person, such an old body of wounds and ailments … fate or karma."

Shaowei heard this evaluation in a hazy blur, yet only cared that Jiang Fu called her new and small, mumbling a vague, stubborn retort: "I'm not small at all …"

Last time she lived to seventeen.

Jiang Fu looked at the girl who had fallen sound asleep again and said seriously: "No one taught you how to grow up, so how could you not be small."

A gentle night wind lingered outside the window all night; when morning light spilled down, it mingled with the birds' crisp singing, swirling the fine dust in the air to dance in the sunlight.

Inside the window, Shaowei sat up on the couch, stretched a great lazy waist, and felt every sinew and bone in her body unfold; her whole being felt as refreshed as if she had slept a ten-year slumber in one breath.

Shaowei hopped off the couch and dressed; passing Jiang Fu's door, through the half-open panel she saw Jiang Fu sitting on the small couch by the window, combing her hair before a mirror.

The young woman's wide sleeves fluttered, black hair hung smooth, her figure shapely and lovely; the motion of holding the comb was inexplicably pleasing to the eye, each stroke slowly pouring out a distinct carefree grace.

Shaowei unconsciously halted her steps, hands gripping the doorframe, secretly watching this Jiang Fu.

Jiang Fu seriously tied a ring-shaped hair bun, parting it from the crown to hang down on either side of her ears, leaving half the hair at the back of her head, bound trailing with a blue-green satin ribbon.

Hair done, Jiang Fu picked up the small wooden box beside her.

Shaowei knew it held the elixir pills Jiang Fu took every morning.

Jiang Fu took blood from Shaowei's fingertips on the fifteenth of every month.

Those elixir pills were precisely vermilion red, very hard to give Shaowei a good impression.

Fair fingers pinched up a vermilion pill, white and red, like warm jade stained with cold blood — watching this scene, Shaowei only felt Jiang Fu was both compassionate and cruel, contradictory in a way that made one unable to see her true face for a long time.

Shaowei disliked people who took elixir pills; in her experience and cognition, many bad people and bad things seemed always accompanied by the taking of elixir medicine — like Qin Fu, like that emperor, and again like herself.

Inside the chamber, Jiang Fu finished taking the pills and turned her head to look over.

She seemed to have noticed Shaowei long ago; Shaowei had never deliberately concealed her presence.

"Looks like you slept your fill." Jiang Fu smiled, tilting her head, and asked casually: "Haven't had a chance to ask yet — you came back so slowly yesterday, did you run into something or someone?"

Shaowei did not want to mention Liu Qi's matter, and brushed it off casually: "Just walked slowly."

Jiang Fu lightly patted the couch beside her, signaling Shaowei to come sit and let her take her pulse, and said offhandedly: "I thought you'd run into the Prince of Wuling Commandery; heard he passed through Taoxi Township yesterday."

Shaowei froze a moment: "Who is the Prince of Wuling Commandery?"

Jiang Fu: "The sixth imperial son, precisely the Deposed Crown Prince's full brother; what was his name again … seems to be Liu Qi?"

Shaowei's heart could not help but shock: "How would he have come to Wuling Commandery?"

Wuling Commandery is four hundred li from Taoxi Township … Liu Qi should be heading to Cangwu, no?

"Heard one of his legs has a lingering ailment." Jiang Fu tidied the trivial items on the small table as she spoke: "Further south, damp heat and miasma are more common; this ailment will only grow worse the longer it's tended … Wuling, though also part of the South, can at least let this child survive."

Shaowei looked at her own hands gripping the doorframe, then looked at her own leg.

Liu Qi has a leg ailment?

This is something that did not happen last time; then is this leg ailment indirectly brought about by her?

From the kitchen came the neat, rapid sound of chopping vegetables; a few days ago Jiang Fu got two scrolls of sheepskin books from somewhere, filled with all kinds of recipes, and Mo Li was researching them with great vigor.

Accompanied by the chopping sounds, Jiang Fu patted the bamboo couch again; Shaowei, slightly absent-minded from thinking, lifted her foot and walked over to sit down, extending one hand and placing it on the small table in the middle.

Jiang Fu finished taking the pulse, took out a cowhide bag, unfolded it to reveal a row of silver needles, fine needles ranging from short to long, thicknesses also varying.

Shaowei was no stranger to the art of acupuncture; she felt some dread of these needles inside, but on the surface appeared increasingly calm and composed, sitting cross-legged on the couch, closing her eyes and letting Jiang Fu apply the needles — with eyes unable to see the long needles, the person also became less afraid.

However this acupuncture session seemed somewhat different from before; Shaowei faintly felt something was not quite right.

The pain of acupuncture in Shaowei's perception was merely slight soreness and numbness, which was nothing worth mentioning; the strangeness lay in … she gradually discovered she could not move.

Those needles, unknown which acupoints they pierced, not only made her unable to move, but even rendered her unable to speak; she could only stare with wide eyes questioning Jiang Fu.

Jiang Fu smiled faintly: "Little brat, don't try to mobilize your qi to force the needles out, otherwise qi and blood will counterflow — at best you're crippled, at worst you die."

Shaowei's eyes widened, her anger growing ever greater.

"You need acupuncture anyway, so I might as well stick a few more needles while I'm at it, and help you with this meditation homework that's as difficult as ascending to heaven." Jiang Fu, looking as if she didn't mind the trouble, shifted the cross-legged Shaowei—who sat like a statue—turning her to face the window, then placed her hands on her knees—

"Sit quietly and regulate your breath; after two quarter-hours, your acupoints will unlock on their own." Jiang Fu patted Shaowei's head, got off the bed, stretched lazily, and walked out.

Even on the journey, Jiang Fu had taught Shaowei meditation, but Shaowei was one who couldn't stay still or calm down; the moment she sat, she grew anxious and impatient, not knowing what she was anxious about, only feeling as if a hundred great matters awaited her handling. Once she rose from her cross-legged seat, however, she would only drink half a pot of water, sharpen her blade, and other such trivial little matters.

Now Shaowei was forcibly fixed here, and she too felt restless and anxious in her heart, but knowing she couldn't move, she could only count down the torment. Facing the window, her eyes darted around: first she saw the jar in the corner, one of which was chipped; then she looked at the clothes drying on the hemp rope—her clothes were actually much shorter than Jiang Fu's; then she looked at the empty wine pots and jars lined up in the corner, the shopkeeper saying they could later be taken back to offset money—how much could one jar offset? And there was the fence wall; staring at it now, she felt it wasn't woven very skillfully, the gaps varying greatly in size. If she were to weave it, surely... Fine, she wouldn't know how to weave this.

Shaowei had practically looked at everything there was to see, only missing counting every blade of grass in the courtyard. After this ordeal, no one would know this small courtyard better than she.

Her mind never stopped for a moment; clearly she had not achieved true "quiet" sitting, yet amidst these disordered thoughts, she had unknowingly regulated her breath and unconsciously sank into relaxation.

Jiang Fu saw those eyes spinning nonstop and didn't bother correcting anything; observing things was itself a form of sitting meditation—first observe external things, then observe the inner self, and it needs to be done slowly.

When the two quarter-hours ended, Shaowei had barely unlocked her acupoints before she immediately jumped off the bed, wanting to find Jiang Fu for an explanation. But just as she stepped out the door, she first smelled the fragrant aroma of food.

Having fallen ill upon returning from outside yesterday, she had taken a medicinal bath and then fallen headfirst into a deep sleep. Shaowei was truly starving.

Shaowei wolfed down cakes and soup. By the time she put down the bowl, that anger had mostly dissipated, and she couldn't bring herself to make a big scene. She could only speak sternly: "I will not do what I'm unwilling to do; you cannot use treacherous schemes to imprison and force me!"

Jiang Fu readily agreed with "good, good, good," but Shaowei felt she had not a shred of sincerity, and couldn't help feeling stifled with anger.

Seeing her expression, Jiang Fu asked with a smiling squint: "As compensation, shall I teach you some martial arts?"

Shaowei snorted: "What martial arts do you know?"

"Though I don't like practicing martial arts, I'm very good at teaching others to practice martial arts." Jiang Fu picked up a thick stick standing vertically by the wall and tossed it toward Shaowei.

The long stick whistled through the air, and Shaowei instinctively reached out, gripping it firmly in one hand.

At the same time, Jiang Fu's voice rang out: "Mo Li, fight her. If you win, you'll have roasted meat tonight!"

Mo Li, who had been washing the pot, heard this and his eyes lit up. He didn't even bother drying his hands and immediately ran over.

Jiang Fu threw him another stick. He caught it in his hand and, without a word, lunged at Shaowei, kicking up a cloud of dust in the small courtyard.

Shaowei hurriedly held her stick with both hands to block, and her tiger's mouth was numbed by the shock.

This was Shaowei's first real fight with Mo Li. This boy, whose seven emotions and six desires left only appetite, was even more capable in a fight than Shaowei had imagined.

Shaowei had always prided herself on her extraordinary strength; it was her reliance, but also her weakness. She was used to winning by strength, at most supplemented by speed, with hardly any technique to speak of. Suppressing ordinary people was no problem, but when she met an opponent equal in strength and speed, the disadvantage in technique was quickly exposed without a doubt.

Mo Li used many strange moves—moves Shaowei had never seen, making it impossible to judge his next move. She was often caught off guard.

After fewer than ten exchanges, Shaowei was defeated by a stick strike from the air. Though she could still hold her stick with both hands to block, she was already kneeling on the ground.

She gritted her teeth and stood up: "Again!"

After a few more moves, accompanied by a loud thud, this time Shaowei was beaten flat to the ground. The stick in her hand went "ding dang" and rolled far away.

This was the first time Shaowei had ever been beaten flat to the ground—completely and utterly flattened.

Mo Li's stick was pressed against her spine. At this moment, Shaowei felt she was very much like a wild boar being skewered.

It was simply a great shame and humiliation.

A blue skirt appeared before her eyes. Still pinned to the ground, Shaowei raised her reddened eyes and looked at Jiang Fu walking over.

Jiang Fu held the stick Shaowei had just flown out of her hand and asked with a smile: "Want to fight another round to regain your dignity?"

Shaowei reached out to seize the stick, answering her with action.

Jiang Fu lightly waved her hand. Mo Li withdrew his stick and released Shaowei, stepping back a few paces.

The two began fighting again. This time Jiang Fu was no longer merely a spectator; she sat on the door threshold and would call out reminders at critical moments, helping Shaowei make the correct response and break through Mo Li's moves.

But Shaowei's instinctive habits were too stubborn. She was used to reacting by instinct and couldn't change them completely in a short time. Victory or defeat was often decided in an instant, leaving no room for her to hesitate and think. Moreover, her height and arm length were truly not advantageous. Although she lasted a few more moves this round, she was still beaten flat to the ground once again.

However, the greatest advantage of a stubborn stone is that it won't be easily ground down. The more frustrated Shaowei became, the braver she fought.

Afterward, Shaowei slept well, ate well, and practiced martial arts well.

Every morning after waking, she sat in meditation. Putting down her rice bowl, with food still in her mouth unswallowed, she would pick up her long stick and walk toward Mo Li.

She chose to persist in sitting meditation because Shaowei gradually came to appreciate the wonderful use of regulating breath and qi within it, which could greatly help her improve her concentration—an ability indispensable in fighting.

Summer passed and winter arrived; half a year flew by. The sticks in Shaowei's hand had broken several.

Every afternoon, she often practiced alone. Jiang Fu still sat at the door threshold giving guidance. In her sight, the girl's long stick waved out afterimages, the whistling sound of the stick mixing into the biting cold wind. Frost-covered fallen leaves leaped and danced with the hem of her clothes, like meteors streaking across the sky.

In the early Twelfth Month, Taoxi Township received a light snowfall.

Near dusk, Jiang Fu brewed wine and appreciated the snow in the hall. The spoiled and arrogant green ox entered the main room to warm itself by the fire. The green ox lay by the stove, and Zhan Zhan lay on the green ox's belly.

Inside the house, one person, one ox, and one bird passed their days in peace. Jiang Fu occasionally recited poems leisurely. Outside the house, Shaowei carried a heavy load forward, sitting under the eaves chopping firewood with a clanging sound.

Jiang Fu called to her, telling her to stop: "Little ghost, come here. As your master, I have something to discuss with you."

Shaowei put down her firewood knife, brushed the crumbs from her hands, and walked into the hall: "What is it?"