Chapter 1055: Find It

The merchant, seeing they bought little, left with relief.

The herders, lacking the merchants' cunning or the leader's subtlety, simply liked Miao He and Tao Yanbai for their kindness; when the two left, the herders bid them farewell with reluctance, and the children even gave them their most treasured toys.

Among them, the most numerous were various beautiful stones.

Miao He also liked them, selected a few to accept, and declined the rest.

Only when they reached the third tribe did they meet the young man who, according to legend, had contracted smallpox and miraculously survived.

On the steppe, every outbreak of smallpox was a great disaster—this was the only exception.

He discovered his own pustules while herding alone, then without hesitation, refused all contact, packed his tent, left immediately, and took ten days' worth of dried rations.

He hid alone under a hill with his tent; thirteen days later, he emerged with a face full of pockmarks and bones protruding through skin, his illness gone.

He had endured it all by himself.

Moreover, he had not contaminated any water source, nor had the wind carried his smallpox to other livestock or people.

The young man returned safely home, and the entire tribe regarded him as a god; he had already been confirmed as the tribe's next leader.

The herders believed he was favored by the gods, endowed with both courage and wisdom, and would surely become an extraordinary leader.

His name was Batu Mengku, with a round face and round head, his expression simple and earnest.

Upon meeting Miao He and Tao Yanbai, he grinned warmly and welcomed them wholeheartedly.

As soon as Tao Yanbai spoke, he skillfully recounted his entire journey—from the onset of pustules and fever to survival.

He told this story often; in truth, he had no desire to recount it at all, but after he recovered, first his family demanded to hear it, then neighbors, then the leader and shaman, then other tribe members, and finally, whenever guests arrived, he was dragged out to perform it again.

So Batu Mengku had grown accustomed—and numb—to it.

He could now tell his story vividly and compellingly.

But Miao He and Tao Yanbai did not want this—they probed for details; as soon as Batu Mengku began describing how bravely he decided to isolate himself on the hill to fight the smallpox demon, Tao Yanbai interrupted: "Where did you first notice the pustules? How many were there? Did you have a fever? How did your body feel? What sensations did you experience?"

Batu Mengku paused, strained his memory, and finally recalled a fragment: he pointed to his wrist: "I found three on my wrist, but before that, I'd felt my neck itching—I'd touched a few already, but I thought they were mosquito bites and ignored them…"

Tao Yanbai then asked about his diet, daily routine, and movements over those two days—who he'd met, the weather, the wind direction, any unusual behavior in his sheep and cattle…

Even after he moved to the hillside, they didn't ask how he mustered courage or endured inner turmoil—they asked how many times he defecated daily, how much water he drank, what dried rations he ate, which medicinal herbs he chewed…

Batu Mengku: …

Oh, their questions pulled Batu Mengku out of his numbness, as if he had been thrust back into that time.

How many times had he defecated each day back then?

By the time Miao He and Tao Yanbai left his yurt, the sky had darkened.

Batu Mengku wiped sweat from his forehead; had they not promised to treat everyone in the tribe for frostbite with Han Chinese medical skill, he would never have dredged up such an embarrassing memory.

Miao He and Tao Yanbai still seemed eager; they arranged to visit his cattle and sheep pens the next day, to examine the animals' health.

Batu Mengku: … He thought of how thoroughly he'd been stripped bare for inspection just now, and felt a bad premonition.

Though these two Han doctors were strange, they truly had skill—the ointment they brought instantly relieved frostbite itching; after one night's sleep, real improvement was visible.

Not to mention the patients with colds and chills—after one dose of medicine, their spirits lifted significantly, and they were clearly recovering.

The herders' opinion of the two improved instantly; their attitudes became much warmer.

Miao He and Tao Yanbai also wished to stay longer, so they considered declining the merchant's offer to return with the caravan.

The merchant smiled sweetly: "I promised Zhao Shizhu I'd bring you back safely. I'm a merchant—I value integrity above all; I can't break my word."

The merchant, having already gained goodwill from several tribes, thought for a moment and said: "We'll stay two more days, then depart."

He added: "We can't wait longer—by month's end, heavy snow may fall. We must return to Huicheng before the snow arrives."

Currently, the snow only reached their ankles; another storm, by their experience, would bury them up to their calves—then carts and horses would be stranded, and being trapped outside would be disastrous.

Miao He and Tao Yanbai exchanged glances and agreed.

Over the next two days, the two treated tribe members while searching Batu Mengku's cattle and sheep pens for the animals.

They inspected every single one—there was no choice; Batu Mengku couldn't recall whether any cattle or sheep had shown pustules then, and this was his third sale of livestock that autumn—he'd sold twice before.

They didn't know whether any of the sold animals had been the one that had contracted smallpox.

After searching without success, they turned to the merchant and began inspecting the cattle and sheep he'd bought from Batu Mengku.

The merchant's lip twitched; had they not possessed real skill, he'd suspect them of being madmen.

Tao Yanbai frowned and withdrew his hand: "No."

Miao He frowned: "Smallpox must have a source. He never contacted outsiders—could he really have been so unlucky as to touch an ancient smallpox seed? Their pastures are all close together—if so, how did everyone else avoid this disaster?"

Tao Yanbai thought, then shook his head: "Impossible—it's not an original strain. The infectivity isn't strong enough; the toxicity must have been diluted. It's nearly identical to our human variola. I still believe the source lies in the cattle or sheep."

Miao He: "He sold them twice—if that animal was among them, it's already beef stew or mutton soup by now."

Tao Yanbai had no answer.

As they turned to leave, a caravan attendant arrived with a bundle of hay to feed the animals; one cow surged out of the herd, head raised, shoving through to snatch the hay, and as it passed Miao He, it flicked its tail high in the air.

A foul odor hit him—he recoiled half a step, about to swat the impolite beast, when he suddenly noticed faint pockmarks on its rump.

Miao He yelled, "Ahh!" and pointed excitedly at the cow.

Tao Yanbai jumped, turned, and stared wide-eyed.

It was truly: search high and low, then find it effortlessly.

The two lunged at the cow, hugged her, and laughed with joy—startling the attendant and terrifying the cow.

The cow, frightened, stretched its neck and mooed loudly.