Chapter 11: Yang Huazhong's Injury

Yang-shi fell onto the ground, the pain nearly causing her to lose her breath.

In her desperation, she grabbed the hair of the woman in front of her, who let out a sharp scream of pain.

Fortunately, someone nearby was quick-witted enough to steady her, preventing her from falling as well, but a lock of hair had been ripped clean from the woman’s head, revealing a patch of bare scalp the size of a fingernail.

The woman was the wife of Zhang the butcher, known throughout the village for her sharp tongue; she was the type of person who could curse for two full hours if a single cucumber went missing from her vegetable patch.

When the Zhang woman saw that it was Yang-shi who had pulled her hair, and that Yang-shi was still sitting on the ground, baring her teeth and cursing without a single word of apology, her expression turned sour instantly.

She put her hands on her hips, spat fiercely at Yang-shi’s oily, powdered face, and shrieked, "You black-hearted horse-faced woman! You’re so clumsy you fell flat on your back, and now you’re pulling my hair? May you meet a miserable end..."

Yang-shi wiped the saliva from her face, let out a howl, and scrambled up from the ground, rubbing her aching waist.

Without a word, she put her hands on her hips, hunched her back, and lowered her head, charging at the Zhang woman’s stomach like a crazed, red-eyed cow!

"Ouch!"

The Zhang woman let out a scream like a slaughtered pig, her eyes bulging from the pain. Once she recovered, she reached out and grabbed Yang-shi’s hair.

The two of them rolled into a ball on the ground of the Old Yang family’s courtyard, cursing each other to high heaven.

The instigator of all this, Yang Ruoqing, had already squeezed into the room belonging to Sun-shi and her father, Yang Huazhong.

The room was packed with people, but compared to the chaos outside, it was relatively quiet. Everyone held their breath, listening to the diagnosis of Uncle Fu, who sat by the bedside.

Yang Ruoqing quietly moved to the corner of the bed and stood behind Sun-shi. Her gaze fell upon Yang Huazhong, who lay on the bed, and she bit her lip tightly.

Her father, Yang Huazhong, lay stiffly, his eyes closed. Some of the blood on his face had been wiped away, and the injuries on his feet had been treated, wrapped up like a large rice dumpling. Uncle Fu was still examining other parts of his body.

Old Man Yang, the fifth uncle Yang Huazhou, and the eldest uncle Yang Hua'an all stood by the bedside with their necks craned. Tan-shi sat on a bench to the side, supported by two women. Sun-shi’s tears kept falling, but she didn't dare to sob aloud; she covered her mouth tightly with her hand, watching Uncle Fu with desperate eyes.

Yang Ruoqing glanced at the crowd and then turned her gaze back to the bed.

The sun was about to set, and the light in the room was already poor. With so many people crowding in, and Yang Huazhong covered in blood and mud, she couldn't even judge his condition by his complexion!

Fortunately, from her angle, she could see the village doctor, Uncle Fu, gently pressing and feeling Yang Huazhong’s legs. The old man’s expression was not looking good.

Yang Ruoqing’s heart grew heavy. Could it be that while his life might be saved, he would be left disabled?

It was a case of fearing the worst, and as soon as the thought crossed her mind, Uncle Fu withdrew his hands. He turned around, weighed his words, and spoke to the members of the Old Yang family waiting by the bed

"Old brother, your third son is blessed with great fortune; his life has been saved. Later, have your fifth son come with me to my house to pick up two doses of medicine for him to drink. He has lost a lot of blood, and blood is the foundation of a person’s body. You must prepare something nutritious for him to recover, lest he be left with a chronic illness."

"Yes, yes, of course," Old Man Yang nodded repeatedly. "Is there anything else wrong with the third one?"

Uncle Fu paused, his expression turning grave. He looked at Yang Huazhong’s legs, frowned, and said in a low voice, "I’m afraid those legs of his are ruined!"

The first half of Uncle Fu’s words had allowed Old Man Yang and Sun-shi to breathe a sigh of relief. But the latter half caused the hearts of the Old Yang family, which had just begun to warm, to plunge back into a basin of cold water! Sun-shi could not bear the blow; her eyes rolled back, and she slid right off the bench.

Fortunately, Yang Ruoqing was quick and caught her, otherwise, Sun-shi would have hit her forehead on the floor and surely opened a bloody gash.

No one had the heart to attend to Sun-shi. The room was filled with gloom and misery, and Tan-shi began to wail in a rhythmic, mournful tone.

Yang Ruoqing struggled to support Sun-shi, her own heart heavy. Her gaze fell on Yang Huazhong’s legs, thinking that the bones and meridians must have been crushed when the cart overturned.

With the medical technology of this ancient era, it would be difficult for Yang Huazhong to ever stand again.

Old Man Yang, true to his role as the head of the family, forced himself to ask Uncle Fu, despite his pale face: "One leg or both?"

"Both."

"Is it truly... beyond any cure?" Old Man Yang asked again.

Uncle Fu sighed, "If this were a wealthy and powerful gentleman in the county town, there might be a forty percent chance. But for us folks in this remote, poverty-stricken village, sigh..."

Uncle Fu did not finish his sentence. He simply shook his head, stood up, and began to pack his medical kit before leaving the room.

...

The news that the Old Yang family’s third son had broken both his legs and become a cripple, destined to lie in bed for the rest of his life and unable to even tend to his own bodily functions, spread from one end of Changping Village to the other by the time dinner was over. It became the main topic of conversation at every dinner table in the vast village.

In the backyard of the Old Yang house, the air was stiflingly oppressive. Everyone felt as if a heavy stone were pressing on their chests, making it difficult to breathe.

A waning moon hung in the treetops. It should have been time to cook dinner, but the kitchen of the Old Yang house was cold and silent. In the front and back of the house, apart from Yang Huazhong’s room and the room across the way where Old Man Yang and Tan-shi lived, all other rooms were dark.

When Yang Ruoqing pushed open the door to Yang Huazhong’s room, she saw that in the low, simple room, Yang Huazhong was still lying stiffly on the bed, eyes closed in a deep, unconscious sleep.

Sun-shi sat on a small stool by the bedside, head bowed, wiping away tears.

On the old table, where the paint had peeled away, a bean oil lamp flickered. Its weak light could barely illuminate a patch of ground the size of a sieve; the rest of the room was shrouded in darkness.

Sun-shi didn't notice Yang Ruoqing until she walked right up to her, whether from being exhausted by crying or lost in her own thoughts.

"Qing'er, it’s so late. Why aren't you resting in your room? Why did you come here?" Sun-shi’s voice was so hoarse it was barely recognizable.

"I couldn't sleep, so I came to check on Father," Yang Ruoqing said softly. She stood by the bed, carefully observing her father, whose lips were pale and whose face was bruised and swollen. Her brows furrowed slightly.

His injuries were truly severe. Setting aside the legs that were all but ruined, just the extent of his wounds and the blood loss meant that Yang Huazhong would need to be bedridden for a long time before he could recover his strength.

(End of chapter)