Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Xie Changgeng lay in my house for a full forty days.
For the first twenty days, he was constantly feverish. I used herbs from Yaling to bring down his temperature, feeding him medicine every four hours and staying by his side at night to help him turn over, fearing he would put pressure on his wounds.
Zhao Qi couldn’t help much. He was badly injured himself; while the broken arm was an old injury, he had two newly fractured ribs and would cough up blood from the corners of his mouth.
My grandfather remained in the room next door, flipping through his bamboo slips over and over again.
He couldn’t see the characters, but he could feel them. He had been touching those bamboo slips for six years, to the point where the inscriptions were nearly worn smooth.
On the twenty-first day, Xie Changgeng’s fever finally broke.
The first words out of his mouth when he woke were not “Where am I?” or “Where is Zhao Qi?”
He said, “Water.”
I handed him a bowl. He took it, finished drinking, and then looked up at me.
That was the first time I had looked him directly in the eye.
They were very dark and very bright, like a hunter’s campfire in the night-you couldn’t tell if it was warm or dangerous, but you would find yourself drawn closer instinctively.
“Thank you,” he said.
I replied, “Don’t thank me. Thank my grandfather.”
He gave a small smile.
That smile made me feel uneasy. It wasn’t because he was unattractive-quite the opposite. He was so handsome when he smiled that my heart tightened for no reason.
I was twenty years old that year, dressed in men’s clothing with my hair cut short, and I had never felt my heart tighten for anyone.
Therefore, I judged it to be a form of vigilance.
Yes, it must have been vigilance.
During Xie Changgeng’s recovery, Grandfather played chess with him every day.
Grandfather couldn’t see the board, so he played entirely from memory. At first, Xie Changgeng gave him a three-piece handicap, then he stopped, and eventually, he began to lose.
Whenever he lost a game, he would fall silent for a long time, staring at the board before looking up to ask Grandfather strange questions.
“Old Mr. Shen, do you think Chang’an can still be saved?”
Grandfather said, “As long as there are people, there is hope.”
“What kind of people?”
“Those willing to die.”
Xie Changgeng fell silent.
That night, when I brought his medicine in, he wasn’t asleep. He was sitting by the window, watching the moon.
The moon over Yaling was massive. Because there were no lanterns to compete with its glow, it shone wantonly, illuminating the shadow of every withered tree in the courtyard.
“Your grandfather said you’ve been studying for six years.” He didn’t turn around.
“Mhm.”
“Which military texts have you read?”
“The Six Secret Teachings, the Three Strategies, the Wei Liaozi, and things my grandfather wrote himself.”
He turned around, his expression somewhat surprised. “Old Mr. Shen has his own military treatises?”
“They aren’t exactly military treatises,” I thought for a moment. “It’s more like… listing the world’s ailments one by one, and then writing a prescription for each.”
Xie Changgeng stared at me for a long time.
I felt a bit uncomfortable under his gaze and lowered my head to place the medicine bowl on the table. “The medicine won’t taste good if it gets cold.”
“Shen He,” he called my name, his voice very soft. “Do you think the world’s illness can be cured?”
I said, “If the medicine doesn’t work, change the medicine. If the medicine still doesn’t work, change the doctor. If the doctor doesn’t work-” I paused. “Then tie the patient to the bed and force it down their throat.”
He was stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing.
That was the first time he had laughed out loud since coming to Yaling. Zhao Qi later said he hadn’t heard the Young Master laugh like that in three years.
I didn’t know if this was a good thing or a bad thing.
But Grandfather certainly thought it was good.
Because the very next day, he had me move all those bamboo slips into Xie Changgeng’s room.