Chapter 39: A Friendship Between Life and Death
At the temporary resettlement site in the west of the city, the chaos was like a boiling pot of porridge.
This was originally the relatively open square in front of the City God Temple, now crowded with survivors who had escaped the sea of fire. The soldiers sent by Wang Rong to resettle the women, children, the elderly, and the infirm, who had been rescued by Wen Youqing, were also gathered there.
The wails of women and children, the groans of the wounded, the desperate calls for lost loved ones... all these sounds blended together into a wave of despair. The air was filled with the suffocating smell of burning, blood, and sweat. The few doctors available were like sugar cubes thrown into an ant colony, instantly surrounded by layers of wounded. They were busy as hell, but their efforts were still inadequate.
Si Shi held the swaddling clothes. Wen Youqing, who had just finished distributing porridge, leaned against a cold rock at the edge of the clearing. She wrapped herself in a thin blanket handed to her and looked at the swaddling clothes.
She had no milk these days, let alone find a wet nurse. Her son seemed to have exhausted all his strength and had fallen into a deep sleep, his little brows still furrowed in anxiety in his sleep.
Wen Youqing's eyes swept across the human tragedy before her with a blank look. The faces covered in soot, filled with fear and pain, and the desperate cries were like countless blunt knives, repeatedly cutting her long-numbed heart.
The blazing flames of the government office and Cui Junji's appearance in his splendid robes replayed in her mind like a red-hot iron. Hatred, like poison ivy, grew wildly in the soil of exhaustion and despair, entwining her heart and bringing with it waves of sharp, suffocating sensations.
She hated the cruelty of the aristocratic family, hated Cui Junji's nature, hated this unexpected disaster, and hated her own powerlessness even more.
"...Madam, please...my father...he's dying...please take a look..." A little girl, no more than eleven or twelve, with a blackened face, threw herself at her feet, clutching at the hem of her clothes tightly, crying so hard she almost fainted. She pointed to a charred old man lying on the ground not far away, gasping for breath.
Wen Youqing's eyes shifted mechanically. Half the old man's body was charred, the wounds horrific, emitting a horrible odor of burnt flesh. Only his chest rose and fell faintly. The old doctor nearby was busy treating the old concierge who had guided them that day and had no time to pay attention. Even if he had, what would he have done with such injuries?
A chill shot up from her feet to her head. She recognized the old man; it was Uncle Li, the bamboo craftsman who lived in the back street of the government office. He was a skilled craftsman and a kind man. Just a few days before the fire, he had cheerfully presented her with a small bamboo cradle, saying it was for the future young man and young lady to play with...
The hatred and numbness were instantly shattered by the tragic scene of dying before him. Wen Youqing stood up suddenly. No! I can't just stand there and watch! Xunyang is destroyed, but people can't just die like this! A force born from the instinct of life overwhelmed the extreme weakness of the body and the tremendous trauma of the spirit.
She lowered her head and looked at her sleeping son in her arms again. His small, defenseless face seemed to give her the last bit of support.
She took a deep breath, the burnt air stinging her lungs. Holding the child, she walked over to Uncle Li and squatted down. She carefully placed the swaddling clothes on the cleaner ground nearby. Then, without hesitation, she reached out and began to examine Uncle Li's injuries.
"Don't be afraid, little girl. I'm here." Her voice was hoarse, yet it held a strange, reassuring calm. She ignored the shocking blackened wounds and the pungent odor, her gaze focused and calm, as if she had once again transformed into the governor's wife who commanded and soothed people during the years of disaster and epidemic.
Clean the wound. She still knows how to clean the wound.
"Hurry! Clean water! Cloth! The more the better!" She ordered without raising her head. Her voice was not loud, but it was clearly heard by several people around her who were in a panic.
Someone was stunned for a moment, then reacted and stumbled to look for it. Soon, several basins of turbid water and a few relatively clean pieces of coarse cloth were delivered to Wen Youqing.
Without medicine or tools, Wen Youqing could only rely on the most primitive methods. She tore off the relatively clean lining of her pajamas, dipped it in clean water, and began to carefully clean the ash and dirt from the edges of Li Bo's wound.
Her movements were trembling slightly from exhaustion and weakness, yet unusually steady and gentle. Every time she wiped, she avoided the sticky burnt skin.
Wen Youqing soaked a cloth in cold water and applied it to the skin around the wound to cool it down. She even instructed the people around her to carefully fix Uncle Li's severely burned leg with branches and cloth to prevent secondary damage.
"Go find all the wood ash you can find! Clean!" She'd originally thought of getting some raw eggs; the egg whites would protect the wound, but since everyone was starving, how could they possibly have raw eggs? As she worked, she quickly barked out instructions, her voice quiet but clear.
Her calm and orderly actions were like a stone dropped into a chaotic pond, quickly spreading ripples. The women and children who had originally surrounded her, only able to cry and beg, seemed to have found a backbone.
"Madam! My mother...my mother's leg is broken..."
"Madam! The child burned his hand..."
"lady……"
More and more people gathered, bringing their wounded and helpless. Wen Youqing became the lone beacon of light in this hopeless place. Her forehead was covered in fine beads of cold sweat, and her face was frighteningly pale. Every time she bent down or raised her hand, her weakened body and unhealed wounds from childbirth strained, bringing waves of sharp, needle-like pain.
But she gritted her teeth and forced herself to ignore it. She shuttled between the injured, examining them, cleaning their wounds, and instructing others on how to fix broken bones, how to treat burns with cold water, and how to comfort frightened children. She even organized a few women who knew a little about herbal medicine and asked them to find usable herbs and crush them for later use.
She became the soul of this makeshift settlement. Her composure, her methodical approach, and the unquenchable devotion to life in her eyes, tempered by hatred, silently conveyed a kind of strength.
The chaotic cries gradually died down, replaced by a suppressed yet hopeful busyness.
"Madam, please take a rest..." An old woman looked at her shaky figure and couldn't help but advised with tears in her eyes.
Wen Youqing shook her head, her gaze sweeping across the groaning wounded before her, finally settling on her son, who was sleeping peacefully beside her. The tiny baby was now being held by an older woman, feeding him his first milk.
At this moment, a greater commotion was heard at the entrance of the clearing, accompanied by suppressed exclamations.
"It's Lord Shen! Lord Shen is injured!"
"Oh my god! Behind... behind is Lord Cui?!"
"Quick! Get out of the way! Doctor! Where is the doctor!"
Wen Youqing suddenly looked up.
I saw Shen Zijie and the Cui family's guards using a temporarily removed door panel to carry a person, staggering and rushing into the square in panic.
Following closely behind, being practically dragged in by two Cui family guards, was Cui Junji! His dark purple brocade robe had practically become tattered strips of cloth, and his back was a bloody mess of flesh and blood, a gruesome sight of charred black and scarlet.
Particularly horrifying were his hands—once slender and powerful with distinct joints, they now resembled withered branches thrown into a furnace! The flesh on his palms and fingertips was charred and ripped, revealing the eerie white bones beneath, with black charred matter clinging to the edges! He had clearly fallen into a deep coma, his head drooping limply, his face covered in soot and dried blood. Only the wound on his forehead, inflicted by the jade pendant, remained glaring in the flames.
Wen Youqing's heart seemed to be grasped by an invisible hand, and it stopped beating instantly. She saw the blood on Shen Zijie's hands, and she forced herself to ignore Cui Junji's shocking scorched hands!
"Zijie! Zijie!" She rushed to the door panel of Shen Zijie, and her trembling hands wanted to touch his pale face, "Can you take a rest first? Leave him to the doctor."
"Madam..." A yamen runner, his face covered in soot and his arms wrapped in blood-soaked cloth, spoke incoherently with tears in his eyes, "The granary... the granary was about to explode... It was Lord Cui... Lord Cui went to put out the fire... He was assassinated... Lord Shen rushed over... and saved Lord Cui, but was nearly crushed to death... Lord Cui used his hands... and used his hands to push the burning beam away... and protected you... himself... his hands..."
The bailiff's words resonated like thunder in Wen Youqing's ears! She whipped her head around, looking at Cui Junji, lying unconscious on the ground. Her gaze was fixed on those charred, rotten hands that resembled ghostly claws! Pushing away the burning beams with bare hands?! To save Shen Zijie?!
A huge wave of shock, disbelief, and sharp pain washed over her like a surging wave. All her previous accusations, all her hatred, seemed so pale and... foolish in the face of this horrific evidence. She stumbled back, almost losing her balance.
Yes, Shen Zijie is such a responsible person, but he still followed Cui Junji.
"...Youqing..." He called out hoarsely, trying to pull out a soothing arc from the corner of his mouth, but it pulled the wound that was hit, and it twitched in pain. "I'm sorry, I'm glad you're okay."
Then, his gaze passed Wen Youqing and fell on Cui Junji, who lay unconscious on the ground, especially his charred right hand. Instantly, a huge grief and an indescribable complex emotion welled up in Shen Zijie's cloudy eyes.
"...He..." He breathed hard, his voice as weak as a gossamer, but with a strange warmth, and spoke intermittently.
In an instant, Wen Youqing understood what he meant. She herself was just as complicated.
As if he had exhausted his last bit of strength, Shen Zijie finally fell into a coma.
At this moment, a guard of the Cui family was carefully lifting Cui Junji's charred hands, trying to find a relatively intact place to perform the simplest bandage.
With his slight movement, something slipped out of Cui Junji's tattered and blood-soaked sleeves with a "ding" sound and rolled onto the ash-covered ground.
The object reflected a warm yet dazzling light in the flickering light of the torches around the square.
It turned out to be a dagger!
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