Chapter 67: The crowds on the cohabiting street gradually dispersed. Actually...
The crowds on the street gradually dispersed.
In fact, it was almost time for the crowd to disperse two hours ago, but there was an endless stream of people coming to Tang Zhaoyi's stall for treatment, so when she finished writing a prescription for the last old woman who came for treatment, her stall was the only one left on the entire bluestone street, except for a few restaurants and inns with lanterns lit.
She slowly stood up, rubbed her aching lower back, and began to pack up her stall. First, she carefully folded the worn pulse pad, then put the writing brush, ink, and medical records back in their proper places. She carefully rolled up the cloth sign with the words "Hanging Pot to Save the World" written on it. Finally, she folded up the desk and moved it to a shaded spot against the wall.
After packing everything up, she picked up the heavy medical box and walked towards home along the bluestone road.
The items in the medical box rustled softly with her footsteps, and the porcelain bottle hit the copper box and the sandalwood partition, making a clear, crisp sound.
She walked slowly, her eyes fixed on the last rays of sunset in the sky, which were gradually fading into gray-blue.
She stared intently, yet it seemed as if she took in nothing. Her slightly furrowed brows were locked in deep thought, as if she were trapped by something, her entire being shrouded in an invisible veil. Not even a swirling sycamore leaf that barely brushed her eyelashes could disturb her in the slightest.
When we reached the corner, the shadows of the plane trees on the street fell over us, and the surroundings suddenly became darker.
Tang Zhao had just turned the corner when a figure loomed over her head. Before she could react, her wrists were firmly grasped, and a cold blade pressed against her neck.
"Don't move, or I'll kill you." A voice passed by my ear.
Tang Zhao's breathing suddenly stopped. This voice—she was too familiar with it.
Looking up, she saw the bronze mask glowing in the dim light, hiding the visitor's face but not the eyes that she had stared at countless times.
Almost at the moment when their eyes were about to meet, she immediately turned her head and lowered her eyes, her fingertips silently pinching into her palms.
The man observed her subtle evasion, treating it as if it were just a normal woman being frightened. He loosened his grip slightly, and the chill against her skin subsided. "Listen, as long as you cooperate, I won't hurt you."
"What do you want me to cooperate with?"
"From this moment on, I am your brother."
"What?" Tang Zhao's eyelashes trembled violently, and his gaze raised, but when it was about to meet his eyes, it was abruptly fixed on his taut jaw.
"Do you remember the man who came to see you this morning with seven followers?"
Upon hearing this, Tang Zhao tightened his grip on his hand, which was originally clenched at his side, and his nails dug deeply into the fingerprints.
A gust of evening breeze happened to blow by, ruffling the strands of hair at her temples and dispelling her momentary silence. She shook her head and said, "I don't know him."
"That's the prince's man."
He stared at her intently, but the expected reaction of fear didn't come. She simply tilted her head, gazing at the swaying shadows of the trees on the bluestone, as if the shifting light and shadows were more worthy of concern than the crown prince's title. This unnatural calmness actually caused the knife in his hand to deviate slightly.
"I want to borrow your reputation as a miracle doctor to get closer to the prince."
"I'm just a herbalist," Tang Zhao raised his gaze towards the swaying lantern at the alley entrance, "How can I possibly get close to the crown prince?"
"The prince's men will come to invite you soon."
"Even if the prince invites me, I always go it alone. Wouldn't it arouse suspicion if I suddenly had a brother?"
"Don't worry about that," the man behind the mask cast a calm gaze upon her face. "Just be the sister who can't leave your brother's side because of his disfigured face and social isolation."
As dusk fell, the faint sound of a clapper could be heard in the distance. Tang Zhao was silent for a moment, then softly asked, "Why did you approach the Crown Prince?"
"You don't need to ask." He moved his wrist slightly, bringing the blade a little closer. "Just do as I say."
"Okay, I promise."
This crisp response startled him slightly. The bronze mask shifted slightly, and he carefully examined her lowered profile, trying to discern the truth from her expression. After a moment, he slowly sheathed his knife.
The moment the blade retreated, Tang Zhao clearly saw that the gleaming cold edge was facing outward. It turned out that from the beginning to the end, it was only the blunt blade that had been pressed against her neck.
It was just that he had pulled her so hard earlier that her back had banged against the sharp corner of the medical kit, and now she was in a dull pain. She rubbed her shoulder blade with her backhand before moving forward.
After taking a few steps, there was no movement behind her. She stopped and looked back, only to see that the man was still standing there, his figure almost blending into the deepening dusk.
"Aren't you going to play my brother?" She kept her eyes downcast, and there was no emotion in her voice. "Come home with me."
*
The wooden door made a dry "creaking" sound and was gently pushed open.
Tang Zhao walked into the courtyard, casually placed the medical kit in the corner, and went back inside to put down his belongings. When she came out again, she found him still standing outside the courtyard gate, wearing a mask, his figure looking particularly lonely and upright in the twilight.
She walked forward slowly, looking down at the threshold: "Come in."
She led him to a low wooden table in the courtyard. It was a simple table, made of two pieces of miscellaneous wood, one leg supported by a piece of bluestone, the other supported by two crooked wooden legs, as if the slightest breeze could tip it over. Next to it stood an equally simple wooden stool. Though crude, it was immaculately polished.
"Please sit down first." Tang Zhao said softly, "I'll go prepare dinner."
"No need." A voice came from behind the mask, "I'm not hungry."
Tang Zhao, who had already reached the kitchen door, stopped and turned half his face to the side: "If we are going to live together inseparable for a while, are you going to skip meals?"
The light and shadow at the kitchen door flickered slightly, and her figure disappeared into the house.
The masked man finally looked around the courtyard. It was a plain place, consisting of only two thatched huts. The one facing the gate was more formal and must be the main house; the smaller one to the east, which she had just entered, must be the kitchen. There was not a single piece of clutter in the courtyard, the ground was rammed flat, and only a few fallen leaves scattered around. It was so quiet that it seemed as if no one had lived there for a long time, but also as if they had just moved in.
A moment later, Tang Zhao came out of the kitchen carrying two bowls of plain noodles. After setting the table, she realized that he had already taken the only wooden stool by the table in the yard.
Before she could speak, he had already stood up: "Sit down."
Tang Zhao waved her hand. Her eyes wandered across the empty courtyard, and suddenly she remembered something. She turned around, picked up the medical kit from the corner, and placed it firmly in the empty space under the table. She then adjusted her skirt and sat down.
"That's good." She patted her face lightly. When she looked up, her eyes just happened to pass by the bottom edge of the bronze mask, and then she quickly lowered her eyes to look at the bowl of noodles. "Let's eat."
The dinner ended in silence. The masked man put down his bowl and chopsticks, said "I'm done", and then picked up his bowl and chopsticks and walked towards the kitchen.
Tang Zhaoben hadn't had much of a mind to eat. She caught a glimpse of him coming out and immediately put down her chopsticks. Unexpectedly, the medical box was slightly higher than an ordinary stool. She wasn't paying attention when she stood up, and her knee accidentally hit the edge of the table.
With a crash, the already flimsy wooden table collapsed, breaking into several pieces. The ceramic bowl tumbled across the floor, finally coming to rest in front of a pair of black boots.
Tang Zhao looked at the mess on the ground, a trace of embarrassment flashing across his face.
She hurriedly moved to pick it up, and with her eyes always lowered, she saw a hand holding a clay bowl with distinct wrist bones.
She lowered her head to take the bowl, her fingertips inadvertently touching the other person's warm palm. The deepening night perfectly obscured the blush behind her ear, leaving only a low murmur, "...Thank you."
Tang Zhao brought the dusty dishes into the kitchen. When he was about to wash them, he noticed that a washed ceramic bowl was upside down on the drain rack, and a pair of washed bamboo chopsticks were neatly placed in the chopstick holder.
Her gaze lingered on the bowl for a moment before she dipped the chopsticks in her hands into clean water and carefully washed away the dust.
When the washed bowl was placed side by side with the other bowl, the curves of the two ceramic bowls fit perfectly, as if they were made naturally.
When I turned around, the moonlight shining through the west window just happened to cover the chopstick holders - two pairs of bamboo chopsticks, one pair was still wet with dark color, and the other pair was almost dry, standing side by side in the evening breeze flowing in from the window.
＊
The night was deep, and a few dim stars were hanging scattered around the moon.
After Tang Zhao left the kitchen, he found the courtyard deserted. Confused, he turned and saw a familiar figure—he leaned against the kitchen wall, his arms folded. His eyes were lightly closed, and his bronze mask shimmered softly in the dim light, like ancient jade bathed in moonlight.
Tang Zhao said nothing, turned around and walked back into the house.
The oil lamp lit up, casting a flickering halo of light in the small room. She tilted her chin slightly, her gaze fixed on the single bed in the room, her brows gradually furrowing.
She tidied up the room for a moment, then walked to the door and said to the figure who was still resting with his eyes closed: "There is only one bed in the room. I've made it for you on the floor. Come in and rest."
She said it calmly, not realizing there was anything wrong with it.
A strange man who had just threatened to kill her with a knife. How could she be willing to stay in the same room with such a person for a whole night?
The figure against the wall shifted slightly. The masked man turned his head, his scrutinizing gaze from beneath the bronze mask resting on her face.
The lights in the house were dim and the surroundings were dark, with only the faint moonlight outlining each other's vague outlines.
Only in such light did Tang Zhao dare to raise his eyes and look at the tall figure.
He stared at her for a long moment before slowly looking away. His clear, cold voice flowed like moonlight: "No need. I'll be outside."
But...the night dew is cold...
Tang Zhao looked at his stubborn profile and swallowed back the words that were about to come out of her lips. She turned silently and went back to the house, the wooden door closing gently behind her.
In the middle of the night, the drizzle continued to hit the thatched roof.
A cool breeze drifted into the house with the sound of rain, and Tang Zhao woke from her light sleep. She fumbled for the cloak at the head of the bed and wrapped herself in it. Just as she was about to put on her cloth shoes, she caught a glimpse of moisture seeping in from under the crack in the door, and paused.
She put down her cloth shoes, bent down at the edge of the bed, and fished out a pair of old wooden clogs from under the bed. Her fingertips groped over the clogs and expertly fastened the laces.
The wooden clogs made a light sound as they tapped against the muddy ground. She walked lightly to the door and gently opened it a crack.
There was no one at the kitchen door.
The night wind, carrying fine raindrops, rushed towards her. She tied her cloak tightly and walked under the eaves. Her eyes carefully scanned the shimmering courtyard, but the figure was still nowhere to be seen.
Where did he go?
Feeling uneasy, she raised her hand to shield her forehead from the rain and walked quickly towards the kitchen. The kitchen was simple to begin with, without even a door. She stopped a few steps away.
A man sat in a corner beside the firewood pile. One leg was bent, his arm casually draped across his knee, his face resting on his arm, as if he were fast asleep. A drizzle of rain drifted in through the half-open window, dotting his shoulders with tiny droplets of water.
Tang Zhao quietly walked around to the back of the house and reached out to hold the window frame that was swaying gently in the night wind. She closed the window very gently, making sure that the window paper was tightly sealed and no wind or rain could leak in before turning around.
The muddy clogs left shallow marks on the wet ground. She slowly walked back to the kitchen door and her eyes fell on the figure sleeping beside the firewood pile.
In a trance, she recalled an afternoon many years ago.
She had seen a young man like this before, once, while passing by a brothel alley, carrying a medicine basket on her back. He was curled up alone in a corner, with bright red scars at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Like a wounded wolf cub, he sat quietly against the wall, watching the passersby.
Those beautiful eyes, like amber washed by dew, clear and fragile, with a stubborn ray of light, shone into her heart. For many afternoons thereafter, every time she passed by there, her eyes would unconsciously search for that figure.
Until one day, he approached her and spoke to her for the first time. She looked into his eyes for the first time, and the vulnerability there had faded away. She was happy for him, but she saw a bottle falling down from above his side. She pushed him away...
The boy in her memory gradually overlapped with the figure before her. She knew that they had the same name—
Fang Bu Yu.
Raindrops slid down his hair, wetting his eyelashes. Tang Zhao blinked, pulling himself away from the distant memories. Then he turned around and walked back into the house, taking out a thin blanket from the low cabinet in the corner.
She walked lightly into the kitchen, squatted in front of the figure, and slowly unfolded the blanket.
Just as she was about to bend over to cover him, her wrist was suddenly grabbed by a strong force.
"who!"
A warning voice sounded. Tang Zhao was genuinely startled and instinctively looked up, but before he could meet the eyes beneath the mask, he quickly turned his face away, his gaze frantically falling on the folds of his clothes.
"Yes...it's me...I came to bring you the blanket."
Fang Buyu seemed to be completely awake at this moment. His gaze lingered on the blanket in her hand for a moment, and the strength between his fingers gradually loosened.
"Thank you very much."
Tang Zhao hurriedly stuffed the blanket into his arms, turned around and quickly left the kitchen.
The velvet blanket covering the back of his hand still had some residual warmth. Fang Buyu watched the hurried figure disappear around the corner of the porch, then lowered his eyes to look at the soft fabric in his hand.
He was puzzled. This female healer was rather strange. He had threatened her life with a knife, yet now she brought him a blanket to keep him warm. But if she was brave, she seemed to never dare look him in the face.
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