Chapter 14
When Jiang Jitang returned home, he checked the items in his hands. He had bought both the money and the gifts.
In truth, what he should have done first was “redeem her freedom,” assuming she truly was a woman forced into prostitution.
But he didn’t have enough funds, nor enough time, knew nothing of the process of freeing someone, and would be incapable of handling the aftermath. After thinking it over, he decided it was better to prepare the possible medicine she may need.
“Submit order.”
It was now eleven o’clock at noon — just enough time to return and eat.
—
Task world.
The front building of Fuguang Courtyard was lit with red lanterns and bustling noise, the sounds of laughter and revelry drifting all the way to the back.
Han Xiu lay on a wooden bed, straw lining both above and below her. But the straw hadn’t been dried for a long time, so insects had grown within it. They crawled over her body, the stinging and the stench swirling endlessly in that cramped little space.
A cold sweat covered her face, and her whole body was soaked. But the little maid who had cared for her earlier had already been called away. The madam must have decided she had no value left — waiting only to wrap her in a straw mat when she died and toss her out.
Yet she refused to go. Even a life as lowly as hers did not want to die.
She didn’t even know why she was unwilling, but anger burned in her chest — painful and scorching — clinging to her fragile life, refusing to let her die just yet.
Suddenly, the wooden door creaked open. She tried to look over and saw a tall shadow of a man, standing against the light, all in darkness.
What now? Some tortoise (pander) taking stock of her before she died, wanting one last dalliance?
Han Xiu smiled, tears at the corner of her eyes. She closed them.
“Here are millet, brown sugar, and motherwort. If you are satisfied with this service, please leave a positive review.”
There was no teasing or obscenity in that gentle voice. It cut through the cramped darkness like a beam of light. Han Xiu opened her eyes.
“Who are you?” Her voice was so weak it was nearly inaudible, but her eyes still worked. She clearly saw the man enter and stop a meter away.
A glowing light appeared in his hand, landing on her lower abdomen. The pain and coldness there felt as though they were being wrapped in warm water.
Han Xiu could feel warmth returning to her body. The foot she’d already placed in a coffin seemed to step back into the world of the living.
So warm…
“Where are you from, immortal sir?” Emotions swirled inside her — excitement, reverence, gratitude. Tears rolled uncontrollably as she looked at him wide-eyed, wanting to see him clearly. “As long as you don’t despise me, I will worship you my whole life.”
For people like them, the lowest of the low, even if they donated money to temples, the monks would reject it as impure. Once you enter the brothel gates, what deity would protect you? At best, a minor forest spirit. But now that he had saved her, she would worship him forever.
Jiang Jitang looked at her. Though the room was dark, he could still make out that she was a girl of sixteen or seventeen — only her face had already been marked by a harsh life.
“I’m not an immortal,” he said. “These were bought using your private stash. Will all this fit here? Do you have someplace else to hide it?”
If you’re going to give thanks, give it to yourself — you didn’t give up, and that’s why hope came.
Little girl, live like wild grass and keep growing.
Han Xiu looked at the items by the bed. She had indeed wished for something like this, but how could just a few hundred coins buy so much? This only convinced her further that he must be a cultivated forest spirit doing good deeds.
But oddly, she wasn’t afraid. Compared to people, what was so scary about demons or spirits?
“Thank you for your compassion, immortal sir. Here is fine.” Strength returned to her, and she pushed the items under the bed, covering them with tattered things. No need to trouble the immortal.
Seeing her energy come back, Jiang Jitang nodded. He then carefully went through each item again, especially the motherwort tonic and the contraceptive pills.
“This bottle of tonic — take it after you’ve cleaned up. And these tablets — one per month, to prevent pregnancy.”
Then he explained how to protect herself — in every possible aspect, including during sexual relations.
Most people would feel awkward teaching such woman’s health knowledge from the internet to a stranger, but Jiang Jitang didn’t. If possible, he would rather pour a Memory Potion down her throat so she could instantly remember all this biological knowledge easily found in modern times, saving him from repeating it.
He added, “The glass bottle with the tonic can also be sold for some money. When you have a chance, leave this place.”
Han Xiu covered her face, tears falling like broken pearls. Since being sold here, when had anyone cared for her like this? She remembered when she was young — back then, she had a proper name, not “Han Xiu” (Shy).
“Alright.” So many words clogged her throat, but after a long time, she managed to say just one: Alright. Since someone wished for her to live properly, she would.
Jiang Jitang was like a dream — he came silently and left unnoticed.
But he didn’t go far. He stood on the street outside the brightly lit pleasure houses, all built along the riverside. Flower boats drifted under the moonlight, staining the river with the scent of powder.
Amid the thick water plants lay a long-rotted corpse wearing a peach-red dress, floating like blood.
This was not a proper place. Only drunken men walked the streets, the women were inside, like chickens and ducks waiting to be slaughtered.
The time had come. He glanced one last time at Fuguang Courtyard.
—
Light shifted.
Jiang Jitang returned home. A beam of light passed through the glass and fell on the floor, making the room bright and clean.
From that dark cramped place to this clean brightness — it was not that he was so capable, only that he was fortunate to be born in such a great era, in such a great country.
But it seemed even this great era and great country had begun to show signs of darkness.
Unconquerable? I don’t believe that.
“Two orders left,” Jiang Jitang sat down. “But let’s eat lunch first — no rush.”
After eating and resting half an hour, he began processing the bedding order.
This one was truly hard to evaluate, but fortunately, there was still a limited-time bargain — the flea market during graduation season.
This time, he went to Nan Lian University — his own school.
Every year at the start of term, the school sold students a bundle for 350 yuan, which included two 3-jin quilts. Each could be used individually in spring and autumn, or together as a winter quilt.
When graduating, many students didn’t want to take them home and would sell them very cheaply.
There were even old ladies collecting used quilts downstairs. One 3-jin quilt with cover — only a little over ten yuan. Outside, new cotton cost fifteen yuan per jin; second-hand at least ten.
At the flea market, students were indeed selling quilts — two 3-jin ones per person, eight per dorm. He got them all for 140 yuan, along with four pillows and two thin blankets.
Perhaps so cheap because they were almost never cleaned or aired.
After clearing out their four-year-old bedding, the students grinned wide, discussing where to go for a farewell meal.
Jiang Jitang looked at the oily stains on the quilt covers and stuffed them into sacks wearing gloves.
Coincidentally, that dorm was also selling old clothes — among them four military overcoats.
“Fifty for the lot. Coat comes with earflap hat.” The boy running the stall held up five fingers, eyes darting over Jiang Jitang’s features beyond the mask.
There were lots of old goods collectors around, so the boy thought Jiang Jitang was one too. But his face hardly looked like someone doing this kind of trade.
Jiang Jitang didn’t care what impression he’d leave on junior schoolmates. Calmly, he drew his ‘dragon-slaying knife’ (a.k.a bargaining skill), “Four overcoats, earflap hat included — 100.”
“Deal!” Not even a moment of hesitation — the boy shoved the clothes at him.
“…Did I overbid?”
And so, all 240-yuan was spent.
When he returned home, it was not yet 2 PM. He stripped the quilt covers and pillowcases and put them in the washer-dryer. The clothes and thin blankets were hung on the balcony and disinfected under UV light.
He had used second-hand clothes, toys, and books since childhood, but never felt ashamed — because Mrs. Jiang always washed them so thoroughly and mended what needed mending.
He never thought they were old, only that he was greatly loved.
Eight nearly-new quilts, four thick padded overcoats, plus the sheets, blankets, earflap hats and pillows — they filled two woven bags.
Carrying one in each hand, he went to deliver the order.
With one step, he entered the sandstorm of the Northwest — low loess houses everywhere, wind stinging the face. A tall skinny youth stared at him, the weed root in his mouth falling out. Above his head floated the word [Villager].
The villager looked like a no-good layabout, but treated family well. As soon as he saw the items, he dressed his parents and wife first, not caring about his own cracked face and hands.
“Hurry, put it on — this stuff is great.”
“I stay home most of the time. Husband, you go outside often — you should wear it.”
Clearly husband and wife, yet pulling at each other so bashfully, eyes drifting away.
Jiang Jitang leaned against the wobbly table, watching the couple display their affection subtly.
“Honored guest, have some water.” An old woman offered a bowl of ginger syrup — thick with ginger, a little murky. Jiang Jitang looked at the chipped clay bowl and drank it.
It was mildly sweet, with a hint of sand — the taste of local water, entirely different from that of Jiangnan. The land shapes the people; such harsh soil produces such resilient folk.
He had barely set the bowl down when she refilled it, afraid of slighting him. Still ginger syrup, for in this weather it thaws the cold — medicine and nourishment for the poor.
He was about to refuse the kindness when an old man came in from outside. He had gone out empty-handed and returned carrying a chicken and a fish — likely borrowed, meant to treat him.
See? He had only done a little of what he could, yet they treated him as an honored guest.
So why not do it? He loved this feeling.
“Young man doesn’t understand — such thick quilts and coats aren’t things you buy with just a hundred copper coins. Sir, have you eaten? Stay for a simple meal.”
“No,” he waved, “I still have matters to tend to.”
“If you leave just like that, this old man feels uneasy.”
Still smiling, Jiang Jitang declined. He drank the second bowl of ginger tea, leaving only the sediment.
“Please don’t see me off. Goodbye.” Then he turned and walked into the sandstorm. The wind whipped up the sand, making it impossible to open one’s eyes. His figure grew fainter.
The villager’s family stood at the doorway watching until he vanished completely, then closed the door. On the table, they found a box of ointment — white as mutton fat — unsure what it was for.
“Didn’t the master also buy frostbite salve?”
“It was about to expire — cheap.”
He had just grabbed it casually, unsure he’d give it — but how could he not, after such heartfelt hospitality?
—
The Golden Eye still couldn’t understand its master’s joy in remaining ordinary, but in these impoverished people he helped, it saw rough yet genuine sincerity.
They had so little — just meet their basic needs, and show some respect, and they would offer sincere gratitude.
Only one order remained now.
This one was the simplest — he could buy the magnesium rod fire starter at a nearby small convenience store using his electric scooter.
Only twelve centimeters long, cigar-shaped, far more useful than ancient fire steels, and inexpensive — exactly sixteen yuan. It even came with a storage pouch and a tin of kindling sticks.
The pine kindling didn’t count toward the purchase requirements, but as a gift from Jiang Jitang, it was allowed.
The third order was completed. Today had been a fulfilling day.
“I’ll treat myself to something good!”
—
On the way home, Jiang Jitang bought a young capon and an opened golden pillow durian. Humming a tune, he decided to hold a harmonious and sweet wedding for the two ingredients — in his clay pot.
He was just nearing home with the chicken and the durian when a new message box popped up.
[Strong wish detected. Special task updated.]
[Special Task: As external support, please complete the “Let’s play hide-and-seek” game challenge.]
[Would you like to join the event?]
[You have five minutes to decide.]
