Chapter 30 — The Past
The two little girls were also found.
That day, they had worn black robes and run all the way down the mountain before dawn. Too frightened to enter the city in the dark, the two huddled together for warmth and waited for daylight before stripping off their black robes and tossing them away, then running back into town.
The sisters’ surname was Lin. They weren’t locals—they had come from Tianjin with their father to visit relatives in Qinghe County. They had good memories and, remarkably, managed to retrace their steps all the way back to their relatives’ home.
Their father only had the two of them and no other family. After the sisters disappeared for two days, Father Lin nearly went mad searching for them. Their local relatives were respected country gentry— not particularly rich, but from a family of scholars who valued reputation above all. Hearing the sisters’ tearful account, they were outraged and immediately went to the authorities, demanding the bandits be severely punished.
They hardly needed to say it—the Qinghe officials were already determined to make an example.
At the beginning of the year, the higher-ups had issued repeated orders: the suppression of banditry must be thorough.
Those who’d holed up in the ruined temple had run headlong into the barrel of the gun—they deserved their fate.
The leader of the troupe, Cheng, had his skull smashed and was now half-idiotic, able only to utter faint sounds. The rest, once interrogated, turned on one another like dogs, spilling even more details than expected.
Before long, the whole gang was sentenced to death by firing squad.
Xie Jing had been following Lord Bai Jiu the whole time. The matter had been handed over to Lord Bai Jiu to handle, so he knew the details well. Once the sentencing was done, he went home to tell Li Yuan the result.
“Those two girls, the Lin sisters, were visiting relatives. Their family’s from Tianjin. Because of their unfamiliar accents, they caught the attention of Cheng San’s gang and were kidnapped to the ruined temple. When their parents met Lord Bai Jiu, they immediately asked about you—said they must thank you for saving their daughters and insisted on paying a visit. I gave them the address—they might come later today.”
Xie Jing drained a porcelain bowl of water, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank. Once his thirst was quenched, he added, “I heard that Mr. Lin from Tianjin is a Western doctor, very skilled in surgery. You should let him take a look at your leg.”
Li Yuan reached for the teapot with one hand to pour for him.
“There’s no need. I’m almost healed. As long as I know they’re safe, that’s enough.”
Grandma Kou happened to come in then, carrying a plate of freshly washed melon slices. She set it down, took the teapot from Li Yuan, and poured for Xie Jing herself.
“Let Dr. Lin take a look anyway,” she said. “You’ll need that leg for the rest of your life—better not leave it with hidden trouble.”
Li Yuan nodded obediently.
That afternoon, the Lin family arrived.
Mr. Lin wasn’t dressed particularly Western—he wore a long robe and carried a doctor’s case, visiting personally.
Li Yuan remained tense throughout, only baring his arm and injured leg for examination, speaking very little.
He didn’t understand Western medicine. He wasn’t sure if this doctor, with his strange tools, could somehow see through to the other, unspeakable scars on his body.
But Dr. Lin was only a surgeon, not clairvoyant. After a careful examination, he smiled.
“Healing nicely! Your leg looks sturdier than most. The bone’s set perfectly. I’ll cast it in plaster—after we remove that, you can start walking on crutches. A few months and you’ll be fine.”
While writing a prescription for anti-inflammatory medicine, he added reassuringly, “You might not know this, but the human body’s bones heal stronger after being broken. Once mended, they’re even tougher than before.”
Li Yuan’s eyes widened a little.
“Really? All bones do that?”
“That’s right,” Dr. Lin said. “So don’t burden your mind. I’ll keep treating you until you’re fully recovered.”
Li Yuan gave a faint smile.
“Then I’ll heal quickly for sure.”
Dr. Lin took it as youthful bravado and thought nothing of it. After finishing Li Yuan’s examination, he thanked Xie Jing in the sitting room and gave Grandma Kou a check-up as well.
Aside from some common ailments of age, the old lady was healthy. The major illness she’d had half a year ago had left her much weaker then, but she’d since recovered her vitality. Only her knees ached lately. Dr. Lin prescribed her some anti-inflammatory pills and said with a smile, “The old lady’s health is excellent. Get some sun every day—that’s all. Just don’t carry heavy things on those knees.”
“Aye, I know,” she said.
Xie Jing stood nearby, refilling tea.
Dr. Lin had other matters to attend to, so he didn’t stay long.
When he went to fetch his daughters, he heard their chirping voices through the door, like two bright little orioles, “If Brother Xie Jing and the officials hadn’t gone up the mountain in time, those bandits might’ve escaped!”
“Yes! We saw torches from afar, but we remembered what you said—not to get close if we saw anyone—so we hid!”
“Right! We only entered the city after dawn. Papa was terrified, almost sent a telegram to Tianjin…”
Dr. Lin knocked and pushed the door open slightly.
“Zhifei, Zhiyi, time to go—we shouldn’t disturb the patient’s rest.”
The twins each put down what they were holding—one a teacup, the other an orange. The one with the orange placed it in Li Yuan’s hand and smiled:
“Brother Li Yuan, we’re going home now. We’ll come play with you tomorrow so you won’t be bored.”
“I’m not bored,” Li Yuan said.
The other girl chimed in brightly, “Then we’ll take care of you! Papa’s a doctor—he’s taught us lots!”
Before Li Yuan could reply, they scampered off after their father.
Once the house quieted again, Xie Jing entered. Seeing the small room neatly tidied, he raised a brow.
“I thought those girls only learned medicine from their father, not housekeeping.”
“Their mother passed away early,” Li Yuan explained. “Dr. Lin raised them alone. He’s busy at the clinic, so the girls keep house themselves.”
He held out the peeled orange.
“Want it?”
Xie Jing shook his head, so Li Yuan slowly ate it himself.
“Sweet?” Xie Jing asked.
“No,” Li Yuan said blankly. “It’s green-skinned—not sweet. If you want sweet, I’ll soak them in hot water later. They’ll taste better tonight.”
Xie Jing leaned against the doorframe, lost in thought. He had never been cared for this way before—not with peeled fruit or gentle attentions. The only memory remotely similar was of him peeling lychees for Lord Bai Jiu; sometimes the lord would mischievously pop a fresh, unpeeled longan into his mouth instead. Back then, Xie Jing was new in the household, unsure of Lord Bai Jiu’s moods. He hadn’t dared protest, biting into the shell in frustration—only for Lord Bai Jiu to fish the bitten fruit from his mouth with his fingers and laugh for half a day.
Xie Jing had long wondered what Lord Bai Jiu had meant by that.
Now, watching Li Yuan offer him a peeled orange, he found himself thinking: Li Yuan still wasn’t like Lord Bai Jiu.
At least Lord Bai Jiu had never once complained that the fruit Xie Jing peeled for him was sour. He had always eaten it, face calm and unchanging.
The Lin family lived not far from Xie Jing’s small east wing. The twins often came over, never empty-handed. Sometimes they brought books and notebooks; sometimes half-green ears of wheat. They’d never eaten unprocessed grain before—only flour—so they found these half-ripe kernels fascinating.
Anything that caught their fancy, they brought over.
They were also helpful: since Li Yuan couldn’t move much, the sisters divided the chores between them—one cleaning the room, the other helping Grandma Kou with meals.
The old lady loved having them around and often made treats for them.
The elder sister, Zhifei, was lively and strong—she handled all the sweeping. The younger, Zhiyi, quiet and patient, learned to braid cords and cook a couple of dishes.
When Li Yuan could finally move on crutches, the Qinghe officials posted an announcement:
From the beginning of the year until now, fifty-seven bandits had been captured. All were publicly executed by firing squad. Among them was the now-mad troupe leader, Cheng. When he was escorted to the execution ground, the crowd pelted him with rotten vegetables and eggs. He was nothing but skin and bone—had he any strength left, he likely wouldn’t have wanted to live at all. His last days had been worse than death.
Xie Jing watched from afar.
He couldn’t see clearly, only heard the gunshots.
He reined in his startled horse, stood still for a while, eyes fixed in that direction until silence fell, then turned away.
From that day on, he and his past went their separate ways—no more ties.
Grandma Kou was happiest about two things lately: first, Li Yuan’s safe return; second, the recovery of the little golden Buddha.
When she saw that small brass statue again, she was overjoyed, wiping it clean with her handkerchief and chanting under her breath. The little Buddha was all that remained of her old possessions—everything else had been sold during hard times. She truly wanted to keep it for Xie Jing, as a token of remembrance and protection.
But as she examined it, she noticed a chipped corner on the lotus base and was instantly distressed.
“Mercy, mercy—how could this happen?”
“I’ll get you another one—” Xie Jing began.
“No!” she cut him off. “This one’s different. It was your mother’s. It’ll protect you.”
He swallowed his words. Grandma Kou was stubborn about such things. He glanced at the small Buddha—though it looked newly cast, merely imitating old craftsmanship—it didn’t matter. She had prayed to it for years, and her faith was absolute.
Li Yuan, however, was anxious.
“It’s my fault! If only I’d found it sooner. It stayed in that ruined temple, got… dirtied by those bandits. What if it’s no longer blessed?”
“Nonsense,” said the old lady. “We’ve worshipped it for years. It knows us by now. Just light a few more sticks of incense.”
Li Yuan had always believed himself unlucky, blaming himself for everything. Limping over with his crutch, he suggested earnestly,
“Grandma, how about this—once I have money, I’ll buy gold foil so we can gild the Buddha. I heard from a monk once that sincerity means showing it.”
She chuckled.
“Sincerity’s in the heart, not in gold. Don’t be fooled by those wandering monks. I won’t allow it. Save your money to marry a wife someday!”
“I’m not marrying anyone. I just want to buy the gold.”
“I worship half a dozen gods every year—Kitchen God at New Year, God of Wealth on the fifth. You’ll go broke gilding them all! Don’t waste your money.”
“Then just this one—”
“Not even one!”
The two of them went back and forth, neither convincing the other.
Xie Jing finished his melon and quietly slipped away before they noticed.
At the Bai residence, East Courtyard.
Lord Bai Jiu was searching for a book, sitting at his desk with a frown. When he saw Xie Jing enter, he beckoned him over.
“Just in time. The book I was reading yesterday’s missing—it had something tucked inside…”
Before he could finish, Xie Jing bent down and retrieved a stitched-bound book from under the desk. The cover matched.
“That’s it!” Lord Bai Jiu flipped it open and pulled out a slip of paper, smiling. “Been looking for this. The accountant and I were reconciling numbers yesterday, and this was the missing piece.”
The space was small; Xie Jing was half-trapped between the desk and Lord Bai Jiu’s arm. When he tried to move, the man didn’t let go—pressing just enough to tease him.
Surprised, Xie Jing looked up. Though Lord Bai Jiu wasn’t as strong as Bai Mingyu, he wasn’t weak either—and Xie Jing, despite his effort, couldn’t move him.
“You’ve been running home every free moment,” Lord Bai Jiu teased. “Almost forgot to come back here. Say a few nice words, and I’ll let you go.”
Xie Jing hesitated, then wrapped his arms around the man’s arm. Lord Bai Jiu’s body was always cool, pleasant even in summer.
“If you can’t think of anything sweet,” Lord Bai Jiu continued, “then tell me something interesting. What did you do today? Ate yourself full again before coming back, didn’t you?”
“Just two slices of watermelon,” Xie Jing said, then added, “Not enough to fill me.”
“Why?”
So he recounted what Li Yuan and the old lady had said, making Lord Bai Jiu laugh aloud.
“Whose side do you think is right, my lord?” he asked.
“Both,” said Lord Bai Jiu. “Faith lies in what you seek.”
Xie Jing pondered.
“I used to not believe in anything. That’s why I prayed to every god I met. My teacher said, ‘If you believe in everything, you believe in nothing.’ But I still wanted to try—maybe, if one of them heard me, they’d give me another chance.”
All he had asked for then was a dream. He never expected to have today.
“And now? Do you believe?”
He hesitated, then shook his head.
Lord Bai Jiu smiled faintly.
“Then who do you believe in?”
“I once heard a story,” Xie Jing said. “Someone went to Guanyin’s altar to make a wish, only to see the Bodhisattva bowing to herself. When he asked why, Guanyin said, ‘Better to rely on yourself than to seek from others.’”
He paused, then looked up.
“So, my lord—I believe in myself.”
Lord Bai Jiu, knowing of Grandma Kou’s illness and Xie Jing’s struggle to survive alone, patted his hand gently.
“Things will be well. You’re diligent and capable. Just remember—never force what’s beyond your reach.”
“Mm. If I ever can’t handle something, I’ll come back to ask for help.”
“Ask who?”
Xie Jing didn’t answer—only turned his gaze toward him. In his dark eyes, Lord Bai Jiu saw his own reflection. The answer was obvious.
The corners of Lord Bai Jiu’s lips lifted. The boy’s bright gaze carried a quiet pride, as if flaunting the faith he’d placed in him.
“Come here,” Lord Bai Jiu said softly.
“My lord?”
Without replying, Lord Bai Jiu reached out, ruffled his soft hair until it fluffed up messily, then said, “No need to buy gold foil—you don’t understand such things. I’ll go with Mr. Huang in a few days to take a look. He’s an expert in antiques—he’ll know how to repair it.”
“You’re going too, my lord?” Xie Jing blinked.
Lord Bai Jiu tapped the desk, imitating his tone.
“What, you can visit my East Courtyard every day, but I can’t look in on yours?”
Xie Jing scratched his head. Not that he minded—but his place was so plain, barely furnished. He made a mental note: tonight, if he wasn’t on night duty, he’d slip out to buy a few wooden stools.
