Jiang Shining looked over at Xue Xian. “When you first came to Ningyang County, you made me a paper body and nothing more…”
“That’s different.”
“I still don’t see your logic. There are so many houses in Ningyang County, so why choose our family’s ruined clinic?” Jiang Shining shook his head. “It was cold and dark. Do you enjoy torturing yourself? Your tastes sure are interesting.”
“I wanted to, that’s all,” Xue Xian retorted. “How would you stop me?”
Not only was Jiang Shining always on the receiving end of Xue Xian’s sharp words, but Xue Xian wouldn’t even look at whomever he was demeaning. Currently, his entire focus lay on his precious marble.
The candle’s warm yellow glow lent a bit of life to Xue Xian’s ashen complexion. Though his smug mouth was begging for a beating, he did have a remarkable appearance. The flame cast a soft shadow beneath his long black lashes, and the lazy curve of his eyes shone with the marble’s golden, candlelit glow, as well as the fierce blizzard raging outside.
With so many places to shelter oneself in Ningyang County, why had Xue Xian chosen the Jiang family clinic? He had even wasted an entire day crafting a paper body for Jiang Shining.
In truth, Xue Xian had only a vague recollection of the reason he did it. His lifespan was so much longer than a human’s. If he tried to list every little detail of what he’d done, his head would explode. He only remembered that one winter, he’d traveled north for some reason, and he’d passed through Ningyang County on his return trip.
It was around evening then, and the county was being buffeted by a rare blizzard, not unlike the one today. The tavern food stalls packed up early, leaving the streets deathly silent.
At that time, Xue Xian wasn’t maimed yet, so he had full use of his legs, and of course a dragon would never fear the cold. To him, the wind and snow were little more than winter embellishments. Clad in a thin black robe, he strolled through the flurries.
Just as he passed by an alley, someone grabbed his arm.
Xue Xian was a lone wolf in nature. He disliked being too close to others, and he was even more displeased when someone tugged on him unexpectedly. Frowning in annoyance, he turned and saw a middle-aged man in a gray robe who had an oilpaper umbrella in hand. A square medicine chest was slung over his shoulder with a cloth strap. Judging by the footprints in the snow, he’d come from the alley. Xue Xian could no longer recall the man’s appearance clearly, only that he had a beard and a kind face.
The man pointed to the back of Xue Xian’s hand. “Such a deep wound! You have to apply medicine and bandage it, or you’ll end up with a severe case of frostbite. Two days of frostbite in this damp, cold weather, and it’ll hurt every year when it rains and snows. You’ll regret it then.”
The man’s voice had a coaxing tone that lacked formality, as if talking to a young member of his family.
Taken aback, Xue Xian peered down at his hand. The hand in the man’s grip really was injured—the result of a careless brush with lightning. To Xue Xian, the injury was comparable to being scratched by a branch while walking, something one would forget in no time. A couple of days and it’d be as good as new. However, to an ordinary person, it was a horrific injury: The back of his hand had been split open and blood had crusted on the edges of the wound, where the flesh curled outward, exposing the bone beneath.
Without further ado, the man pulled the bewildered Xue Xian along, urging him down the alley. A short trip later, they stopped at a pair of red gates. Xue Xian assumed it was the man’s home since he pushed open one of the gates and shouted someone’s name inside.
“Oh, and bring me the brazier by my desk!” the man added. Then, he opened his wooden medicine chest and began to carefully treat Xue Xian’s wound.
Someone came from inside the building and handed over a small copper brazier. Xue Xian noted the person in question was a middle-aged woman. Like the man, she seemed gentle. Behind her was a young boy about seven or eight years old. His head craned forward as he peered around her. When his eyes met Xue Xian’s, he smiled, then pointed to Xue Xian’s hand.
“You have to keep it away from water for two days,” the boy said in a grave voice. “Especially cold water.”
“Go back in and study,” the woman said with a smile, turning to shoo the child away. To Xue Xian, she said, “You really should keep it away from water, especially in this weather. You must be careful, or chronic pain will bother you year in and year out.” Just as the man had said.
“Are you in a hurry? Would you like to come in and warm up?” the man asked, his tone friendly. While the others had talked, he’d bound Xue Xian’s hand with a strip of finely woven hemp, and even neatly avoided the painful areas as he tied a firm knot.
“No, I still have matters to attend to,” replied Xue Xian. He paused for a moment, then awkwardly added, “Thank you for your trouble.”
“At least take this brazier with you. You need to keep that wound warm,” the man insisted. He shoved the palm-sized object into Xue Xian’s hand.
Xue Xian might not have feared the cold, but he could still distinguish between it and heat. When the warm brazier was pressed into his palm, he looked up at the doorframe and read the characters inscribed there: Jiang Family Clinic.
A year later, when he found himself passing through Ningyang again, he slipped into the Jiang family courtyard when no one was watching. After placing the copper brazier and a small pouch of golden pearls on the stone table outside, he strolled away.
Upon returning to the county this last time, he remembered the clinic and decided to take a look, only to find it in ruins. The once-red gates and the herb garden in the courtyard had been marred beyond recognition; all that remained was Jiang Shining.
Thus, he felt compelled to help. After all, not everyone in this world was as treacherous and reprehensible as Scribe Liu. Where some were selfish and ungrateful, others were full of kindness and virtue.
Xue Xian glanced at the raging blizzard outside and leaned against the statue of Buddha.
“Before we left, you told me to wait by the door while you did something at the Master’s table,” Jiang Shining asked. “What did you do?”
Xue Xian lazily grunted in acknowledgment. “Just left him a little something. A token of gratitude for his help in retrieving my marble.”
What he’d granted Xuanmin was none other than a piece of his real body—a dragon scale. While it couldn’t bring the dead back to life, it was still part of a genuine dragon, and far more precious than ingredients like mountain ginseng or lingzhi mushrooms. He didn’t know the reason for the man’s health issues, but adding dragon scales to his medicine could only help.
Most people wouldn’t recognize a dragon scale on sight. It was round and thin, around the size of an elm leaf, and carried a dark green luster. A subtle aroma wafted from it, reminiscent of rainwater on mountain stones and full of an indescribable sweetness, like the translucent flesh of a freshly peeled shrimp.
Xue Xian opened his eyes. “I’m a little hungry,” he muttered.
Meanwhile, in the first-class suite on the second floor of Guiyun Hall, Xuanmin continued to sit at the table, his eyes closed. He remained frozen in the posture he’d been in when Xue Xian left.
On the table before him was a sheet of yellow paper. Upon it rested the dragon scale left by Xue Xian, its scent slowly fanning out until it reached his nose.
Xuanmin frowned, and his eyes snapped open. The spiderlike mole on his neck rapidly receded, returning to its original appearance.
He glanced down at the table to see several large characters scrawled sloppily on the yellow paper: Mystical medicine, can cure anything. Believe it or not.
Xuanmin picked up the dark round disc lying next to the scribbles. Abruptly, as if remembering something important, he pulled a folded sheet of paper from his lapels. He opened it and smoothed it out, revealing two characters at the top: Find them.
Next to those characters was a sketch of a round, dark disc, identical to the object on the table.
“Find them…”
Xuanmin furrowed his brows and compared the two, then refolded the note and tucked it away. Holding the object Xue Xian had left to him, Xuanmin sat quietly beneath the candlelight.
Outside the window, the chill winds swirled with snow, knocking gently on the doorframe. From the mountain paths to the city alleys, darkness unfurled, endless and winding.