Zhu Mingyang felt a rough drag, his body being pulled upward from the cold ground. He slowly forced his eyelids open, but the midday sunlight was a harsh, burning intrusion. He squeezed his eyes shut again, a dull ache throbbing in his skull.
He couldn't remember where he was. He knew he had been walking for a very long time, until his strength gave out and he simply collapsed, but beyond that, the world was a fog. He couldn't remember anything, yet one memory was terrifyingly clear: his dream.
In his dream, he had returned to the small woodshed where he lived with his mother before her death. The memory was brief but potent, filled with a warmth he now desperately missed. Warm tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, an unexplained sorrow marking the edges of his forgotten pain.
A voice complained loudly, shattering the haze of pain. "Da ge, you are really heavy. Why is there a big man like you? Shoot, I got rope burns on my shoulders."
Everything mercifully dissolved into darkness again.
Zhu Mingyang didn't know how long he had been out, but when he slowly opened his eyes next, he saw a man kneeling beside a fire pit, carefully brewing medicine. He found himself lying on his left side, facing the man. He stretched out a hand and felt the cool, rough surface of the earth; he was sleeping on the ground.
He pushed out a weak breath. "Who are you?" he asked, the words barely audible.
The man turned his head sharply. "You are awake now." He approached Zhu Mingyang and, with surprising strength, helped him sit up, ignoring the way Zhu Mingyang's muscles must have screamed from the movement. "I'm Yan Zhanjin."
"You help me? Why?" Zhu Mingyang managed, his mind too foggy to grasp simple kindness.
Yan Zhanjin busied himself with the fire pit. "I am a doctor, and I will not let anyone die in front of me." He glanced back, a wry smile touching his lips. "Sorry, you are too heavy, so I couldn't exactly lift you to the bed." He then stepped slowly back, his expression turning serious. "The wounds on your back are consistent with severe whipping. Are you a criminal?"
"No," Zhu Mingyang replied.
Yan Zhanjin kept his gaze on Zhu Mingyang's heavily scarred arms. "Why do you have so many scars?"
"I am a bodyguard," Zhu Mingyang replied, looking around the small, rough shelter. "You live here?"
Yan Zhanjin nodded.
"On your own?"
Yan Zhanjin nodded again. "My shimei lives in Jinfeng Sect."
"Are you a disciple of Jinfeng Sect?"
"No, my master is Chen Fa," Yan Zhanjin explained. "I can't stand the rules of Jinfeng Sect so I decided to live here. This place is very quiet." He carefully held out a bowl of steaming, bitter-smelling medicine to Zhu Mingyang. He held the guard's gaze as he did so. "So, are you sure you are not a criminal?"
Zhu Mingyang ignored the medicine bowl, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "Why do you think I am a criminal?"
Yan Zhanjin let out a short, humorless laugh. "Because only a war criminal will drink the poison of forgetfulness."
Zhu Mingyang stared at him, the fog of the poison momentarily lifting under the shock. "You know about the poison?"
Yan Zhanjin nodded, his expression now completely serious. "Yes, my master created it."
Yan Zhanjin laughed, "Because only war criminal will drink the poison of forgetfulness."
Zhu Mingyang, "You know about the poison?"
Yan Zhanjin, "Yes, my master created it."
Zhu Mingyang sighed, the weight of his choice evident in the sound. "Sometimes, some things are worth forgetting. Don't you want to ask why?"
Yan Zhanjin shrugged, turning back to stir the mixture over the fire pit. "Everyone has their reason," he stated simply. "There is no need for me to ask."
Zhu Mingyang watched as Yan Zhanjin walked inside the small bamboo shed and returned carrying a stack of clean clothes and fresh cloth. He set the items down carefully on a simple bed.
"Come sit on the bed," Yan Zhanjin instructed. "Let me see your wound."
Zhu Mingyang slowly stood, the effort sending waves of agony through his back. He slipped off his blood-soaked robe and sat on the edge of the bed, his back facing the doctor. The deep, purple welts from the whipping were starkly visible.
"Thank you," Zhu Mingyang murmured.
"You're welcome," Yan Zhanjin replied, already reaching for the cloth to begin his work.
Yan Zhanjin began the painful process of wiping away all the dried blood from Zhu Mingyang's back. As the wounds were exposed, he involuntarily stiffened. The sheer quantity of injuries was staggering; he had never seen so many scars on a single human body. There were ragged lines from knives and slicing marks from swords, crisscrossed by old and fresh wounds from whips.
A profound wave of pity washed over the doctor. Yan Zhanjin suddenly felt deep sorrow for the man whose life had been measured by violence. Gently, he lifted the cloth and slowly blew over the tender flesh before resuming his cleaning.
Afterward, Yan Zhanjin carefully applied the medicine and wrapped Zhu Mingyang's back and chest with fresh bandages. He looked down at his basin: the once white cloth was now completely dyed red, and the water was a murky crimson, a stark testament to the blood Zhu Mingyang had spilled.
Yan Zhanjin picked up the basin stained with Zhu Mingyang's blood. "I have cooked some soup. Let me get you a bowl." He gave Zhu Mingyang a kind smile. "My pants may be too small for you, but wear them now." He picked up the bundle of bloody clothes. "I will go get you that soup."
Zhu Mingyang sat on the edge of the bed. He couldn't remember whether he was dreaming or not, but he could hear the soft music made by the early birds outside. A profound realization settled over him: since the day his mother died until last night, he had never slept well. Last night was the first time he slept without worry. He was no longer afraid to sleep with his eyes closed.
He knew his time was limited, but he wanted to cherish it.
He pushed himself up and saw that the doctor had already returned. A bowl of herbal medicine and a bowl of lotus root pork soup sat on the small table, with a small note placed on top. He took the note, which read: "Eat before taking the medicine."
Zhu Mingyang, now dressed in Yan Zhanjin's borrowed clothes, carefully walked to the back of the house. He found a small vegetable garden, a water well, and a simple clothesline where his own cleaned robes were hung. Outside the line, rows of medicines were laid out to dry, soaking up the sun. The scene was one of quiet, solitary industry.
Just as he finished looking around, he heard an old woman's voice calling from the front of the house. "Yan yisheng, are you at home?"
Zhu Mingyang walked around the bamboo structure to the front door. He saw two elderly couples standing outside, looking concerned.
The old woman's gaze immediately fixed on the large, unfamiliar man standing in the doorway. She frowned. "Who are you? Where is Yan yisheng?"
Zhu Mingyang quickly concocted a plausible story. "I am his cousin. He is not at home."
The old woman's expression softened into a smile. She handed Zhu Mingyang two freshly caught fish. "This is for Yan yisheng," she said.
Zhu Mingyang took the fish and watched the elderly couple walk away from the front of the house. He stared at the two fish, the smooth scales reflecting the sunlight, then slowly turned his thoughts inward, contemplating his new, empty identity.
"Don't stare at it for too long, because you may not want to eat it."
Yan Zhanjin approached from the back of the house, having finished his chores.
Zhu Mingyang extended his hands, offering the fish. "These are for you."
Yan Zhanjin took the two fish from him. Before either man could speak further, a young woman walked over and stopped in front of them. She was cheerful and bright, contrasting sharply with the somber atmosphere surrounding Zhu Mingyang.
The young woman smiled at the doctor. "Yan yisheng, this melon is for you."
Yan Zhanjin smiled and instructed the young woman, "Give that to that da ge."
The woman handed the melon to Zhu Mingyang, who accepted it automatically. She then carried her clothes basin and walked toward the river, leaving the two men in front of the bamboo shed.
Zhu Mingyang and Yan Zhanjin walked to the back of the house. Yan Zhanjin set down a bamboo basket. He turned to Zhu Mingyang. "If you want to eat melon, please help yourself."
Zhu Mingyang watched Yan Zhanjin, who seemed to happily cook without any pretense or worry—a simple, domestic scene alien to the guard who had known only violence and political maneuvering. Zhu Mingyang began to cut the melon. After a while, Yan Zhanjin brought out the two cooked fish and a generous portion of stir-fried vegetables.
The two men sat down to eat. Though the meal consisted only of the plain two fish and the simple stir-fried vegetables, Zhu Mingyang felt that it tasted better than the ten elaborate dishes made by the famous chef in Gu's Manor. The reason was immediate and profound: this was the first time he had eaten in a long time without worrying about someone going to poison his food.
The weight of his past identity seemed to lift slightly. He looked across the small table at the doctor. "I am Zhu Mingyang."
Yan Zhanjin smiled, accepting the new identity with ease. "Zhu-xiong," he replied, "you finally introduce yourself."
"You can call me Mingyang," Zhu Mingyang said, the shift to familiarity feeling strange yet comfortable.
"Then you can call me Zhanjin too," Yan Zhanjin replied easily. He leaned forward. "Did you drink your medicine?"
"Yes."
"One more bowl tomorrow will be enough."
Zhu Mingyang frowned, confused by the speed of the cure. "What did you have me drink?"
Yan Zhanjin looked at him steadily. "Detoxification."
Zhu Mingyang sat back, the choopstike hovering over his bowl of rice. "Thank you," he said, the gratitude hollow. "But there are some things that I really need to forget."
Yan Zhanjin placed his bowl down, his gaze earnest. "Memories are what made us who we are. No matter how much pain we suffered in our past, let those suffering teach us to not make the same mistakes."
"You are correct," Zhu Mingyang admitted, the truth of the doctor's words cutting through his weariness.
"If your past is too dark, then you don't have to think about it," Zhanjin continued, offering a path forward. "Everyone can start over again. Just like me. I wanted to be the best doctor, the royal doctor in the palace, but I realized that whether in the palace or in this small village, as long as I can save people, I can be happy."
He gestured around the small, quiet shed. "And, here, I have more freedom to do what I want to do. I don't have to be bound by some rules or follow certain codes. I can live according to my heart's desires here." He looked at Zhu Mingyang, extending the invitation to share this new life. "Mingyang…"
Zhu Mingyang looked at Yan Zhanjin, but in his mind's eye, the man sitting across the table blurred. For a terrifying moment, the person smiling at him was Gu Yingjie. The sudden, sweet hallucination bypassed his pain and his logic.
He murmured softly, "Yingjie..."
Yan Zhanjin frowned, immediately sensing the shift in the wounded man's attention. "Mingyang, are you alright?"
The doctor's voice cut through the illusion. Zhu Mingyang blinked rapidly, his vision regaining focus. He realized the man in front of him was not Gu Yingjie, but the kind doctor.
"I'm sorry," Zhu Mingyang whispered, feeling a fresh sting of shame.
Yan Zhanjin waited for the awkward moment to pass, then asked gently, "Who is this Yingjie?"
Zhu Mingyang averted his gaze. "Someone I wish to forget."
Yan Zhanjin offered a soft smile, his eyes warm. "Mingyang, it is always difficult to forget, but I believe that in the future, you will be happy enough to put your past behind you." He then frowned, his thoughts turning inward. "You reminded me of someone I know. I wonder how he is doing."
"Who?" Zhu Mingyang asked.
"Ma ge," Yan Zhanjin replied. "When I left Jinfeng Sect, he was still grieving. It is always difficult to lose someone. I wonder how he is doing."