After the autumn harvest, the grass and plants gradually began to wither.
The temperature at the mountain’s peak was not as warm as in the valley, but it was just the right time for autumn.
On the mountain path outside the great temple, some nine-section wind grass and blood-dispersing herbs grew.
Kang He noticed them when he arrived.
He picked some, crushed and mashed them, then tore a clean piece of hemp cloth from his clothing and spread a thick layer of the sticky herbal paste on it.
“Hand.”
Kang He uttered a single word, and to avoid mispronouncing it, he pointed at Fan Jing’s dangling hand.
Fan Jing, puzzled by the request, still raised his left hand as instructed.
Seeing this, Kang He simply pulled up the sleeve of Fan Jing’s right hand.
On the palm of Fan Jing’s right hand was a cut about half an index finger long, caused a few days ago when he climbed up from a cliff edge and was scratched by the rough thorns of a vine.
The wound hadn’t been properly treated, and though it had partially healed over the days, constant movement of his right hand caused half of it to fester and ooze pus.
The inflammation was severe, and the entire palm was somewhat red.
Kang He had noticed him scratching his palm.
He knew a bit about medicine, having followed a solitary barefoot doctor as a child and picked up some basic skills.
In these times, medical conditions were poor, and even minor ailments like a cold could be fatal.
Seeing Fan Jing’s inflamed palm, Kang He knew that if it worsened, the inflammation could lead to fever at best, or even a crippled hand at worst.
Unable to stand by, Kang He wanted to treat it.
He pointed at the small knife at Fan Jing’s waist.
Fan Jing’s brow twitched slightly, hesitating briefly before drawing it out.
Kang He took the clean knife, pulled a fire starter from his waistband, and heated the blade’s tip.
In moments, a faint smell of scorching filled the air.
He quickly scraped away the pus and inflamed flesh, cleaned the wound, and applied the prepared herbal paste.
Without anesthesia, it must have hurt, but when Kang He glanced at Fan Jing, he saw his expression remained calm, though his face seemed a bit tenser, still maintaining his cool demeanor.
Kang He found it somewhat amusing and wanted to ask if it hurt, but unable to say the words, he raised his eyebrows and let out a questioning “Hiss?”
Fan Jing’s eyes softened imperceptibly, and he shook his head.
Looking at his neatly bandaged hand, he was surprised that Kang He had such skills.
“…Thanks.”
Kang He guessed it was a word of thanks and smiled.
The matchmaker Hu, worried about Kang He, feared his dim-wittedness might cause embarrassment at best or offend Fan Jing at worst.
She returned after less than the time it takes to burn an incense stick.
She found the two sitting in the meditation room, just as they were when the three had left earlier.
Both Chen Shi and Matchmaker Hu wanted to see if the two had taken a liking to each other, but one was a taciturn gourd who didn’t like to talk, and the other couldn’t fully understand the local dialect.
It seemed they hadn’t even opened their mouths to converse.
For a moment, it was hard to gauge their intentions.
So, after eating a vegetarian meal there, they parted ways in the afternoon.
“This Kang Sanlang seems like a fine young man to me—tall, sturdy, and well-groomed, not like those foolish, snot-nosed types. He even looks decent.”
“Though he seems a bit slow in conversation, I didn’t notice anything else wrong with him. Maybe he’s just not the sharpest…”
Kang He exceeded Chen Shi’s expectations, far better than she had imagined.
She thought he was robust, someone capable of hard work.
Fearing Fan Jing might not agree to the match and miss out on a willing suitor, she praised Kang He’s virtues repeatedly on the way back.
She drank an entire gourd of tea provided by the temple during the journey.
But despite all her praise, Fan Jing didn’t respond once.
Chen Shi held back the whole way, ignoring Fan Shoulin’s constant winks to get her to stop.
When they got home, she couldn’t hold back anymore and pulled Fan Jing aside to ask,
“Big Brother, are you agreeing to this or not? Give me and your father an answer so we can tell the matchmaker.”
Fan Jing didn’t speak, his eyes glancing at his bandaged hand.
The burning pain in his palm had somehow eased without him noticing.
People said Kang He was slow-witted, but Fan Jing thought he was probably sharper than most.
The skillful way he bandaged the wound wasn’t the work of a novice, and his knowledge of herbs showed he understood some remedies.
When they met that day, it shouldn’t have been because Kang He got lost.
If it wasn’t getting lost, the only other reason would be avoiding the matchmaking.
Fan Jing felt Kang He was a decent person and didn’t want to entangle him and hold him back.
After a brief silence, he said, “Follow the Kang family’s wishes.”
Chen Shi didn’t know he’d thought so much.
She was just thrilled to finally get a clear answer and immediately rejoiced.
She couldn’t wait to inform the matchmaker but held back from acting too eager, lest it seem like they were desperate to marry him off and become a laughingstock.
She decided to wait for the matchmaker to come to them first.
The lamp oil burned slowly, and after two days of waiting, the matchmaker didn’t come. Instead, the eldest sister-in-law from the main branch arrived.
“By custom, if they were willing, the matchmaker would’ve rushed over the next day to give an answer. Matchmakers are eager for their tea money, often more anxious than the families. It’s been two or three days with no reply, so it’s likely a no-go. They’re probably delaying to soften the blow, but everyone knows what that means.”
Zhang Jingui, the wife of Fan Shoushan from the main branch, was cracking roasted chestnuts.
She plopped down in the courtyard, beckoning Zhener and Qiaoer, who were about to go cut grass for the livestock, to pour her some tea.
Zhener, honest and simple, saw there was no ready tea and went to fetch dry tea leaves to brew.
Qiaoer stopped her, saying, “Big Aunt came in cracking those fragrant chestnuts but didn’t offer us a single one, yet she’s quick to order us around. You’re too honest, brewing tea specially for her. There’s still rice soup from lunch in the kitchen—let her drink that if she’s thirsty.”
Hearing her sister’s words, Zhener thought it made sense and went to the kitchen to fetch a bowl of rice soup for Zhang Shi.
Seeing it wasn’t tea, Zhang Shi raised an eyebrow and said, “Is the household so frugal that you don’t even brew tea anymore?”
Zhener, at a loss for words, didn’t know how to respond. Qiaoer smiled and said, “Our family’s always been poor, not like Big Uncle and Aunt who are well-off. We ran out of tea in the summer and haven’t bought more since Big Brother’s marriage talks started. We’ve got to save where we can.”
She added, “A while back, Sister Yingchun came by and must’ve brought lots of nice things for Big Aunt. If there’s good tea, let us have a taste too.”
The main branch’s daughter, Fan Yingchun, now eighteen, had caught the eye of a wealthy household in the county a few years ago and was hired to work there.
She was filial, sending her monthly wages to her parents and often bringing things home to support the family.
Zhang Shi loved to boast about her daughter’s thoughtfulness in the village, especially in front of Chen Shi.
Zhang Jingui, hearing Qiaoer’s sharp tongue, reached to pinch her cheek, but the girl dodged.
Qiaoer then pulled Zhener, saying, “Big Aunt, sit as long as you like. We’re off to cut grass.”
“That little minx, sharp as a tack, nothing like her obedient second sister,” Zhang Shi remarked.
Chen Shi, drying clothes nearby, secretly chuckled at Zhang Shi being outwitted by the girls.
“Don’t mind that girl, Sister-in-law.”
Zhang Shi said, “I’m not bothered, just teasing the little one for fun.”
Zhang Jingui had a round face and a plump figure, her hair wrapped in plain cloth adorned with a lifelike flower pin.
Even without attending feasts or markets, she kept herself neat in the village.
She rarely worked during the day, either idling at home or gossiping with other village women and men under the big locust tree.
Sometimes, even meals were prepared by her mother-in-law, Old Madam Fan, who lived with the main branch.
No other daughter-in-law had it as easy as she did.
But who could blame her when the two old folks favored their eldest son?
Chen Shi, being Old Madam Fan’s niece, only made their favoritism more pronounced.
Chen Sanfang already disliked her in-laws’ bias toward the main branch, and Zhang Shi’s habit of showing off and belittling the second branch to boost the main branch’s pride made her even more unbearable.
“But speaking of it, Big Jing’s going for a match, and you and Second Brother didn’t even tell us. Never mind that, I could’ve lent him a nice set of clothes Yingchun brought back. If he wore those to the meeting, he’d at least look presentable.”
“Nowadays, suitors are so picky. Big Jing’s looks… ugh, in rough hemp clothes, it’s no wonder they wouldn’t take a liking to him.”
Zhang Jingui spoke with certainty that Fan Jing’s match would fall through.
How could she not be certain?
Her Yingchun was so capable and worldly, working for a wealthy household, yet even her recent match with a peddler didn’t work out.
With Fan Jing’s appearance and temperament, a failed match was as predictable as the sun rising in the east.
Chen Sanfang was annoyed hearing her declare Fan Jing’s match doomed, but with nothing settled, she could only say, “Wangshui Township is far, and news doesn’t travel as easily as nearby. It’s still uncertain.”
“You don’t believe me and still hope it’ll work out, but you’ll only end up disappointed. Just wait…”
Zhang Jingui’s words were cut short when she saw Fan Jing emerge from the house with a wood-chopping knife.
She stopped talking, her tone softening with a smile, “Oh, Big Jing’s home too.”
It wasn’t surprising she was caught off guard.
Autumn was prime hunting season, and after the busy harvest, Fan Jing spent most days in the mountains setting traps and hunting, rarely seen until snow fell.
She’d been so bold with her words because she thought he wasn’t around.
Fan Jing gave a grunt, ignoring Zhang Jingui, and went to the backyard to chop wood.
Hearing the loud banging, Zhang Jingui’s heart skipped a beat, knowing she’d provoked someone she couldn’t afford to.
She patted her backside and stood, saying, “There’s pig feed simmering in the kitchen. I’d better go check.”
“No rush, Sister-in-law. Mother’s at home. Stay a bit longer,” Chen Shi said.
Zhang Jingui just waved her off.
As she left, Chen Sanfang spat quietly, muttering to herself that Zhang was all bark and no bite.
But Zhang’s words left her worried.
With Matchmaker Hu still not showing up, maybe the match really wasn’t going to happen.
“Big Jing, didn’t Kang Sanlang say anything to you that day?”
Fan Jing swung his knife, splitting the dry wood halfway, then with another push, broke it into two.
He didn’t answer Chen Shi.
Seeing her anxiety, he figured his guess was likely correct.
If the match didn’t work out, he wasn’t too disappointed—it was expected, after all.
The weather had been good these past few days, but he’d delayed long enough.
No matter what, he had to head to the mountains tomorrow.
If he didn’t bring back something, they wouldn’t be able to pay this year’s taxes.
Yet the next morning, Fan Jing took some grain and headed to the mountains.
That afternoon, Matchmaker Hu arrived, beaming with joy.