Chapter 56 -

Chapter 56: Chapter

Zhengyu sat on a low stool in the yard, resting his back against the wall. Grandmaster Zhang had finally taken out the silver needles from his legs after two hours. His legs still burned, but the heavy stiffness felt a bit lighter.

A few feet away, A-Cheng chopped firewood with sharp cracks. Sweat dripped down his face in the cold night air. Zhengyu watched him quietly, keeping his arms crossed to look like a tired peasant.

Inside the warm kitchen, the air smelled sweet and spicy from boiling ginger. Yimei helped Old Madame Zhang chop fresh ginger into neat slices.

"To fix the sharp burn and make it sweet, add a spoon of crushed dates and a pinch of sweet root at the end," the old woman said warmly.

Yimei smiled sweetly and threw the dates into the boiling pot. "I get it. The dates hide the bitter taste without losing the heat."

"Smart girl!" the old woman laughed, patting her shoulder. "A good wife makes the medicine taste nice."

Yimei kept smiling, but her eyes turned cold as she glanced out the window. She saw Zhengyu leaning on the wall, staring at the snow. Picking up a tray with two hot cups of sweet ginger tea, she headed out to serve her fake husband.

She walked up to Zhengyu, set the tray on a bench, and sat next to him. She handed him a cup. "Drink. Madame Zhang taught me how to make it sweet."

Zhengyu took it without eye contact and took a sip. It tasted surprisingly smooth.

"What do you think is happening at the inn?" he whispered. "Liu Feng is still hunting us."

Yimei took a sip, completely unbothered. "Let him search."

"He won’t stop until he sees a body," Zhengyu warned, narrowing his eyes.

Yimei smiled softly, watching A-Cheng chop wood. "Relax. We hide here for a few days until things calm down. Then we return like nothing happened."

"Return?" Zhengyu scoffed. "Like this?"

"Yes," Yimei said smoothly. "We pretend we barely survived the attack. I’ll keep learning acupuncture from Grandmaster Zhang and heal your legs in secret. When the time is right, you’ll stand up and shock everyone."

Zhengyu stayed silent, sipping his tea as he thought it over. She was cold and calculating, but her plan was smart.

Then, he blew on his hot tea and scowled. "Where did you even get this stupid idea?" he grumbled.

Yimei didn’t bother arguing. She rolled her eyes, stood up, and strutted back inside the warm cottage.

Zhengyu sat alone in the quiet yard, watching her walk away before taking another sip of his sweet tea.

Night fell over the mountain village, bringing a heavy, quiet cold. Inside the Zhang cottage, the dining table was set with a simple dinner of steamed wild vegetables, salted fish, and warm barley porridge.

Grandmaster Zhang sat at the head of the table, his sharp eyes moving back and forth between Yimei and Zhengyu as they ate. Madame Zhang smiled warmly, topping off their water cups.

"So," Grandmaster Zhang began, setting his chopsticks down with a sharp clack. His cold gaze locked onto Yimei. "You said you two were attacked on the mountain pass by bandits. But your hands, girl... they are smooth. You dress like a farm girl, but you do not hold a bowl like one."

Yimei didn’t flinch. She set her chopsticks down gently, putting on a soft, nervous smile.

"Grandmaster has sharp eyes," Yimei said, lowering her head in fake embarrassment. "I was not raised on a farm. My father was a small bookkeeper in a quiet town. He taught me to read and keep records, so I never worked the fields. But when his business failed, our family fell apart, and I married my husband."

Madame Zhang clicked her tongue in sympathy. "Ah, poor child. Learning to live a hard life after being raised softly is never easy."

Grandmaster Zhang grunted, not entirely convinced, before turning his piercing glare directly onto Zhengyu. "And you, boy. Your chest has faint scars from blade cuts, and your shoulders are built like a warrior’s, not a farmer’s. What kind of ’merchant’ gets ambushed by bandits and takes a sword mark to the chest?"

Zhengyu didn’t miss a beat. He kept his expression completely unreadable, his voice flat and calm.

"I managed a small transport team for a trade guild," Zhengyu said smoothly, telling the lie without a single flicker of hesitation. "We moved valuable herbal cargo through dangerous routes. Three years ago, my team was ambushed. I took a blade to the chest to protect the goods, but the cold weather and injuries from that night ruined my legs. I lost my job, my title, and my pride. That is why we came searching for you."

Grandmaster Zhang stroked his graying beard, analyzing every word. The story fit, it explained Zhengyu’s icy posture, his sword scars, and Yimei’s educated background, while keeping their real identities completely hidden.

"Hmph," the old doctor scoffed, though his voice lacked its previous harsh edge. "A proud man who lost his standing and let his heart grow as dead as his legs."

The table fell into a brief silence.

Grandmaster Zhang reached across the table, pouring a splash of warm rice wine into Zhengyu’s cup.

"Listen to me, boy," the old man said, his loud voice dropping into a deeper, rough tone. "I have lived long enough to see hundreds of men like you. You carry a dark, bitter shadow inside your chest. You sit there in silence, hiding in the dark, treating your own body like a useless curse."

Zhengyu stared silently into his wine cup, his fingers tightening slightly around the porcelain.

"Your legs are damaged, yes," Grandmaster Zhang continued, looking straight into Zhengyu’s dark eyes. "But the real paralysis isn’t in your knees or your ankles. It is in your mind. You have convinced yourself that living in dark anger is the only way to survive. You act like a man who is already dead, just waiting for the grave to catch up."

Yimei stayed completely quiet, watching Zhengyu’s side profile.

"The silver needles I drive into your flesh will clear the blood," the old doctor said softly, pointing a calloused finger at Zhengyu’s chest. "But no medicine on this earth can cure a man who insists on staying in the shadows. If you want to walk out of this mountain, you have to stop hiding inside your own darkness. Pride won’t fix you. Anger won’t heal you. You have to decide if you actually want to live, or if you just want to sit there waiting to die."

Zhengyu didn’t speak. He stared at the reflection of the flickering oil lamp in his wine cup, the old man’s words striking a deep, uncomfortable chord inside him.

Madame Zhang patted her husband’s arm gently. "Alright, old man, stop preaching over dinner."

Zhengyu slowly lifted his cup, took a single sip of the warm wine, and looked up at Grandmaster Zhang.

After dinner, Yimei and Madame Zhang stacked the empty bowls and carried them back into the kitchen.

Before Grandmaster Zhang went into his own room for the night, he paused by the doorway and looked over at Yimei. "Warm up the leftover decoction from earlier," he ordered gruffly. "Make sure he drinks every drop tonight before he goes to sleep."

"Yes, Grandmaster," Yimei replied with a soft, obedient nod.

Meanwhile, out in the courtyard, A-Cheng finished his work and walked over to Zhengyu, holding a gift he had spent the afternoon carving from sturdy oak. It was a pair of thick wooden crutches, fitted with rounded shoulder rests and handgrips smoothed down with sand so they wouldn’t splinter.

A-Cheng set them gently beside Zhengyu’s stool. "I carved these for you. You don’t have a chair with wheels, so these will help support your weight. Once your legs get a little strength back, you can use them to stand."

Zhengyu looked at the solid wooden supports, then up at A-Cheng’s honest, friendly face. For the first time, the cold edge in Zhengyu’s eyes softened just a fraction.

"Thank you," Zhengyu said, his voice quiet but sincere.

A-Cheng smiled warmly, wiping his hands on his pants. "Don’t mention it, brother. Just rest up." With a wave, he turned and went back toward the woodpile to finish stacking the logs for the night.

Yimei walked back into the courtyard carrying a tray with the steaming bowl of dark, bitter medicine and a cup of cold water. She had intentionally left the honey behind in the kitchen, fully prepared to watch him scowl, turn his head away, and start another ridiculous argument.

She set the tray down on the bench beside him, picking up the bowl with a faint, mocking smirk playing on her lips. "Time for your medicine, husband."

Zhengyu didn’t glare. He didn’t turn his face to the wall.

He simply reached out, took the heavy clay bowl straight from her hands, and brought it to his lips. Without a single second of hesitation, he tilted his head back and drank the thick, bitter brew in one long, continuous gulp.

Yimei stood frozen, her eyes widening in total shock.

The moment the last drop left the bowl, Zhengyu slammed it back onto the tray. The harsh, burning bitterness hit his throat, making him wince as a violent cough racked his chest.

"Slowly, slowly," Yimei quickly murmured, her instinct taking over as she snatched up the cup of water and pressed it into his hands.

Zhengyu took a heavy drink of the water, clearing his throat and wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. His breathing was heavy, but his jaw was set tight with a newfound, stubborn determination.

Yimei recovered from her stun, her shock quickly melting into a amused, wicked grin. She leaned down, resting her hands on her knees so her face was level with his.

"My goodness," she whispered, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "Did Grandmaster Zhang’s speech hit a nerve, or did A-Cheng’s wooden sticks give you a sudden surge of courage? I almost didn’t recognize my sweet, honey-loving husband hahahaha."