Chapter 29: The Little Girl in the Night

Chapter 29: The Little Girl in the Night

Zhang Sanlu’s expression changed suddenly; he shot out a hand and firmly grasped the wrist reaching toward his back.

In that instant, it was as if an invisible giant hand overturned the world, and everything was inverted in the blink of an eye. The once bright, white ward transformed as though a sheet of rice paper had been soaked in ink, instantly swallowed by a profound darkness. The white walls, the clothes of blue and white, the white bedding—all lost their original color, devoured by some unseen force.

A trembling voice stammered, “Master Taoist, I... I was just...”

Zhang Sanlu vaguely recognized the person before him—it seemed to be the cloth peddler, the one who’d almost been served as a main dish by a crowd of monsters. His face was now flushed purple with terror.

“Master Taoist, I only wanted to help you lie down, so I tried to unfasten the bundle on your back.”

Zhang Sanlu stared at him for a moment before letting go. He rubbed his temples and glanced through the window at the pitch-black night. “Where am I?”

“Master Taoist, my name is Zheng Ji. Last night, you acted with great righteousness and saved me from those monsters. The road was dangerous after dark, and I didn’t dare wander, so I hid by a mound of earth. Later, I saw you were about to leave, and I wanted to thank you, but you collapsed headfirst before I could. I didn’t dare stay at the mass grave, since you’d saved my life—I couldn’t just leave you there. So I carried you out, stumbling along, and found shelter in this farmer’s hut. This morning, I even fetched a wandering village doctor to look at you, but he said you’d caught a chill. I thought the village healers were inept, so I was planning to hire a cart tomorrow and take you to Wei City to see a proper physician.”

Zhang Sanlu nodded; this man did seem to know gratitude. Even though he was frightened, he hadn’t abandoned him at the mass grave. He looked around at his surroundings: a simple hut, built from mud and straw, the roof patched with worn thatch that rustled in the wind. The door was a makeshift contraption of broken boards and firewood, nailed together at random. He lay on a tattered blanket, beneath which was a heap of dry straw—messy, perhaps, but at least more comfortable than sleeping directly on the ground.

“Master Taoist, are you hungry? I still have two cakes here; please, eat something.” Zheng Ji pulled out a small cloth pouch and offered two dry cakes.

Zhang Sanlu thanked him, broke off a piece, and stuffed it into his mouth. It was dry and hard to swallow. He thought that the gulf between worlds was so great that anyone else might have lost their mind, but perhaps because he was already ill, his adaptability was stronger.

“Zheng Ji, let me ask you something.”

“Of course, Master Taoist, I’ll tell you anything I know.” Zheng Ji put down his cake, his expression earnest.

“When I collapsed and was unconscious, did I do anything unusual or strange? For example, stretching, or maybe a reading motion?” Zhang Sanlu already knew that some actions he performed here echoed in the other world. When he’d harmed himself here, his injury appeared there—and when he had stuffed something into his eye, in that world he’d grabbed a steel wool ball and hurt himself. So, he wondered, might his actions in that world be projected here? That was why he’d performed a set of exercises there; if anyone had seen, it would have looked bizarre. This might help him determine which was the real world.

As he asked, his heart pounded.

Zheng Ji hesitated, thinking for a moment. “You seemed restless on the ox’s back—maybe because you were unwell?”

Zhang Sanlu let out a breath and took a hard bite of the cake. It seemed there was still no way to be sure.

The two of them chewed in silence, when suddenly the rickety wooden door creaked open on its own. Zhang Sanlu instinctively reached for his back, while Zheng Ji shrank behind him.

After a rustling sound, a timid, frail little girl appeared in the doorway. She looked about seven or eight, though malnourished children always seemed younger. Her eyes were wide with fear but also held a stubborn courage. Her hair was tangled, her face smeared with dirt, and her once clear, dark eyes brimmed with tears.

The girl wore a short top made of coarse cloth, rough-textured and patched many times. Her trousers were threadbare and clearly too short. On her feet were straw sandals, simple and wholly inadequate against the cold, let alone for decoration. Her hair was tied in a child’s knot with a piece of string, and she wore no ornaments.

She pushed the door open and suddenly knelt, bowing twice with a thud before rising and speaking in a trembling whisper, “Immortal Taoist, please save my mother. The elders in the village said only a Taoist with powers can save her. My mother is afflicted with a strange illness. I heard you had come to the village, so I beg you to save her. Please, please...” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she spoke, her voice quivering.

Zheng Ji peered out from behind Zhang Sanlu, putting down his cake and looking at the little girl with sympathy. He knew that, despite his disability, the one-armed Taoist truly possessed remarkable abilities—he’d saved him from monsters just last night. But now the Taoist seemed to have used too much energy and had only just woken up; how could he have the strength to help?

He looked to Zhang Sanlu, then went over to help the girl up. “Little one, where is your father? Stand up and talk—Master Taoist has just woken. What are we to do?”

The girl’s sorrow deepened. “Father went to the neighboring village to seek a witch doctor and hasn’t returned yet.”

Zhang Sanlu, preferring not to meddle, thought that since her family had already sought a witch doctor, there was someone to handle the matter. Yet, seeing such a small, pitiful child, he couldn’t help but feel compassion. He asked, “What’s your name?”

“Grandpa Taoist, my name is Huiniang. Please save my mother.” She tried to kneel again, but Zhang Sanlu caught her.

“Take me to see her first.” Zhang Sanlu stood up.

At his words, a flicker of hope lit the girl’s eyes. She quickly stepped forward to help him but hesitated, rubbing her hands on her short top first.

When Zhang Sanlu saw her outstretched hand, he took it. Her hand was dry and rough, with tiny cracks in the skin and black dirt under her nails—a child burdened with housework and field labor from an early age. He thought to himself, in that other world, a child this age would still be pestering elders for sweets; but the children of the poor must grow up early.