Where is this?
They stood just over two steps apart—one standing, the other sitting—one dark, the other pale, their eyes locked in a silent stare-down.
Jiang Zhu was studying him, and Shen Qingyue was doing the same in return.
To Jiang Zhu, he seemed strange.
To Shen Qingyue, Jiang Zhu was equally peculiar.
The boy appeared to be about fifteen or sixteen—dark-skinned, lean, carrying a rather large old bamboo basket on his back, dressed in faded, patched-up clothes, and wearing worn straw sandals.
From Shen Qingyue’s limited knowledge of clothing, the style was unfamiliar; not even the most conscientious costume departments in TV dramas aged their garments this thoroughly.
Judging from his shallow understanding of society, even in impoverished counties across the country, no child this old would be dressed in such tattered clothes and straw sandals.
Besides, cheap T-shirts cost mere tens of yuan and would use far less fabric than this outfit.
A wild, audacious thought flashed through Shen Qingyue’s mind—could this boy have traveled through time?
Suddenly, many thoughts raced through his head—
Did he have to die so far away?
Did his family not even get to bury a complete body?
True to form, even in death he avoided disturbing his grandfather’s ancestral grave, saving the family the expense of cremation.
Maybe they should just burn all the paper, brushes, and paints in his room; after all, his father never liked those things.
His mother would finally be free of torment, and his little sister could be raised however she wanted...
Yet, despite himself, he felt a flicker of regret—perhaps he really wouldn’t have the chance to leave a last letter or final words.
How wonderful.
He smiled subtly at Jiang Zhu.
The boy, younger by years, experience, and understanding of people and society, was utterly defeated and blushed a bright red.
His already sun-darkened face flushed with embarrassment.
Shen Qingyue was amused by his reaction.
His mischievous urge to tease children momentarily overcame his pain, and he couldn’t help but ask, “What’s your name? How old are you? How many years?”
Jiang Zhu’s face reddened even more.
This person was truly strange.
He had never seen anyone like this—shivering in pain, trapped in stone, yet still asking someone’s age and smiling so heartlessly carefree.
Shen Qingyue said, “Isn’t that basket heavy on your back?”
Jiang Zhu took off the basket, carefully waded through the shallow stream, and leaned in to look at the stone.
Shen Qingyue smiled at him, “I tried pulling it out; it won’t budge.”
Jiang Zhu squatted down, bracing himself to pry the stone, but it was rooted in the ground, unmoving.
Shen Qingyue said, “You can’t move it.”
Jiang Zhu looked up at him, shook his head, then tried another angle, straining his arm muscles, veins bulging on the back of his hands, fingertips turning white—still no luck.
He gritted his teeth and prepared to try yet another awkward position.
Shen Qingyue chuckled, watching the rough, calloused hands and the network of veins.
Such vitality.
Fighting for him.
Somehow, torn between wanting to die and wanting to live, he gradually leaned toward the latter.
“Hey.”
Jiang Zhu looked up.
Shen Qingyue gazed into the boy’s clear, beautiful eyes, their innocence as pure and lucid as a spring.
Smiling, Shen Qingyue shifted his position like a turtle shedding its shell, slipping his arm out of the backpack strap, taking off his glove and offering it to Jiang Zhu.
“Put this on.”
Jiang Zhu stared as the “black skin” peeled off Shen Qingyue’s hand, revealing long, slender fingers—he looked a bit dazed.
More astonishing than seeing a lizard shed its skin.
Shen Qingyue, amused by his reaction, gestured, “Glove—wear it on your hand.”
Jiang Zhu eyed the seemingly expensive gloves, shook his head, stood up, and said, “I’ll go home and get a chisel.”
Without another word, the boy turned and ran off, basket on his back.
Moving swiftly through the mountains, his speed amazed Shen Qingyue.
“Slow down, be careful not to fall. I’m not in a hurry.”
The boy ran even faster.
Shen Qingyue chuckled, lay back on his backpack, thinking that he’d startled the boy—he had thought the child wouldn’t speak or might blurt out a foreign language.
Fortunately, though tinged with dialect, he could understand.
More than half an hour later, the dark, thin boy appeared again, sweating profusely.
The young one was earnest; barely catching his breath, he crouched down and began to gesture with the chisel against the stone.
Shen Qingyue hurriedly said, “Wait, wait, wait!”
Catching Jiang Zhu’s puzzled look, Shen Qingyue glanced anxiously behind him.
“Are you alone?”
“Mm.”
“No adults?”
Jiang Zhu paused, then shook his head.
But his whole face screamed, “I’m the adult here.”
Unfortunately, Shen Qingyue wasn’t convinced.
Once sure Jiang Zhu had no backup, he prepared to act himself, feeling an urge to run.
Too bad—he couldn’t pull it out.
Shen Qingyue said, “Want me to try?”
Jiang Zhu didn’t refuse, but when handing over the chisel, he stared intently at Shen Qingyue’s pale hand and didn’t let go.
Shen Qingyue pulled, but it didn’t budge.
“...”
“...”
Jiang Zhu gripped the chisel tighter, clearly distrustful.
Shen Qingyue laughed.
Looking along the chisel, their hands—one white, one dark—grasped opposite ends.
He suddenly noticed the boy’s hands were quite large.
Strong, too.
Shen Qingyue felt a sudden urge to sketch.
He let go, allowing Jiang Zhu to take over.
The trapped stone was small but hard; Shen Qingyue worried that Jiang Zhu’s rather rudimentary iron chisel might not be enough.
He braced himself and moved back, making room.
Moving his already swollen leg caused a sharp intake of breath; he grabbed some dry leaves nearby and, unable to resist, muttered, “I kind of want to die.”
Jiang Zhu: “?”
Shen Qingyue: “But I’m also scared of death, especially when it hurts and you can’t die yet—that’s even worse, you know?”
Jiang Zhu: “...”
He understood, looking a bit embarrassed, then showed Shen Qingyue the chisel—the biggest one at home—and earnestly said, “This is very useful and sturdy.”
Shen Qingyue nodded solemnly, “Yeah, I can see that. I’m just afraid my leg isn’t strong enough.”
Jiang Zhu didn’t know what to say, hesitated, then comforted him, “It’s simple. You won’t get hit.”
Shen Qingyue couldn’t help but laugh.
And accidentally pulled a muscle.
Cold sweat broke out.
Seeing him trembling, Jiang Zhu said, “I’ll chisel.”
“Okay,” Shen Qingyue nodded, took a deep breath, and stared into the boy’s unwavering, sincere eyes like a little animal’s.
He pursed his lips, adopting an attitude of indifference toward life and death, then sank back onto his backpack, ready to relax.
But chiseling the stone over his leg was like getting an injection.
Not looking didn’t ease the tension.
The sound of the chisel, the trembling stone—it was like the chill of disinfectant before a needle, nerve-wracking.
Shen Qingyue tried to empty his mind, gazing at the sky but couldn’t resist glancing down at the earnest boy concentrating.
His eyes landed on the child’s lowered gaze and then on the long, dense, beautiful eyelashes like a young calf’s.
His features, not fully smoothed yet, already had defined angles.
A handsome bone structure, thin but strong; because of the slenderness, his eyes looked especially large and beautiful.
This perspective would make a great sketch.
Shen Qingyue straightened a little, tracing Jiang Zhu’s outline as his shoulders and arms moved with the chisel.
He recalled the hands he had just seen and felt the itch to draw again.
His sketchbook was in his bag; if time allowed, he’d love to do a portrait.
Just as he thought this, the hand he’d been focusing on pressed against his leg.
“Ahhh!!!” Shen Qingyue immediately forgot about beauty, strength, muscles, bones, light, or composition; tears nearly burst forth.
Jiang Zhu quickly withdrew his hand.
“This is too close to your leg. If I don’t hold it down, the chisel will hit your flesh.”
But he had promised no hitting.
Shen Qingyue was in too much pain to speak, tears streaming uncontrollably.
Clinging to the dignity and willpower of adulthood, he waved Jiang Zhu off and squeezed out through clenched teeth, “Hurry up!”
Jiang Zhu pressed firmly on his leg, rapidly chiseling through the tightest spots against Shen Qingyue’s pant leg amid his gasping breaths.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack...
“All done,” Jiang Zhu said, sweating nervously.
He had removed nearly half the stone, and Shen Qingyue could now pull his leg free.
However, the vibrations from the chisel striking the stone rebounded to both their hands and Shen Qingyue’s leg, turning his face pale and draining his strength.
Jiang Zhu was startled, worried he might have caused more harm than good.
He quickly checked—fortunately, Shen Qingyue’s chest was still rising and falling.
Jiang Zhu set down the hammer and chisel, lifted Shen Qingyue’s leg out, then went behind him to pull him up, dragging him out of the stream.
Seeing the sweat pouring down and the tears at his eyes, he finally understood the “light spots” he had seen earlier.
So it wasn’t only children who cried from pain...
Jiang Zhu’s voice trembled with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Mm... much better.” Although the blood flow still needed time to normalize, the throbbing pain was stronger than before, but overall, he felt far better.
He wouldn’t need amputation.
Shen Qingyue struggled to steady his breathing and smiled at Jiang Zhu. “Thank you, little benefactor. You saved my life.”
Jiang Zhu’s chest felt like it had been hit by a hammer; he was thoroughly uncomfortable. “N-no need.”
“Hah!” Shen Qingyue reached out his hand. “Help me sit up, and move my things over here.”
“Okay!”
Jiang Zhu gathered the backpack and the items Shen Qingyue had dropped earlier, bringing them to him.
Noticing Jiang Zhu eyeing the military knife, Shen Qingyue, hands shaking, opened the first aid kit and said, “You like it? It’s yours now.”
Jiang Zhu shook his head.
Shen Qingyue said nothing further, then took out an ibuprofen tablet.
In the face of such intense pain, painkillers did little.
What he really needed was an anesthetic shot.
He twisted open a water bottle, swallowed the pill, then packed his scattered belongings back into the bag, leaving only the bottle and the military knife.
He handed the knife back to Jiang Zhu, ignoring the boy’s stunned gaze fixed on the scattered items and zipper, and asked earnestly, “Thanks. Where is this place? Is there a doctor nearby? A clinic? Where do you go for medicine?”
Jiang Zhu tried to look away from the zipper, then noticed the transparent water bottle in Shen Qingyue’s hand.
“...”
And the white flat pill earlier, also in a clear container, along with several strange objects...
Vibrantly colored like porcelain, odd wooden sticks, neatly bound cloth rolls...
That heavy backpack flashed once more—who knew what other strange things it held.
Jiang Zhu’s worldview was shaken profoundly in a short time.
He shifted his gaze to Shen Qingyue’s face and said honestly, “This is my home.”
“Your home is a clinic?”
“No, no. I mean, this is my home.”
“... I’m asking, what place is this?”
“This is my home,” Jiang Zhu repeated softly. “This is my family’s bamboo grove.”
“...” Shen Qingyue was momentarily unsure if he was being deliberately obtuse. He asked again, “Is there a doctor or clinic near your home?”
Only then did Jiang Zhu realize Shen Qingyue’s question meant the village or town.
Blushing, he answered, “Yes, there is one at the foot of the mountain, in the town. This is Jiangjia Village; the clinic is in Shanyang Town. You…”
He couldn’t resist asking, “You’re from outside, aren’t you? You’re not from Yu Kingdom?”
Shen Qingyue was taken aback—great, not just village and town, now the kingdom was known too.
But Yu Kingdom?
Yu, Yu, Yu, or Yu Kingdom?
He recalled only one minor vassal state called Yu during the Zhou dynasty, which wouldn’t match the clothing or scenery here.
Besides, the chisel and hammer the boy used to save him were genuine iron tools.
He nodded cautiously. “I’m indeed not from around here.”
Unexpectedly, Jiang Zhu’s eyes lit up, half curious, half delighted. “Are you from the south? Or a foreigner from overseas?”
Shen Qingyue was utterly baffled.
What kind of reaction was that?
A bit too enthusiastic.
Could there be war between the two kingdoms, and spies caught got rewarded?
Blinking repeatedly, Shen Qingyue smiled, “No, neither. Actually, I came from the sky.”
Jiang Zhu: “?”
Shen Qingyue: “A deity descended to the mortal realm to undergo tribulations. Have you heard of that?”
Jiang Zhu: “???”