Jiaohe County was a small trade hub in the Western Regions, home to many herbal medicine merchants and pharmacies. In a corner near the city wall on the right as one entered the city, there was a Beitian Fang that provided free medical care to the poor, sick, and destitute.

When Qingheng and his companions arrived, the monk was just about to close the door. Qingheng hurried forward to stop him, calling out loudly, “A-Lian, wait! There’s still a patient here.”

The monk squinted in the dim light. It wasn’t until Qingheng had run up, panting, that he recognized him. Slightly surprised, the monk bowed in greeting, then looked him up and down. “Layman, are you ill?”

Qingheng quickly returned the bow and pointed behind him: “It’s not me—it’s them.”

The monk—Master Qingquan—looked up and finally saw two constables not far away, supporting a young man whose steps were unsteady and who was filthy from head to toe. Beside him, one of the constables held a child in his arms as they made their way slowly toward them.

“Both gentlemen have fevers. They’ve been running a fever for about four or five days now. It’s likely due to the sudden drop in temperature—they must have caught a chill.” Qingheng briefly described their condition: “The elder gentleman has a wound on the back of his head, and he may have other injuries as well. I’d appreciate it if A-Lian could examine him.”

“Also, here is the guarantee.” Qingheng deftly pulled a scroll of hemp paper from his bundle and handed it to Qingquan: “These two men are currently penniless, homeless; they have no property, land, relatives, or support. I have acted as their guarantor, and the officials have approved it. Special arrangements have been made for the constables to assist in bringing them here for treatment.” 

The monk chanted a Buddhist prayer: “Amitabha Buddha, well done, well done.” Then he took the guarantee letter and led Qingheng and the others into the Beitian Fang.

Unlike ordinary pharmacies, Beitian Fang opened directly onto a large courtyard. A sizable vegetable patch had been cultivated within the courtyard, which also housed a dozen or so mud-brick buildings, divided into patient wards, a kitchen, a dispensary, and a tool shed.

On a typical day, the monks would grind and prepare medicines in the dispensary, cook meals and boil decoctions in the kitchen, while patients were treated in the adjacent wards. Consequently, the courtyard was filled with a strong, slightly pungent scent of herbs—one that, upon closer inspection, carried hints of bitterness and fragrance.

Qingquan led the group into the ward. The room was very simple, with several wooden beds lined up against the wall, each covered with felt, and a small medicine cabinet standing in the corner.

Qingquan opened his tinderbox and lit the tung oil lamp on the medicine cabinet.

“That one will do,” he said, turning to point casually at the bed furthest from the door, signaling the constables to lay the two men upon it. Then he picked up the warrant, examined it closely by the light of the lamp, and let his gaze linger briefly on the words “exiles,” though his expression remained unchanged. Satisfied that there were no major issues, he rolled up the warrant, returned it to Qingheng, and asked, “Will you be staying here tonight to look after them?” Qingheng breathed a sigh of relief and replied, “Yes.”

He chose the Beitian Fang Clinic to treat Xing Yue and Xing Zhao for two reasons: first, the clinic provided free care, and since the two wouldn’t have completed the necessary paperwork until tomorrow, they were effectively destitute and sick with no one to turn to—making them eligible for treatment. Since he was acting as their guarantor anyway, adding this one visit to the Beitian Fang Clinic wouldn’t make much of a difference;

Second, the Beitian Fang was run by monks from Jingju Temple outside the city walls. Having grown accustomed to treating the lowest-ranking, most destitute commoners, they were unlikely to look down on exiles and would most likely provide proper medical care.

Qingheng wasn’t a man of wealth or influence; he was just an ordinary ger. If a pharmacy were to discriminate against him and deliberately delay his treatment, there was nothing he could do about it.

Choosing Beitian Fang was the safest bet.

Of course, saving money was also a factor.

It just wasn’t very dignified. He’d have to openly display his destitute circumstances to everyone, and even have someone vouch that he truly had nothing to his name. Only after the authorities verified that he was indeed penniless would he be admitted here.

Ordinary people wouldn’t come here for treatment unless they were already destitute and desperate. It’s just too humiliating.

Of course, Qingheng didn’t know if Xing Yue would be afraid of losing face; he himself wasn’t afraid of that, only of running out of money.

“You may all leave now. This monk will examine them.” Master Qingquan, seeing that everyone had settled the patient, began shooing them away.

Qingheng glanced at Xing Yue and Xing Zhao; the two were looking at him as well, their eyes seeming somewhat dazed. He quickly pointed at himself and then at the door, indicating he would wait outside. Seeing them nod, he bowed to Qingquan: “Thank you for your trouble, A-Lian!”

He then followed the constables out the door.

Outside the door, the bells and drums of Jiaohe County began to sound, one after another: “Boom, boom, boom.” The drumbeats were deep and solemn, echoing over the county’s markets and streets, making one’s heart tighten with each beat.

A constable named Wang Cheng glanced back into the room and said to the constables beside him, Zheng Fang and Jiang Shen, “There’s still a stick of incense’s worth of time before the market gates are locked. We should head back.”

After a pause, he turned his gaze to Qingheng and reminded him gently, “Lord Liu said you’ve vouched for them, so you’d better keep a close eye on them and make sure nothing goes wrong.”

Zheng Fang wasn’t nearly as gentle. His expression was grim, and his voice seemed laced with menace. “Tell them that Jiaohe County enforces a curfew at night, just like the capital. If they aren’t afraid of dying, they can try wandering the streets after dark. If a constable catches them, ordinary people get twenty lashes, but for them, it’s treated as an escape attempt—that means their heads will roll. Don’t think you’ll be able to escape responsibility then.”

“Yes, I understand. Thank you, sirs, for the warning.” Qingheng hurriedly smiled. He pulled ten flatbreads from his backpack and pressed five into each man’s hand:

“Thank you, sirs, for making the trip and taking the trouble to warn me. I’ll keep it in mind. These are homemade flatbreads. Since you haven’t had dinner yet, please have a bite—don’t turn them down.”

“What about mine? What about mine?” Jiang Shen immediately grumbled from the side, “I haven’t had dinner yet either.”

Qingheng noticed his chest was bulging and rolled his eyes at him. “Yours all went into the mouse’s mouth.” He fished one out of his backpack and half-heartedly shoved it into his hand. “Here, dinner.”

Jiang Shen lit up instantly, hugged the bun to his chest, took a bite, and mumbled as he chewed, “We were just talking. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. That kid’s wild and hard to tame. If he really doesn’t know a good thing when he sees it and gets into trouble, when Lord Liu asks about it, we’ll speak up for you. Our Jiaohe County hasn’t been at peace for very long. We’ve all come through hardship together and know that facing trials and tribulations is only natural. Who would want to be surrounded by cold-hearted people when suffering strikes?”

“You saved them out of the goodness of your heart—that’s a noble deed, and everyone saw it. If something really does go wrong, it’ll be because those two are cunning; it won’t be your fault. We’ll all testify and speak up for you. What do you say? Am I right?”

He grinned, nudging Zheng Fang on the shoulder, then nudging Wang Cheng, and gave them a sidelong glance.

Wang Cheng glanced at him and smiled. “If you need anything, young ger, you can come find us.”

Zheng Fang’s expression softened, and he cleared his throat with a touch of embarrassment. “Keep a close eye on them,” he said. “If you notice anything unusual, be sure to let us know. And if you need anything, just ask.”

Qingheng immediately bowed, beaming with gratitude. “Thank you all very much, sirs.”

After seeing the constables off, Qingheng stood outside the ward, leaning against the yellow mud wall, his fingers clutching the paper scroll in his backpack.

Now that the day was over, he finally had the time to relax and think through the paperwork.

Now, the medical guarantee for exiles seeking treatment outside the county, the medical guarantee for the Beitian Fang, the application for the adoption of Xing Zhao, the application for labor substitution through payment, and the application to visit exiles—

County Magistrate Liu had already drafted all the guarantees and applications for him. All he had to do was submit them to the county office tomorrow, provide reasonable justifications, have County Magistrate Liu sign off on them, and have the Chief Registrar stamp them, and he would have achieved everything he set out to do on this trip today.

But…

Qingheng couldn’t help but squeeze the paper scroll in his backpack again.

How was he supposed to tell Xing Yue that the “reasonable justification” he’d given County Magistrate Liu at the time was that the two of them were going to sign a marriage contract?

Qingheng had grown up in a harmonious family, doted on by his father, grandfather, older brother, and sister-in-law. He’d only ever wanted to stay at home and had never given marriage a second thought. Even though he’d once had a marriage contract—one signed by his great-grandfather shortly after his birth—he knew of it but felt no real connection to it.

He had never even imagined that one day he would be making his own decisions, suddenly signing a marriage contract with a stranger. In the heat of the moment, to save someone, she would have said anything.

Now that he’s come to his senses, his mind is a blank.

It’s hard to imagine signing a marriage contract with a man—especially one he just met today. And…

Most importantly, this isn’t just about him—it’s about this man, too.

So, would Xing Yue actually sign it? And how would he react?