Dismounting from the ox-cart, Song Qiming broke into a light jog, his steps as buoyant as if he were treading on somersault clouds. The wind ruffled the little bun tied atop his head, and his face was lit with a brilliant smile, as if he had encountered the most wonderful news.
"Sister, these are the new books the teacher gave me. Starting tomorrow, I can attend the Classics Hall classes."
Scholar Zheng's private school had two classes: the Introductory Hall and the Classics Hall.
The Introductory Hall was mostly for young children aged five to ten, focusing on foundational literacy.
The Classics Hall, however, specialized in the "Four Books and Five Classics" and practicing the eight-legged essay, preparing students for the imperial examinations.
Song Qiming pulled out nine books, including "Mencius" and "The Spring and Autumn Annals," from his heavy book bag. His large, sparkling eyes were like black grapes washed clean by rain.
Song Jinzhao opened "Mencius." The small regular script inside was as fine as mosquito legs, even neater and more orderly than modern printing. "Did Scholar Zheng write this?"
Song Qiming beamed, his eyebrows shooting up high, eager for praise.
"The teacher praised me for learning quickly and gave these to me as a reward."
Song Jinzhao reached out and pinched Song Qiming's chubby little cheek, her eyes curving into crescents. "Then you must study hard and live up to the teacher's expectations."
Song Qiming nodded vigorously. Treating them like treasures, he carried the books to the table in his room, carefully placed them down, then ran back out to sit by the stove and help Song Jinzhao tend the fire.
"Sister, our firewood is almost used up. After the spring holiday in a few days, we can go gather more from the riverbank."
The private school would have a one-day spring holiday for Qingming Festival, allowing students to return home to sweep graves and honor ancestors.
There were still over a dozen bundles of firewood, which should last until the holiday.
Song Jinzhao ladled the egg drop soup from the pot and sprinkled it with chopped scallions. "Tomorrow, I'll take Shixue to the field ridges to dig for medicinal herbs. We'll pick up some firewood along the way."
She planned to plant some medicinal herbs in the vegetable garden at the back. It would be convenient for Song Shixue to observe them, and they could be used for medicine later.
After a spring rain, all sorts of wild grasses and herbs seemed to burst frantically from the soil. On the field ridges, village women carrying baskets to gather wild vegetables could be seen everywhere.
Song Shixue carefully dug up a wild chrysanthemum plant, roots and all, and placed it in her basket.
Old Lady Song, returning from washing clothes at the river, saw Song Jinzhao carrying the child. She stopped, handed her wooden bucket to Elder Aunt Song, and asked, "Why did you bring Anhao out too?"
She dried her hands on her clothes and reached over to take the child.
Song Jinzhao pointed to the bamboo basket lined with wolf skin. "I brought him out to get some fresh air. He can play by himself in the basket all morning."
Seeing both of them holding small shovels, Old Lady Song said, "Since we're not transplanting rice seedlings, your great-aunt and I are idle at home. When you and Shixue come out to gather herbs, just bring Anhao to me. I'll look after him for you."
He could get fresh air at home too. It was only because there were no adults at home that she had no choice but to bring the child along.
Aunt Lahuang hurriedly scrambled up from behind a field ridge, her eyes scanning everywhere before she suddenly dashed in one direction.
"Ninth Great-aunt, why are you still here gathering vegetables? Something's happened to your Shi Gen."
The white-haired Ninth Great-aunt's hand trembled. She quickly stood up and asked, "What's wrong with my Shi Gen?"
Aunt Lahuang's chest heaved violently as she pointed towards the back mountain, gasping for breath.
"Your Shi Gen ran into a black bear while cutting firewood halfway up the mountain. He was found unconscious and is being carried home now."
Ninth Great-aunt grabbed Aunt Lahuang's arm, her voice shaking and short. "What about my Tudan?"
Aunt Lahuang looked utterly confused. "What Tudan?"
Ninth Great-aunt cried out, "Tudan went to cut firewood with his father!"
Aunt Lahuang stood frozen in place. "I didn't see Tudan, only your Shi Gen."
Ninth Great-aunt's eyes rolled back and she collapsed to the ground.
Song Jinzhao immediately rushed over and pressed her philtrum.
When Ninth Great-aunt came to, she pushed everyone aside and stumbled towards the village.
Old Lady Song handed Song Anhao back to Song Jinzhao and hurried after her.
Song Jinzhao hoisted the bamboo basket onto her back and called for Song Shixue to go home. "Let's go back and see."
By the time the crowd arrived, many villagers had already gathered around Song Shigen's house.
Seeing the scene in the courtyard, Song Jinzhao quickly covered Song Anhao's eyes, turned, and handed him to Song Shixue. "Take Anhao home."
One of Song Shigen's arms was gone, the bloody wound exposed, the bone of his shoulder clearly visible.
The elderly and frail Song Chun lay on the ground, his withered fingers clutching his son's blood-soaked clothes.
"Shi Gen, wake up, don't leave your father behind."
"The doctor is here, the doctor is here!"
Doctor Liu ran into the courtyard with his medicine chest.
Seeing Song Shigen on the stretcher, missing an arm and with a gaping hole torn in his chest, Doctor Liu held his breath. After crouching down to examine him, he shook his head helplessly. "There's no saving him. Prepare for the funeral arrangements."
Ninth Great-aunt nearly cried herself into a faint.
Tudan's Mother, who had rushed back from the Zhao family, entered and heard these thunderous words.
She rushed to Song Shigen's side and beat his remaining arm.
"Where is my son? Tell me where my son is!"
Song Chun, his body hunched, slowly raised his head, his face already streaked with tears.
He opened his parched lips and cried out mournfully to the doctor, "Doctor, I beg you, save him. Even if he just wakes up to say a few words, it would be good."
Doctor Liu shook his head gravely. "Injured like this, forget waking up, he won't last the time it takes to drink a cup of tea."
Everyone in the courtyard lowered their heads. With Song Shigen wounded like this, how could Tudan possibly be alive? He must have long since perished in the mouth of the black bear.
"Let me try." Song Jinzhao had already judged that she could not save Song Shigen.
His arm was completely bitten off, his internal organs damaged. Such a condition might not be survivable even in modern times, let alone in ancient times with its extremely poor medical care.
To be honest, the fact that he had held on this long without breathing his last was already a tremendous miracle.
Doctor Liu turned to Song Jinzhao with a stunned expression. "What nonsense are you talking, girl? The man is dying. What do you plan to do?"
Song Jinzhao stared at him and said, "We can use silver needles to stimulate his brain. If his will is strong enough, he might briefly regain consciousness."
Doctor Liu scowled and reprimanded her. "No one's medical skill is capable of that. If the needling is off, he could die on the spot."
Song Jinzhao raised her voice, her tone firm. "I can do it. He doesn't have long. It's better to take the risk. At least we can find out if Tudan is alive or dead."
Tudan's Mother stared vacantly at Song Jinzhao.
"The doctor already said it's impossible. Is what Jinzhao says true?"
"I don't think it will work."
"Not necessarily. Last time, Song Datian's leg was bitten by a wolf, and it was Song Jinzhao who cured him."
...
The villagers in the courtyard debated amongst themselves.
Seeing Song Shigen's breaths growing fainter and fainter, Song Chun spoke up, his voice heavy. "Jinzhao, you do it. I believe in you."
Seeing the patient's father had agreed, Doctor Liu, not wanting to earn a reputation for refusing to help, simply took the silver needles from his chest and handed them to Song Jinzhao.
I'll just have to see if this girl really has such great skill.
Song Jinzhao elevated Song Shigen's legs to a forty-five-degree angle to increase venous return.
She used silver needles to stanch the bleeding from his arm and chest.
Then, she inserted a silver needle into the midbrain stem and applied sustained, firm pressure with her finger on his philtrum to stimulate a neural reflex.
The courtyard was so quiet one could have heard a leaf drop. Sweat from her forehead trickled down her hair and onto her clothes.
Doctor Liu, seeing the wounds had stopped bleeding, a flicker of astonishment passed through his eyes.
