AGN -Chapter 226 Parental Affection (Part 5)

Qu the hunter sat on the ox cart on the way back, holding large and small bundles, feeling a bit dazed.

The cart driver didn’t even dare ask how Qu Jing’s illness was.

Good heavens… what kind of illness is this? He even bought white flour—this looks like preparing a final good meal before death. Better not ask, better not ask.

Out of sympathy, the driver gave Qu Jing a piece of black-flour bun he had been saving, but she refused and returned it.

This made the driver feel even more pity. She can’t even eat black buns and can only eat white flour… she must not have long left. No wonder the hunter looked absent-minded, as if his soul had left his body. Afraid the journey would be too slow and she wouldn’t make it back to the village alive, the driver gritted his teeth, pushed the ox hard, and traveled day and night—shortening the trip by a full day.

In reality, the hunter was distracted because his mind was entirely occupied with memorizing the recipe the young man had told him.

He wasn’t stupid—just uneducated, which made him seem ignorant. He had once been conscripted and seen the outside world. He knew recipes could be valuable, even passed down as family heirlooms.

Although the young man had written the recipe down, the hunter couldn’t read and didn’t plan to show it to anyone. He intended to memorize it himself, then send Qu Jing to school. Once she learned to read, he would pass the recipe to her—so that when he died, she would have a way to survive.

Thus, one night on the journey, as usual, he covered Qu Jing with pelts and softly asked:

“Jingjing, I heard the village will build a school soon. When it’s ready, shall Grandpa send you to study?”

“Okay,” Qu Jing replied softly, eyes open.

After returning to the village, they received good news from the village chief: the authorities had approved building a primary school, shared by several villages.

While Qu Jing and the hunter were traveling, the chief had used his persuasive tongue—and the advantage of having abandoned mud houses that could be repaired into classrooms—to outcompete nearby villages and secure the school.

He spread the news to encourage education. To set an example, all children in his own family—from eldest daughter to Gou Dan—would attend school. But tuition cost money. The chief’s family could barely afford it; most villagers couldn’t or wouldn’t.

So the chief came to persuade the hunter to send Qu Jing, partly to boost enrollment numbers.

Both sides agreed immediately. Qu Jing happily became a new student.

The following days seemed to fast-forward.

To Qin Huai, it felt like watching a slice-of-life film. The hunter told no one about the pastry shop, only mentioning the hospital had given two liang of soybeans for free. Many villagers were tempted by such “benefits,” but gave up due to distance and travel costs.

The school was established, and a new teacher arrived—reportedly a private tutor from the county who had nearly starved.

All children started from first grade, including Qu Jing. The hunter continued hunting and bartering with villagers, secretly practicing making rice cakes after returning home.

He didn’t dare use the 10 jin of white sugar the young man had given him on his own poorly made rice cakes. Instead, he asked the chief’s wife to use white flour to make steamed buns and flatbread, letting Qu Jing eat white buns dipped in sugar.

The chief once saw this and was heartbroken. “Even rich people don’t eat like this! Even landlords just eat plain white buns!”

Then he tearfully took half a bun for himself.

The first New Year they spent together, the hunter used his last glutinous rice to make a pot of rice cake soup. Grandfather and granddaughter celebrated the new year drinking it together.

After that, time flowed like a warm, gentle film.

Qu Jing studied; the hunter hunted. The chief occasionally brought news: supply cooperatives opened in town, making it easier to buy oil, salt, and cloth; clinics were built, making medical care cheap; hunters could sell game directly instead of bartering.

One year, two years, three years, four years passed.

Qu Jing reached fourth grade and could finally read the recipe the young man had written.

The hunter grew older—his hair mostly white, his temples gray. He hunted less and less, rarely catching large animals, relying instead on traps for small game. Occasionally, luck brought a deer into a trap, earning him a good sum.

He saved a lot of money—for Qu Jing’s treatment.

In these years, the village’s biggest story wasn’t the chief’s daughter giving birth to triplets, nor a fool from a neighboring village surviving a fall into a river and catching a huge fish.

It was Qu Jing.

Her excellent grades dispelled rumors that she had once been foolish. But her unchanged appearance over four years made the chief finally realize why such a beautiful child had been abandoned in the mountains.

She wasn’t growing up.

Qin Huai understood why—her tribulation had not failed.

Before failing their heavenly tribulation, spirits retain their powers and do not age. This is why few spirits take the form of children. Adults can look unchanged for years, but a child not growing for even two or three years is suspicious.

Fortunately, the villagers didn’t think she was a demon—only that she had a strange illness.

The hunter thought the same.

From the second year, when he noticed she hadn’t grown, he took her to the town clinic—they prescribed a small amount of soybeans.

In the third year, he took her again to the provincial hospital. Even the doctors were helpless with such a rare condition, giving him five liang of soybeans as an exception.

They recommended going to Beijing (Beijing), where the best doctors were. But the journey required a train and significant money, so they advised him to save.

The hunter listened. He even tried hunting a brown bear, but nearly broke his leg fleeing a wild boar. Sighing that he was no longer the man who once fought tigers, he switched to trapping small animals to save money.

Seeing no change in Qu Jing, he grew anxious—considering selling his treasured tiger skin, fox fur, and tiger bones to take her to Beijing before winter.

He could clearly feel himself aging.

Since the start of the year, he had become forgetful—forgetting trap locations, forgetting how much he earned, sometimes even forgetting why he went up the mountain.

He thought he was becoming senile.

But he didn’t tell Qu Jing, quietly enduring it alone.

Qin Huai saw everything and sighed, feeling he could already foresee the ending of this warm story.

One morning, the hunter woke early and boiled two eggs for Qu Jing.

“Grandpa, why two eggs today?” she asked, handing one back. “The doctor said nutrition won’t cure my illness. You should eat too.”

He smiled. “Today is Teacher Wang’s birthday. Take one to him.”

Qu Jing froze. “Teacher Wang broke his leg last year and went back to town. He hasn’t returned… Grandpa, did you remember wrong? And it’s not Teacher Li’s birthday either.”

The hunter’s smile stiffened. He stood there for a long time, trying to recall, but failed. He forced a laugh.

“Oh right… I mixed them up.”

“Getting old… getting forgetful.”

Qu Jing looked at him quietly. “Grandpa, are you okay?”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been forgetting things a lot this year. Should we go to the provincial hospital?”

He waved his hand. “No need. Memory gets worse with age. Many people start forgetting things in their forties. I’m already in my fifties—it’s normal.”

Qu Jing hesitated, studying him carefully. Seeing nothing unusual, she chose to believe him and left for school with her bag.