HNYWEF -Chapter 5 Cleaning the Wound

The crying was coming from behind a crooked-necked tree.

When Cheng Yaojin and the others walked around it, they saw a small crowd gathered ahead.

Not many people, really—three half-grown children and two adults. All of them were crowded together, staring at someone lying on the ground.

The boy on the ground was sprawled there with one leg covered in blood. Beside him stood a child with snot and tears smeared all over his face from crying. The adults crouched nearby helplessly, wanting to help but not daring to touch him.

And then they saw that man.

He was crouched beside the injured leg, one hand pressing against the boy’s knee while the other examined him.

Starting from the top of the thigh, he felt his way downward—to the knee, to the calf, to the ankle. Through the fabric of the pants, his fingers pressed inch by inch, pausing at every spot.

The boy trembled from the pain, but he didn’t dare move.

After checking him over, the man straightened up.

“The bone’s fine.”

Just four words. His voice was still as hoarse as ever.

One of the burly men beside them visibly relaxed.

“Zhuzi, did you hear that? Your bone’s fine—”

Before he could finish, the man had already opened that wooden case.

Cheng Yaojin leaned closer for a look.

Inside the case, everything was arranged in neat rows.

Tweezers, small knives, probes, and several porcelain bottles of different sizes sealed with wooden stoppers. Every tool had been polished bright, gleaming beneath the sunlight.

The man took something out and fastened it over his right eye—

Fang Xuanling’s breathing stopped for a moment.

It was a metal tube, wide at one end and narrow at the other. The wider end fit against the eye socket while the narrow end pointed toward the boy’s leg. The man narrowed his left eye and pressed his right eye to the tube as he leaned in closer.

After examining the wound for a few moments, he pushed the tube up onto his forehead, wedging it there. Then he picked up a pair of tweezers from the box.

The tweezers were iron too—long and slender, their tips curved like a bird’s beak.

Holding them lightly, the man leaned toward the boy’s leg.

“Don’t move.”

Still those same two words. His voice remained flat and emotionless.

The boy bit his lip and nodded.

The tip of the tweezers slipped into the wound.

The first thing he pulled out was a pebble no bigger than a grain of rice, coated in blood. It hit the ground with a soft plop.

The second time, he extracted several grains of sand mixed with black mud.

The third time—

The boy couldn’t endure it anymore.

“Ungh—!”

The howl tore from his throat, so shrill his voice nearly split.

Fang Xuanling turned his head away.

It wasn’t that he had never seen blood before.

But he had never seen this—

Never seen a man crouching there with tweezers in hand, painstakingly pulling mud out of a wound bit by bit, as steady as embroidery work. The calm precision of it was frightening.

Du Ruhui wasn’t watching either.

He turned away to stare at the crooked-necked tree nearby, at the ants crawling along the bark.

The man set the tweezers down and took out a porcelain bottle from the box.

The bottle was small, about the height of a palm, white with blue patterns painted on it and sealed with a wooden stopper.

He pulled the stopper free.

A scent drifted out.

Fang Xuanling’s nose twitched, and he abruptly turned back around.

Alcohol?

Tilting the bottle, the man poured the liquid over the boy’s wound.

“AAAHHH—!!!”

The boy jerked clean off the ground, only to be pinned down hard by the burly man beside him. He struggled twice without breaking free, leaving only his voice to scream and howl loud enough to send the birds in the trees flapping away in alarm.

Fang Xuanling turned away again.

This time he even shut his eyes.

Meanwhile, Cheng Yaojin stood there without moving.

He watched the tweezers go in and out. Watched the blood seep out. Watched the boy scream until his face turned purple.

Not a single expression crossed his face.

Back in the days at Wagang Stronghold, there had been screams far louder than this.

As Cheng Yaojin remembered those days, the scene before him suddenly didn’t seem quite so unbearable anymore.

Du Ruhui hadn’t closed his eyes.

He watched the place where the alcohol splashed down, watched the white foam bubbling up inside the wound, watched the muscles in the boy’s leg tense tight.

And he saw the man’s hand.

The hand holding the porcelain bottle remained perfectly steady, not trembling in the slightest.

After pouring the alcohol, the man set the bottle aside and picked up the tweezers again, probing the wound carefully to make sure no dirt or sand remained. Then he laid the tweezers down and took out a small porcelain jar.

Opening the lid revealed a thick dark-brown paste that carried the scent of medicinal herbs.

The man scooped out a bit with his finger and spread it evenly across the wound.

As the ointment was applied, the boy’s screaming gradually weakened into whimpers… then quiet sobbing.

The man then removed a square-folded piece of cloth from the box and covered the wound with it. After that, he pulled out a long strip of cloth and wrapped it around the leg layer by layer, tightening and loosening it with practiced precision before finally tying a knot.

“Don’t let it touch water for three days.”

He stood up, packed everything back into the box, and shut the lid.

The boy’s father hurried over, rubbing his hands together, lips trembling as if he wanted to say something.

The man didn’t look at him.

Tucking the box beneath his arm, he turned and walked away.

After taking two steps, he stopped.

Cheng Yaojin was standing directly in front of him.

The man raised his head and glanced at Cheng Yaojin.

Cheng Yaojin opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what to say.

The man said nothing either.

Instead, he looked off to the side.

Fang Xuanling stepped out from behind the tree, still looking a little uncomfortable. Du Ruhui remained where he was, silently watching, his gaze deep and unreadable.

The man’s eyes lingered on their faces for a brief moment.

Then he lowered his head and walked past Cheng Yaojin.

Heading back.

Back to that broken wooden door.

Cheng Yaojin stood there motionless, watching the man’s figure grow farther and farther away.

He wanted to say something.

But he didn’t know what to say.

So he simply stood there, watching that retreating figure disappear into the woods.