Chapter Three: A Helping Hand

If he were still a strong and able-bodied adult, Du Shiyi would have carried Du Thirteen back without a second thought. Yet, at this moment, supporting this trembling, heavy-bodied little girl, and glancing at Zhuying, who was faring no better, Du himself felt his legs weighed down and weak. Thinking of how Songyang Temple refused Du Thirteen’s pleas for medicine was one thing; but to let such a small child kneel outside the cold, wet gates in this torrential rain, indifferent to her life or death, was simply heartless. To knock again would only be to humiliate himself. He turned his gaze toward the line of carriages and horses in the distance.

“Zhuying, help Thirteen for now.”

Seeing Zhuying hastily comply, he adjusted his bamboo hat and forced himself to stride toward the group visiting Songyang Temple in the rain. He was still more than ten steps away when a man, garbed much like himself and walking beside the carriages, strode over to meet him.

“Young sir, is there something you need?”

Du Shiyi glanced at the nearby carriage, noticing its weathered, mottled exterior despite the rain’s cleansing, and the modest number of attendants. It did not look like the retinue of an eminent official or noble house. He cupped his hands and answered straightforwardly, “Du Nineteen of Duling, Jingzhao, traveling here with my younger sister and maid. Caught in this unexpected downpour at Songyang Temple, I humbly ask if you might lend us some rain gear. We would be deeply grateful.”

“Young Master Du, seeing that Miss Du and your maid are drenched, why not take shelter in the temple for a while and let the monks prepare some dry clothes for the ladies?”

Du Shiyi glanced back at Du Thirteen and Zhuying, then at the still tightly shut temple gates. He replied at once, “I am most grateful for your kindness, but our home is not far from here. We won’t trouble you further.”

At these words, the man nodded and swiftly returned to the carriage, seemingly to report to someone inside. Standing there, Du Shiyi noticed movement behind the carriage’s side window, as if someone inside was sizing him up. After a moment, the carriage door opened, and a bundle was handed out, followed by an oil-paper umbrella. The man in the bamboo hat hurried back to Du Shiyi with the items.

“My master says he would send the carriage to take you home, but he is feeling a touch unwell and has sent me instead. One umbrella might not suffice, so he has also sent a cloak and hat. Please, forgive us if this is not enough.”

“Sir, your generosity is boundless! Our home is not far—if you can escort us, that is more than we could hope for!”

Du Shiyi had only approached with faint hope, but to truly be lent rain gear and accompanied home delighted him. After thanking the carriage’s occupant once more, he walked with the man back to Du Thirteen and Zhuying. The man raised the umbrella over the two girls, while Zhuying bundled the shivering, blue-lipped Du Thirteen in the cloak and hat. Du Shiyi offered a brief explanation: “The gentleman in the carriage is kindly lending us this rain gear and sending someone to escort us home. Zhuying, help Thirteen—let’s go.”

On the way back, the rain eased, but all three—Zhuying, Du Thirteen, and Du Shiyi—were utterly exhausted. Fortunately, the man was sensible and supported Du Shiyi the entire way, seeing them to their cottage. Du Shiyi sent the girls inside to change out of their wet clothes before inviting the man into the house.

Once indoors, he told Zhuying to brew ginger tea against the chill and urged the still-worried Du Thirteen to get under the covers and sweat it out. He then excused himself to change into dry clothes. When he returned, he found their guest had removed his rain gear, revealing a robust, broad-faced man with thick brows and bright eyes, his clothes mostly dry except for the trouser legs. Du Shiyi thanked him again and tried to return the rain gear, but the man shook his head with a smile.

“These are of no consequence, and you may find use for them in the mountains. But if I may ask—on the way here, I noticed your steps were unsteady, and the young lady’s as well. Is there an illness…?”

Having received such assistance, and since it was no secret, Du Shiyi replied frankly, “To be honest, I’ve been afflicted with a strange illness, unable to speak or move for some time—my younger sister has tended me all the while. Hearing there was a Daoist adept in Songyang Temple skilled in medicine, she and our maid brought me here in hope. But the temple said the adept was away. My sister, not believing it, has gone daily to plead—today kneeling in the rain—when we were caught in this storm. Fortunately, we met your kind master.”

The broad-browed man stared at Du Shiyi in surprise, then asked curiously, “You said you were struck by a strange illness, unable to speak or move, yet now…”

“Last night, my late father and mother came to me in a dream. The Lord of the Underworld, moved by my sister’s filial devotion, granted me more years of life.” Du Shiyi had intended to surprise Du Thirteen, but now that things had turned out as they had, he could hardly tell the truth—that he could not face this sister who had appeared out of nowhere. Miraculous self-recovery was already unheard of; he needed a plausible explanation, and this was the only one he could think of. He recalled his last memory from that other world was burning a pile of books at his father’s grave, and a deep melancholy crossed his face.

Perhaps this truly was his father’s final care for him, reaching across worlds.

He collected himself quickly and explained, “I only regained the ability to move and speak today; otherwise, I would never have let my sister kneel outside the temple in such a downpour. She is so young and frail—if any harm befell her because of me, how could I face our parents in the afterlife? In the end, all this is my fault as her elder brother.”

“Brother!”

Almost as he finished speaking, Du Thirteen’s voice called softly from the inner room. He nodded to the guest and went inside, to find her sitting up in bed, pale but stubbornly refusing to lie down.

“How long will you keep forcing yourself? Do you want to make yourself seriously ill?”

“Brother, did you truly see Father and Mother in your dream? Did they really extend your life?”

She clung to his sleeve, refusing to let go until he answered. Helpless, he improvised, “Of course it’s true.”

“What did Father and Mother say to you?”

This question caught Du Shiyi off guard. In his former life, he had always been rebellious, never believing in gods or spirits. But this lifetime’s strange happenings had at least made him a skeptic rather than an outright atheist. After a brief pause, he forced a smile. “Father said only the living have a future, that I shouldn’t torment myself over the Du family’s reputation or get lost in pointless worries… Mother said to take good care of you and not let you be disappointed again.”

Though he was making it up, Du Thirteen’s face shone with unbridled joy. The guest in the outer room, overhearing, was visibly moved as well. For a long moment, Du Thirteen gripped her brother’s hand tightly, stammering with emotion, “It really was Father and Mother! Wonderful, truly wonderful. Brother, you’re finally better…”

Seeing her so overwhelmed, Du Shiyi sighed inwardly. In these times, tales of the supernatural were common enough—his explanation was as reasonable as any. However fantastical this second life, for the sake of his living, breathing little sister, who had begged for a cure with such sincerity, he had to go on living well. When Zhuying brought in the ginger tea, he made sure Du Thirteen drank a full bowl, tucked her in tightly, and said, “Remember, don’t ever act so recklessly again! I’ve only just recovered; I can’t have you falling ill now. Lie down and rest!”

Once the little girl had quieted, Du Shiyi drank his own bowl of scalding ginger tea. The warmth coursed through him, chasing away the lingering chill of the rain. When he set the bowl down and returned to the main room, he saw that the guest had also emptied his own bowl.

“My sister is frail, and I was too distracted to be a proper host.”

“No matter. But forgive me for saying—having just recovered, you hurried through mountain rain to fetch her from the temple. Did you not fear a relapse, disappointing your late parents’ protection?”

Without hesitation, Du Shiyi replied, “If my sister could journey a thousand miles for me, even kneeling at the temple’s doors for my sake, then now that I’m able to walk, how could I not fetch her home at the first sign of rain? Our parents’ dying thoughts were only of the two of us. Even if they knew what I’d done, they’d be comforted.”

“Indeed. Miss Du’s devotion in seeking a cure for her brother, praying at the temple daily, is enough to move gods and spirits. And you, risking your health to bring her home—such filial love would touch anyone’s heart.” The man rose with a smile. “Now that I’ve seen you safely home, I must return to my master. Thank you for the ginger tea.”

“You have come so far for us—a bowl of ginger tea is the least I can offer.” Du Shiyi escorted him to the cottage door. The rain had nearly stopped. As the man donned his hat and cloak, striding off toward the fence, Du suddenly realized he’d forgotten to ask the master’s name.

“By the way, may I ask your name, sir?”

“I am but a humble servant; my name is not worth mentioning.”

Du Shiyi laughed. “Why say so? You braved the rain to lend us gear and escort us home—truly a friend in need. Do you think I judge by rank or status?”

This finally drew a smile from the man. After a moment’s thought, he said, “I serve my master, and my family name is Sima. Because I was dark-skinned as a child, I am called Heiyun—Black Cloud. Young Master Du, farewell for now!”