The Self-Combed Woman

The threshing ground of Niuxin Village was filled with local militiamen training. Gao Zhijian sat on a large rock, brow furrowed, watching the villagers practice their martial arts. But his mind was still on what had happened earlier.

None of the other senior brothers believed what I told them.

By all rights, he should have been angry. But Gao Zhijian wasn’t—because even he couldn’t fully trust the fragmented memories slowly awakening inside him.

He was very likely an emperor—that much seemed true. In his memories, he had lived in a palace, surrounded by people who attended to his every whim. Whatever he wanted, he got.

But those memories weren’t whole. They were broken, with vast gaps in between. And the missing spaces were filled by all kinds of bizarre deaths and life experiences completely different from life in the palace.

The memories in his head didn’t feel like they belonged to one person. They felt like patches—large and small—stitched together into a single quilt.

This made Gao Zhijian deeply suspicious. Was all that chaos in his head just fake? Or was he, like Senior Brother Li, simply mad?

By all logic, he should be searching for his past right now—sifting through the chaos to find his true self.

But if it wasn’t necessary, he didn’t want to go back. He wanted to stay here. He had decided that this was good. Because he liked Niuxin Village. He liked the name Gao Zhijian. He was Gao Zhijian.

A furry figure flashed through his mind, and a simple, honest smile appeared on his face.

Everyone lived together, peaceful and free. As for the past—even that golden, magnificent palace, with all its warmth and full meals—in his memory… it was cold. Terribly cold. And deeply uncomfortable. He didn’t like it there.

The world was rare in its ignorance. Why bother clearing everything up? Live in the present. Anyway, there didn’t seem to be anyone worth searching for in those past memories.

Gao Zhijian sat there, thinking about many things. When he snapped out of it, he saw that the dozen or so militiamen were now half-heartedly swinging their wooden halberds, all crooked and lazy. They’d been slacking off while his attention wandered.

“Mm.” Gao Zhijian picked up a small stick and walked over. Whenever he saw a wrong posture, he rapped the offender with the stick—hard enough to sting, but not hard enough to injure. His touch was practiced and precise.

These men were too thin. They needed to get stronger. Build up enough vitality and spirit first, then they could train in the military arts.

His current task, as Senior Brother Li had instructed, was to drill a militia force for Niuxin Village.

The training session ended amid the militiamen’s groans and cries. At dinner, the heavy physical labor had turned every one of them into bottomless pits, wolfing down their food.

The reason none of them wanted to run away, despite all the suffering, was as simple as it was effective: every day, they got white-flour buns, and on top of that, a monthly wage of a hundred coppers.

Tonight’s dinner was soy-sauce fried rice—oily, salty, and made with plenty of lard. Perfect for replenishing lost energy, and easy to make.

Gao Zhijian noticed that Chun Xiaoman wasn’t among those eating, and quietly made a mental note.

After dinner, he went to the kitchen, lit the stove, and fried two sunny-side-up eggs. He laid them on top of the soy-sauce fried rice, picked up a bowl and chopsticks, and headed toward the Bai family ancestral hall.

When he reached the main hall downstairs, he saw Chun Xiaoman leading several people in reciting the White Lotus spirit-summoning incantations.

“Eat.” Gao Zhijian set the bowl in front of Chun Xiaoman.

“Hey! Big guy, you’re something else—bringing food for one person, are you? We haven’t eaten yet!” Lü Xiucai said from the side, his voice dripping with dissatisfaction.

Gao Zhijian didn’t even bother glancing at him. He pushed the bowl toward Chun Xiaoman again.

She stopped and said to the others, “We’ll stop here for today. Go eat dinner first.”

The four young women nodded respectfully and, along with a grimacing Lü Xiucai, climbed the stairs.

When they were gone, Chun Xiaoman held the bowl and ate as she spoke. “How’s it going on your end? Are those people listening?”

“So—so—so-so!”

“Tch. Not so good on my end. These spirit-summoning chants… the whole village has very few people who can memorize them. And you need good comprehension on top of that. People with low aptitude just can’t get any response no matter how much they chant.”

“They’re all human. No idea why the difference is so big. If we have to learn all of this, when will I ever finish? Hey, tell you something—you probably won’t believe it. The one with the best comprehension is that scumbag Lü Xiucai. You should’ve seen how smug he was.”

Gao Zhijian stood silently beside her, watching her talk on and on.

By the time Chun Xiaoman had finished venting her frustrations, the bowl of soy-sauce fried rice was empty.

Just as Gao Zhijian was about to pick up the empty bowl and leave, her voice came from behind him. “Zhijian, you don’t have to bring me food anymore. The girl will leave something for me in the kitchen.”

A complicated expression crossed Chun Xiaoman’s face. She pressed her lips together, then finally spoke. “I made a vow before. I swore I would live my whole life as a self-combed woman, never marrying. I still haven’t changed my mind about that. So… do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Mm.”

“Don’t blame me for being too blunt. But we’re fellow disciples who’ve lived and died together. I just want to say it clearly and get it out of the way—so we don’t end up not even able to be brother and sister. And I’ll say the same thing to Zhao Wu.”

Gao Zhijian stood there in silence. Only he knew how much his heart hurt. The empty bowl in his hand cracked under his grip.

Chun Xiaoman walked up to him, looked him straight in the eye, and said, “In this chaotic world, it’s no easy thing for cripples like us to have a stable home. We have to cherish it—especially.”

“You have to understand—in other places, people like us are only good for being sold, beaten, or fed to monsters. We’re not even treated as human. So Zhijian… let’s put our minds on the real work. We have to do our best to protect this home.”

“Mm.” Holding the cracked bowl, Gao Zhijian nodded, his expression forlorn. He turned and walked toward the stairs.

Watching his back, Chun Xiaoman felt a pang of pity. But she still believed it was better to say these things early.

She sat back down cross-legged, picked up the book from the floor, and began reciting again.

These possessed-medium arts might not be a match for Senior Brother Li’s divine powers, but she still studied them with absolute seriousness.

Her comprehension wasn’t as good as Lü Xiucai’s, but diligence could make up for lack of talent. If studying for six hours wasn’t enough, then she’d study for seven, or eight.

Sincerity could break stone. She could now barely manage some of the simpler spirit-summoning techniques.

Because she never wanted to go back to the state she was in when her own father sold her, powerless to resist.

Just as Chun Xiaoman was completely absorbed, hurried footsteps came from the staircase.

In seconds, a panicked Lü Xiucai rushed down. “Hurry! Hurry! Something’s wrong! A bunch of bandits have charged into our village! They’re killing everyone! Several people are already dead!”