Chapter Text
It’s been raining off and on for the past three days, never relenting enough to give you a chance to dry off completely. Despite the fact that winter is still a couple months away, you’re cold to the bone and shivering. Sometimes a coughing fit overtakes you, causing your throat to ache. The cough only serves to make the old injury worse; the one that crushed your throat, leaving behind a rough scar around your neck and taking away your ability to speak.
You pause to lean against a nearby fence when you feel your legs begin to shake. A welcome bit of rest that doesn’t last long as an older man comes hurrying over to shoo you away.
“Go, go! No beggars are welcome here,” he says, face angry.
Shaking your head, you try to let him know you’re not here to beg – at least not at the moment - without words. You would leave but it feels like you’re on the verge of collapse and the fence post is the only thing keeping you upright. With a gesture to your throat, you shake your head again, as he grabs your arm and begins dragging you away. Normally you would fight back, kick and scratch. That’s beyond you right now. You stumble, head light.
“Didn’t you hear me? Get out of here, girl!”
The man shoves you.
You squeeze your eyes shut, preparing to hit the ground, but that impact never comes. Hands catch you on either side of your shoulders, gentle and steadying.
“Are you alright, guniang?”
You look up. The man who is holding you up is dressed in white robes, with thick white bandages covering his eyes. Despite only part of his face being visible, you can tell he’s handsome in a delicate way. Concern is present in how his eyebrows contract but there’s a tight smile on his face. A funny feeling wells up in your chest. It must be the sickness. You nod even though you know he can’t see it.
“Sir, the girl is a beggar and trouble.”
The man in white keeps his hold on you, supporting you even as your legs are beginning to give out.
“Even so, that’s no reason to treat her harshly.”
“Daozhang—”
Words are being said, an argument, at least on the part of the man who had been shooing you away but none of them are registering anymore. It sounds like the voices are coming from under water, one gentle but stern, the other rough and angry. All you see is blurry white and then nothing as the fever finally overtakes you and your legs give out.
The first thing you notice when you wake up is that you’re warm and dry. When you lift your arm, you can see your clothes are the same, still slightly dirty but no longer soaked with rain. A fire is nearby – you can feel the heat, see the soft glow – and there is straw under you instead of dirt. Everything besides your robes is unfamiliar. You begin to sit and your head starts to swim and just barely manage to sit upright.
“Easy. You’ve been unconscious for two days,” a voice tells you.
It’s the blind man in white. He sits across from you but moves when he hears you struggle to sit. You watch as he feels the ground before kneeling. He reaches his hand out to touch your forehead, checking if the fever has gone down. Keeping still, you allow him to do so. His touch is soft and hesitant, the latter you assume because of the lack of sight.
“How are you feeling?” he asks and waits for an answer that doesn’t come.
You have no idea how to communicate with someone who can’t see you. Normally, you could gesture to your mouth and throat and people would understand. That’s not possible here. You frown. He tilts his head to the side, as if listening.
“Guniang, are you okay?”
You nod your head as vigorously as possible without giving yourself a headache, not yet willing to reach out and touch him.
He seems to consider something.
“When I was treating your sickness, I noticed scarring on your throat.” Once again, he reaches out and this time places his hand on top of your head. His white sleeve is in your face and you frown. “Can you speak?”
Understanding lights up your face and you manage a smile. You shake your head slowly, so he can feel the motion.
“Ah.” He keeps his hand on your head. “I’m sure we’ll manage. Are you feeling better?”
You nod.
“That’s good, I’m glad.”
You stay still, watching him. His face is thoughtful.
“I’m sure you want to know where you are, yes?”
Another nod, this time in agreement as you glance around your surroundings without moving your head. It seems to be an open-front barn, more of a lean-to than anything.
“A near-by farm. The family has allowed us to stay in the barn. You passed out on the road where I met you. I brought you here to treat your fever.”
You don’t move. You wish you could thank him.
“Would you like some water?” he asks, trying to find something he can do. You sympathize; you’ve never felt helpless before because of your lack of speech but now you do.
Your nod is slight.
He finally pulls his hand away from your head and carefully ladles water from the bucket into a small clay cup. When he hands it to you, his fingers brush against yours, making sure you have a hold of it before he lets go. The water is cool on your throat and you sigh.
“You should rest. You’re fever still hasn’t broken.”
The way your body aches and you struggle to focus tells you he’s right. You frown a little before reaching out and taking his hand, squeezing lightly in answer before you place the cup in his hand, watching his face go from confusion to understanding. With a smile, he pulls the thin blanket up as you lay back.
“I’ll keep watch,” he says, settling back.
For awhile, you merely lie there, watching him. His face is serene, an unseeing sentinel. You wonder why he helped you, why he continues to do so. You have so many questions to ask and no way to ask them. Eventually, your eyes become heavy and you close them, the man in white the last thing you see before you drift off to sleep.
When you wake up in the morning, the man is gone and you feel… disappointment. You’re used to being alone, used to people leaving but he didn’t seem like the type to leave someone without saying a word. You stand, legs shaking slightly, and stumble out of the small barn. The man sits with a basket, mending it. Occasionally, his hand feels for a piece of straw to use to weave. For a moment, you stand there in surprise before shuffling over, making sure to drag your feet. He looks up with a smile.
“You’re awake.”
Not knowing how to respond, you rap your knuckles against the wall of the barn one time as you move to sit next to him.
“Does once mean yes?” he asks.
You knock once more. His smile grows as he presses the back of his hand to your forehead.
“Are you feeling better? You slept for a whole day and night since last time you woke.”
That is surprising. Frowning slightly, you knock and pass him another piece of material to use to mend the basket.
“Good.” He pauses, mouth turning downward slightly. “I don’t know what to call you.”
He’s right, you realize, and you don’t know how to tell him. Before, you’ve always gotten by with writing or gestures but he can’t see to read. You sit in silence until he finishes the basket, setting it to the side with a sigh.
“I hope you won’t mind if I call you guniang for now.”
You knock on the barn wall, this time twice, one after the other. He tilts his head.
“Twice for no,” he guesses. “Does that mean you don’t mind?”
You knock once though the truth is you do mind, a little. It feels so formal; no one’s ever spoken to you so respectfully before. He smiles, nodding.
“I do fear we might be over staying our welcome here,” he says. “I plan on leaving today, now that it seems your fever has broken.”
That feeling of disappointment, the sinking in your stomach, creeps back up on you and you try to shake it away. The man puts a hand gently on your knee.
“Do you have a place to go? I can escort you there.”
The curve of his mouth and lift of his eyebrows is earnest. It would be easier to lie, to tell him yes, and go about your existence, lonely as it might be. But this man spent days caring for you while you were sick and you don’t even know his name. You knock twice.
“I see,” he says, that soft smile still on his face. “If that’s so, you can travel with me, for a little bit. Would that be alright?”
You hesitate but knock against the wood once. Just until you learn his name, you think. Just until then and you’ll leave. His hand is light as it pats your knee.
“If that’s what you want, I’m happy to oblige.”
You return his smile, unseen, and wonder if that is what you want.
Walking is more difficult than expected at first, your legs like jelly after having spent so long lying down. You’re not used to that. Nor are you used to having someone to travel with. The man in white is taller than you expected – your head barely passes his shoulder – and he’s thin, reminding you of bamboo with the light way he steps. He notices your trouble though you’re not sure how and quietly slips his arm around yours, steadying you. It feels strange but pleasant and a lump forms in your chest, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Let me know if you need to stop, alright?”
You look up at him, silent, and see his mouth pull into a frown. After a moment, he places a hand on your head and you nod.
“Good.” A beat. “Guniang, don’t be afraid to remind me of things like that. I’m used to my lack of sight, now, but I’ve never known anyone who couldn’t speak.”
You nod again and he withdraws his hand.
For the most part, the two of you walk in silence. Occasionally, he comments on something – an unusual bird call, the scent of smoke drifting across the road – and you tap his arm in acknowledgement. Sometimes, it seems he wants to say more. His mouth parts slightly but in those moments, he always stays silent instead and you find yourself regretting you can’t ask what it was he wanted to say.
The sun is low in the sky and your steps have slowed when the man comes to a stop.
“We should stop for the day,” he says. “I noticed you’re getting tired.”
You squeeze his arm, partially in answer, mostly to thank him. He smiles.
“Could you find us a place to camp for the night?”
Slipping your hand around his wrist, you begin to lead him as you look for a good spot. You’ve slept outside for most of your life, you know what to look for, but for some reason that’s not where your mind is. It’s never been easy for you to touch people, you normally shy away from it, but it’s easier with him. Thankfully, that thought is brief, not coming to its conclusion. You spy a clearing ahead and lead him to it.
“You sit and get some rest. I’ll collect some firewood,” he says and starts to walk away but you’re still holding his wrist. At first, he looks surprised but then he smiles, shaking his head. Your chest tightens. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this enough. Please sit. You can clear a spot for the fire, does that seem fair?”
He touches your head, waiting for an answer, and you make him wait for a moment out of spite before nodding your head.
By the time he returns, you have a spot cleared, lined with stones. A few times you want to intervene as he lights the fire, afraid his sleeves would get in the way but it’s obvious he has done this many times before. Once the fire is going, he sits near you. Not right next to you but within an arms length.
“I’ll stay here for the night,” he says, as if he had been planning on doing otherwise. “There’s a town ahead. Tomorrow we can get food and you can decide what you’d like to do. If there’s a place I can take you…”
He trails off, a flicker of sadness crossing his face. You move closer, almost reaching out to touch his hand but stop.
“Or you can stay with me for a little while longer, if you’d like.” The offer is hesitant, the way he reaches out to touch your head even more so.
You nod and feel the resolve to leave once you learn his name begin to slip. This is trouble, you think, watching the way his soft smile spreads across his face, and do nothing about it.