Someone had advised Lu Sheng to hire an assistant, but he smiled and politely declined.
Every day, he insisted on opening early, when the sky had only just begun to lighten, and kept the clinic open until night fell.
When there were few patients, he would take out a pinwheel and blow on it, the wrinkles on his face slowly smoothing out with his smile.
He had thought life would continue like this forever. But then, one day, he heard rumors that the Zhong Family had been struck by a plague.
The plague was vicious. It was said to have first spread from the place where Zhong Quan worked. Some members of the Zhong Family had died, while others had fled. Even the old lady had vanished without a trace.
Lu Sheng hurriedly spent money to hire someone with an ox cart to take him there, but by the time he arrived, the Zhong Family home was already empty. Not a single person remained.
With no other choice, he returned to the clinic and asked everywhere for news of the Zhong Family, but he never received another scrap of information.
Until a year later, on his way back from the market with vegetables, he saw Xu Zijun sitting against the stone steps by the roadside.
She wore a tattered cotton-padded jacket. Her body was filthy, and thick grime covered her hair, face, and hands.
Her complexion was terrible too, an unhealthy waxy yellow mixed with pallor.
"Uncle."
Xu Zijun looked up and saw Lu Sheng as well.
"What are you doing here?" Lu Sheng threw down the vegetables and quickly spent a considerable sum to hire people to carry her back to the clinic.
Xu Zijun's body was already severely swollen. No one knew how long she had been ill.