At the foot of the mountain, Hu Xiaocao and her mother were carrying out their usual worship ceremony, while the woman wiped down the shrine.
By then, she was so thin that she was little more than skin and bones, as though a gust of wind might carry her away. Her face was deathly pale as well.
A year had passed without the woman's condition improving. Instead, it seemed to be growing worse by the day. Even so, she continued to support herself with her ailing body.
Hu Xiaocao's family was poor. Kind villagers had helped them before, even pooling their money to send the woman to the town for treatment. Yet the result was that the illness had been dragged out too long and had already worsened.
To cure it, she would have to go to a major city. The medical expenses were an astronomical figure to them, to say nothing of the treatment that would follow.
The villagers' help was an expression of goodwill; they could not take advantage of it. Besides, they likely would never be able to repay the money already collected for her treatment in this lifetime.
If they continued treatment, it would simply become a bottomless pit.
The woman had made her decision on the spot and said she would not continue treatment. She only took some medicine home. Although it could not make her fully recover, at least it could keep the illness in check.
"Cough, cough, cough—"
A gust of wind swept past, and a heart-rending fit of coughing burst from the woman's throat.
Hu Xiaocao hurriedly rose to her feet and said nervously, "Mom, are you all right? I told you to stay home and not come. I can do this by myself."
A year had passed. Hu Xiaocao had not