The days passed like this, one after another. Through Xiao Yan and Xiao Yi's peculiar partnership, life in the Old Courtyard gradually settled into a strange sort of rhythm. The cold lingered, but the children inside the house had a little more warmth, and the pain on their faces had visibly eased.
Xiao Yi hung a sign reading "Cures every ailment" on the Bicycle and pedaled through Wutan City's streets and alleys every day. Whenever he encountered a passerby with a troubled face, he would sidle up, count on his fingers with an air of mysterious wisdom, then launch into a spiel halfway between classical and everyday speech, sprinkled with modern psychological terminology and local customs, leaving his listener utterly dazzled.
Sometimes, he would take powders with assorted scents or brightly colored liquids from the little medicine chest he carried, claiming they were secret ancestral remedies that could "regulate the flow of energy and dispel pent-up distress." These so-called medicines were really just mixtures of common herbs, spices, and even colored ore powder, with no real medicinal effect. Yet, paired with his mystical theatrics and perfectly timed psychological suggestions, they actually made some wealthy wives and idle gentlemen, whose troubles amounted to mild melancholy or unfounded suspicions, feel that "the medicine had arrived and the illness had vanished." They readily handed over substantial "consultation fees."
Once, he met an elderly woman who spent her days washing her face with tears as she mourned her late husband. Though her household was wealthy, no one could untie the knot in her heart. After observing her for several days, Xiao Yi did not offer direct consolation. Instead, he solemnly told her that her husband's soul lingered out of attachment to worldly riches and refused to depart, disturbing her peace of mind. He instructed