The old Qiang man did not answer. He merely shook his head, picked up the copper pipe beside the stove, and pinched a little tobacco from the leather pouch at his waist. He slowly packed it into the bowl, then lifted a glowing coal with the fire tongs to light it.
He took a deep drag. Bluish-white smoke drifted slowly from his nostrils, curling upward in the dim yellow lamplight.
"The tribe's Shibi came to see him again."
His voice was hoarse, carrying the detachment of someone long accustomed to life and death. "This lad's breastbone is shattered, and his head took a heavy blow. I'm afraid it'll be hard to save him."
He took another drag and sighed. "What a pity."
Mu Shu's brows knotted tightly.
She crouched down and kneaded the old Qiang man's shoulders, her pressure neither too light nor too heavy, clearly a practiced routine. Her gaze rested on the pale face on the heated bed, and a coaxing note entered her voice. "Father, we can't just expect him to tough it out... do we still have any snow lotus and red ginseng in that box? Let's give him some and see?"
The old Qiang man choked on his smoke, coughed twice, and gave his daughter a sidelong look.
His clouded old eyes held a worldly shrewdness and a teasing gleam. "Ah, my Shu. Once the eagle you've raised grows strong wings, off it flies beyond the mountains."
He pointed a rough hand at the young man on the bed. A sigh colored by his Qiang accent rumbled from his throat as he chuckled. "This Han lad hasn't even woken up, and you're already itching to empty our coffers for him? A daughter's heart really does turn outward."
Two patches of red rose on Mu Shu's