Picked Up a Sickly Little Husband - Chapter 1

Xie Ling was foraging for medicinal herbs in the mountains, his medicine basket slung over his back.

Without realizing it, he had already been in this otherworldly realm for three months.

Before his transmigration, he had been a traditional Chinese medicine practitioner. He was killed when a patient, who had come to cause a scene at his clinic, mistook him for someone else and struck him with a stool. When he woke up, he found himself in the body of a man who was nearly deaf. Fortunately, his medical skills remained intact, allowing him to make a living in this new world.

He had gone up the mountain today to find herbs to treat his own hearing impairment.

A mountain breeze rustled the branches overhead, scattering golden osmanthus blossoms like stardust. Xie Ling followed the trail of falling flowers and spotted a faint, half-hidden figure lying in the grass.

Guided by the physician’s creed to save lives and heal the sick, Xie Ling approached and gently turned the man over to check his breathing.

A faint current of air—he was alive.

Xie Ling retrieved some common qi-replenishing herbs from his basket and fed them to the man to keep him stable, then felt for his pulse.

The pulse was sluggish and blocked, the blood flow stagnant. Xie Ling sighed with regret. “What a waste. He’ll likely be a vegetable for the rest of his life.”

The man had a fatal wound on his chest, and his red robes were soaked in blood. Xie Ling used a piece of fabric from his own clothing to wrap the wound.

Resignedly, he took the medicine basket from his back and carried it in his hand, then hoisted the injured man onto his shoulders. The man looked lean, but Xie Ling hadn’t expected him to be so heavy. He could even feel the faint lines of the man’s waist and abdomen.

Xie Ling’s hearing was poor. After three months in the deep mountains, he had finally come across another person. He spoke to himself, not even expecting an answer: “What’s your name? So I know what to call you later.”

The unconscious man on his back seemed to be reacting to the Qi-replenishing medicine, or perhaps to Xie Ling’s question. His eyelashes fluttered slightly, but he didn’t speak.

[Shen Ziqiu.]

The voice was exceptionally clear. Xie Ling hadn’t heard such a clear voice in three months. He asked, “Are you awake?”

But he found the man was still unconscious, his head lolling against Xie Ling’s neck. Perhaps because he had been under the osmanthus tree for so long, his entire body was steeped in its scent. The faint fragrance of osmanthus was so close to Xie Ling’s face.

Xie Ling seemed to realize something: he could hear the thoughts of the man on his back.

The deep mountains were colder than the outside world, and a light rain began to fall. The misty rain dampened the delicate osmanthus petals, much like the man on his back, who carried a certain fragile beauty.

Xie Ling quickened his pace, sticking to the shade of the trees to keep the man on his back from getting wet and catching a chill. Pretending not to have heard the other’s inner thoughts and not caring if the man could hear him, he said, “If you won’t tell me your name, I’ll give you one. I found you in autumn, so how about A’qiu? My name is Xie Ling—the Ling from towering mountains. One of us is deaf, the other in a vegetative state…”

Xie Ling suddenly realized that Shen Ziqiu wouldn’t understand the concept of a “vegetative state” and switched to an ancient term: “A deaf man and a catatonic. We’re both crossing our own towering mountains. But as they say, ‘When mountains and rivers seem to block all paths, a new village appears behind the willows and flowers.’ You met me, and I met you. We’ve each found our own new village.”

Finding someone whose thoughts he could hear—for Xie Ling, who had been alone for three months, it was indeed a new village.

Shen Ziqiu only remembered the man calling him his “new village” before losing consciousness and fainting on that broad, reassuring back.

After a long journey, Xie Ling finally reached home and settled Shen Ziqiu onto the small wooden board bed.

When he had first transmigrated into this world, Xie Ling had lain on this same dilapidated wooden board, waiting for death. The original owner of this body had been covered in wounds, seemingly having fallen into some pit and barely managed to crawl back. But he had lost all strength, unable to muster the last bit of spirit to keep going. He lived alone in the deep mountains, with no friends or family to visit him.

When Xie Ling woke, a spider had already spun a web across his face. It crawled down the contours of his features, a silent witness to his near-death, unknown to any living soul.

Over the past three months, he had ventured out of the mountains, but only to sell herbs in the surrounding villages and gather information. Through this, he had gradually pieced together the nature of the era he now inhabited.

He was in the Ling Dynasty, a dynasty that had never appeared in any history book. Furthermore, this world contained not only men and women but also a third gender known as ge’er. Ge’er could bear children, and they were distinguished by a red cinnabar mark between their brows; the deeper the color, the more fertile they were.

Xie Ling had just finished wiping the dust from the face of the person lying on the wooden bed. The man’s skin was as fair and smooth as jade, his features so refined and clear that he seemed like the bright moon in the sky, utterly out of place in this dilapidated shack. He looked more like a pristine mirror resting on a sandalwood stand, so pure and untainted that even a speck of mud would be a desecration.

Though the red mark between his brows was faint, it still confirmed Shen Ziqiu’s identity as a ge’er.

Xie Ling had initially intended to strip the man’s clothes to apply medicine and change him into fresh garments. But now that he knew the man was a ge’er, he hesitated. Would it be improper for a man and a ge’er to touch so intimately? After all, ge’er were as prized for their chastity as women and were forbidden from being too close to men in their daily lives.

While Xie Ling hesitated, the Ge’er he had rescued flushed even deeper, the red mole on his forehead fading as his body trembled uncontrollably.

Xie Ling touched his forehead, it was scorching.

He’s running a high fever…

No longer hesitating, Xie Ling dipped a handkerchief into the warm water, wrung it out, and apologized, “Forgive me. I don’t mean to be improper. A physician sees no gender—only a patient. I just want to help you sweat out the fever.”

He lifted the thin blanket from Shen Ziqiu and loosened his robes.

Xie Ling’s eyes widened in surprise. The man’s skin was exquisite, pale and smooth as jade—yet that jade was covered in cracks, a countless array of old and new wounds. When he unwound the blood-soaked bandages from the man’s chest, the full extent of the damage was revealed: torn flesh and deep gashes, like arrow wounds.

The arrows had already been removed, a detail that made Xie Ling hold the man in higher regard.

What could this person have gone through? And why was he in the deep mountains?

I feel like I’ve just picked up a lot of trouble…

Xie Ling considered abandoning him. He wanted to save people, but Shen Ziqiu seemed like someone he shouldn’t be the one to rescue. Just as he was about to pull the robes back over the man and send him to the county yamen, his fingertips accidentally brushed against Shen Ziqiu’s waist.

[Doctor Xie, I’m so cold.]

Only then did Xie Ling realize that inner voices could also convey tone. Shen Ziqiu’s voice carried an unconscious vulnerability, like osmanthus blossoms drifting on the wind, even when far away, they left a lingering fragrance. This subtle, pervasive scent was impossible to ignore, and it made Xie Ling’s hand pause as he was about to cover the man with clothes.

As he had always said, a doctor sees no distinction between men and women. Yet, the frail Shen Ziqiu seemed exceptionally beautiful, and for the first time, Xie Ling truly took in his patient’s features.

I truly owe you.

Xie Ling reapplied the medicine, then used a warm, damp cloth to wipe the sweat from Shen Ziqiu’s entire body. Afterward, he used his calloused fingers to apply precise pressure to the Dazhui, Shixuan, and Quchi acupoints.

Only after a long time did Shen Ziqiu’s fever finally begin to subside.

Xie Ling breathed a slight sigh of relief. A high fever caused by infection and blood loss could be fatal if not controlled—Shen Ziqiu might not have survived the night. With no ready supply of medicinal herbs, Xie Ling had been forced to rely on basic physical cooling and acupressure to reduce the fever.

The Ge’er of the Ling Dynasty were known for their fragility, and Shen Ziqiu, with his dim birthmark, was considered a “low-quality” Ge’er. Yet his constitution proved far stronger than Xie Ling had imagined, allowing him to endure the ordeal through basic cooling methods alone.

The next morning, at the first light of dawn, Xie Ling shook his still-dizzy head and rose to check Shen Ziqiu’s temperature.

The wooden bed was too small, and Xie Ling feared he might roll over and crush Shen Ziqiu in his sleep. So, he had spent the night huddled on the floor beside the bed, wrapped in a few handfuls of straw.

Shen Ziqiu’s forehead had returned to a normal temperature. His damp hair clung to his pale face, having been smoothed down by the night’s sweat.

Xie Ling pushed open the door and stepped into the courtyard. He scooped up a ladle of cool water and splashed it decisively over his face. He still needed to go into the village later to gather ingredients for the internal and external medicines Shen Ziqiu would need.

The cold water forced him awake. Xie Ling entered the small kitchen and skillfully lit the firewood.

He poured clean water into the pot and brought it to a boil. Then, he used a bamboo tube to scoop a measure of rice from the jar. The bottom of the jar was now visible, revealing its rough, gray surface. Soon, the rice was boiling over, bubbling up in a frothy foam. Xie Ling ladled the rice water into a bowl and brought it to the wooden bed.

Shen Ziqiu’s eyes remained tightly shut. Xie Ling helped him sit up, but with no headboard to lean against, Shen Ziqiu had to rest against Xie Ling’s own body. He blew on the rice water to cool it and tried to feed it to Shen Ziqiu, but the other man wouldn’t open his mouth.

Xie Ling grew anxious. If Shen Ziqiu couldn’t swallow, he couldn’t force-feed him. Any slip-up, and the rice porridge would enter his airway, causing him to choke and suffocate.

He adopted a coaxing tone. “Just take a sip. When we get to the village, I’ll buy you some osmanthus candy.”

[Liar.]

Xie Ling hadn’t expected Shen Ziqiu to be awake, not asleep. He let out a dry laugh. How could this man prefer to starve rather than give up his stubbornness? He laid Shen Ziqiu flat on the wooden board bed.

He rummaged through the room’s wooden cabinet and found a piece of osmanthus candy. It had partially melted, sticking to its wrapper. This was left by the original owner; food was scarce, and since it was candy, Xie Ling himself had never brought himself to eat it. Now, he propped Shen Ziqiu up again and stuffed the last piece of osmanthus candy into his mouth.

Shen Ziqiu’s lips remained tightly closed. Xie Ling tried to push it in. Sensing the sweet fragrance of the osmanthus candy, Shen Ziqiu knew Xie Ling wasn’t lying. He finally parted his lips, and as if unwilling to let a single drop go, he even licked the melted syrup from Xie Ling’s fingertips.

Hot and soft.

Xie Ling abruptly withdrew his finger, his gaze darkening. He couldn’t understand why he was so unsettled by the other man’s actions.

Even in the modern era, he had dealt with patients who tried to pursue him. He would always reject them outright, completely extinguishing any hope. A former colleague had once teased him, saying that if Doctor Xie tried to identify people by their faces, he’d be lucky to recognize a single patient. But if he were to diagnose them by pulse alone, he’d be right every single time. Sigh… Doctor Xie finding a partner would be harder than climbing to heaven.

Xie Ling’s heart held no room for romance, only for medicine. Thus, he had never been in a relationship, even at twenty-eight.

Xie Ling had always been calm and composed. He couldn’t figure out what was so special about this sickly Ge’er, yet he couldn’t deny that the man seemed extraordinary. He couldn’t name the feeling in his heart, only that his thoughts of Shen Ziqiu churned over and over, grinding against his own heart.

This, it seemed, was what people called love at first sight.

*****

Note:

Ge’er- are men who can get pregnant and are usually given some sort of birthmark that shows their fertility

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