The Sickly Girl and the Border Town Fool - Chapter 1

The border town was dry year-round, but on the day my parents left, rain poured from the sky.

I stood beneath the eaves, clutching the ten taels of silver Mother had left me, and watched their carriage disappear into the distance.

Cold rain blew against me. I broke into a fit of coughing.

By noon, hunger drove me to West Street beneath a broken umbrella.

The people hurrying past were a blur. Only the rain seemed sharply real.

I bought a bowl of mutton soup and two vegetable buns, then sat beneath an awning and ate slowly to the sound of the downpour.

Before long, someone else arrived.

He sat down and ordered buns too.

With every bite, he spat up blood. By the time he had done this several times, his face had gone blue.

I regarded him seriously. “Would you mind eating somewhere else? It’s rather disgusting.”

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “If it disgusts you, you move. What gives you the right to chase me off?”

“Please indulge me. I’m going to die today.”

He rolled his eyes and gave a mirthless laugh. “You indulge me. I’m dying today too.”

I stared at him. “What a coincidence.”

After counting the silver in my purse, I made him a proposal. “Why don’t we pool our money, buy a fine coffin, and get buried together? At least mosquitoes won’t bite us underground.”

He looked me up and down. “The sickly Wang girl. What happened? Your parents abandon you?”

I smiled faintly. “The Zhao family’s resident fool. What happened? Your fiancée run off with someone else?”

He shot to his feet and smashed the table with one fist. “Damn it! Are you trying to die by my hand so you can extort money from me?”

I immediately turned to the proprietress. “Auntie Sun, he broke your table.”

Auntie Sun seized her rolling pin and planted a hand on her hip. “You two debt-collecting devils that even the King of Hell won’t take—get out!”

She looked at my thin, bloodless face, then at the other nuisance with blood all over his mouth.

Her anger gave way to despair. “I’m begging you. Go see a doctor!”

Zhao Heng and I did not see a doctor.

We went through the rain to Mount Ling, where the townspeople buried their dead.

Zhao Heng dug two pits, one for each of us. We lay down side by side.

As rainwater pooled around me, I murmured, “Heaven preserve me, let me die first. Rolling over to find you wearing a death grimace would be terrifying.”

Zhao Heng tossed and turned, stubbornly failing to die.

At last he sat up, raked a hand through his tangled hair, and roared, “I don’t understand! We grew up together. How could she choose some pale-faced bookworm?”

I could not be bothered to answer.

There was nothing new under the sun.

Every story had a supporting man who gave everything to his childhood sweetheart and threatened to live or die for her. Zhao Heng was hardly original.

Orphaned young, he had lived with his aunt, slept in a dog kennel, and eaten leftovers.

The little girl next door took pity on him and secretly brought him food. Zhao Heng vowed to make something of himself, build a future, and marry her.

He began traveling beyond the pass with merchant caravans while still a child. Every coin he saved went to his little sweetheart, turning her into a pampered beauty dressed in silk and gold.

Then he escaped a bandit stronghold with wounds all over his body, only to learn that she had gone to the capital to marry the top scholar.

All Zhao Heng received was one sentence: “You are wonderful in every way, but I have only ever thought of you as an older brother.”

The rain fell harder, and my body grew colder.

Zhao Heng’s lost voice drifted over. “All I wanted was to marry and have a home. Why is that so difficult?”

He still had the strength for heartbreak. Supporting men truly were hard to kill.

“I’m dying,” I said weakly. “Remember to cover me with dirt. Thank you.”

He had dug the grave for me, after all. I did not forget a kindness.

As my mind faded, I managed one last sentence. “She’ll come back for you. When she does, whatever you do, don’t…”