The riders paused for a moment, then continued in a clear, carrying voice, 'Even if they have colds, fevers, or other illnesses, it does not matter. We will cure them all.'
Hearing this, the refugees with children immediately grew agitated. They crowded forward to ask questions, and then some people in the camp who looked like physicians tested them by feeling their bones and asking for their Birth Date and Time.
'Selling oneself...'
Although An Jing's Innate Constitution was unusual and made him appear somewhat tall, he was indeed just over eleven, and he met that requirement.
As he listened to the riders and watched the refugee queues already forming with their children, he unconsciously clenched his fists. 'A cure...'
'My lord, my daughter has frostbite...'
At that moment, he saw a father and daughter arrive before the camp. The father knelt in the snow, holding his daughter in his arms, and begged the leader and the physicians, 'She really cannot die. Please, have mercy...'
The girl's fingers and arms were swollen and purple from frostbite, and she seemed muddled. In An Jing's eyes, she did not have long to live; it would not be strange if she stopped breathing within the hour.
The physicians, however, did not seem concerned. They stepped forward, grabbed the girl's hand, rolled up her sleeve, and felt and observed the bones. The girl cried out softly in pain. Then they asked the father for her Birth Date and Time.
'Mm.' After confirming it, the physician turned and whispered a few words to the leader and the gentleman dressed as a scholar standing nearby. Both of them looked satisfied.
'Treat her, so he can see,' the leader said calmly. The physician then took out medicine pills from the chest behind him and gave them to the girl with water. He then applied a reddish-purple oily ointment to the places where her frostbite had formed.
That instant made the girl scream involuntarily, as if she were being burned by fire.
But soon, her originally dull eyes recovered. She stared blankly at her hand, now covered in ointment, then turned her head in disbelief toward her father. 'Papa, my hand—my hand has feeling again!'
'My daughter!' The father was not a man of many words. He knelt and embraced his daughter, weeping with her, then thumped his forehead against the ground several times toward the riders and physicians.
'That is enough. Step back.' The leader was in a good mood as well. He waved the two away and continued to the next person.
Many people in the refugee camp knew of the father and daughter. They knew the girl was unlikely to survive. Seeing these riders actually willing to use medicine to save people, and with such miraculous effect, the crowd was completely stirred up.
They were now fully convinced that these people were household retainers of a great household, and that the master was benevolent and compassionate.
But An Jing, standing in the surging crowd, raised his brows and swept his gaze across the entire camp.
He saw many suspicious points.
First, the riders' movements were too practiced. Clearly, they had undergone extremely harsh training. The leader was highly skilled, and he maintained a combat state at all times, ready to draw his waist saber and strike. His single eye, like a tiger's, swept across the refugee camp without ever relaxing his vigilance.
Second, the scholar behind the leader was even more unfathomable. An Jing's mother, née Shen, had also acquired some martial skill; she had reached the realm of 'Inner Breath Like Silk' and could be considered a true inner-breath martial artist, no longer merely a village fighter.
An Jing could judge his mother's strength, but he could not discern the scholar's at all.
This meant that the other party either possessed Arts and Merit, or had already reached the realm of 'Inner Breath Like Tide'!
With such training and such strength, if they truly were household retainers of a great household, they must be from a noble clan—but why did they not announce their family name?
'There is something strange... but they really do have medicine.'
An Jing murmured inwardly. Seeing that even the frostbitten girl he had judged to be near death had been cured, he fully believed this group possessed medicine sufficient to cure his mother.
This did not seem like human traffickers after all.
Human traffickers only needed children because only children had resale value. Essentially, they needed money, so they rarely accepted sick children, let alone treated them.
These people, on the contrary, seemed to truly need the children themselves, which was why they were willing to spend money to cure them.
'Is this the Great Chen government cultivating Deathsworn, or some hidden sect? Checking Innate Constitution and asking for Birth Date and Time—this is far too detailed.'
An Jing frowned slightly. If they were a normal noble household, he would not mind selling himself into slavery in exchange for medicine for his mother. Even if they abused their servants or killed them arbitrarily, he would not care; ordinary great households could not stop him from escaping.
Even if they were human traffickers, he was confident he could bargain with a tiger for its skin and find a chance to slip from their grasp.
But faced with such mysterious individuals whose origins he could not see through and whose background was so enormous... he found it difficult to make up his mind. Who knew what they were—some Southern Frontier evil sect, the Tianyi Demon Sect, or even demons and monsters from the deep mountains and old forests?
—Forget it.
Setting aside his instinctive doubts, An Jing shook his head slightly.
No matter what, what these people were doing were good deeds that allowed people to live. He now had no other choice.
An Jing closed his eyes. He thought of his mother, whose condition worsened day by day and who was already near death.
If he sold himself, at most he would die, and he would most likely live. If his mother received no medicine or treatment, she would certainly die.
There was nothing to hesitate about. Opening his eyes, An Jing stepped forward and walked toward the riders' camp.
By now, quite a few children and families had decided to sell their lives.
Selling their children was a path to survival for both parents and children. Especially since this group of riders was generous, and their distribution of medicine and grain was truly substantial. Throughout the refugee camp, anyone with children rushed to participate.
In a short time, more than twenty children had been gathered. After the parents received grain on one side, they stood aside and gazed at their children from afar, their expressions utterly complex.
Only An Jing came alone, treading through the snow.
'Hmm?'
At that moment, the White-Robed Scholar beside the One-Eyed Leader sensed something. He turned his head and looked toward An Jing's direction.
His gaze was initially careless, but it quickly focused, burning with intensity.
Influenced by him, the One-Eyed Leader, who had also not been paying attention in that direction, turned his head and saw An Jing.
Then, his single eye brightened.
An Jing was still young. His height was not even seven chi, and his build was lean. At first glance, he looked like the most ordinary refugee child—at most a little taller than usual, not particularly remarkable among the people of the Northern Frontier.
But both the leader and the scholar were martial artists. They could see that this youth had solid bones and abundant blood qi. Though he appeared to be skin and bones on the outside, that was only the surface.
'You want to sell yourself?'
Turning his warhorse around, the One-Eyed Leader looked at An Jing with interest. 'If it is you, I can make the decision to give your family two dou of polished rice!'
'My lord.'
An Jing lifted his head and gazed at the formation before him, whose demeanor was stern and whose bodies carried a killing aura.
He met the eyes of the leading rider, who had already begun to smile, cupped his hands in salute, and spoke without fear, neither humble nor arrogant. 'I am willing to sell myself, but not for my own sake. I seek medicine for my mother.'
'My father was a juren, and my family has a martial canon inheritance. We are by no means an ordinary martial household. I am also healthy, without illness or pain. Life on this ice field is harsh, but I do not need to sell my life.'
'It is only that my mother's lung meridian is wounded, and she urgently needs lung medicine for treatment.'
'Dare I ask, my lord, whether you could bestow one dose of medicine?'
'I am worth this price.'
Hearing this, the leader rider's smile faded. He narrowed his single eye, looked An Jing up and down, then suddenly urged his horse forward. The beast bounded ahead and landed beside An Jing.
The enormous northwestern warhorse was like a chariot of flesh and blood. Even a light leap and landing made the ground tremble slightly. Even when one clearly knew one would not be struck, when such a beast charged toward him, ordinary people could not help but dodge.
Yet An Jing maintained the same salute. His eyelids did not even twitch, and his expression did not change in the slightest.
'Good.'
The One-Eyed Leader shouted, 'Train your martial arts without training your courage, and when the moment comes, you are done. You said you had trained in martial arts; I did not believe you at first. Now I do.'
He smiled with satisfaction. 'You are indeed special, but whether you are truly worth this price...'
The One-Eyed Leader exchanged a glance with the White-Robed Scholar. The scholar remarked teasingly, 'He is about the same as you were back then,' and then his figure vanished.
An Jing's pupils contracted slightly—he could not see the White-Robed Scholar's movements at all!
The One-Eyed Leader also dismounted.
His body was tall and towering, like an iron tower. His blood qi was so abundant that the flying snow falling on him melted instantly, and his footsteps were heavy.
If one did not know he was human, judging merely by his footsteps, he was almost like a wild ox of the plateau pacing about.
His killing aura and bloody stench were so heavy that they surpassed even those of the bandit chiefs who had raided the wilderness for years. He looked at An Jing, studied him carefully for a moment, then smiled with satisfaction. 'Though thin, your foundation is truly not bad. No wonder you have such confidence...'
Before he finished speaking, he reached out and grabbed An Jing's arm, pressing forcefully to verify flesh, blood, and bone.
'Good bones!' he praised. The One-Eyed Leader even felt as if he were kneading a piece of refined iron or ice frozen solid for a thousand years. 'Solid bones and firm marrow, well proportioned—good, good. I would not find such bones for decades...'
During this process, apart from pain, An Jing felt an invisible force surge through his body along with the man's hand and press against the major acupoints all over his body, bringing sensations of soreness, numbness, pain, and itching.
He kept his expression blank and endured silently, pondering.
This was no ordinary method. It was the technique of a martial artist whose inner breath could pass through the body—Inner Breath Like River!
With such surging inner breath, no matter how he thought about it, the other man had to be at the level of Inner Breath Like Tide!
Just then, the White-Robed Scholar reappeared. He nodded slightly to the One-Eyed Leader, and the tall man withdrew his hand, gave An Jing a deep look, and mounted his horse.
'You truly are worth it,' he said to An Jing from horseback. 'This is yours.'
At that moment, on the other side, under the White-Robed Scholar's and the physician's arrangement, various medicinal herbs and grain were piled into a large chest. Then two people carried it to An Jing's side.
'These medicinal herbs and grain are enough to cure all of your mother's injuries and deficiencies, and to let you eat your fill.'
The One-Eyed Leader said, 'Lift it, and give it to your mother.'
'Then come back.'
He said nothing more. Whether it was him or An Jing, both knew the consequences of one side breaking a promise.
An Jing glanced at the chest, about the size of his torso and weighing at least a hundred jin. He knew he was very lucky. He did not know why, but this One-Eyed Leader was generous and thought highly of him.
The grain and medicine in the chest were enough to buy ten lives in this Northern Province, so ravaged by the Frost Calamity.
But An Jing did not hesitate. He bent down, grabbed the chest's handle, and in one breath lifted it onto his shoulder.
'Thank you, my lord.'
Though his breathing was a little heavy, An Jing could still speak. With that, he carried the chest, turned around, and strode toward the shack where he and his mother lived.
Chapter 2