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Seated in the carriage, He Lingchuan asked Big-Mouth Zhao, “Last winter, did anyone in the township get injured?”
“Eh?” Big-Mouth Zhao blinked, unsure what exactly He Lingchuan wanted to know. “What kind of injury are you talking about? Are you asking if someone got frostbite? Slipped and fell? Or something more severe like getting crushed by a falling boulder?”
“…The kind that isn’t easy to treat.” Porcupine quills are no small matter.
Big-Mouth Zhao scratched his head and thought for a moment. “Haven’t heard of any.”
Jiao Yu cut in, “Anyone die of illness?”
“Oh, yes.” This time, Big-Mouth Zhao nodded briskly. “Old Xu from Youtian Town had tuberculosis for years. He didn’t make it through last winter…”
“I mean someone in the prime of life. Villagers and townspeople or travelers passing through, either count.”
“Oh…” Big-Mouth Zhao thought about it for a bit. “There was one. In Xu Family Village near White Pagoda Temple, Second Xu[1], who was in his thirties, lost his leg to frostbite up in the mountains. He came home, and within a few days, he ran a high fever and died.”
He Lingchuan nodded and made a mental note. “Anyone else?”
Big-Mouth Zhao thought hard again but came up blank.
A thought flickered through He Lingchuan’s mind....
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