After dinner, Nuan Nuan set down her empty bowl and wiped the corners of her mouth with her sleeve. Groping for balance as she moved, she stood up, placed the bowls and utensils into a wooden basin in the corner of the room. Her movements were smooth and natural —looked so experienced that it hurt so badly to watch.
Cheng Yan was just about to try speaking to Nuan Nuan again when the little girl did something that neither of the two grown men expected.
Standing on her tiptoes, Nuan Nuan reached for a tiny wooden box atop an old cupboard tucked in the corner. Then she pulled a clean, though old, cotton cloth from the lower drawer. Without hesitation, she walked straight toward Yun Hanchuan, who was still slumped against the wall. Her small hand reached for the buttons of his bloodstained shirt.
Yun Hanchuan instinctively caught her wrist. Her skin was cold and rough—not at all like the tender softness of a child.
"What are you doing?" he asked sharply, his voice edged with suspicion.
Nuan Nuan frowned, "staring" at him with those empty, unseeing eyes, as if scolding him for being difficult. After a pause, she opened her mouth, and with great effort, squeezed out a few halting words:
"Wounded... money... stop bleeding."
Cheng Yan nearly dropped the bowl he was holding. "You can talk?!" His voice cracked from the shock, loud and jarring in the silence of the little hut.
Yun Hanchuan silenced him with a piercing glance.
Slowly, he released her wrist and allowed her to continue. Her tiny fingers went back to work, deftly unbuttoning his shirt and revealing the gunshot wound on his left shoulder. The bleeding had stopped, but the wound itself was still shocking—dried blood and dirt clinging to torn, inflamed flesh.
"Meow~" Tuan Tuan leapt onto the nearby table, its golden eyes gleaming in the firelight.
"Nuan Nuan, this man has wounds on his left shoulder, right abdomen, and left calf. The other one's got a cut on his forehead and right leg." The cat licked its paw lazily. "They smell like gunpowder… and rust."
Nuan Nuan gave a small nod and began gently cleaning Yun Hanchuan's injury with the damp cloth. Her touch was unexpectedly soft. Each time her fingers brushed through his skin, Yun Hanchuan could feel the calluses and those tiny scars on her hands—hands that felt like it did not belong to a six-year-old, but to someone who had weathered countless hardships.
He barely felt any pain, only the coolness of the cloth against his fevered skin.
When Nuan Nuan opened the small box and pulled out a few sprigs of purple herb, Cheng Yan stepped forward anxiously.
"Mr Yun, are you sure about this…?"
"It's fine," Yun Hanchuan replied calmly, eyes never leaving the girl's face. "What's that?" he asked, his tone unconsciously softened, as though afraid of startling her.
"Medicine… stops bleeding." Nuan Nuan's reply was brief but clear. She crushed the herb in a small wooden bowl, her hands swift and precise, clearly used to the task. The dark purple juice spread quickly, releasing a faint and soothing herbal scent.
As soon as the poultice touched his skin, Yun Hanchuan inhaled sharply. A wave of cool relief washed over the wound, numbing the sharp pain in an instant—its effect rivaled the finest anesthetics in any elite hospital.
He stared at the strange little girl in front of him—head bowed, brown curls falling around her cheeks, long lashes casting shadows in the firelight. Her expression was focused, far too serious for a child her age.
Nuan Nuan continued silently. After treating his shoulder, she moved on to the wound on his right abdomen, and finally, the one on his lower left leg. Each was cleaned, dressed, and bandaged with clinical precision. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion—only smooth, decisive care.
Cheng Yan watched, dumbfoundedly. When Nuan Nuan finally turned to him, he instinctively took a step back—then felt embarrassed by his reaction. She simply gestured for him to lower his head, and without a word, treated the scrape on his forehead and then his right leg using the same method.
Her touch was cold. As her fingers pressed lightly against his skin, he shivered involuntarily.
Once everything was done, Nuan Nuan washed her hands clean, wiped her face with the now-bloodstained cloth, and groped her way back toward the bed. She climbed onto it with the agility of someone who had done it a thousand times, curled into a ball, and turned her back to the two strangers.
She didn't say another word, as if the brief conversation earlier had cost her all the strength she had.
Cheng Yan lowered his voice.
"Mr Yun… this child…"
His gaze drifted across the simple room. In the corner, bundles of dried herbs were neatly arranged. From the ceiling hung preserved food, and by the fireplace, a small bowl clearly meant for animals sat clean and ready. Every detail whispered the same haunting truth—this blind little girl had been living alone for a long, long time.
Yun Hanchuan shook his head, signaling for him not to disturb her rest.
His eyes lingered on Nuan Nuan's small, curled-up figure. A tangle of thoughts churned in his chest. How did a blind girl survive in the deep mountains, alone? How did she learn to treat wounds so skillfully? Where were her parents? Why did she speak so little? And those rough little hands—what kind of pain had they endured?
Outside, night had fallen. The mountain wind slipped through the cracks in the cabin walls, making a faint whimpering sound, like the mountains themselves were grieving.
Blackie curled up at the foot of the bed, still alert, eyes fixed on the two men. Tuan Tuan had claimed the corner of the pillow, its golden eyes glimmering in the dark like twin lanterns.
Yun Hanchuan leaned against the wall, listening to the girl's slow, even breaths. Strangely, he was calm —- something he had not felt in years. No bodyguards. Even when there were no surveillance systems, no armored windows or emergency escape plans.
Just a blind child and a leaking wooden roof.
And yet, in this unfamiliar, unguarded place, he fell into the deepest sleep of his life.
In his dreams, he saw the silhouette of a woman—faint and distant—leading a small girl by the hand through a snow-covered valley. They were walking toward a towering mountain draped in white. Just before disappearing into the mist, the little girl turned back and looked at him.
Her eyes—those that were once blank, dull eyes—shone like stars.