Chapter Fifteen: The Sacred Spring and the Murky Spring

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While other beggars sought merely a meal, he was after a steady source of sustenance. He had previously identified two potential benefactors, but unfortunately, when he tried to attach himself to them, they had no need for him whatsoever.

Then Jia Ping’an appeared, rekindling his hope. Without hesitation, he knelt down with a thud, begging for a chance.

“Oh? You want to serve me?” Jia Ping’an finally understood Chang Chao’s intentions.

“Yes, my lord,” Chang Chao lifted his head, his eyes resolute and spirited.

“But what can you do? Or what can you bring me?” Jia Ping’an, new to Ningguta, didn’t mind recruiting some followers, provided they were reliable, capable, and above all, loyal.

Having once been betrayed to death, Jia Ping’an valued loyalty above all else. He would never allow himself to fall twice in the same place.

“I am very familiar with Ningguta. If you need me to learn anything else, I can. By the way, I can read,” Chang Chao revealed all his abilities, afraid the opportunity might slip away.

Literacy was indeed a rare skill in this era; even those who could write their own names were few. Thus, reading was a definite advantage.

“If I order you to die, will you?” Jia Ping’an, though intrigued, did not immediately agree but tested him further.

“Yes,” Chang Chao answered without a hint of hesitation.

“Heh, you are decisive. Very well, I will give you a chance—drink this.” Jia Ping’an smiled knowingly. He doubted Chang Chao’s vow to die for him was heartfelt; they barely knew each other, and who would believe such words at face value?

Still, since Chang Chao showed such resolve, Jia Ping’an didn’t mind giving him a chance, such as with the small water pouch in his hand.

Unlike the larger pouch, this one contained spring water from a murky well. Jia Ping’an wasn’t entirely sure of its purpose, but since Chang Chao had approached him, he was willing to test him.

As for possible unpredictable consequences, Jia Ping’an could not be held responsible. When someone throws themselves onto the barrel of a gun, they must accept the outcome.

To rise, one must take risks; such is the coexistence of danger and opportunity.

Though confused, Chang Chao understood this was truly a chance and seized it without hesitation. He took the pouch, quickly opened it, and gulped down a large mouthful.

The spring water was clear and tasteless, seemingly no different from ordinary water, but soon a sharp cramping pain spread through his abdomen.

In that instant, Chang Chao’s features contorted; clutching his belly, he began to writhe on the snow-covered ground, rolling in agony.

His reaction was no surprise to Jia Ping’an.

If pure spring water could heal, then murky spring water could certainly harm. Now, Jia Ping’an needed to observe its effects: what dose caused what reaction.

Chang Chao had just ingested a solution containing 5% murky spring water.

Not 1%, fearing the effect would be too subtle.

Not 10%, fearing it would be fatal.

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Though the laws of this era were lax—especially regarding bound servants or outright slaves, whose deaths were not deemed crimes—Jia Ping’an still valued life. There was no malice or grievance here; he would not kill without cause.

Chang Chao, unaware of Jia Ping’an’s thoughts, was drenched in sweat from the pain, feeling utterly dehydrated and weak, as if poisoned and on the brink of death.

He collapsed and writhed on the ground, as if rolling would ease the torment. After a full fifteen minutes, steam rose from his head—the hot breath meeting the cold snow was a natural reaction.

Lying helpless, staring at the sky, unable to move, Chang Chao believed death was imminent.

Did he regret it?

Perhaps. But if given another chance, he might still choose to seek refuge. The winter here was brutal; he was strong enough, but his sister nearly succumbed last winter. For her sake, he had to gamble.

“Here, drink this.” Just as Chang Chao’s mind drifted toward surrender, Jia Ping’an offered another pouch.

“Drink again?” Fear welled up in Chang Chao’s bones at the sight of the pouch.

“Yes. Drink it. If you survive, I’ll keep you,” Jia Ping’an said, his voice cold and composed beyond his years.

“All right, I’ll drink.” Though hesitant for a moment, Chang Chao resolved to try once more.

He had come this far; giving up now would be a pity. Even if death awaited, perhaps the master would grant a favor for his obedience—such as caring for his sister after his demise.

Clutching that sliver of hope, Chang Chao accepted the pouch and drank deeply again.

After swallowing, he resigned himself to awaiting death.

But instead of pain, warmth spread through his body, as if he were immersed in a hot bath rather than frozen snow. The sensation was so pleasant he nearly moaned aloud.

“So it is,” Jia Ping’an nodded, noting Chang Chao’s color returning to a healthy flush.

Murky spring water was poison, causing harm in varying doses.

Pure spring water was the antidote, capable not only of healing illnesses but also neutralizing the murky water’s toxin.

The two waters complemented each other—both invaluable.

As his strength returned and discomfort faded, Chang Chao stood and bowed deeply to Jia Ping’an.

Unaware that Jia Ping’an had used him as a test subject, Chang Chao believed this was a trial. Fortunately, he had passed by enduring the pain.

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“All right, bring your sister. I have a sister too; she could use a playmate,” Jia Ping’an honored his promise.

Chang Chao’s character was still uncertain, but having passed the initial test, he would remain under observation.

Given Jia Ping’an’s spatial abilities, supporting a few more people was no trouble at all.

“Thank you, my lord, thank you!” Finally having a place for himself and his sister, Chang Chao knelt again, bowing repeatedly in gratitude.

Jia Ping’an gave the location of his residence and instructed Chang Chao to bring his sister to the Jia estate. Then he turned toward the main street, not forgetting his promise to Rongrong to bring her meat buns, a promise he intended to keep.

The Jia Estate.

As Jia Ping’an approached, he saw a sedan chair and several soldiers waiting at the gate.

“Is the matriarch ill again?” The sight of soldiers quickened Jia Ping’an’s pace.

The man waiting was Ren Qinghu, who had been there some time.

“Brother An, why go back to the mountain again? You don’t look well. It’s not ginseng season; you should rest at home,” Ren Qinghu said with concern upon seeing Jia Ping’an.

Jia Ping’an’s previous trips to the mountain in pursuit of ginseng were understandable given his economic hardship.

But after the general’s generous gifts yesterday, he should have had a comfortable life for a while. Ren Qinghu urged caution.

Jia Ping’an was only fifteen and physically fragile; any accident on the mountain could be disastrous.

Feeling Ren Qinghu’s concern, Jia Ping’an smiled and replied, “I can’t stay still. By the way, did the matriarch have trouble?”

“You’re sharp, Brother An. Early this morning, she ate some sweets and started coughing uncontrollably. The general sent me to fetch you,” Ren Qinghu explained briefly.

“I see. Let’s go then,” Jia Ping’an nodded, unsurprised.

He bore no resentment toward the matriarch’s stubbornness; in fact, he was grateful. Without her, he would have no opportunity to deepen ties with the general’s household.

He handed the purchased meat buns to Aunt Yu and Jia Rongrong, who were watching from the courtyard, then stepped into the sedan chair.

The General’s Residence.

Jia Ping’an once again took the matriarch’s pulse seriously and prescribed the same remedy as yesterday.