Quick Travel to the Clouds

Chapter 705 Talent for Governing the Country 4

Faced with Yun Chu's question, she dared to raise her head, look directly at the man with her clear eyes, and try her best to respond with the voice she could make.

When she is amused by other children's unintentional imitation, she will muster up her courage and clearly (though slowly) say, "No, I, will, imitate!" which makes everyone pause for a moment, and then they will laugh good-naturedly.

The timid little beast gradually shed its tense, curled-up posture and stretched out its branches and leaves.

On days off, the thatched hut became a private school exclusively for Yue Nu.

Yun Chu couldn't bear to see this rare talent buried in the dust. She would bring along a few rough pieces of bark paper or a slightly flat piece of tile, patiently teaching Yue Nu to write more complex characters stroke by stroke.

From spring sowing and autumn harvest, to clouds, rain, wind, and snow, and then to diligence, learning, kindness, and heart.

The sunlight slanted down on them, and the fine sand on the tiles was traced by the branches, leaving slender yet sculpted lines that made a soft rustling sound.

In just a few months, Yue Nu has quietly accumulated more than a hundred square Chinese characters, gradually approaching two hundred.

Her handwriting is not only accurate, but also possesses a balance and spirit that transcends her age; each stroke seems to contain a thousand unspoken words from a silent world.

On the few occasions when Yuenu's father returned from the city, he watched his daughter holding a twig in her small hand, neatly writing one square character after another on the muddy ground of their yard, and heard her call out "Dad" slowly but clearly. A kind and unbelievable surprise appeared on the dark face of this man who was busy making a living.

Yuenu was overjoyed. Every time she met Yun Chu, she would give her a handful of fresh green vegetables, a small basket of freshly picked green beans, or even a few eggs that she had been hiding for a long time.

She held Yun Chu's hand, her rough palm enveloping the girl's fingertips, and clumsily but sincerely expressed, "You've taught me well, Miss. Yue Nu is lucky to have met such a benefactor..." Her gratitude was overflowing.

These simple sentiments became a precious source of warmth that sustained Yun Chu in her perseverance in this humble thatched hut.

In the blink of an eye, the north wind swept across the mountain ridges of Yewang County, carrying frost and snow, and the world was gently covered by a thin veil of white.

As the twelfth lunar month quietly arrives, farming activities gradually come to a halt, and the smoke from the village chimneys rises earlier and longer than usual, as every household begins to busy themselves with preparations for the New Year.

Cattle and sheep return to their pens, firewood is piled high, and strings of dried chilies and cured meat hang under the eaves, swaying slightly in the cold wind, exuding the most comforting atmosphere of everyday life.

Yun Chu's thatched-roof schoolhouse also enjoyed a brief respite. All eleven children—from the youngest, Shi Dan, to the oldest, A He—had received their holiday homework, which she had personally written.

She distributed five neatly shaved bamboo strips to each person and wrote sample characters on them with a charcoal pencil:

He instructed them to practice the four virtues of spring, farming, reading, filial piety, and trustworthiness, and told them to copy them three times a day, and to hand in thirty bamboo slips filled with writing by the start of the school year.

Not only that, she also assigned a special task: each person had to make an item by hand, regardless of size, as long as it was done with care.

It could be a carved wooden bird, a woven straw basket, a clay bowl, or even a pair of cloth shoe soles sewn for one's parents.

She said, "Though the object is small, the intention is sincere. In the future, in the school, we will not only teach literature and principles, but also see people's hearts."

The children listened with wide eyes, some scratching their heads wondering what they could do, while others excitedly whispered about making a calf out of the red clay from the riverbank.

As Yun Chu looked at the light dancing on their faces, a warm feeling quietly welled up in her heart.

The spiritual spark in this desolate place is finally being rekindled, little by little.

As the children dispersed, the village returned to tranquility, and Yun Chu began to tend to her own dwelling.

That drafty thatched hut, though crude and dilapidated, was the only place she could call "home" in this chaotic world.

She rolled up her sleeves, tied her long hair tightly with a tattered rag, carried a bucket to fetch water, and sprinkled it onto the muddy ground, spoonful by spoonful, to suppress the dust; she also moved out the old firewood piled up in the corner and swept away the cobwebs and accumulated dust.

She even picked a few bunches of dried mugwort from outside the village and hung them on the lintel to ward off evil spirits and add a touch of festive atmosphere to the cold space.

As dusk falls, the setting sun, like a molten gold mirror, slants down the western mountains, its afterglow filtering through the sparse thatched roofs and casting dappled shadows on the muddy ground.

Yun Chu was kneeling on an old mat, mending a coarse linen garment with worn-out cuffs. The needle and thread moved nimbly in her hands, as if stitching up the cracks in this period of wandering.

Just then, a series of hurried and chaotic footsteps approached from afar, accompanied by a muffled thud, like something heavy falling onto the frozen ground in front of the door.

She suddenly looked up, lifted the curtain and stepped out—she saw a thin figure huddled by the threshold, dressed in rags, covered in mud and snow, with strands of hair frozen in ice, his face bluish-purple, and barely breathing.

It was a child of eight or nine years old, with a frozen bloodstain on his shoulder and back, and his straw sandals were worn through, revealing his cracked and bleeding toes.

Yun Chu's heart tightened. Without thinking twice, she immediately bent down and dragged him into the house, covered him with the only two thin blankets, and quickly boiled water. She then pried open his clenched teeth and poured ginger soup into him.

All night long, she stayed by the fire pit, constantly changing the hot cloths applied to his limbs, and calling out to him softly, like a mother calling out to a lost child.

It wasn't until the first light of dawn the next day that the child finally coughed up a breath of stale air and slowly opened his eyes.

Those were deep, bright eyes. Though weary, they held a calmness and alertness beyond their years, as if they had experienced too much darkness that shouldn't belong to their childhood.

His first words upon waking were a trembling voice uttering a place name: "Handan...I...want to go back to Handan..."

Yun Chu was stunned.

Suddenly, a memory long buried in history resurfaced—that boy who, though orphaned at a young age and enduring countless hardships, never lost his will, that future king who would wield power and shake the nations…

The dying child before them was none other than Prince Dan of Zhao, who would one day dominate the world and unite against Qin, and later became King Xiaocheng of Zhao!

Her fingertips trembled slightly as she gazed at the youthful yet resolute face illuminated by the firelight, her heart churning with turmoil.

Fate had so cruelly delivered a man of great talent to her doorstep.

At this moment, he was not the cold and aloof monarch in history books, but an orphan suffering from cold and hunger, longing for his way home.

Yun Chu silently held his hand and whispered, "Don't be afraid, you've reached a safe place."

Outside the window, the December wind was still howling, but inside the thatched hut, the fire was still burning and people's hearts were still warm.

A journey of enlightenment and redemption is quietly beginning.

***

On a cold winter morning, the frost, as white as silver, shimmered faintly on the thatched eaves.

The embers of the fire inside the house were still burning, and a wisp of smoke rose gently, illuminating the boy's peaceful sleeping face.

After waking up last night, Young Master Zhao Dan fell into a coma again, and only now has he truly settled down.

Yun Chu stayed up all night, her eyes showing faint dark circles, but she still forced herself to stay awake, gently blowing on the cooked rice porridge to cool it down before feeding it to him spoonful by spoonful.

He swallowed very slowly, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly, like parched land finally receiving a drizzle.