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墨書 Inktalez
It’s quite cliché to say, but my encounter with A Ying, no, Xie Wuyuan, was rather ordinary.
A year ago in winter, heavy snow had sealed the mountains. I went into the hills to gather medicinal herbs and discovered him on my way back. He was lying in the snow, dressed in thin clothing, covered in blood, with a deep wound on his back that was terrifying to behold. He had already begun to freeze.
Without thinking much, I dragged him back to the escort agency. The agency left by my father was now only supported by me and a few old friends, but it was spacious enough. I hired the best doctor in town and took great care of him with good soup and medicine. The doctor said he had a strong constitution and a tough life, but whether he would wake up depended on fate.
I watched over him for three days and nights, wiping his body and feeding him medicine until he finally broke his fever and opened his eyes. But he remembered nothing—his name, his background, or how he got injured; he was completely clueless.
Seeing his bewildered expression and that he had nothing to his name, I couldn’t just throw him out. Once he recovered, I let him stay at the agency to help out. He was strong and skilled; he chopped firewood, carried water, repaired the courtyard walls, and even knew a bit about carpentry. The agency needed extra hands, so having another laborer was always welcome.
He spoke very little, always quietly working or sitting alone in a corner lost in thought like a shadow without a past. So I called him A Ying.
The old friends at the agency were initially wary of him, fearing he might be a fugitive wanted by the authorities or a spy sent by an enemy. Until one day when we took on a short escort to a neighboring county and encountered some brazen bandits on the way. They were numerous while we had only five escorts; it looked like we were going to be overwhelmed.
It was A Ying who, despite usually being silent, picked up a carrying pole and swiftly knocked down three of them, saving the injured Uncle Lin. His skills were clean and decisive; he was definitely trained.
From that moment on, everyone truly accepted him. Uncle Lin even secretly told me, “Chief Escort, this kid A Ying is not simple; you should keep an eye on him.”
I just laughed at the time: “Uncle Lin, we run an escort agency; who doesn’t have some skills? As long as he is loyal to the agency and treats me sincerely, I don’t care what he did before.”
Looking back now, I realize how naive I was. He wasn’t just not simple; he was far from simple.
He treated me very well. He would quietly remember what I liked to eat and what I didn’t. He would secretly wash my dirty clothes and hang them up to dry. When I got tired practicing with my sword, he would hand me a bowl of tea. He even offered suggestions based on my sword techniques, claiming it was just “idle speculation.”
As a young woman managing such a large escort agency isn’t easy; having someone like him by my side—though quiet—was considerate in every way and supportive at all times. It would be false not to feel something.
So when Uncle Lin and the others joked about how good A Ying was and suggested bringing him into the family as a pillar for the agency in the future, I didn’t argue against it.
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