Suddenly, the man tumbled down from the horseback, while the mad horse continued to shoot forward.
Day broke, then it darkened again.
Daylight returned, and once more, it faded into darkness.
In this way, two days and nights passed.
That day at noon, a sudden thunderous rumble exploded in the sky.
Amid the wilderness, a woman dressed in black, carrying a medicine basket on her back, her hair cascading down like three thousand threads of silvery snow, shone brilliantly. This veil of white hair, coupled with her dark attire, made her seem like a ghostly spirit of the mountains. What was particularly striking was the frosty aura that enveloped her, seemingly blind in the left eye, she wore a black one-eyed mask, and her lips were tightly sealed, devoid of smiles or frivolous words.
As she walked through the woods, she was startled by a patch of intense purple and couldn’t help but pause in awe.
"Purple chervil..." she murmured.
The whole mountainside was blanketed with swathes of purple chervil grass. The grass was thriving, and as she stood there, memories of many years ago surfaced—of Little Mute, who saw her sitting alone on the hillside. He had picked some purple chervil grass and woven it into a crown of seven stems that he placed upon her head. As she smiled faintly, dimples emerged on her cheeks.
With a drip, a tear struck her clothing, startling the woman. She then raised her hand to touch her face, only to find it wet with tears.
As children, the three of them were still young.
She asked, "What’s her... her name? Can’t she speak?"
Another girl, slightly older than her and Little Mute, proudly replied with hands akimbo, "That’s right, she can’t speak, but she’s very smart, she can write! She told me before that her last name is Dong, Dong Dabao. Oh, Little Pigeon, don’t you look down on the name Dabao, it’s crass, but it was given by her own mother. It’s precious, no matter what, because it’s a gift from her mother."
Her mouth twitched slightly, then the girl continued with self-satisfaction, "But the name isn’t imposing enough, so I’ve given her a style name, Baowei! Listen, doesn’t the name Baowei sound powerful and imposing?"
She frowned inwardly, thinking that whether it was Da Bao or Baowei, both were equally tacky.
Later, she told Little Mute, "I think the name Purple chervil suits you better; it’s much nicer than Baowei."
Little Mute glanced at her.
She continued, "Then from now on, shall I call you Purple chervil?" Initially, when she and her senior brother left their sect, she had never imagined ending up abducted by a human trafficker.
On the trafficker’s wagon, filled with young girls of tender age, Little Mute, who was exceptionally strong, subdued the trafficker and rescued everyone on the carriage.
She still remembered the day when she stepped down from the wagon, her eyes met with vast expanses of purple.
Amid the field of purple chervil grass, Little Mute was splattered with blood, standing on the back of a human trafficker, immobilizing him. She appeared so fragile, perhaps the youngest among the abducted children. Yet her petite frame harbored a shocking presence.
Since then, she could never forget the sight of her standing amidst the sea of purple chervil that day.
Little Mute looked at her. Regarding the request to be called Purple chervil, she neither consented with a nod nor refused with a shake of her head. Instead, she took up a military book, to which she seemed particularly interested.
Thus, she was that person’s Baowei, her Purple chervil, who tirelessly delved into medical skills in search of a cure for her speechlessness. Later, despite her young age, she had joined the military to help that person, not bearing the thought of her suffering alone at the frontier, so she followed as well.