Chapter 142: Parchment

Behind the fishing village, there was a hill with higher terrain. When the flood hit earlier, the villagers had taken refuge on this back hill.

Now that the water had receded, most of the villagers had returned to the village.

The traveling merchant carried the one-armed swordsman on his back, leading the way, while Gu Ning’an followed behind.

After winding through the paths for nearly half an hour, they arrived at a flat area on the eastern side of the back hill.

A donkey cart was tied to a sturdy tree, and not far from the tree, a small campfire burned.

Next to the campfire, a bamboo fence surrounded the area, with hats and clothes made of animal pelts hanging to dry on the bamboo stakes.

The merchant placed the one-armed swordsman on the ground, glanced around, and frowned, calling out, “Old Han! Old Han! Where have you gone?”

“Over here! The cold water gave me a stomachache—I had to take care of it!”

“Did you find Hero Jiang?”

From the distant thicket, a coarse hand emerged, waving in the merchant’s direction.

“I found him, but he’s unconscious for now.”

“I brought along Mr. Gu here… This gentleman saved Hero Jiang from the water. I brought him here to let him choose something from our wares—whatever catches his eye will be half price.”

“Hurry up and show the man the goods.”

“Got it!”

The sound of rustling bushes followed as Old Han worked his way back.

The merchant gave an awkward smile, pointing to the animal pelts near the campfire. “Mr. Gu, those pelts over there are made of the finest furs… Wearing one will keep you warm!”

“Winter’s coming in a couple of months—you might want to get yourself one.”

Gu Ning’an smiled and replied, “I’ll take a look myself.”

“Alright then, feel free to browse. I’m going to dry my shoes; walking around in soaked shoes is unbearable.”

With that, the merchant took off his shoes and socks, leaving his feet bare as he headed toward the campfire. Halfway there, he suddenly seemed to remember something and hurried to the one-armed swordsman’s side, rummaging around.

“That’s strange. He fell into the water, didn’t he? How is his entire body completely dry?”

Squeezing the swordsman’s shoes, the merchant grew even more puzzled. “Unbelievable—even his shoes are dry?”

Standing up, the merchant frowned and quickly walked back to the campfire, where he began drying his wet shoes, socks, and pant legs.

“Martial artists really do run hot—they don’t even need a fire; their body heat dries their clothes on its own.”

Muttering to himself, the merchant subconsciously glanced over at Gu Ning’an.

From head to toe, Gu Ning’an showed no trace of water stains or mud splatters, nor did he have the look of someone who had been soaked in rain or water.

How could Mr. Gu also be so dry—and so clean?

If he hadn’t just bathed and changed clothes, he didn’t look at all like someone who had just pulled someone out of the water.

But then again, this gentleman didn’t seem like the lying or deceitful type.

And even if he were lying, what would he gain from it?

“Ow!”

A sharp pain shot through the merchant’s sole as he hurriedly pulled his foot away from the fire, blowing on it to cool the burn.

Not far away, Gu Ning’an, uninterested in the pelts, was examining the goods loaded on the donkey cart.

The merchant’s wares came from all over—south, north, land, and sea. The items ranged from small jade earrings to colorful porcelain vases, an assortment so vast it was dizzying.

As he browsed, Gu Ning’an’s attention was drawn to a piece of parchment pressed beneath a vase.

Lifting the vase gently, he slid the parchment out.

On it was a sketch of a young boy, appearing to be around ten years old.

Gu Ning’an stared at the portrait on the parchment for a long while, his thoughts drifting back to twenty-six years ago.

At that time, he had just descended from the desolate mountain cave. With no money to his name, he set up a small stall to write calligraphy for people.

Just as he was about to pack up, a young boy with a worried expression grabbed him and gestured anxiously, asking, “Sir, have you seen a boy around ten years old? He’s my younger brother, about this tall, with a mole at the corner of his mouth!”

After Gu Ning’an shook his head, the boy, like a headless fly, hurriedly moved on to ask someone else. However, the responses he received were always the same: either a shake of the head or “I’ve never seen him.”

To be fair, the boy’s description wasn’t incorrect. Yet, even if someone had seen the boy, it would have been difficult for them to recall with such a vague description, especially for someone who might have only glimpsed him in passing.

After several futile attempts, the boy was about to leave.

Gu Ning’an called out to him, asking, “Would you be willing to pay me one copper coin to help you draw a portrait of your younger brother?”

The boy froze for a moment and then pulled out three copper coins from his chest. With a serious expression, he said, “Sir, I only have three coins. If you can draw my brother’s portrait, I’ll give them all to you.”

Taking one coin from his hand, Gu Ning’an pulled out a piece of parchment and smiled. “Tell me about your brother’s appearance. And while you’re at it, try to picture him clearly in your mind.”

“My brother reaches about my waist… thick eyebrows, a flat nose…” As the boy described his brother’s features, he gradually calmed down and provided more detailed and specific information.

In less than the time it took for an incense stick to burn, Gu Ning’an used ink to sketch the image of a ten-year-old boy.

When he handed the portrait to the boy, the boy was ecstatic. “Sir! It’s exactly the same! With this, I’ll definitely find my brother!”

“Good luck.”

In the end, the boy, unable to contain his excitement, thanked Gu Ning’an profusely before sprinting away to continue his search.

“Sir, this parchment isn’t for sale. It’s a portrait of my younger brother,” a voice suddenly interrupted Gu Ning’an’s thoughts.

Startled, Gu Ning’an looked up in the direction of the voice.

Standing before him was the very boy he had met years ago—but now, he was a middle-aged man. Around forty years old, his temples were streaked with white, and the once-clear eyes he remembered had grown cloudy and yellowed.

“Old Han, why don’t you let Mr. Gu take a look? Maybe he’s seen your brother,” the traveling merchant said with a chuckle as he warmed himself by the fire.

Gulping, the man called Old Han stared at Gu Ning’an, his face filled with disbelief. Pointing a trembling finger at him, he stammered, “S-s-sir! Is it really you? The one who took a copper coin to draw my brother’s portrait?”

As he spoke, Old Han, visibly moved, rubbed his eyes vigorously and looked at Gu Ning’an again.

Gu Ning’an handed the parchment back to the middle-aged man with a heavy sigh. “It seems you still haven’t found your brother.”

“Sir! It’s really you!” Old Han’s expression was a mix of joy and sorrow. His lips curled into a smile, but tears glistened in his eyes. “Sir, it’s been twenty-six years… and I still haven’t found my brother…”

“But I never expected to see you again!”

“You don’t know, sir, it’s all thanks to the portrait you drew for me. Whenever I was on the verge of giving up, that portrait gave me the strength to keep going!”

“I always believed that you were sent by the heavens to help me find my brother. Otherwise, how could you have drawn such a lifelike image of him just from my description?”

“I even wondered if you were some kind of immortal, and that one day I’d wake up and find my brother stepping out of that portrait…”