“Dare to talk back? See if I don’t tear your mouth apart!” The angry voice grew more distant, but the sharp, insulting words still pierced the air from time to time: “What third brother… son of a penniless, fallen family… brings eight generations of bad luck!”

Charles Brooks’s eyes were about to burst with rage. He was determined—once he recovered, he would make that old hag understand why the flowers are so red!

Chapter Three: Self-Rescue

Determined as he was, for Charles Brooks, bringing down his fever was the most urgent matter. If the fever dragged on and led to complications, it could be a matter of life and death. Seeing his two younger brothers at the door, he asked Robert to help him back to bed.

Little Henry followed them inside. When he saw the oiled paper package by the bed, he cheered, “There are pastries!” Opening it, he found a few pieces of peach crisp. For children who never had enough to eat, this was an irresistible temptation. He picked one up and was about to put it in his mouth, but Robert knocked it away at once, saying, “Don’t eat their nasty stuff!”

Little Henry’s eyes filled with tears. Charles Brooks pulled him close, glared at Robert Black, and said, “This was sent by David.”

“It’s all the same.” Robert Black stubbornly insisted.

“You’re such an idiot!” Charles Brooks scolded. “If we don’t eat the old witch’s stuff, aren’t we just letting her off easy?!”

“Oh…” Robert thought about it and agreed.

“So, treat it as if it’s the old witch herself, and eat it up with a vengeance!” Charles Brooks, feeling sorry that Robert had gone hungry all night, handed him a piece first.

Kids are easy to coax. Sure enough, Robert took a big bite, almost biting Charles’s finger.

David Brooks, afraid his mother would find out, had only taken a few pastries. In the blink of an eye, the two children had eaten all but one. Only then did they remember Big Charles hadn’t eaten yet. Robert Brooks blushed, and Henry quickly handed the last piece to him: “Big Charles, you eat…”

“Big Charles is sick and can’t eat, he needs medicine now.” Charles Brooks smiled, told Little Henry to keep it for later, then said to Robert Black, “Got your strength back?”

Robert nodded shyly.

“Now I need hot water,” Charles Brooks said slowly. “I just saw there’s a stove behind the shed, with a pot and firewood. Do you know how to light a fire?” He had just gone out to check—the shed must have been used by the charcoal workers during their downtime, so it was naturally equipped for cooking.

Robert shook his head, feeling guilty for his incompetence.

“Go borrow a fire from Uncle Lu,” Charles Brooks said. “Just say Sister Grace needs to boil water for us.”

“Sister Grace?” Robert knew Grace was the maid at their uncle’s house. He asked blankly, “Where is she?” Robert didn’t understand—after all, even in later times, no one would let an eight- or nine-year-old play with fire.

“Just say it, why ask so much?” Charles Brooks glared at him. “Help me over to the stove.”

“What about me?” Little Henry wanted to help too.

“You…” Charles grinned. “Go pick up some dry grass.”

When Robert came back holding a half-burned piece of bamboo charcoal, Charles Brooks had already arranged the firewood in the stove and, despite his weakness, fetched water. To make sure the fire would catch, he used dry grass as a base. But seeing the burning bamboo charcoal, he realized his preparations were unnecessary.

He blew the bamboo charcoal into open flame and placed it on the dry grass. Since the firewood was stacked in an arch, air flowed smoothly, the dry grass blazed up, and soon the firewood caught as well. The fire roared, and before long, the pot was bubbling. Charles Brooks finally breathed a sigh of relief, thinking to himself: ‘At last, I don’t have to drink raw water anymore…’ He knew all too well the dangers of drinking unboiled water.

※※※

With boiled water finally available, Charles Brooks gulped down three big bowls, then asked Robert to bring over the water bucket to prepare for a foot soak!

Of all the physical methods Charles Brooks knew for reducing fever, soaking feet in hot water was more comfortable and effective than wiping with alcohol or using ice packs. The latter two methods cool the body by evaporation or melting, absorbing body heat, while soaking feet in hot water opens all the pores, allowing heat to dissipate. One works from the outside in, the other from the inside out—the difference is clear.

The method was simple: soak the legs below the knees in hot water. Because of the water temperature, the blood vessels in the calves and feet dilate, causing a reflexive dilation of blood vessels throughout the body, speeding up circulation and opening all the pores, so sweating can evaporate heat.

He was the type to just do things his own way. Unable to find a suitable basin, he simply used the water bucket. He poured in enough hot water, soaked his feet for a few minutes, then took them out and added another bowl of hot water, each time making it hotter. Repeating this several times, he made sure his calves and feet were fully immersed.

Following this method, Charles Brooks sweated profusely, as if he’d just been fished out of water. It kept Robert busy, running in and out fetching, carrying, and pouring water, never slowing down even when told to. Henry, such a little child, obediently stayed outside adding firewood and watching the fire, not moving all morning. Charles’s temperature gradually dropped, but his heart was full of warmth.

Around noon, while his mother was napping, David hurried over. Though it wasn’t hot out, he was sweating all over. He dropped off the things Charles needed and rushed back—if his mother found out, he’d be in big trouble.