Chapter 35

The next day arrived quickly.

With Shen Jienqing supporting me, I followed him to witness how the village judged traitors—and to see… whatever “fate” he’d spoken of.

My right foot was still fixed to a wooden splint; I couldn’t put any weight on it. I had to lean fully on him just to stand. His right hand rested at my waist, heat burning through the thin fabric between us, clinging to my skin.

His faint scent—fresh grass, almost nonexistent yet persistent—hovered at the tip of my nose.

I wasn’t used to relying on anyone like this. Feeling awkward, I muttered, “You could just find me a crutch. I can walk by myself.”

But Shen Jienqing seemed delighted. His hand tightened at my waist, pulling me closer. “Why would I be that stupid? I want you leaning on me. Every step you take—I’ll be right beside you.”

“…”

I’d heard too many lines like that already. I was almost numb to it.

Because of my injured leg, the journey was slow and inconvenient. In some narrow parts he even had to carry me on his back. Shen Jienqing, however, acted as if he enjoyed every moment.

By the time we reached the gathering grounds, the Miao people had already assembled—almost as if they’d been waiting specifically for us. It was the same giant embankment as before, but without the bonfire, and my mood was nothing like the carefree one I had last time.

They say time changes everything, but sometimes the world changes faster than time itself.

On the wooden platform above, the chief had already taken his seat. Wan Ying sat beside him, graceful as ever. When she saw me, her eyes flicked toward me with a silent question. I gave a small nod in response. Shen Jienqing noticed and leaned close to whisper, “Don’t look at anyone else. It’ll make me sad.”

He had no right to say that to me, I thought silently. I turned my head to meet his gaze. He just smiled and settled me at his side.

In the center of the circle of villagers knelt a young man in dark gray Miao clothing. His hands and feet were bound, and though his face was honest-looking and plain, he was completely calm.

It was the man who knocked over Wen Lingyu’s wine cup that day.

Chapter 35 — Puppet of the Gu Worm

So this was A Song?

Suddenly everything made sense. Why he defected. Why he chased after Qiu Lu’s group.

To be precise, he wanted to protect Wen Lingyu.

I had seen it the first time we met—the way he looked at her was far from innocent.

A Song knelt straight-backed, ignoring the whispers and pointed fingers around him. I didn’t understand their language, but reading the room was easy enough—the comments weren’t kind.

Lu Qi, who had treated my injury yesterday, stood nearby with tears streaming down his face. He tried several times to rush forward, but the surrounding villagers held him back.

A Song turned to look at his father. His eyes were filled with guilt and sorrow—but no regret.

For whatever punishment awaited him, he had not one trace of regret.

Suddenly I understood what Shen Jienqing meant when he said, “Miao people are stubborn.”

So this was what it meant to love someone with a burning, unwavering heart. Even if she didn’t accept it. Even if she didn’t know anything about his sacrifices.

Willing even knowing it would kill him.

People nowadays like to measure love by whether it’s “worth it.”
But watching him, I saw a different answer.

It’s never about worth.
It’s only about willingness.

On the high platform, Shen Jienqing’s voice rang out. Everyone below looked up to him.

His indigo Miao robe fluttered lightly in the wind, the intricate silver ornaments woven through his dark hair glinting with cold light. His expression was calm, imposing.

No one dared make a sound.

For the first time, I clearly realized that this eighteen-year-old boy truly would become ruler of this land someday.

When he finished speaking, the villagers exchanged uncertain looks. Wan Ying’s expression didn’t change, but joy flickered briefly in her long, narrow eyes.

My heart stuttered. I quickly turned toward Lu Qi. Burying one’s own child—the cruelty of that was beyond words. His tears had stopped. Kneeling on the ground, the deep lines on his weathered face seemed older than ever. He listened in a daze to Shen Jienqing’s words—then slowly raised both hands above his head and bowed until his forehead touched the ground.

The crowd erupted with murmurs, but all I felt was a wave of sorrow. A father would truly go this far for his child.

Soon, two men stepped out from the side—one carrying a wine jar, the other holding a bowl.

The scene was painfully familiar. I couldn’t help trying to rise.
On the night of the Fire-Cutting Ritual, it had been exactly the same—even the men pouring the wine were the same.

But this time, only A Song would be drinking.

A chill crawled up my spine.

I’d suspected it before, but having the truth laid bare still sent a tremor through me. A wave of dread and regret crashed in—regret for walking straight into their trap without even realizing it, and dread that all this time, I’d naively believed everyone here meant well.

The man holding the wine stepped forward. The bowl was filled to the brim, liquor spilling over the rim. Ah Song’s wrists had already been untied, deep grooves marking where the ropes had dug into his skin. He took the bowl, hesitating for just a second.

He turned toward Lu Qi, lips parting as though he wanted to speak. But when he met his father’s grief-stricken eyes, the words died in his throat.

Ah Song looked away. Lowering his head, he drew a long breath and tipped the bowl back, downing it in one swallow.

And with that, the judgment was complete.

No pleas, no begging, not a word from him from beginning to end.

For all that, he really was a brave man. I found myself—absurdly—admiring him.

The crowd dispersed. As they passed me, not one person spoke, but their gazes lingered.

Cold. Indifferent. As if they were looking at a dying insect.

Because I drank the wine too?

I’ve always been someone who hides what he’s thinking—back before my mother remarried, she used to complain that I was a stubborn gourd with its mouth sealed shut. I’m used to burying my doubts, my problems, and figuring things out alone.

But the moment we returned to the stilt house, Shen Jianqing said, “Your face has been awful this whole time. Were you scared?”

His arm was still around my waist as he spoke—casual on the surface, but I could feel the strength in his grip.

I knew this wasn’t the time to provoke him, so I answered honestly, “It’s nothing.”

“You want to know what the punishment actually does, right?” he said, pushing open his bedroom door and settling me onto his bed.

Beds are always… sensitive places.

I asked, “Will you tell me?”

“Of course. I told you—as long as it’s something you want, I’ll do it.” His tone grew serious as he explained, “The wine is mixed with a type of gu worm. It’s raised in the wine from the moment it’s born, so its body is nearly transparent—indistinguishable from the liquor. If the drinker doesn’t inspect it closely, they’ll never notice.”