Wan Ying froze, her dark eyes widening in disbelief. “How… could that be? Those herbs… Uncle Lu Qi prepared them. They’re very effective…”
Her expression was earnest and sincere, with no trace of guilt or deceit. Could it be that she truly hadn’t known about the black insects yesterday, that she genuinely wanted to help me? I didn’t dare jump to conclusions.
“Did you think… I was trying to hurt you?” Wan Ying bit her lip and explained, “The herbs… Uncle Lu Qi made them. I swear… they’re not bad. If you don’t believe me, you can ask Shen Jianqing.”
I listened quietly. Though flustered, she didn’t display the panic of someone caught in a lie. And she was right: I only needed to ask Shen Jianqing to know the truth. Perhaps the insects that night simply weren’t susceptible to Lu Qi’s herbs. After all, even insecticides can’t eradicate all the bugs in the world.
“Thank you, Wan Ying,” I said. “It was my small-mindedness. Don’t mind me—I truly appreciate your help.”
Wan Ying waved her hands repeatedly; the silver bracelets on her wrists chimed softly. “I’ll… go home first. My grandfather… protecting me… is exhausting. I need to take care of him.”
She forced a smile at me, then lowered her head and ran into the forest. The blue of her figure quickly disappeared, and the stilted house fell silent once more.
Suddenly, a tingling sensation ran across the back of my hand. I looked down and saw Honghong clinging steadily, waving her slender front limbs as if trying to communicate something. Her black eyes, set against her crimson body like tiny beans, were strangely endearing the longer I looked.
“Are you worried about Shen Jianqing?” I murmured. Whether she understood or not, she tilted her tiny head in response.
I entered Shen Jianqing’s room. He lay unconscious, breathing evenly, appearing peaceful. The last time he had lain like this before me, I had thought of ending it all by crushing him in my hands. Now, seeing him so weak, I couldn’t even imagine doing anything like that.
The thought that he had injured himself for me filled me with a quiet sorrow.
His wounds were carefully bandaged. The gash on his right cheek had been cleaned and medicated, though the deep scar spanning the corner of his eye still looked pitiful with a hardened scab.
Honghong leapt from my hand to Shen Jianqing’s cheek, pacing uncertainly over the wound before settling atop his nose.
Shen Jianqing stirred slightly, his eyebrows twitching, eyes shifting under closed lids—a sign he might awaken. I hurried to the kitchen to fetch the medicine Lu Qi had instructed me to prepare.
When I returned, Shen Jianqing’s eyes were half-open, gaze locked on the doorway. Honghong had disappeared, likely hiding somewhere I couldn’t see.
Seeing me, he exhaled subtly, almost imperceptibly.
“Where are the herbs I brought back?” His voice was low and breathy, but I heard it clearly. His first concern, as always, was for me.
“They were soaked in wine by Uncle Lu Qi, for both internal and external use. You’ll heal soon,” I said. “You should get better quickly.”
Shen Jianqing tried to sit up, tugging at the corners of his mouth as if to smile, but the movement pulled at his wounds. His face stiffened. “Hiss—”
“Don’t move so much,” I warned, pressing his shoulder. “If the bandages tear again, it’ll only get worse.”
“Am I… disfigured?” Shen Jianqing stared at me and grasped my hand on his shoulder. “Will you dislike me for not looking like before?”
I studied his face. He was handsome enough to be called “as beautiful as a flower at spring dawn,” though now the deep scar across his cheek was jarring.
“Didn’t you say it didn’t matter when I injured your forehead?” I asked. “Why care now?”
“That’s different…” he said. “If even this face is gone, you’d like me even less.” He pouted theatrically, though his eyes glimmered with expectation.
I knew what he wanted me to say. Even a flattering lie could soothe him—but I hesitated. I couldn’t force myself to lie and say I liked him.
The hope in his eyes gradually dimmed. After a long silence, his voice grew cold: “Li Yuze, you know what? I like it when you’d rather suffer in your heart than say something sweet to trick me.”
Our gazes met in the quiet, neither speaking.
“Take your medicine,” I said, averting my eyes to change the subject.
Shen Jianqing’s face took on that vulnerable, pitiful expression again. “My hand hurts… I can’t drink it.”
The tension eased. I silently treated the brief confrontation as if it hadn’t happened, sighing as I helped him sit up. I scooped a spoonful of the pitch-dark medicine and brought it to his lips.
He parted his lips and drank. Pain flickered across his face, his brows furrowing, pulling at the wound. He gasped.
“So bitter!”
I smelled the herbs and knew exactly how bitter they were. But which medicinal herb wasn’t? Lu Qi had insisted—it must be taken three times a day.
“You have to drink it, bitter as it is,” I said, lowering the spoon. “Finish it in one go, and you’ll only taste the bitterness once.”
Shen Jianqing pulled back. “If I drink it, I want honey fruit.”
Sure enough, he was still just a kid.
I said patiently, “Alright, drink it and you’ll get your honey fruit.”
Only then did Shen Jianqing look satisfied, gulping down the foul and bitter medicine in one go.
“So bitter!” he said, swallowing the last drop with obvious discomfort. “Honey fruit! Where’s the honey fruit—”
His voice dropped, and I instinctively leaned closer, trying to hear him clearly: “Where—”
Before I could finish, a sudden warmth pressed against my lips. Hot breath brushed my face, and the light in front of me was instantly blocked—everything I saw was Shen Jianqing’s face.
There was a mischievous, triumphant glint in his eyes as he bared his teeth and nipped my lower lip.
It didn’t hurt—just made my chest feel weird.
I immediately recoiled, breaking the deliberately sudden kiss.
Shen Jianqing leaned back against the headboard, smacking his lips with a grin, unbothered by the tug on his wound this time.
“Sweeter than honey fruit.”
But I could still taste the bitter medicine lingering on his lips.