"Clang, clang, clang."
Lunch break was over, and the constables were banging their gongs again.
They looked like they were herding livestock.
But their current predicament was worse than that of animals.
One by one, skeletal figures were dragged to their feet.
Those who couldn't get up were whipped.
Even if someone died on the spot, the constables wouldn't care; people were going to die anyway.
Song Qingmu's eyes flashed with sternness. After putting his things away, he hurried to help Song Qingchao.
"They die, and we live; this is a living arrangement."
After saying this, both of them fell silent.
Someone would not reach the northern desert on this journey, but the decision could not be theirs.
They could not bear the responsibility for the lives of so many innocent people!
Song Qingchao leaned on Song Qingmu, slowly getting to her feet.
She stood tall and graceful, her loose clothes billowing slightly in the wind.
If her body allowed,
She had a third plan: to go up the mountain and eliminate those people herself.
Song Qingchao took a slow step, squeezed the sachet in her hand, and put it into her spatial dimension. She turned to look at Song Qingmu.
"Mumu, fortune favors the bold."
"No," Song Qingmu refused without even looking at her.
"There is no other way."
"There will be," he said, his unfinished words trailing off, cold and chilling.
"Have you forgotten?" Song Qingchao walked beside him, her voice exceptionally gentle. "When I was in the army, no battalion could defeat me."
"That was in the past."
Song Qingmu stopped, blocking her path.
"Anyone can die, but you cannot."
He had peach blossom eyes, but when he looked at people, they were always indifferent and distant.
"Eldest Sister."
Song Qingmu caught the whip that was being swung at him with one hand, producing a "crack."
His eyes instantly became sharp, his dark pupils emitting a dangerous glint, like an abyss luring people to fall.
Song Qingchao turned to look at the cursing constable. Her face turned a liverish color, but she couldn't pry the whip from Song Qingmu's hand.
Her gaze shifted to his hand.
The black whip, mixed with dirt, was wrapped around the fair cloth, but the bright red blood stung her eyes.
"Mumu!"
She bit her lip, gripped Song Qingmu's wrist, and said, "Let go."
Song Qingmu looked down at her, then glared warningly at the constable, "We will walk ourselves."
As he released his grip.
The whistling whip wind ruffled Song Qingchao's hair.
In the next moment, she was picked up by Song Qingmu again.
She was so small, nestled against his broad chest.
The constables' whipping made him groan involuntarily.
He glanced back indifferently, his eyes full of killing intent.
"What are you looking at!" The constable's hand, raising the whip, trembled, but he still stubbornly brought it down. "Still thinking you're a young master! Hurry up! Or I'll whip you!"
When he raised the whip again, it was clearly a feint.
Song Qingmu couldn't be bothered to deal with him, merely curling his lips into a sneer.
He never cared what dead people did.
"Eldest Sister, don't try to deceive me, I won't agree."
Song Qingchao nodded gently, but her gaze was on the constable behind Song Qingmu, who was still whipping people.
Shifty-eyed, bullying the weak and fearing the strong.
She hooked her arm around Song Qingmu's neck, her hand resting on his back.
The sticky, warm blood clung to her fingers, and her pupils also darkened with anger.
"I know what you're thinking right now."
A deep voice came from his chest, making the side of her face pressed against Song Qingmu's shoulder tingle.
"What am I thinking?"
Song Qingmu didn't answer, changing the subject instead. "Why aren't you weaving straw mats anymore?"
Song Qingchao blinked and looked up at him from behind. "Are we weaving them now to collect bodies in a few days?"
Her tone was serious, without a hint of jest.
Song Qingmu was amused, his lips curling up. "It's not impossible."
Song Qingchao leaned back against Song Qingmu and closed her eyes, comforting him. "We will live. Believe me."
"Mhm, I believe you. Go to sleep, I'm not tired."
"Mhm..."
Song Qingchao didn't know if it was the plump pigeon or the warmth of Mumu's embrace.
She actually fell asleep.
In her dream, she saw her mother holding her and pushing her on a swing under a tree. Her small, chubby fingers pointed at Mumu, who was practicing swordplay, and she laughed.
A gentle breeze rustled, carrying waves of white foam with the fragrance of pear blossoms.
This was how they should have been!
A gust of wind blew, getting into her eyes.
When the little her opened her eyes again, it was a sea of fire.
Her hands had become slender jade fingers stained with blood.
Barefoot, she walked down from the high throne, the tattered red gauze and flickering candlelight obscuring the frailty between her brows by a third.
"Spring blossoms fade,
Too quickly gone.
Alas, for the morning's cold rain and the evening's wind.
Rouge tears, lingering in drunken bliss, when will they return..."
She recited the poem with a娇笑, sprinkling the red candle in her hand into every corner as if scattering water for blessings during a ritual.
Burn!
Burn away this sin, this filth!
She turned and roared, throwing the red candle with all her might towards the high platform.
With a "bang," magnificent fireworks bloomed.
"My King, do you like my gift?"
She knelt limply beside a lifeless youth, yet dared not touch his whitened, pale hair.
Her eyes held tears of blood, and her hand, wiping her swollen, bitten red lips, smiled.
"Naturally, life is filled with regret like the ever-flowing river. If there is a next life, I will make them taste the bitterness of a shattered kingdom and a fallen home... Mumu, don't be afraid, Sister is coming to find you..."
"Eldest Sister, Eldest Sister, wake up."
Song Qingchao's eyes snapped open, her back drenched in cold sweat. The wind blew, and she couldn't help but shiver.
"What's wrong? I've been calling you for a long time."
Song Qingchao let out a soft "Ah," and then smiled, bending her eyes. But she felt a pang of loss when she realized she had crumpled Mumu's clothes.
Heaven had given her a chance to start anew, but what had she done?
She pursed her lips, smoothing Mumu's clothes. "It's nothing."
"You're always fine," Song Qingmu sighed. "But how can I not know you?"
Song Qingchao smiled and hugged Song Qingmu's neck. "Silly boy."
The gentle sunset, inch by inch, kissed his exquisite face, his jade-like skin reflecting the warm red light.
She reached out to tug Song Qingmu's hair and called out again, "Silly boy."
Song Qingmu couldn't do anything about her and let her play.
After confirming this, Song Qingchao felt more like a younger sister.
But it was soon time for night's rest.
She had rested enough.
Her feet finally touched the ground, and she saw Mumu hide his trembling hand behind his back.
Song Qingchao smiled and remained silent. Instead, she took out a secret letter and wrote a little more. This time, she didn't ask Song Qingmu but directly wrote "All is well" for him.
Such a cute younger brother.
She was dying, so how could she let those who bullied her off the hook?
"Eldest Sister, what did you write?"
"What did I write..." Song Qingchao looked up at the starry sky. "People say it's better to live a miserable life than to die well. What I've written can make them beg for death."