Li Yanzhu flung Song Qingchao aside and languidly picked up Song Qingmu’s hand, which was wrapped in white cloth.
The white cloth was smeared with dark red grime and a thick yellow liquid.
“A shame about your beautiful calligraphy. I doubt you can hold a brush again now…”
She stood up with a look of disgust, letting Xiaocui wipe her hands, and turned her gaze to Bai You’an, who was still on the ground picking up medicinal herbs.
The commotion had overturned his medicine chest, spilling its contents everywhere. “Mr. Bai, can you cure this?”
Bai You’an smiled gently and, maintaining his dignity, picked up his medicine chest and walked over to Song Qingchao.
Song Qingchao lowered her head, only seeing a pair of white boots.
It was truly a pity for them to be walking in this mud.
Her chin was cupped in a hand, and she frowned, trying to break free, but then froze in place.
This person?
“Princess, the injuries on this young lady’s face might be beyond repair.”
The cool touch vanished from her face, and Song Qingchao watched as he reached for Song Qingmu.
Mu Mu’s hand was fine; it was only wrapped to prevent discovery. If someone were to… kuAiδugg
“Considering you saved me when I was young, if I were to kill you now, it would be a violation of my father’s decree and make me appear heartless.” Li Yanzhu crossed her arms, squinting down at him. “Mr. Bai, please do me the favor of not letting her die. It can be considered repayment for your past kindness. Our sisterly bond ends here.”
Bai You’an’s fingers traced inward along Song Qingmu’s hand, which was wrapped like a mummy. With every inch he moved further in, Song Qingchao’s anxiety intensified, as if her throat were being squeezed, making it difficult to breathe.
“As you command.” His voice paused, then he shook his head slightly. “Princess, this young gentleman’s hand may also be beyond saving.”
Li Yanzhu frowned but said nothing.
Song Qingchao suddenly spoke, “Princess, are you at ease now?”
Li Yanzhu nodded, then said coldly, “Song Qingchao, I want you alive. I want you to taste all the hardships in this world. I want you to regret, to regret treating me this way today.”
Li Yanzhu yanked up the skinny monkey whose head was nearly bowed to the ground. “You will supervise her properly for me. If she dies, I will be displeased.”
The skinny monkey bowed in response, and only then did Li Yanzhu release him with satisfaction.
“I cannot tolerate betrayal the most. Xiaocui, let’s go.”
This was said to the skinny monkey, and also to herself.
She mounted her horse, her posture graceful, and departed amidst a chorus of flattery.
Song Qingchao knelt on the ground, watching the figure gradually disappear into the night. Her feelings were a mixture of sorrow and joy.
I’m sorry. This is the only way I can protect you.
In this life, you must stay as far away from me as possible. Abandon me, loathe me.
She blinked, holding back her tears, and asked in a hoarse voice, “Mu Mu, will you blame me?”
Without the Grand Princess, she and her brother were truly fish on a chopping block. But even if that were the case, she did not want to implicate A Zhu.
Feeling the rustle of clothes, a “scarred” hand was placed on her shoulder.
“No,” Song Qingmu said.
Song Qingchao turned back in surprise, his face as cold as ever.
She smiled faintly and, leaning on him for support, stood up. “That’s good.”
But he would probably still blame her.
“Eldest sister, don’t cause trouble this time.”
After the Grand Princess left, the skinny monkey revealed his arrogant demeanor again.
Song Qingchao lowered her eyes and replied softly, “Yes.”
The skinny monkey sighed and left, swinging his whip. As he walked, he lashed out at others, his ferocious appearance truly resembling a monkey that had sprung from a rock crevice.
Song Qingchao held Song Qingmu’s wrist and slowly followed the main group.
As they walked, they gradually moved to the rear.
Her father was enfeoffed as a marquis in his youth, rising from a soldier through military achievements.
The Song family’s foundation was not as deep as other noble families, and her father was an orphan with no clan or relatives. Their small family, perhaps, was not even enough to provide a mouthful for an executioner, let alone nine generations to be executed.
They and their brother were merely tagging along with the exiled group.
A withered camel is still larger than a horse, but she truly had nothing.
Song Qingchao pondered throughout the journey. The night wind was cold, but she felt no discomfort.
“Are you cold?”
“Hmm?” She snapped back to attention, turned to look at Song Qingmu, and said hesitantly, “Not cold.”
The procession reached an open area and stopped to rest.
The siblings supported each other as they walked towards a tree.
As soon as Song Qingchao sat down, Song Qingmu left.
She wanted to reach out and grab him but withdrew her hand.
He probably still blamed her.
She lowered her head, hugged her knees, and rubbed her bracelet with her fingers.
How to reasonably get the items out?
The journey to Mobei was fraught with hardship, and lack of food and clothing was inevitable. If they were lucky, they might reach Mobei safely under the “care” of the guards, but who could guarantee their safety along the way?
The sound of gongs clanging, accompanied by the guards’ announcement of “Mealtime,” jolted Song Qingchao back.
She raised her head, and two dark, coarse steamed buns were thrown towards her.
She quickly reached out to catch them.
One landed in her lap, and the other fell onto the muddy ground, sticking to dry yellow leaves and small stones.
Song Qingchao pursed her lips and still reached down to pick it up.
She carefully scraped off the muddy part.
The steamed bun, originally the size of a fist, was now pockmarked and only the size of an egg.
“Fortunately, it’s still edible.”
A contented smile spread across her lips, and she meticulously wiped her hands with the corner of her clothes.
There was no water source in this place. Since leaving the city, the guards had only given them half a bag of water, stating it was their ration for the week.
They were so stingy with this little water that washing hands was out of the question.
Her spatial dimension was filled with food and medicinal herbs, but she had overlooked water. She needed to find a way to get clean water.
As she was thinking about water, a bowl of steaming water suddenly appeared before her.
A pair of hands, cracked and dry, held it. The chipped rim of the bowl was filled with clear water, reflecting the round, yellow moon.
“For you.”
His voice was colder than the night wind, yet it sent a surge of warmth through Song Qingchao’s heart.
She looked up at Song Qingmu’s chapped lips and felt a pang of pain.
“Where did you get this?”
Song Qingchao carefully took the bowl, cradling it in both hands, feeling the warmth of the hot water through the bowl’s walls, reluctant to drink it.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Song Qingchao obediently said, “Oh,” and then lowered her eyes, gazing at the sliver of moon in the bowl.
She then stole a glance at the youth who had just sat beside her. His upward gaze was brighter than the moon.
“Here,” she took out the clean black steamed bun from her bosom and shoved it into Song Qingmu’s hand. “Eat.”
Song Qingmu looked down. “What about you?”
“I have some,” she said with a smile.
Song Qingchao watched Song Qingmu break off a piece and put it in his mouth, frowning as he swallowed with difficulty.
Although her heart ached, she had to admit that this was unavoidable. Some hardships had to be endured.
She smiled and lowered her head, intending to drink the water.
It was her brother’s rare gesture of kindness; it would be a shame for it to go cold.
Her lips had just touched the moisture when her hand stung, and she released the bowl.
“Who!”
The bowl, filled with moonlight, was overturned onto the ground. Song Qingchao looked up in anger to see a handsome young man walking towards her, idly playing with a stone that had hit her hand.
His waist was narrow, his back broad, and his white robes were as pure as snow, unlike her, who was struggling in the mud.
She flexed her fingers, suppressing the urge to pack him up and send him away, and said calmly, “Sir, why have you done this?”
“To save you.”
Bai You’an showed no sign of anger, only smiling. “This water is poisoned.”
Poisoned?
Song Qingchao’s gaze snapped back to the overturned bowl and to Song Qingmu’s indifferent expression.
Poisoned, was it?