"Naturally, you are worried I will pass on the illness," Song Qingmu answered before Song Qingchao could.
Bai Youan said, "These symptoms only appear when I administer medicine; they are not contagious."
"Are they not?" Song Qingmu gave a cold laugh. "I personally don't mind, but it has implicated my elder sister, making her suffer alongside me." He covered his mouth and feigned a cough. "Explanations are useless; they have already decided I am an ill omen."
Bai Youan frowned. "I will go and explain things to them properly."
"No need." The siblings spoke in unison, exchanged a glance, and shared a knowing smile.
Song Qingchao was quite surprised that Mu Mu had spoken so much. She reached out and tidied Song Qingmu's hair. "This is good too; Mu Mu's frail health requires rest." Most importantly, she wanted to retrieve something from her spatial dimension. She could explain to Mu Mu, but if others saw it, unforeseen incidents might occur. It wasn't that she thought ill of people, but rather that her own experiences had taught her to understand the current situation better. Harsh environments breed difficult people. The siblings were weak, and if targeted, they wouldn't even need the noble families of Chang'an to make a move; the exiles themselves, scrambling for food, would spell their doom. Moreover, there was a certain mortality rate within exile convoys. Even if half the people perished, it would be considered normal. Therefore, she had to be more cautious. One wrong step, and it would be eternal damnation.
Song Qingmu remained silent, staring at his hands wrapped in rags. Song Qingchao's heart ached as she reached out to hold his hand. "It's alright, I'm here." Looking at Song Qingmu's lifeless eyes, she felt immense sadness.
They had been planning for three years. How could these people bear to see her family prosper? "Mr. Bai," Song Qingchao said, her knuckles brushing against her slightly damp eyes, "so, Mu Mu's joint pain during rainy weather, and the muscle spasms he experiences after prolonged martial arts practice, are these due to this chronic poison?"
"Yes," Bai Youan replied. He crouched down and picked up the broken bowl, carefully examining the residue on the side. "This medicine paralyzes one's tendons and bones. Over time, with daily consumption, the final outcome is being bedridden and paralyzed."
"Paralyzed?" Song Qingchao uttered the word with a tremor. She couldn't imagine what kind of fiendishly wicked person would commit such a heinous act. "Then, are these two poisons perhaps from the same group?" Song Qingchao was doing her best to control her emotions, but her hands still clenched with agitation.
"No," Bai Youan said, putting down the bowl. "If it were the same group, rather than switching to such hard-to-find poisons, they would have simply increased the dosage of the original medicine." He held his fan and tapped Song Qingmu's kneecap. "With double the dosage, that leg would be crippled." Bai Youan's fan continued to tap upwards along his leg, announcing a number with each tap, making Song Qingchao's heart grow colder. Finally, he tapped Song Qingmu's skull. He smiled, gentle and mysterious. "Paralysis of the brain requires only ten times the dosage, and that ten times dose is no larger than a thumb." He moved his fan and pointed at Song Qingchao. "Think carefully about what Young Master Song eats daily."
Bai Youan closed his fan and stood up. "Also, although his body is still weak, he cannot survive on thin porridge every day; nourishing the body requires some richness." He then pointed to himself. "And so do I." Bai Youan left, carrying Ying Zhong. However, the bothersome voice continued. "A clean environment, water and food, and moderate exercise are the most basic conditions for maintaining good health. If you don't want him to die, you'd best ensure these."
Song Qingchao watched their receding backs, her fists clenched. "Ignore him," Song Qingmu mumbled. "I'm fine."
Song Qingchao softly hummed in response. She cupped Song Qingmu's hands and gently untied the rags wrapped around them. "So you weren't skilled in martial arts because of these tricks. Father often told me how hard you worked and how much he worried about you, but seeing you push yourself so hard, he could only be more severe with you, unable to say anything." She applied medicine to Song Qingmu's wounds while speaking softly about past trivialities, completely unaware that Song Qingmu's eyes were already red-rimmed.
"I also knew you were upset, but I didn't dare to look at you, for fear you would misunderstand and think I was showing off in front of you." Song Qingchao took out gauze strips she had prepared earlier and carefully re-bandaged him. "But fortunately, you never gave up." After bandaging him, she held Song Qingmu's hands and then looked up at him. "Silly boy." A smile curved her lips, her eyes sparkling. "When one door closes, another opens." She lightly tapped his forehead. "If you had always excelled in martial arts, how could we have discovered your literary talents?" She sighed, "My brother is truly accomplished in both literature and martial arts."
Song Qingchao lowered her head again, her lips pursed, trying her best not to let tears fall. She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice trembled too much. Only when her lips touched the wetness did she sigh with a smile. "Look at me." She withdrew her hands and wiped her face. "I remember you eat furong cake every day, made by the wet nurse beside Mother."
"Mother..." Song Qingchao drew a breath, but her voice trembled uncontrollably. Her shoulders were shaking, and she clenched her fists, thumping her legs, trying to force out a sound. Then, she was suddenly embraced by Song Qingmu.
"Jie!" His voice, hoarse yet soft, tore through the coldness that had confined Song Qingmu. His voice was weak, yet it pierced Song Qingchao's heart. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." He had misunderstood her all along... When their father punished him by making him kneel in the training grounds, he had only seen her retreating back as she held an umbrella and left. He had thought it was mockery. At the birthday banquet, he sat in a corner, watching everyone flock around her, but she pushed them away and offered a set of writing implements. He had thought it was showing off. He was angry at her decadence, her foolishness, her everything. He had misunderstood her all along... She was worried, she admired him. Song Qingmu rested his chin on Song Qingchao's frail shoulder. "Why didn't you say anything? If you had said something, I would have known..."
Song Qingchao was stunned for a long time. She could clearly feel Song Qingmu's heartbeat, vigorous and strong. Her red and swollen eyes were still streaming tears. Uncertainly, she reached out to return the long-awaited embrace. The firm muscle lines, the upright spine. Song Qingchao held him tightly, as if embracing the entire world. Having died tragically in her previous life, she had been constantly on edge even after rebirth. At this moment, Song Qingmu was her haven. She wanted to rest here briefly. In Song Qingmu's arms, she cried her heart out. And then she would regroup. Those who hurt her, bullied her, and disgraced her, she would repay them tenfold, a hundredfold! Not a single one would be spared...