Chapter 3
Chapter 3: Little Xia Ling and Xia Shuang
The sound of water in the Bathing Chamber had stopped.
Through the door, Xia Ling could hear it clearly—the Young Master had risen from the bath. Water droplets slid from his shoulders and back, dripping onto the surface with a soft, scattered patter.
Images she couldn't control began surfacing in her mind, and her face started to burn again.
She stole a glance at Xia Shuang beside her.
Xia Shuang held her Longsword, standing perfectly straight, gaze fixed ahead, her expression utterly still.
At any sign of movement, she would draw her sword in an instant—that was her duty.
She would not allow anyone near Song Ning.
Including Xia Ling, standing right beside her.
Xia Ling felt that sidelong gaze like something had stung her.
She nonchalantly shifted her eyes away from the window, slowly crouched down, knees together, and buried her face in them.
After a while, she lifted her head again, only to find Xia Shuang still watching her.
"What?" Xia Ling blinked, a slightly unnatural expression hanging on her small face.
"Can't I crouch for a bit when I'm tired of standing?"
Xia Shuang was never one for words. She gave her a look or 2, then turned her gaze away.
She tightened her arms around the Longsword, stilled her breath, and settled her mind—a statue standing guard before the door.
Xia Ling let out a quiet breath of relief, rested her chin on her knees, and continued listening to the sounds from inside, her heart wrapped in the tender feelings of a young girl.
To her, the Young Master was someone more special than anyone else in the world. No one was worthy of him. No one—not the Qi Family, bound to them by generations of friendship, nor the imperial daughters of the Great Qian Dynasty. And certainly not herself, standing guard outside the door.
At least, that was how it was in Xia Ling's heart.
Inside, steam hung thickly in the air.
Song Ning lay in the bath, hot water rising to his chest, the scent of Osmanthus drifting gently around him.
His eyes were closed—though even open, he wouldn't have seen much. Still, it was a habit.
In his past life, he had lived for over 20 years. He had seen everything worth seeing.
Bathing was something he managed far more easily than a truly blind person ever could.
He knew where the water was, where the cloth was, where the Bath Powder was.
Even without eyes, his body had memorized the familiar dimensions of daily life.
And having lost his sight, his other senses had grown sharper in return.
Song Ning leaned against the side of the tub and suddenly thought of the 2 young women standing guard outside the door.
He shook his head, smiling despite himself.
Xia Ling and Xia Shuang were the ones who had been with him the longest.
Back then, when choosing from so many attendants—male and female—he had in the end kept only these 2.
For one thing, he had watched them grow up, in a sense—from small girls into the young women they were now. He had grown fond of them, and long since thought of them as younger sisters in his heart.
For another, they were genuine and sincere toward him, never once overstepping.
Both of these things were extraordinarily rare.
Song Ning cupped a handful of water and let it slip through his fingers.
He thought back to the afternoon he had first met them.
That was many years ago.
That year, his mother and Qi Chuyao's mother had sent people everywhere searching for renowned physicians because of his eyes.
Every doctor, shaman, and diviner of any repute within the Great Qian Dynasty had been called upon.
This particular journey led to Yuzhou—word had it that a recluse living in the mountains there specialised in treating difficult ailments.
The carriage had traveled for many days, wheels turning endlessly, jolting all the way.
Song Ning sat inside, little Song Youyi pressed against his side.
His adopted sister was still small then, dressed in a fine new silk robe, her hair tied in 2 little tufts—like a round, chubby little dumpling.
She didn't like long journeys, yet she had wanted to accompany her brother. She'd been listless the whole way, dozing against his arm.
Then, without warning, the carriage lurched violently.
The horses shrieked. The cabin tilted sharply. Song Ning nearly slid from his seat.
His instincts kicked in—he shielded Youyi with one arm, braced the other against the wall of the carriage, and steadied himself.
"Who's blind out there?!" The coachwoman's voice came from outside, sharp with anger. "Can't you see there's a carriage?! If you want to die, don't bring that bad luck to me!"
The whip cracked through the air.
"Get out of here, beggar! Move along!"
From outside came the sound of a girl's wailing—thin and hoarse, like the mewling of a kitten.
Song Ning's brow furrowed.
He knew there had been a famine in the area nearby.
All along the road they had passed through village after village—9 out of 10 households abandoned, and from time to time, displaced people fleeing hunger at the roadside.
It seemed a starving child was begging for food on the road.
"Brother." Youyi poked her head out from under his arm, her voice bright and childlike. "I think it's a beggar."
Song Ning said nothing and reached up to pat her head.
The pleading outside continued, growing more and more urgent, more and more hoarse.
"Please give us something to eat, officer—throw us anything, anything at all! Even your leftovers, things you don't want—we'll take anything!"
"My sister is mute, and our mother and father both starved to death. My sister is nearly gone too…"
The coachwoman was clearly out of patience.
Yuzhou was far from the capital. She was in a hurry to press on and find the physician—she had no time to deal with displaced people.
"Get away! Don't interfere with our Young Master's business!"
"Move, or else—!" The whip sang through the air with a sharp crack.
"Please, just one bite of food! My sister, my sister is already…"
The girl's voice broke with crying, yet she kept shouting with everything she had.
She had a feeling—if she let this wealthy household pass, her life might end here on this roadside—and so she cried out with all she had left.
Song Ning raised his hand and rapped against the wall of the carriage.
"Wait."
The whip outside fell silent.
"Give her some food."
The coachwoman paused, and her tone softened at once:
"Young Master, we still need to go and see about your eyes…"
"We've already traveled all the way from the capital to Yuzhou." Song Ning lifted the carriage curtain and reached his hand outward, guided by instinct. "A little while longer won't matter. Come up."
Outside, a moment of silence fell.
Then came a flurry of stumbling footsteps, half-crawling, scrambling toward them.
Song Ning sensed someone approaching the carriage, carrying with them the raw scent of dust and earth.
The person stopped at the side of the cabin and did not immediately climb up.
"Come up," he said again, hand still extended.
Silence.
Song Youyi pressed herself against the window and peered outside, her voice clear and bright:
"Brother, she's very dirty—covered in mud."
After a moment, the girl spoke—her voice small, timid:
"Sir, I… I only need a little food. I'm afraid I'll dirty your clothes."
Song Ning's brow creased slightly. He reached forward again, but the girl shrank back from him.
"You always say to stay clean," Youyi murmured beside him in a quiet reminder.
"I said that in daily life, one should keep clean." Song Ning's voice was gentle.
"Right now, what's needed is a clean conscience."
He reached outward once more.
"Come—it's cold outside. Get in first."
The light at the carriage doorway dimmed.
Song Ning felt a small hand carefully grasp his arm.
The hand was thin to the bone—ice-cold, trembling faintly.
He pulled steadily and lifted the child up into the carriage.
The moment Xia Ling was brought inside, she froze completely.
It was so warm inside the carriage.
A small charcoal brazier burned in the corner, its heat wrapping around her softly.
A cushioned seat. A low table spread with delicate pastries. A pot of steaming tea.
And just moments ago, she had been sitting on that cold, hard roadside. It was like 2 entirely different worlds.
She looked down at herself—caked in mud, clothes in tatters, the straw sandals on her feet barely holding together.
Then she looked at the white-robed young man before her—his hands so clean, his clothes so white, the whole of him like someone who glowed.
She instinctively stepped back, terrified of dirtying something.
Song Ning's hand moved across the low table until it found a plate of pastries, which he held out toward her.
"Eat. We haven't prepared any proper food, so have some of these for now."
Xia Ling stared at the plate of pastries, eyes fixed and wide.
They were the most beautiful pastries she had ever seen in her life—white, soft, each one dotted with a tiny red flower.
She swallowed, reached out, then pulled her hand back—wiped it hard against her clothing—and only then dared to take them.
The moment the pastries were in her hand, she stuffed them into her mouth.
She was starving.
It had been days since she had eaten anything proper.
Tree roots, bark, rotting vegetable leaves picked up off the ground—she had eaten whatever she could find.
The pastry melted the moment it touched her tongue, sweetness blooming through her. She had never eaten anything so delicious in her life.
She ate with desperate speed—cramming, gulping, like a small beast half-mad with hunger.
Crumbs smeared across her whole face and she didn't bother to wipe them. Her mouth was stuffed to bursting and still she kept pushing more in, cheeks puffed out like little balls.
Crunch.
One bite—and she hadn't bitten into pastry. She had bitten into a finger.
Song Ning wrenched his hand back.
"You bit my brother's hand!" Song Youyi leapt up, her small hands shoving Xia Ling hard. "What are you doing?!"
Xia Ling was pushed and landed squarely on the floor, nearly spraying the half-chewed pastry from her mouth.
She looked up blankly, watching Song Ning tuck the bitten hand back into his sleeve—and her eyes instantly went red.
"I… I didn't mean to…" She spoke through a mouthful of pastry, her voice muffled, tears already spinning in her eyes.
"Enough." Song Ning reached out and stopped Youyi before she could charge again, his voice still gentle and unhurried. "I'm fine."
He tilted his head in Xia Ling's direction—though he couldn't see, it was as if he knew exactly where she was.
"The pastries on the table are yours to eat as you like," he said. "The water too—drink as much as you want."
Xia Ling stared at him, tears falling steadily, yet she remembered to nod with all her might.
She swallowed frantically—her throat nearly choked raw and still she kept going—her mind holding onto only 1 thought: eat, eat as much as possible.
Then, mid-bite, she suddenly jerked her head up.
"My sister! My sister!" Pastry still in her mouth, her words came out garbled. She stamped her feet in a panic. "My sister is still outside! She's almost dead!"
Song Ning felt for the water cup and passed it in her direction.
"Have your sister come in and eat too."
Xia Ling took the cup, too frantic to drink, fresh tears spilling out:
"She gave me the last of the food. She collapsed."
One child, alone, with another collapsed child—if they couldn't get food soon, they would simply starve to death by the roadside.
Song Ning was quiet for a moment.
He tucked his hands into his sleeves. Where he'd been bitten still throbbed faintly.
Youyi tugged at his sleeve beside him, tilting her face up to look at him:
"Brother, let me see."
Evidently, she had little interest in the small, grubby child in front of them.
Song Ning let out a quiet sigh.
Having already gone this far, he may as well see it through.
"Set up camp nearby," he said to the coachwoman outside.
"Bring her sister to the rear."