Chapter 4
Chapter 4: Little Sister's Jealousy
The carriage fell quiet for a moment.
Only the rumble-rumble of wheels rolling over the road, and the occasional birdsong drifting in from a distance.
Xia Ling huddled in the corner, her small body curled up tight, as if trying to hide herself away.
Her eyes were red, and the tear tracks on her face had not yet dried—mixed with dirt, smearing her little face into a muddy mess.
She didn't dare move recklessly, didn't dare look around. The little girl in the brocade dress sitting across from her had been glaring at her the whole time.
That gaze was like a small knife, jabbing at her one stab at a time.
Xia Ling didn't know what she had done wrong. She could only shrink herself down even smaller.
"Can my sister still survive?" she asked in a tiny voice, thin and soft.
Song Ning sat across from her and tilted his head slightly at her words.
Beside him, Song Youyi was gripping his arm tightly, nearly hanging half her body off him.
The moment Xia Ling spoke, Youyi's wariness shot up another level—her eyes wide and round, her lips pressed into a thin line, like a small beast guarding its food.
Song Ning could see none of this, least of all Song Youyi's expression.
He only knew he was being held with a death grip and that his arm was going a little numb.
He figured it must be that Youyi, being so young, was a bit frightened of this unfamiliar little girl in front of them.
That made sense—Youyi had always been frail, weaker than other children her age. Of course she'd be scared seeing another girl.
"She's already been fed," he replied gently. "Whether she'll make it, I can't say for certain. We'll need a physician to tell us more."
He added: "Don't worry. I'll do my best to save her."
Having that girl moved to the carriage behind had been his deliberate order.
He was kindhearted, but that didn't make him a fool. This world was nothing like his past life—the medical conditions were worlds apart. No vaccines, no antibiotics; even a common cold could take someone's life. What if she had something contagious?
Song Ning wasn't willing to gamble on that, especially not with his sickly little sister by his side.
He knew, of course, that this world had Inner Energy. Some people who cultivated it to the First Rank could cut through entire armies.
But at the end of the day, everyone was still mortal. There was no flying through the sky or vanishing into the earth here.
Qi Chuyao's mother was a Second Rank expert, and yet she still fell ill like anyone else.
Keeping her separated was the safer option for now.
Xia Ling heard his words, and the shimmer of tears in her eyes flickered again.
She opened her mouth as if to say something, then swallowed it back down.
"Brother." Song Youyi suddenly spoke, her voice young and childlike.
"What are we going to do with them? We're not bringing them back to the Song Family Estate, are we?"
Xia Ling's heart lurched into her throat.
She raised her head, and her gaze landed on Song Ning's face.
That face was truly beautiful. She hadn't dared look carefully before—but now she dared to steal a proper glance.
His brows and eyes were refined and elegant, his complexion fair, his features like something painted with a brush—every detail precisely right.
Most striking of all were his eyes. The pupils were white, unfocused, gazing emptily ahead—yet they weren't frightening at all. Rather, there was something in them that she couldn't quite put into words...
Xia Ling had seen little of the world and couldn't name what the feeling was. She only found herself unable to stop looking.
She thought those eyes somehow seemed cleaner than most people's dark ones.
Song Ning didn't answer immediately.
He was silent for a moment, as if turning something over in his mind.
"What is your family situation like?" he asked. "Is it just you and your sister now?"
Xia Ling's eyes went red again.
"Yes…" She lowered her head, her voice muffled. "Just me and my sister now."
"My family never had much land to begin with. This year the disaster came, so we sold the fields—but my mother and father still…" She couldn't go on. Tears dropped one after another onto her ragged collar.
Song Ning let out a quiet sigh.
He had already guessed as much. Farmers in ancient times had almost no ability to weather hardship. A single famine could claim countless lives.
If he just filled their bellies once and let them go, chances were they'd starve again soon enough.
Having met them now—that was fate.
"How old are you?" he asked.
Xia Ling told him her age between sniffles.
Song Ning asked a few more careful questions about her family and background, then gave a nod.
"Why don't you come to our Song Family Estate," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "2 extra mouths to feed aren't a problem."
"If you'd rather not, there are other households in the capital…"
Before he could finish, there was a thud.
Xia Ling dropped straight down onto her knees inside the carriage, her forehead knocking against the wooden floor—thok, thok.
"Thank you, my lord! Thank you, my lord!" Her voice trembled, her face a mess of tears. "Such great kindness—my sister and I will surely repay you! We won't go anywhere—we'll stay by your side always!"
Song Ning was startled by her sudden kneel and quickly reached out to help her up.
His hand touched that thin shoulder and felt the bones jutting out beneath the meager clothing. He let out a quiet sigh inside.
"Don't call me 'my lord.'" He smiled faintly. "Do I look that old?"
Xia Ling was helped to her feet, her eyes blurred with tears as she looked up.
He really wasn't old at all.
He was a little taller than others his age, dressed in a plain white long robe that made his whole person seem light and otherworldly.
Those white eyes lent him an indescribable quality all his own.
Xia Ling's heart gave an unexpected little jump.
She didn't know why it jumped. She only murmured:
"Then what should I call you? My lord?"
"Brother…"
The word had barely left her mouth when she felt a cold stare settle on her.
Song Youyi was glaring at her, the sharpness in her eyes utterly undisguised.
Xia Ling swallowed the rest of the word back down, and a chill ran straight up her back.
"Young Master." She had a quick flash of wit, recalling how the aunties and village women back home used to chat and gossip about tales from storybooks—stories of Young Ladies and Young Masters. "Hello, Young Master."
Song Ning gave a nod.
"Mm, that works too." He steadied her and looked down at his sleeves, now smeared with quite a bit of mud—yet somehow it didn't look dirty at all. If anything, it was like a few strokes of pale ink brushed onto that white robe. "One more thing."
Xia Ling listened quietly and obediently.
"In the household, you must be proper and observe the rules when meeting others." Song Ning's voice was gentle, yet carried a note of sincerity. "But with me—and only with me—you don't have to kneel."
"I don't like others kneeling before me. Do you understand?"
Xia Ling nodded, a little dazed.
"You have no reason to kneel before me," Song Ning said once more.
Xia Ling nodded again.
She was close to him now—close enough to catch the faint scent of soap bean on him.
She blinked hard, tears still clinging to her lashes, yet she stared at the person before her without blinking.
His brows. His eyes. His nose. His lips.
The way the corners of his mouth curved ever so slightly when he spoke.
His sleeve that she had dirtied.
She wanted to memorize him—lock him away in her heart, fix him in her gaze.
On the side, Song Youyi watched the whole scene unfold, her little face drooping even further.
She pulled Song Ning's arm tighter still, pressing her entire self against him as if to claim ownership.
Her eyes kept darting over to stab at Xia Ling—like a small wolf pup guarding its meal.
Too bad Song Ning couldn't see any of it.
He had absolutely no understanding of Song Youyi's childish feelings.
Song Ning's mother had no daughters of her own, and in this world, a woman was naturally needed to inherit everything—her political legacy, her power. More than that, someone was needed to protect the blind Song Ning once she was gone. So she had taken in 2 adopted daughters with whom she shared deep ties.
Song Youyi was the youngest of the daughters, and with her frail constitution, she had always been the most doted upon at home. Naturally, her disposition was a cut above the rest.
In Song Youyi's mind, being a little sister required no blood relation—only being brought into the Song Family, and being young enough.
This little girl in front of her might even be younger than herself. Wouldn't that make her the little sister of the household?
Then wouldn't I no longer be Brother's only little sister?
Song Ning felt his arm hurting a little from how tightly Song Youyi was clutching it, so he freed his other hand and patted Youyi on the head.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
Song Youyi gave a sulky "mm," but her eyes remained fixed on Xia Ling.
Xia Ling, feeling that stare boring into her, shrank further into the corner.