Chapter 5
Chapter 5: The Woman of the Qin Family
Xia Shuang woke up.
The moment she opened her eyes, her limbs felt so weak it was as though the bones had been pulled from them—the world spun, and there wasn't a single part of her body that wasn't aching.
Xia Shuang blinked, her vision gradually clearing.
A small face hovered close before her, eyes rimmed red—it was her younger sister, Xia Ling.
"Sis! Sis, you're finally awake!" Xia Ling's voice was both frantic and overjoyed. "Sis, are you feeling better?"
Xia Shuang opened her mouth, but could only manage hoarse, breathless sounds—"ah, ah."
With great effort she propped herself up and looked around. This was no wilderness—no dead grass, no biting cold. She was lying in a bed, covered with a thin blanket, the room warm and snug.
Xia Shuang's gaze drifted a short distance away.
A white-robed young man sat quietly there, a young girl in brocade clothing standing at his side.
The young man was strikingly handsome—fine, clear features—yet his eyes were white.
Xia Shuang froze for a moment.
"Ah…ah, ah, ah." She gestured to her sister, pointing all around, then pointing to herself, asking what had happened.
Before Xia Ling could answer, the little girl across the room spoke up first.
"Brother, that mute woke up." Song Youyi tugged at Song Ning's sleeve, her voice young and childlike.
Song Ning gave a small nod and stood.
Standing beside him was a woman in black, a square cap atop her head, roughly forty years of age, with a lean face—yet her eyes were exceptionally bright, the eyes of someone who had traveled far and wide for many years.
"Can her muteness be cured?" Song Ning asked.
The female physician glanced at Xia Shuang on the bed, then back at Song Ning, and gave a rueful shake of her head.
"Please forgive me, Young Master Song, for my inadequate skills—you've come all this way out here for nothing." She let out a sigh. "Your eyes—I truly have no solution, and her mute condition…I also…"
Song Ning's brow showed no sign of disappointment, nor any other emotion.
He simply listened in quiet, offering a faint smile.
"Doctor, please don't blame yourself," he said, his voice gentle.
"There are all manner of strange ailments in this world—being unable to treat one doesn't speak of inadequacy."
"You have remarkable healing hands. You have cured so many patients, saved so many lives—how can you call that inadequate?"
He paused, then added, "I know you wander freely and prefer not to stay in one place—this is your consultation fee. Please accept it."
The female attendant behind him stepped forward at his word, carrying a small box that she opened to reveal gleaming silver coins—not a large amount, but more than sufficient.
The physician gave the young man before her a searching look.
He was not old—at most 11 or 12 by his appearance—yet his manner of speech and conduct carried a composed gravity far beyond his years.
Those white eyes could see nothing at all, yet they only added to the air of steadiness he carried.
"Worthy of being the eldest son of the Song Family," the physician remarked with feeling, a trace of regret in her tone.
She pushed the box back gently and gave a rueful smile:
"I have some acquaintance with your mother—this money, I think, should still…"
Song Ning shook his head and waved his hand.
"All the more reason to accept it," he said, a faint note of warmth in his voice. "Thank you for the trouble."
"If you ever wish to find a place to settle, the Song Family's doors will always be open to you."
His words were unhurried, yet he had his own calculations in mind.
The future—he understood all too well what lay ahead for this dynasty.
Turbulent times were coming. Talented people would be precious.
Plant a seed of goodwill today, and one day it might prove useful.
The physician regarded him for a moment, then finally gave a nod and accepted the silver.
"I have caused a disturbance." Song Ning inclined his head slightly and instructed the attendant to escort the Xia sisters back to the capital.
The group had barely reached the door when the physician's voice rang out from behind.
"Young Master, a moment, please."
Song Ning paused in his steps and turned.
The physician's hand moved across the lid of her chest, a look of hesitation on her face.
After a moment, as though having made up her mind, she spoke:
"Young Master, when I was still studying, I had a senior sister whose medical arts surpassed even my own." She looked at Song Ning's white eyes. "Your eyes—I cannot say whether she could treat them. But that girl's throat—I believe there may be a chance."
A physician's heart is one of compassion; some things still needed to be said, even if the girl was merely someone Song Ning had picked up off the road.
A glimmer of joy finally crossed Song Ning's face.
"Where is this person now?"
If the girl's condition could be healed, that would be a good thing no matter what.
The physician shook her head, helplessness in her expression.
"My senior sister is even more free-roaming than I am—she's grown accustomed to drifting like the clouds, and her temperament is eccentric as well." She paused. "If I encounter her, I will let her know."
Though in her heart she was certain that, given her senior sister's nature, even if she were told, she might not come.
And the price she'd demand would likely be steep. Human goodwill has its limits—for the sake of some girl found by the roadside, Song Ning might not be willing to pay for her treatment.
Song Ning was silent for a brief moment, then nodded.
He turned and extended his hand in Xia Ling's direction: "The little one—have her come here."
Xia Ling had been listening with her ears perked up the whole time; hearing this, she immediately shoved her sister forward.
"Young Master, she's right here!"
Xia Shuang stumbled a step from the push, bumping straight into Song Ning.
She was startled and went rigid, her small face written all over with helplessness.
The child was thin—thinner than most girls, her face gaunt, whether from starvation or simply her natural build it was hard to say.
Yet between her brows there was a faint, cool sharpness—worlds apart from the lively, spirited energy of her younger sister Xia Ling.
Song Ning sensed someone in front of him and bent down slightly, saying softly:
"Go ahead and bow—consider it your thanks."
Xia Shuang stared blankly at the face so close to her own. Those white eyes were directed at her—unable to see, yet seeming somehow to look at her.
A feeling she couldn't name suddenly surged up inside her; flustered, she started to gesture.
But the other person couldn't see.
She let out two anxious "ah, ah" sounds, then awkwardly mimicked the way she'd seen others bow in her memory, and bent down clumsily.
The physician watched this scene from nearby, a wave of pity welling in her heart.
Two pitiful children.
One unable to speak; one unable to see.
Even if they stayed together—they might never manage to hold a proper conversation their entire lives.
The carriage left Qingzhou and traveled all the way toward the capital.
In the days that followed, Xia Ling and Xia Shuang entered the Song Family Estate.
Xia Ling stayed beside Song Ning and became his personal attendant.
She was clever and sweet-tongued, quick to learn anything—within days she had thoroughly mapped out Song Ning's every preference.
Xia Shuang had not.
She could not speak, and Song Ning could not see; the two of them were nearly incapable of communicating.
The first several attempts all ended in failure—Xia Shuang would gesture for a long while, and Song Ning could only "look" blankly in her direction before offering an apologetic smile.
"Just let her stay elsewhere for now," Song Ning's mother had said.
And so Xia Shuang was arranged to live in the outer courtyard.
——————
The water in the bathing tub had gradually turned cold.
Song Ning drew his thoughts back from his memories, realizing he had soaked for far too long.
He straightened up; water rushed and splashed, steam rose in billowing clouds, blurring a vision he couldn't see to begin with.
He stepped out of the tub, bare feet landing on the floor of finely laid brick.
Relying on memory, he felt his way to the nearby rack, took down a dry cloth, and slowly began to dry himself.
The droplets were wiped away one by one; the warmth of the hot water still lingered on his skin.
He straightened, felt the neatly folded bathing robe on the rack, and put it on.
Satisfied that he was properly dressed, he called out toward the door:
"I'm done washing."
The words had barely left his mouth when the door was pushed open.
Xia Ling poked her head halfway in, large eyes bright and glittering, a beaming smile on her face:
"Coming, Young Master!"
Her ears had been attuned to every sound from within the room—the water had gone quiet, and then the soft rustle of the cloth had gone on for quite a while.
Xia Shuang followed behind her, turning her face to the side as she stepped expressionlessly over the threshold.
Song Ning stood in place, waiting for them to approach.
What came next would require them both.
Xia Ling stepped forward and smoothed the collar of his bathing robe—he had already done so himself quite neatly, yet she couldn't help the redundant gesture.
Her fingers brushed the thin fabric and felt the faint warmth beneath; her heart gave a quick beat.
She stole a glance at Song Ning.
His face had been flushed to a soft red by the steam, pale skin touched with a faint blush; his lashes were damp, and when they drooped down they looked like 2 feathers brushed with dew.
Those white eyes rested quietly closed, his expression relaxed and at peace.
Xia Ling's heart skipped again.
She quickly withdrew her gaze, feigning complete focus on adjusting his collar.
Then came the drying of his hair.
Song Ning's hair was long—dark black and silken, soaked through by the hot water and draped heavily over his shoulders.
Xia Ling picked up another dry cloth and carefully dried it for him.
Her face was heating up again.
It was like this every time. Every time she helped the Young Master bathe and dress, she went through this.
Heart racing, cheeks burning, her mind producing unbidden images she had no business thinking.
The Young Master's shoulders, the Young Master's collarbone, the half-glimpsed outline beneath his bathing robe…
She gave herself a sharp pinch and drove those thoughts away.
But they would come back before long.
Especially when it came to drying his feet.
Every time it came to drying Song Ning's feet, Xia Ling was practically racing to be first.
She crouched down and gently lifted Song Ning's feet, resting them on her knees.
Those feet were pale and clean, the joints well-defined, the nails trimmed neat and even.
Xia Ling wiped them carefully with the cloth—from the top of each foot to the sole.
She kept her head down, not daring to let anyone see her expression.
These feet—she had dried them countless times.
Each time, she felt as though she were performing something sacred.
Xia Shuang watched her expressionlessly, her gaze flat, free of any emotion.
"Young Master, done." Xia Shuang spoke tersely, her voice still as flat as ever.
The 2 of them stood to either side and took Song Ning's arms, guiding him toward the bedchamber.
Midway there, Xia Ling suddenly remembered something and spoke up:
"Come to think of it, Young Master—don't you have a courtesy visit to the Qi Family tomorrow?"
Song Ning gave a nod.
"I know," he said.
"Why do you think I bathed today?"
"Whatever others may think—doing what we ought to is what matters."
Hearing those words, Xia Ling felt something unsettled stir in her chest.
The Young Master toward Qi Chuyao of the Qi Family was always like this—courteous and impeccable, nothing to fault.
But what about her? She'd barely shown her face more than a handful of times.
Xia Ling even felt that if Qi Chuyao were to do something forward to the Young Master right in front of everyone—to do something improper to his person—he would not refuse her. He would simply go along with her.
Anything Qi Chuyao wished to do to the Young Master, all the things Xia Ling could only fantasize about and steal glances at—Qi Chuyao could do openly and in full light.
Simply because her name was Qi Chuyao, because she and the Song Family were old acquaintances.
Xia Ling parted her lips, as though to say something—but swallowed it back in the end.
——————
The Qi Family Residence.
Everywhere was red.
Red silk hung the length of the corridors; happiness characters were pasted across every window; even the trees in the courtyard were tied with red rope.
Festivity everywhere, all of it a reminder of the same thing.
The wedding day was drawing near.
Qi Chuyao rode back into the residence at a gallop, and the moment her eyes met that courtyard full of red, her expression turned dark.
She had just returned from a hunt outside the city, her riding clothes not yet changed, the weariness of the road still on her face, and full irritation between her brows.
Qi Chuyao swung off her horse and tossed the reins casually to the stable hand who came running, then strode into the residence.
"Really," she said coldly. "It's enough to put one in a foul mood."
A bright laugh rang out from behind.
"What's wrong with getting married?" That voice was bright and breezy, carrying a note of something hard to place.
"What's there to be in a foul mood about? Isn't this one of life's great joys? Miss Qi truly has no sense of romance."
Qi Chuyao looked back.
The speaker was Qin Junyue.
She followed just behind Qi Chuyao, having dismounted at the same moment.
Her long, jet-black hair was bound high into a ponytail, a few loose strands damp with sweat and pressed against her temples.
She had a striking, fierce beauty—brows and eyes full of sharp spirit, a high nose bridge, lips pressed lightly together, a clean and angular jawline.
Her fitted riding attire traced a tall, powerful frame; a long spear was slung diagonally across her back, and its tassel drifted lightly in the wind.
Standing there, she was the very picture of valiant and spirited.
Qi Chuyao looked at her and let out an unamused snort.
"Hmph—I don't like him." She turned her head and kept walking. "Junyue, would you be willing to marry a blind man?"
Qin Junyue's stride gave the faintest pause.
She pressed her lips together; something flickered through those beautiful eyes and was gone.
"Who knows," she said softly.
Her tone was flat, impossible to read.
Qi Chuyao didn't notice the subtle shift—she had already pressed on ahead, scoffing: "It's not as though anyone's asking you to marry him, so of course you'd say you don't know."