Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Stepsister Fell into the Water

It was the height of summer. Villagers had been out enjoying the cool when the shouting started, and now the path to the river was packed with bodies.

By the time Qin Hui Yin reached the bank, the crowd stood three and four layers deep.

She shoved forward, breath burning, pushing between elbows and woven baskets. “Move—move! Let me through! Maybe my sister can still be saved!”

People recognized her voice and shifted aside, some with irritation, some with pity. Their faces said the same thing: it’s too late.

“Yin girl,” someone muttered, not unkindly, “your sister already breathed her last.”

Qin Hui Yin dropped to her knees.

Tang Lu Wu lay on the ground like a discarded bundle, soaked through. Her clothes—patched and repatched—clung to her skinny frame. Wet hair stuck to her cheeks. Her lips had gone pale, her skin chilled by river water and the air.

Qin Hui Yin didn’t have the luxury of certainty. She treated a dead horse like it might still be alive.

She tilted Lu Wu’s chin, pried her mouth open, and forced air into her lungs. Then she planted her hands on that narrow chest and pressed—hard, steady, over and over.

Around her, the crowd rippled with outrage.

“Is Yin girl crazy? What is she doing?”

“She’s already dead and she’s still humiliating Lu Wu’s body—heaven, morals are collapsing!”

“Tsk. Two young misses, and shameless too.”

Their voices blurred into noise. Qin Hui Yin kept going. Her arms trembled. Her throat tightened with panic she didn’t dare let loose.

Footsteps came in frantic, tiny bursts—Li Tao Hua’s bound feet hurrying as much as they could. By the time she arrived, Qin Hui Yin’s palms were slick and her breathing ragged.

Li Tao Hua stared at the drenched child on the ground, her face draining of color.

“Th-this… how could this happen?”

Fear finally found her. Whatever her temper, whatever her resentments, she hadn’t wanted anyone to die.

“Yin girl,” someone urged, “stop. Don’t torment Lu Wu. Let her go in peace.”

“Yes. When people die, it’s like a lamp going out. Let her leave quietly and be reborn into a better life.”

A sharp, thin scream cut through the murmurs.

Tang Yi Xiao came running down from the mountain trail with a bundle of firewood still strapped to his back. He must’ve seen the crowd from a distance and known—known—because he dropped the firewood where he stood and shoved his way forward like a desperate animal.

The moment he saw Lu Wu, he wailed and threw himself down, shoving Qin Hui Yin aside with both hands.

“Sister! Sister, what’s wrong? Wake up! Don’t scare me!” His small arms wrapped around Lu Wu’s limp body as if he could hold her back in the world by force. “You were fine just a moment ago—how did this happen? Sister, wake up, waaah…”

Qin Hui Yin caught herself before she hit the ground. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

“Put her down,” she said, voice hoarse. “Don’t stop me from saving her.”

Yi Xiao’s head snapped toward her. His eyes were red-rimmed, wild. Like a startled wolf cub, he lunged and sank his teeth into her arm.

Pain flashed white.

“Ah—!”

“Enough!” Li Tao Hua surged forward, fury replacing fear, and yanked Yi Xiao off.

He was sickly to begin with. He couldn’t withstand an adult’s shove. He toppled backward, and Lu Wu’s body slid with him, landing awkwardly on the dirt.

Qin Hui Yin didn’t waste the opening.

She dropped her hands to Lu Wu’s chest again and pressed, harder now, praying through clenched teeth.

“Wake up. Did you hear your brother? Wake up—hurry!”

For a second, nothing.

Then—

Lu Wu’s body jerked. She coughed, violent and ragged, and a gush of filthy river water spilled from her mouth.

The crowd froze.

Wide-eyed faces stared as if they’d witnessed a ghost claw its way back into flesh.

“I never thought I’d see the day—dead people can come back to life?”

“Just now she wasn’t breathing—her body was cold. How is she alive again?”

“Was Yin girl really saving her? How did she do it?”

Lu Wu’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused and frightened. She stared at the ring of villagers around her, drenched and trembling.

“W-what… what happened?”

She was timid by nature. Half the village was watching her, and shame hit her harder than the cold. She clutched at Yi Xiao’s sleeve like a kitten seeking shelter.

“Sister,” Yi Xiao sobbed, crushing her in his arms as if he could fuse them together, “you almost died. You scared me to death. If anything happened to you, how am I supposed to face Elder Brother?”

Qin Hui Yin sank back on her heels, chest heaving.

She was soaked through—water splashed from Lu Wu, sweat running cold down her spine. Her bitten arm throbbed, but she barely registered it. All she could feel was the thin, miraculous rise and fall of Lu Wu’s breath.

Once it was clear Lu Wu would live, the villagers lingered only long enough to satisfy their curiosity, then drifted away in clumps, voices buzzing.

Li Tao Hua stood stiffly, muttering curses about how Lu Wu had nearly scared the life out of her. But the fear had left a mark. Her usual swagger looked dulled, as if she’d been reminded—publicly—that consequences existed.

From the scraps of conversation around her, Lu Wu pieced together what had happened. Her cheeks flushed. She turned to Qin Hui Yin, eyes shining with gratitude.

“Yin Yin… thank you.”

“Sister, why are you thanking her?” Yi Xiao snapped, fury surging back like a fever. “If her mother hadn’t made you wash clothes, you wouldn’t have fallen in. You wouldn’t have almost drowned. Bad woman!”

“I told your sister to wash clothes, not to go die.” Li Tao Hua’s spine straightened as her fear receded. Her sweetness vanished, replaced by bite. “Go ask around—what girl in this village doesn’t wash clothes? Why didn’t other people fall in, but she did? Why don’t you say she’s useless? So many people in this family—do you expect me alone to serve all of you?”

“Then why doesn’t she wash?” Yi Xiao jabbed a finger toward Qin Hui Yin. “Why doesn’t she cook? Why doesn’t she go up the mountain to dig wild vegetables, gather firewood, and carry water?”

Qin Hui Yin’s mouth went dry.

Fair question. She didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t sound like an excuse.

Li Tao Hua had never made her do those things. From the day she’d fled famine with her daughter, Li Tao Hua’s one fierce belief had been that her child must live well. If she had to grind herself down to dust to make it happen, she would.

Li Tao Hua had married a hunter first—Song, a man with skill who always brought back game. Big catches could be sold for coin; small ones stayed in the pot. That year, mother and daughter had lived comfortably.

Then the hunter died, and comfort died with him.

Li Tao Hua had cried until her voice broke, then wiped her tears and started planning again. The silver left behind didn’t last long. When Tang Da Fu—who worked in town and earned a steady wage—came courting, Li Tao Hua made him promise again and again that he would provide for her only daughter. Only then did she agree to remarry.

Now, she grabbed Qin Hui Yin’s wrist and tugged her away from the riverbank like she was reclaiming stolen property.

Behind them, Yi Xiao glared at Li Tao Hua’s back, hatred too big for a nine-year-old body. Then he turned to Lu Wu, voice trembling with vows.

“When Elder Brother comes back, we’ll tell him everything. We’ll drive that woman out of our home.”

Lu Wu lowered her eyes, clutching the belt of Qin Hui Yin’s borrowed clothes as if it could hold her together.

“But Younger Brother… what Auntie Li said isn’t wrong either. What girl doesn’t work? I was dizzy today and slipped by accident. Next time I’ll be more careful.”

“You didn’t eat this morning, did you?” Yi Xiao’s voice dropped, sharper with certainty than any child should have. “That’s why you got dizzy. That vicious woman keeps all the good food for her daughter. We can only drink thin soup. Father is like this, and he still protects her.”