Chapter 33

Chapter 33: Saving the Villain
Qin Hui Yin got the kettle on first.

When the water boiled, she poured it into a basin and waited until it cooled to warmth that wouldn’t scald. Then she returned to the bed and began cleaning the wound.

She worked carefully, wiping away dried blood and fresh seepage, watching Song Rui Ze’s face for any sign he was waking. Every time his brow furrowed and a hoarse sound slipped from his throat, she leaned in and blew gently over the torn flesh, as if a child’s comfort could quiet pain.

“You really don’t value your life,” she muttered.

And then, as if scolding could make him heal faster, “Now you know it hurts? Too late.”

Her mouth stayed sharp, but her hands grew gentler and gentler.

When she finished cleaning, she rummaged through the room for cloth.

There was none that was clean.

In the end, she ground her teeth and tore the lining from her own dress, strip by strip. She pressed it to the wound, bandaged it tight, and covered him with the least bloodstained clothes she could find.

Then she grabbed the Song family’s sickle, slung a back basket over her shoulders, and headed into the mountain to gather herbs.

The moment she left, Song Rui Ze’s eyes opened.

He had only been half-conscious before. When he first surfaced and heard her grumbling, he expected the familiar flare of anger—hot, violent, the kind that made him want to bite. Instead, what rose in him was nothing.

So he lay still and let her fuss over him.

Now he tried to sit up.

A sharp cramp ripped through his abdomen, and his vision went white at the edges. Heat flooded his palm as blood welled again beneath the cloth.

The metallic stench filled the room.

He stared down at his shaking hand and, in the hollow place where he usually kept his rage, a cold thought drifted through.

[Maybe I should just end it like this.]

He sank back, breath shallow, waiting for the darkness to finish what his body had started.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Qin Hui Yin burst back into the house with a bundle of wild herbs. She washed them quickly, divided them in two, and set one portion to boil. The rest she pounded into a wet paste with a wooden pestle until her arms ached.

Carrying the bowl of crushed herbs, she returned to the bedroom.

“You’re lucky you ran into me,” she said, as if he could hear her. “Let’s make a deal. I saved you, so when you wake up, can you stop trying to scare me? I’m timid. I can’t handle it.”

She didn’t stop talking as she worked, perhaps because silence made the room feel too much like a morgue.

“You lost your mother when you were young. You lost your father too. People don’t like you, but you’re still you. Why do you need their approval?” Her voice softened, then sharpened again. “Take care of your own body.”

She peeled back the cloth, pressed the cool paste over the wound, and bandaged him again. When blood soaked through the strips, she tore more lining from the hem of her skirt without hesitation.

Once she was satisfied the bleeding had slowed, she returned to the kitchen. She pulled a few pieces of firewood from the stove, tamped the flames down, and let the medicine simmer low and slow.

While it cooked, Qin Hui Yin stood in the doorway and stared at the kitchen as if it had personally offended her. Pots crusted with grime. Ash scattered on the floor. A sour smell under the blood.

She hesitated for a heartbeat.

Then, as if compelled, she started cleaning.

For someone who spent so much of her life in kitchens, disorder like this was torture.

By the time the medicine was ready, the stove had been tended and the worst of the mess cleared away. Qin Hui Yin cooled the dark brew with well water until steam no longer curled from the surface.

She carried the bowl back and stopped short.

Song Rui Ze was awake.

His eyes followed her with the same cold stillness as a blade laid flat in a palm.

Qin Hui Yin set the bowl down within his reach, then took two steps back. Three. As if distance could protect her from being cut.

“I saw you faint at the gate,” she said quickly. “I carried you inside. You were burning with fever, and your wound was… bad. I know a little about herbs. I cleaned it and used what I could find, then went up the mountain for medicine.”

She drew a breath, forcing her voice to steady. “If you don’t want to drink it, you don’t have to. I just didn’t want you to die in your own home—for Uncle Song’s sake. If there’s nothing else, I’m leaving.”

Song Rui Ze gave a quiet snort.

His gaze shifted to the bowl. The bitter smell hit his nose and made his brows pull together.

Qin Hui Yin, already halfway toward the door, turned back when she saw his expression. “Good medicine tastes bitter,” she said, blunt as always. “Your wound was already festering. You need to treat the infection.”

She hesitated, then added, voice lower, as if this part cost her something. “Tomorrow, when I go into the city to sell goods, I’ll buy you a bottle of external injury medicine. And… you probably can’t cook like this. I’ll bring you food later.”

Her eyes flicked away, uncomfortable. “Just think of it as me making up for the past. Don’t blame my mother, either. We wandered for years. When things happen, her first instinct is always to avoid risk.”

“I know we wronged you,” she said, and the words came out more honest than polished. “The mistakes she made… I’ll make up for them, if you let me. If you don’t want it, then forget I said anything.”

With that, she left, fast and quiet, like a mouse fleeing a cat.

Song Rui Ze watched the empty doorway for a long moment.

A flash of disdain crossed his face.

What did her wandering have to do with him? The suffering those two endured, why should his father have borne the price?

Then again—his father had been blinded by lust. He’d chosen them. He’d let them eat his food and spend his money, and he’d even let them boss his own son around. If there was blame to spread, it wasn’t theirs alone.

Song Rui Ze shifted toward the edge of the bed and reached for the bowl.

He sniffed it again. The bitterness made his mouth twist.

He drank anyway.

If she wanted him dead, she wouldn’t have wiped his wound, bandaged him, gathered herbs, and boiled medicine with her own hands. Poison was for people who feared you, not people who went to this much trouble.

The brew burned down his throat like resentment.

Outside, Qin Hui Yin walked the country path back toward home, head lowered. She lifted her sleeve and sniffed, grimacing. “This stench is awful.”

A muffled cry carried on the wind.

“Don’t come closer… no…”

The voice was familiar. The words were wrong in the way of bad dreams.

Qin Hui Yin followed the sound and saw Tang Lu Wu in the vegetable garden, weeds pulled and scattered at her feet. A fat man with big ears had pinned her down, his hand clamped over her wrist as he bent toward her ear.

Tang Lu Wu struggled, thin as a reed, no match for his weight.

Rage flashed hot behind Qin Hui Yin’s eyes.

She snatched up a stick from the ground and swung.

Bang.

The man yelped and lurched off Tang Lu Wu, one hand flying to his back. He whirled on Qin Hui Yin, face twisted with fury. “Who the hell are you? I’m getting intimate with my own wife. What’s it to you?”

Tang Lu Wu sobbed and scrambled behind Qin Hui Yin, shaking.

Qin Hui Yin spat in the dirt. “Bullshit. She’s my sister. Since when did she become your wife?”

The man finally looked Qin Hui Yin up and down properly. His gaze paused—lingered—greed creeping in as if it were his right.

“You’re prettier than your sister,” he said, lips curling. “How about I don’t marry her and marry you instead?”

Qin Hui Yin swung again.

The stick landed with a satisfying thud, and the man’s howl tore the air. Whatever dirty thoughts he’d had vanished, replaced by pure rage.

“Your mother already married her off to me!” he shouted. “My mother and the matchmaker are at your house right now, talking about the wedding date. She’ll be mine sooner or later. What’s wrong with taking an early kiss?”

Tang Lu Wu clutched Qin Hui Yin’s sleeve, tears streaking her cheeks. “Yin Yin… stop hitting him.”

Qin Hui Yin turned, stunned.

Tang Lu Wu’s voice shook. “Maybe what he says is true.”

She had seen Madam Qian, the matchmaker, before. She’d even overheard her speaking with Li Tao Hua. Last time, Li Tao Hua refused because the bride price was too low. Now the household needed silver desperately, and Tang Lu Wu—the “burden”—was the easiest piece to trade.

Qin Hui Yin grabbed Tang Lu Wu’s hand, grip firm. “I don’t believe it. Come on. We’ll go home and see.”

As she spoke, she swung again out of sheer fury.

The fat man stumbled backward, tripped over a clump of weeds, and fell hard onto his backside. Fear finally bled into his eyes.

Crazy woman.

She was insane.

He’d marry that shrew into his house and beat her three times a day—that would be the only way to wash this humiliation clean.