Chapter 39

Chapter 39: Collateral Damage

“Song Rui Ze, look!” Qin Hui Yin pointed eagerly. “There’s a bird’s nest up there…”

The vein at Song Rui Ze’s temple throbbed. He turned back, impatience flashing across his face—

—and saw her already climbing, quick and sure as if she’d grown up in trees.

She perched in the branches, carefully lifting out eggs. Her hair was a mess, dark strands brushing her pale cheeks. When she found what she wanted, her smile broke open like spring flowers, bright enough to make you forget winter ever existed.

She tucked the eggs into her basket and waved down at him, beaming. “Song Rui Ze! I got them!”

Then she slid down, landing lightly, proud as if she’d brought home treasure.

Song Rui Ze turned and started walking again.

He had always liked being alone. In the deep mountains, there were no voices but wind and birds. When he hunted, he could hide for days without stirring a leaf, waiting for prey to appear. He knew these forests like he knew his own breath.

If he wanted to, he could vanish. One step into the brush, one quiet turn, and she’d never find him.

Yet he didn’t.

After a while, the chatter behind him stopped.

The sudden quiet tugged at something he didn’t like, and he slowed. He hesitated—then turned.

Qin Hui Yin was crouched beside a plant, digging at the roots with her sickle, stubborn and focused.

When she unearthed the fish mint, she stood, dusting her hands, and hurried to catch up.

“Did you take the medicine I bought you?” she asked, falling into step as if they weren’t two people who could barely stand each other.

Song Rui Ze didn’t answer.

Qin Hui Yin huffed. “When Lady Nu Wa made you, she should’ve used less effort on your face and more on your tongue.”

“Don’t follow me further,” Song Rui Ze said flatly.

“Okay,” Qin Hui Yin said at once.

He paused, thrown off by how quickly she agreed.

Then she added, “Should I wait here for you?”

Song Rui Ze stared at her for a moment, expression tight, as if he couldn’t decide whether she was foolish or fearless.

Finally, he gave a short, reluctant sound. “Mm.”

Qin Hui Yin blinked. She hadn’t expected an answer at all.

Watching him disappear deeper into the trees, she found her mood lifting in spite of herself.

She stayed where she was, gathering bamboo shoots and herbs, hunting for more eggs and anything else the mountain wanted to give. She became so absorbed that when she heard an animal cry, she barely reacted.

It took another minute for the sound to sink in.

Her head snapped up. That wasn’t a bird.

She grabbed her basket and ran toward the noise.

A few steps later, she froze.

Song Rui Ze was coming toward her with a wild bull slung across his shoulder.

The bull was enormous. Next to it, the tall Song Rui Ze looked almost slim—like a bean sprout carrying a mountain.

Blood flowed steadily from the bull’s neck. Its body twitched, breath leaving it in a low, hollow hum, like the forest itself saying goodbye.

Qin Hui Yin could only stare.

“How…” Her voice came out thin. “Are you hurt?”

Song Rui Ze lowered his eyes. “No.”

“Liar.” Qin Hui Yin shoved her way into his path. “You’re bleeding. Put it down. I want to see your wound.”

He moved as if to step around her.

Qin Hui Yin planted her feet, suddenly serious. “If your old injury flares up and you force yourself down the mountain with this, you won’t last long. And if you pass out—who do you think this bull ends up with?”

She didn’t have to name them.

Song family’s second uncle. Third uncle. The kind of men who could smell advantage from a mile away and would happily take prey from an orphan.

Song Rui Ze’s jaw tightened.

At last, he set the bull down.

Qin Hui Yin didn’t waste a breath. She grabbed the herbs she’d picked earlier and pressed them onto the torn-open wound where the bandage had failed. Her hands moved fast, practiced.

“Hold still,” she ordered.

Song Rui Ze’s gaze followed her hands, then her face, as if trying to figure out how someone so small could be so stubborn.

Qin Hui Yin tore a strip from his clothes without hesitation and bound the wound tight.

“Remember this,” she said, holding up one of the herbs. “This one stops bleeding. If something happens, you might find it in an emergency.”

She pointed to another. “This reduces inflammation.”

“And this—this one counters snake venom.”

She caught herself, exhaled, and shook her head. “Forget it. If I list them all, you won’t remember any. Just remember the most useful two: stopping bleeding and snake venom. You’re in the mountains all the time. Knowing those can save your life.”

Song Rui Ze watched her talk, her mouth moving nonstop, voice crisp and noisy as birdsong.

A thought flickered through him, unwanted and sharp.

If his father were still alive… if he weren’t so cold… could they have been like siblings?

He’d seen her at the Tang gate once, laughing and arguing with Tang Yi Chen as if she belonged there. Qin Hui Yin didn’t fear Tang Yi Chen, and Tang Yi Chen didn’t push her away. They fit together in a way that looked… easy.

Song Rui Ze pressed his lips into a thin line.

It wasn’t the same.

He was the Coffin Wretch. People said being close to him brought bad luck. Nobody wanted him in their shadow—unless they wanted something from him.

Song Rui Ze stood and hoisted the wild bull back onto his shoulder.

Qin Hui Yin hurried after him, still clutching her basket.

When they came down the mountain, villagers spotted the bull and rushed over, mouths hanging open.

“Boy Ze! Did you kill this?”

“A wild bull that big—even a lord couldn’t take it down,” someone whispered. “How could he?”

Qin Hui Yin smiled, all sharp edges. “Uncle Zhang, with your strength, forget killing a wild bull—you probably couldn’t even kill a cat. Just because you can’t do it doesn’t mean you can understand someone who can.”

She tipped her chin toward Song Rui Ze. “If he can kill a wild bull, then killing some other ‘smaller animal’—wouldn’t that be even easier?”

The crowd went dead silent.

Their eyes slid to Song Rui Ze.

Smaller animal… a person?

This Coffin Wretch had been eerie since he was little. If someone truly angered him, who was to say he wouldn’t really dare to kill?

“A bull this big is too much for Boy Ze to handle alone,” Song Jue—Third Uncle Song—said quickly, stepping forward with a too-bright smile. “Why don’t we help?”

Song Rui Ze lifted the bull with one hand and walked right past them.

The villagers stared.

They’d always thought he endured their mockery because he had no choice.

Now, watching him carry that weight like it was nothing, they realized he’d been holding back out of restraint—not weakness.

Song Rui Ze carried the bull straight to the door of Third Master Tang’s home.

Hearing the commotion, Third Master Tang came out. His lined face lit with astonishment the moment he saw what was being hauled into his yard.

“Even your father didn’t have this kind of strength,” Third Master Tang exclaimed, half scolding, half admiring. “You little brat—you’ve been hiding!”

“Rent an ox cart,” Song Rui Ze said. “We’re going to town.”

“Now?” Third Master Tang asked, glancing at the sinking light.

“Mm.”

Third Master Tang’s gaze swept the crowd and landed on Qin Hui Yin. “Yin Girl, do you need me to bring anything back for you? I can pick it up while I’m there.”

Qin Hui Yin stepped forward. “Third Grandpa, could I hitch a ride and go into town with you? I want to ask how the thing I ordered last time is coming along. Tomorrow will be the fifth day—maybe it’s finished early.”

Song Rui Ze spoke without looking at her. “I’m going to the county town.”

Qin Hui Yin paused, then nodded slowly. “The county town works too. I want to scout the market in advance.”

She glanced at the sky, where dusk was turning the edges of the world gray. “It’s getting late, though. We’ll probably have to stay the night there.”