Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Repayment
Having his arm set didn’t mean Song Rui Ze liked her.

His disgust for her didn’t vanish because she’d done one decent thing. If anything, it made him more alert. People didn’t change overnight—not without a reason.

To him, her sudden helpfulness could only mean one thing: she wanted something. The boar. A share of the spoils. An advantage while he was weak.

After all, he’d seen what she and her mother did when there was profit on the line.

Qin Hui Yin could feel the shape of his suspicion like heat against her skin. For a heartbeat she wanted to turn and leave—let him live or die by his own choices.

But she’d already stepped into this. Halfway was pointless.

If she was going to save someone, she would finish it. And if she finished it, she would make sure he owed her.

She reached for his pant leg.

“What are you doing?” Song Rui Ze finally snapped, hand flashing out.

He grabbed her wrist and flung it away, eyes sharp as a blade.

“I’m checking where the snake bit you,” Qin Hui Yin said, steady. “That snake was venomous. We have to drain the poisoned blood right away.”

She’d already seen it—two punctures on his right ankle, the skin around them angry and swelling.

She pressed hard around the bite, forcing blood out. “Give me the dagger.”

“What for?”

“Cut it open a little. We squeeze out the poisoned blood.”

Song Rui Ze didn’t hand it over. His jaw tightened, and he drew the blade to his own ankle.

He sliced.

Qin Hui Yin sucked in a breath. “It’s your own flesh and blood. How can you be so ruthless?”

He didn’t even glance at her.

“Wait here,” she said. “I’ll find herbs.”

Song Rui Ze didn’t answer.

If she left now, he wouldn’t find it strange. Her eagerness had the smell of desire in it. Wanting something big.

Qin Hui Yin searched the brush with quick, practiced eyes. When she returned, she had a handful of herbs crushed between her fingers.

She crouched, shoved them into her mouth, and chewed until they became a wet green paste. Then she pressed the mash onto his wound.

Song Rui Ze: “…”

The paste cooled the skin instantly. The throbbing eased, the sting dulling.

Qin Hui Yin tore a strip from the hem of his pant leg and wrapped it tight around his ankle. “There. That’ll slow it down.”

She leaned back, scanning his face. “Can you walk? If you can’t, I’ll go down the mountain and bring someone up.”

“No need,” he said.

“Then I’m leaving,” Qin Hui Yin replied.

Silence.

She hesitated, irritation rising. “You really don’t need anyone? If not, I can find the village head, tell him you’re up here, and have him send people to look—”

Song Rui Ze’s eyes cut to her. “I said no. Stop sticking your nose into my business.”

“What a nasty temper,” Qin Hui Yin muttered. Then, louder, because she needed an excuse that made sense, “Do you think I like meddling? Uncle Song took care of me for so long. I’m only helping you for his sake.”

Song Rui Ze’s mouth twisted in mockery. “For him?”

His gaze sharpened, voice low. “Do I need to remind you what you and your mother did after he died?”

Qin Hui Yin’s stomach tightened.

After Song Yi died, Song Rui Ze had refused to accept it. He’d searched the mountains alone for days. When he finally came back, Li Tao Hua had already sold Song Yi’s land to Song Yi’s blood brothers.

Song Rui Ze hadn’t screamed. He hadn’t made a scene. He’d simply thrown Li Tao Hua and her daughter out.

Back then, he hadn’t been this tall. In such a short time, he’d shot up into a boy who looked like a man, his edges sharpened into something formidable.

Qin Hui Yin didn’t linger. She swung her basket onto her back and left, moving fast, not daring to slow even when the brush snagged her sleeve.

She was halfway through running when a chirp stopped her.

A nest, tucked into a tree fork.

She looked up, breath still uneven.

[Since I’m already here, I can’t go home with just wild scallions and garlic, can I?]

[The original girl couldn’t climb trees. But I can.]

She straightened her clothes, hitched up her skirt, tucked it into her waistband, and hugged the trunk. Her feet found the rough notches in the bark, and she climbed.

“…five, six… eight.” Carefully, she slipped the eggs into her basket, then climbed down even more carefully, body tight with focus.

The haul made her bold.

Instead of rushing straight down, she searched with her head up, scanning branches for more nests.

But this was deeper in the mountain. The air felt thicker, the shadows heavier. And as the light faded, beastly roars rolled through the trees, rising and falling like warning drums.

Qin Hui Yin’s courage snapped back into caution. She hurried downhill.

At home, Li Tao Hua stood at the doorway, pacing, eyes fixed on the road.

“Where did that brat go?” she muttered, voice sharp with worry she disguised as anger. “Just wait until she comes back—I’ll teach her a lesson.”

“Mom, I’m back!” Qin Hui Yin called out, forcing cheer into her voice. “Mom!”

[How shameless—25 in my head, and I’m acting cute like this.]

But the body was 11, and with her fair skin and small frame, she looked harmless no matter what she did.

The original girl’s brows had always carried a shadow, making her seem gloomy and defensive. After Qin Hui Yin took over, that shadow had thinned. Her face looked brighter now—more open, less like a cornered animal.

Li Tao Hua lifted her hand, ready to smack her. Qin Hui Yin ducked out of range.

Li Tao Hua hadn’t truly meant to hit her. She snatched the basket and flipped back the layer of weeds on top, scowling. “You wasted all that time for this? Don’t tell me you plan to make us eat weeds.”

“Mom,” Qin Hui Yin said, affronted, “do you really think I’m that stupid?”

Li Tao Hua snorted. “You’ve never dug wild greens before. It’s normal you can’t tell weeds from edible greens. That’s not being dumb—that’s having no experience.”

Qin Hui Yin grinned and pushed aside the weeds, revealing a pale egg. “Then what do you call this?”

“A wild chicken egg.” Li Tao Hua’s eyes lit up so fast it looked like sunrise. “My daughter is amazing—you actually found eggs.”

“Shh,” Qin Hui Yin whispered, bouncing on her toes. “Inside. Inside.”

Li Tao Hua carried the basket in like it was treasure. The moment she stepped over the threshold, she parted the weeds with careful fingers and started lifting the eggs out as if they were fragile coins.

“Bird eggs underneath,” Qin Hui Yin warned. “Smaller. Don’t crush them.”

Li Tao Hua counted, her joy building with each one. “Twelve wild chicken eggs. Twenty-five bird eggs. And all these wild scallions, wild garlic, and wood ear mushrooms…”

Her mouth curved, already tasting victory. “That Wang woman is always bragging her daughter can find good things no one else can. I’d love to let her see what my daughter can do. But the outer mountain’s been picked clean—where did you find so many?”

“The mountain’s huge,” Qin Hui Yin said lightly. “There are places people don’t bother reaching. I just got lucky. It was remote. I don’t think many people find it.”

Li Tao Hua’s joy sobered into fear. She caught Qin Hui Yin by the shoulder. “Daughter, listen to me. If you want to wander, wander on the outer slopes. Don’t go deeper. Understand?”

“I know,” Qin Hui Yin said. “Wild beasts. This little body would be swallowed in one bite. I won’t go deeper.”

She leaned closer, voice turning coaxing. “But Mom… can we have an extra dish tonight? I haven’t eaten meat in ages. My mouth has no taste. With all these good things—let’s fry eggs.”

“We’ll eat,” Li Tao Hua said, already shifting into motion. “I’ll cook.”

“Fry more,” Qin Hui Yin pressed. “Everyone should eat.”

Li Tao Hua’s brows drew together. “No. Just enough for you.”

“Mom.” Qin Hui Yin’s voice hardened, not loud but unmistakable. “I don’t want that. If we’re eating, everyone eats. Uncle Tang needs to build up his health—he should be the one eating better food.”

She met her mother’s eyes. “Didn’t you say you’d listen to me?”