"Sister… I can't breathe."
Liu Zhe'er’s voice was faint. She furrowed her brows but dared not remove Song Qingchao's hand pressing on her throat.
After she had called out for a while, it was Song Qingmu who finally answered her.
"What's wrong, Zhe'er?"
Song Qingmu pushed himself up to a sitting position, leaning towards Liu Zhe'er.
He frowned and moved Song Qingchao's arm, which was pressing on Liu Zhe'er's throat, away.
The moment his fingertips touched her skin, it felt like touching a scorching hot iron plate.
Liu Zhe'er sat up, coughing wildly, her hands clutching her throat. Her tear-filled eyes still looked worriedly at Song Qingchao.
"Brother, I called out for a long time, and Sister didn't pay attention to me."
Song Qingmu shook his head, "Don't worry."
Her throat, unmoistened since early morning, was hoarse and dry.
He tried to make himself sound "gentler," "Zhe'er, take good care of your sister. Brother will be back soon."
Liu Zhe'er nodded and, with her small dark hands, pulled the straw mat covering Song Qingchao higher.
Song Qingmu said nothing, putting on his clothes and heading straight for Bai You'an's carriage.
It was his oversight.
His elder sister was naturally frail. She had been traveling all day, was pestered by that Hu family woman at night, and hadn't even had a bowl of hot soup.
He had also made her bathe and then tossed and turned until late before sleeping.
The fist in his sleeve clenched tighter, and the chill in his body began to intensify.
"Who goes there?"
With a "ding," the sound of spears colliding blocked his path.
Two constables stared at him with insolent expressions.
A hint of ferocity flickered in Song Qingmu's brows, and his pursed lips moved.
He glanced at the two constables, remembering how Ying Zhong always had to argue with them for a long time every day before entering.
Then, a smile played on his lips.
Although it was an ugly smile.
"I am Song Qingmu," he bowed, displaying a gentlemanly demeanor, poised and graceful, yet without any trace of arrogance. "My elder sister is gravely ill, and I am here to request Mr. Bai's attendance for treatment."
He took out a few taels of broken silver, which Song Qingchao had forced him to take, and stuffed them into their hands.
"Please grant me passage, sirs."
One of them, with a black mole on his mouth, smacked his lips and pocketed the silver. "So early today?"
Song Qingmu smiled apologetically, "She suddenly developed a fever, and I couldn't wait."
The constable with the mole waved him through, shouting, "Hurry up."
But he was stopped by another constable with a smiling face.
"Wait."
Song Qingmu, who had already stepped forward, halted. He turned back and studied the constable with a complex expression.
He hadn't seen this man before.
"I've heard Young Master Song's calligraphy is excellent?" he asked, hooking his mouth to the side, blowing on the broken silver in his hand.
"It's nothing special."
Song Qingmu lowered his head, appearing like a stray dog.
He extended his hand, his voice low, "I can no longer write with the same skill as before."
"Is that so?" The smiling constable mockingly placed the broken silver into his hand, which was wrapped in rags. "But what the little official wants isn't this broken silver."
The constable with the mole, holding the silver, glared at him. "Gao Songmo, what trouble are you stirring up now?"
Gao Songmo shot him a side-eye and said sarcastically, "Shut up."
Song Qingmu slowly raised his head, his eyelids lifting slightly. His gaze was as cold as a northerly wind across a frozen river.
If his elder sister hadn't told him to hide his true strength, he would have already killed these two.
Gao Songmo's smile froze on his face, but he still gritted his teeth. "Young Master Song, could you write a letter home for me?"
He pointed at Song Qingmu's hand. "What I like isn't silver, Young Master. Your gifts should be heartfelt, shouldn't they?"
The constable with the mole scoffed, "How many characters do you know?"
Gao Songmo: "Shut up."
Song Qingmu's maintained composure was about to break. The hand in his sleeve had already gripped a cold dagger.
Just as he was about to make a move, a clear, bell-like boy's voice rang out.
"High Sir, Officer Lin, what are you two doing so early?"
It was Ying Zhong.
Song Qingmu frowned, watching him skillfully shove a strange trinket into each of their hands.
"High Sir, why do you need a letter written?"
Gao Songmo's eyes showed a bit of sincerity when facing Ying Zhong.
He weighed the dark, inky thing in his hand. "Is this the one you were talking about?"
Ying Zhong nodded and exaggeratedly held up a "seven" with his hand. "It's absolutely useful!"
He quickly pushed the two constables aside. "Saving someone is important. You two should rest."
Gao Songmo poked him twice. "It's only you."
He then turned and pointed at Song Qingmu. "Next time, remember to write a letter home for me."
Before he could finish speaking, Lin the Mole grabbed him by the throat. "Let's go."
Ying Zhong, who had been jovial moments ago, immediately changed his expression after seeing them off.
"Why are you here?"
The ferocity in Song Qingmu's eyes subsided considerably.
He regretted not bringing his elder sister.
Although the journey wasn't far, he couldn't be there to care for her.
"Elder sister has a fever and is now unconscious."
"What?" Ying Zhong's previously composed face flushed with agitation. "Sister Zhao Zhao has a fever?"
He hurried towards the carriage, calling back to Song Qingmu, "Wait for me to get my medicine box."
Song Qingmu nodded in agreement.
As Ying Zhong ran, he muttered.
"She was fine yesterday… I specifically made her ginger soup, just in case. How could she have a fever?"
He covered the distance in three strides, climbed into the carriage, lifted the curtain, and squeezed inside.
With a "bang," he hit his head.
Grimacing as he rubbed his forehead, he was instantly dumbfounded upon seeing the person before him. "Zhong Chun?"
"You rascal!"
Zhong Chun let out a rough roar, grabbed Ying Zhong, and hooked his arm around his neck, affectionately ruffling his hair. "Overbearingly."
"Zhong Chun!"
Ying Zhong tried to kick him away, but the difference in strength was too great.
Bai You'an snapped his fan shut.
"Zhong Chun."
The previously rambunctious Zhong Chun glanced at Bai You'an, who was seated regally in the main seat, and immediately released Ying Zhong, becoming as obedient as a kitten.
"Why are you here?"
Ying Zhong, shaking his hair, glared at Zhong Chun, then reached for the medicine box placed at the back of the carriage.
"On a mission."
"Nonsense!"
Ying Zhong glared fiercely at Zhong Chun again, slung the medicine box over his shoulder, and was about to get out of the carriage. "Master, I'm going to see a patient."
His leg was already outside the carriage.
However, the strap of his medicine box was caught, and he fell straight onto his backside.
"Zhong Chun!"
Ying Zhong finally roared in exasperation, "What are you doing!"
"Do you need me to go with you?" Zhong Chun chuckled. "Your little body can't handle it."
Ying Zhong retorted fiercely, "Get lost!"
"Master, Sister Zhao Zhao has a fever and fainted. Please tell Zhong Chun to stop messing around."
Before he could finish speaking, a figure in white emerged from the carriage before him.
"Follow me."
Ying Zhong turned and punched Zhong Chun before following Bai You'an, his face flushed with annoyance.
"Oh ho~"
Zhong Chun rubbed his chest and lifted the carriage curtain. A rugged face curved into an aunt-like smile. "Second Master actually cares about a girl for once. When we get back, I must tell Meng Qiu about this."
[Mini Theater]
Song Qingmu: What is this seven of yours?
Ying Zhong: Seven times a night.
Song Qingmu: Never mind…