The wish of your father?
Song Qingmu concealed the bitterness in her eyes, looked at her calmly, then walked down the steps and brushed past her.
He caught a glimpse of Song Qingchao’s hand, which had stopped mid-air, and paused.
The originally blood-red bracelet was gradually fading.
Song Qingmu frowned slightly and gave a low, unthinking "Mm."
If he remembered correctly, this bracelet was a gift from that deceased divine physician of yesteryear.
A reddening color meant the illness worsened.
A greening color meant the symptoms eased.
However, if his elder sister’s condition improved, one person would inevitably die each time.
The first to die was the divine physician, followed by servants in subsequent instances, and finally, the wet nurse.
After that, she became sickly and rarely left her room unless necessary.
Her bracelet had not turned red again, and now…
Song Qingmu’s eyelashes trembled slightly as she swept her gaze around.
The silent crowd, goods being moved out of the manor incessantly.
In front of the grand and magnificent Marquis’s manor, it was a scene of utter disarray.
Suddenly, her arm was gripped.
“I will take good care of you, I will be with you this time.”
He retracted his gaze and stared at the pair of bloody hands and the jade-green bracelet on his wrist, his eyes aching.
This time?
Song Qingmu did not understand.
He really was not familiar with this sister.
To sacrifice oneself so much, just to save his hands.
“Thank you.”
He thought for a long time, and this was all he could muster.
But his forehead was suddenly flicked by her, and he raised his head to meet Song Qingchao’s gaze.
“Silly boy, I am your sister.”
She held an umbrella, but more than half of her body was exposed to the rain.
Her heroic features held a faint trace of illness, and there was a bleeding wound on her left cheek, ugly and terrifying.
Yet, this faint smile was like a rainbow after the rain, possessing an indescribable radiance.
“Pat, pat.”
The sound of messy boots splashing through water came closer.
Song Qingchao’s smile faded as she stepped in front of Song Qingmu.
The soldier’s rough hand clamped down unceremoniously on her shoulder, and her knee hollow was kicked hard, sending her body to its knees uncontrollably.
She felt dizzy, a wave of nausea washing over her stomach. In her haze, she looked at Song Qingmu.
His indifferent face showed no cracks, as still as a doll that had its soul removed.
But please, don’t let anything else happen.
When Song Qingchao opened her eyes again, she felt as though her bones had scattered.
What met her eyes were dilapidated dry straw, scurrying rats, and cracked walls.
Her clothes had also been changed into prison attire.
She rubbed the fabric, not noticing that she had inhaled, a mixture of years of accumulated skin flakes and sweat. With one breath, she felt like she was ascending to heaven.
Along with the dampness, rot, and fresh scent of blood in the air, it all flooded into her.
Gag!
She covered her mouth and dry-heaved, yet still forced herself to sit up, searching for Song Qingmu.
Her arm felt a gentle pressure, and she turned her head to look.
Upturned brows, lowered eyes, lips pursed tightly; even with her messy dark hair, it could not hide the delicate and elegant refinement of her face.
This was no likeness of a young master from a martial family; calling him a handsome scholar would not be an exaggeration.
“Mumu, I…”
But Song Qingmu shook his head.
She followed his gaze and looked outside.
A jailer with a face full of evil, accompanied by two lackeys, stared at her. “Big brother, big brother, she’s awake!”
He had a blade of grass in the corner of his mouth and said sarcastically, “Yo, why is she awake?”
With a “snap.”
The lock on the bars fell into place.
The man walked in with a leisurely stride, shook his pants, and gestured to his two lackeys to pull Song Qingmu aside.
The two lackeys exchanged glances. One, thin and holding keys, said, “Sir, these are Brother Wang’s people, isn’t this inappropriate for us?”
“What’s inappropriate about it?” The man kicked the skinny lackey in the stomach. “What kind of nonsense is this? Let’s see if he dares to touch me!”
The other, a plump lackey, quickly closed the door and pinned Song Qingmu down.
“Despicable!” Song Qingmu’s gritted teeth could be heard from behind.
The man spat out the grass from his mouth, adopted a high-pitched tone, and coughed out some phlegm onto the ground, then squatted in front of Song Qingchao.
He used his whip to prod at Song Qingchao’s clothes, his eyes full of disdain, and sneered, “This face is indeed a bit frightening.”
Song Qingmu calmly began to remove the hairpins from her head. “The journey is long. If these small items can let the lords have a few drinks, it would be fulfilling our wishes.”
As she finished speaking, the hairpin landed in the man’s hand.
He weighed it for a moment, then tossed it onto the nearby weeds. “These confiscated items, I, your subordinate, dare not take them.”
Song Qingchao smiled. “Release him, and I will do whatever the lord commands.”
She began to unbutton her clothes, inch by inch. She knew the look in this man’s eyes all too well.
It was the same way those barbarians had looked at her when she was sent to the enemy camp years ago.
“Eldest sister!”
“Absolutely not!”
Two voices cried out in unison. Song Qingchao sighed helplessly, halting her movements.
She didn’t particularly value chastity, and besides, she didn’t actually intend to comply.
However, the arrival of these people was unexpected.
She had thought it would be Feng Shaocheng.
The man before her was lifted by Xie Yan, who rushed out, and Song Qingmu also broke free from the restraint, shielding her behind him like a wolf cub.
She gently patted Song Qingmu’s back and asked Xie Yan, “Why are you here?”
Xie Yan raised an eyebrow. “I heard they caught a thief stealing apricots, so I came to take a look.”
With a flick of his hand, he flung the shifty-eyed man against the wall, causing him to spit out a mouthful of blood.
“What bad luck,” Xie Yan sighed with a smile. “I didn’t expect to be saving you.”
He bent down and grinned, pulling out a small ceramic bottle from his embrace and presenting it like a treasure. “Song Chaochao, I’ve come to bring you apricots, the sweet ones.”
Song Qingchao took the bottle and saw a plum blossom totem at the bottom.
This medicine was priceless, a rare favor from Xie Yan.
She thanked him in a low voice, but her head was then pushed down and ruffled indiscriminately.
“Xie Yan!”
At this moment, the fallen man shouted, his voice hoarse, “How dare you! Trespassing in the Imperial Prison and assaulting a jailer, you deserve death!”
“Don’t be afraid,” Xie Yan said, uncharacteristically serious. “Princess is also very worried about you.”
He stood up straight, looking sideways at the disheveled man, and let out a soft “Oh.” With two fingers, he caught the incoming sharp sword and, with a slight twist, shattered it into two pieces.
“I am the heir of Marquis Anping. Feel free to report me. Let’s see who wins, me or this man who attempted to forcibly abduct a civilian!”
“Young Marquis?” The man trembled as he clutched the broken sword but was still unwilling to believe. “Impossible! The Xie family would never come here!”
Xie Yan tilted his head and sighed regretfully, “Look, why don’t you believe it yet…”