“Sister Huan, it was Su Ziyong’s brother who hurt aunt’s hand!” whispered Little Fatty as he clutched the medicine bowl and sidled up to Shen Zhihuan.

“Mother, was it Su Zijie who hurt you?” Shen Zhihuan frowned, her tone sharp.

For a grown man to attack a woman—it was disgraceful.

Before Li Qiuhua could respond, Little Fatty shook his head furiously. “No, it wasn’t Su Zijie. It was Su Zijie’s uncle’s son, Su Zi… Su Zi…”

“I’m Su Ziyu.”

Before Little Fatty could finish, a cold, emotionless voice interrupted from behind.

The trio turned around in surprise.

Standing there was a tall, broad-shouldered man in olive-green attire, his military-style buzz cut highlighting his chiseled features. His deep-set eyes were sharp and fierce, exuding a commanding and unyielding aura.

Not someone to mess with.

Little Fatty shrank back at the sight, quickly ducking behind Shen Zhihuan with his bowl in tow.

Noticing her gaze, Su Ziyu softened his expression and forced a stiff smile.

“This medicinal wine works wonders for injuries. Take it and use it for your mother,” Su Ziyu said, striding over and extending a small bottle toward Shen Zhihuan.

She didn’t reach out to accept it. Instead, she frowned and said coldly, “You’re a grown man—why would you bully a woman? What were you thinking?”

“I…”

Su Ziyu opened his mouth to explain, but Li Qiuhua quickly tugged on Shen Zhihuan’s sleeve.

“Zhihuan, this isn’t Ziyu’s fault. If it weren’t for him, I might have made a grave mistake.”

The thought sent chills down her spine. If she had really gone through with it, what would have happened to her daughter and son afterward? She’d been so blinded by anger that she hadn’t considered the consequences.

Looking back now, she was oddly grateful for Su Ziyu’s intervention—even if it came in the form of a hard kick.

Su Ziyu offered the medicinal wine again, pushing it toward Shen Zhihuan.

“There’s no need! Something so valuable—you should keep it for yourself.” Shen Zhihuan forced a smile and turned away, pulling Li Qiuhua with her.

For some reason, Su Ziyu’s piercing gaze unsettled her. Beneath his sharp exterior lay a hint of something dark, like a wolf stalking its prey in the grasslands. It made her want to escape.

Seeing them leave, Little Fatty quickly scurried after them, glancing nervously over his shoulder as if a predator were chasing him.

Su Ziyu watched Shen Zhihuan’s petite but stubborn figure retreat, a small, genuine smile breaking across his face.

The sound of his soft chuckle made Shen Zhihuan’s heart skip. She quickened her pace, not stopping until she had entered the safety of her home.

“Sister Huan… you’re sweating!” Little Fatty pointed to the beads of sweat on her forehead, his chubby finger trembling slightly.

“…”

Li Qiuhua, who had just sat down in the main room, immediately rushed out in concern. Seeing the sweat dripping from Shen Zhihuan’s forehead, her anxiety flared.

“Zhihuan, are you okay?”

Caught off guard, Shen Zhihuan wiped at the sweat with her hand.

This…

The original owner of this body was a preemie with a frail constitution. She was always cold and would even wear layers in the middle of summer. Sweating—let alone sweating profusely—was unheard of.

Seeing her daughter remain silent, Li Qiuhua assumed Shen Zhihuan was hiding her discomfort to avoid the expense of treatment.

“Zhihuan, are you feeling unwell? Speak to me! Are you trying to scare me to death?” Li Qiuhua’s eyes reddened, her voice trembling as tears threatened to fall.

She blamed herself for her daughter’s condition. If she hadn’t been careless during pregnancy, Zhihuan wouldn’t have been born early and suffered a lifetime of sickness.

“Mother, don’t worry. I’m fine. I just overexerted myself earlier. Let me rest for a bit, and I’ll be fine,” Shen Zhihuan said, her frail hand gently wiping away her mother’s tears.

This body was indeed weak, the years of sickness evident. If it weren’t for Li Qiuhua’s meticulous care, the original owner might not have survived this long.

“Then lie down and rest. Tonight, I’ll make you some rice porridge,” Li Qiuhua said, her tone urgent yet tender.

Shen Zhihuan nodded and was about to head to her room when a flurry of footsteps sounded from the courtyard gate.

“Mother, Grandpa Hua is here!”

Xiao Weidong burst in, drenched in sweat, followed by Doctor Hua, who wore a simple cotton tunic and looked surprisingly spry for his age.

Little Fatty’s eyes lit up upon seeing his grandfather. He grabbed Doctor Hua and pulled him over to Shen Zhihuan.

“Grandpa, Sister Huan was sweating all over just now. She’s feeling terrible. Please check on her!”

Shen Zhihuan: “…”

When did I ever say I was feeling terrible?

“Doctor Hua, please check on Zhihuan. She came back drenched in sweat and has been feeling weak,” Li Qiuhua chimed in, pulling her daughter to sit at the table.

Doctor Hua set down his medicine box and took Shen Zhihuan’s pulse.

Li Qiuhua, Xiao Weidong, and Little Fatty watched nervously, holding their breath.

As the seconds ticked by, Doctor Hua’s hand remained still on her wrist, his expression unreadable.

Their anxiety grew with every passing moment.

Doctor Hua had behaved the same way before diagnosing Goudan’s grandfather shortly before his passing…

“Your other hand,” he finally said, his brows furrowed as he gestured for Shen Zhihuan to switch wrists.

Her mind blank, Shen Zhihuan swallowed nervously and extended her left hand.

If it’s bad news, so be it. Better to face it head-on.

After a meticulous examination, Doctor Hua’s expression shifted to surprise.

“Zhihuan, did you take any other medicine today?”

Her pulse was still weak and faint, but compared to the nearly imperceptible pulse from before, it had improved significantly. Even the bluish tint to her complexion seemed to have lightened slightly.

“Doctor Hua, my Zhihuan…” Li Qiuhua couldn’t finish her sentence before tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Big Sister, I don’t want you to die! I don’t want you to die!” Xiao Weidong wailed, throwing himself into her arms.

“Big Sister Huan, you can’t die! What will I do without you?” Little Fatty cried, clinging to her arm.

Shen Zhihuan frowned at the trio’s dramatic reaction, her heart churning with mixed emotions.

She had only just begun to experience a mother’s love, and now Heaven seemed to be pulling a cruel trick. What did she do to deserve this?

Doctor Hua, visibly annoyed, shot a stern glare at the group, his gaze lingering on his snot-nosed grandson.

“Who said Zhihuan is dying?” he barked.

Li Qiuhua froze, her tears stopping mid-flow. “Doctor Hua, you mean… my Zhihuan still has a chance?”

“Chance? What nonsense! Zhihuan is fine! Don’t scare her with your wild imagination,” Doctor Hua retorted, clearly irritated.

“She’s fine?” Li Qiuhua was stunned, her mind struggling to catch up.

Ever since she was born, Shen Zhihuan had been frail, constantly battling illnesses. The endless cycle of minor colds and major ailments, accompanied by medicinal treatments, it seemed to have become a habit.