With a soft creak, the wooden door was pushed open.

Shen Qingzhu stepped inside, his foot barely touching the ground as he entered. The courtyard was pitch dark, as no one was around.

“Qingzhu, wait up, don’t stumble,” Wu Lanshu called from behind him. She was holding a freshly lit candle, a leftover from before. Quickening her steps, she led him directly into his room, placing the candle on the table. The room lit up with a dim, warm glow.

Shen Qingzhu raised his hand to rub his temples. After a day spent rushing around, jostled by the bumpy ox cart, he was feeling quite worn out.

“I’ll fetch a basin of water for you to wash up. You should turn in early tonight,” Wu Lanshu said, turning and leaving the room.

Feeling a bit more relaxed, Shen Qingzhu sat up straight and drew a nameless envelope from his chest pocket. Hesitating for a moment, he finally opened it, pulling out two sheets of paper.

Wu Lanshu returned with the water basin as he was reading the letter by candlelight. She remarked, “If you wanted to read, why didn’t you say something? I could’ve lit another—” Her words trailed off as her gaze fell on the empty envelope on the table.

Shen Qingzhu looked up at her, placing the letter he’d finished reading on the table. “Lord Wen says he’s still gathering evidence.”

Wu Lanshu didn’t know what to say. After a pause, she sighed, “If there’s truly progress, that would be good.”

Hearing this, Shen Qingzhu’s lips curved into a bitter, self-mocking smile. “They’re all gone… What’s the point? I’m just left here alone…”

“Young master,” Wu Lanshu called softly, her eyes slightly reddening. “You need to think of Miss Qinglan, too. Take care of yourself. Maybe… you’ll have a chance to reunite one day.”

Shen Qingzhu’s expression froze momentarily. He closed his eyes, murmuring, “Yes… and Elder Sister…”

When he opened his eyes again, the emotions within him had vanished, replaced by a calm smile. “Aunt Wu, you should rest early, too. With everything that happened today, you must be tired.”

Seeing that he didn’t want to dwell on the topic, Wu Lanshu took his cue and nodded. She glanced at him one last time before leaving, her heart conflicted.

Left alone in the room, Shen Qingzhu gazed at the flickering candlelight. After a long while, he lowered his gaze, murmuring to himself, “Since you all wish for me to live well… I won’t let you down.”

Zhou Song opened his eyes as the morning light spilled through the window. He blinked, realizing it was already quite late. For once, he’d slept in.

Out of habit, he tried to sit up by supporting himself with his hand, but the sharp pain in his wrist made him recoil, causing him to lie back down. Then he remembered—he’d hurt his hand yesterday.

Along with that memory came the lingering scent of orchids that had embraced him.

He lifted his hand, noting that the swelling had mostly gone down, and recalled the gentle touch of Kun Ze on his wrist. His gaze softened, and he couldn’t help but smile.

Lowering his hand to cover his eyes, he felt a faint warmth in his cheeks. So it hadn’t been a dream.

Knock, knock, knock.

There was a knock at the gate. So early in the morning—who could it be?

Zhou Song got out of bed, slipped on his shoes, tousled his slightly messy hair, adjusted his collar, and went to open the courtyard gate.

He figured it was likely Lin Erzhu coming to bother him at this hour. But when he opened the door, he froze in place, a bit dazed.

Maybe he was still dreaming?

Shen Qingzhu blinked, looking him over from head to toe. “Did I… wake you up?”

For a brief moment, Zhou Song wanted to shut the door, tidy himself up, and come back to greet him properly. But how could he bring himself to leave Shen Qingzhu outside, facing a closed door?

Though regret bubbled up inside him, Zhou Song managed to stay calm. “No, I was already up.”

He was never one to sleep in—yet today, of all days, he had.

Like a big dog with drooping ears, Zhou Song looked as if he’d just lost a prized bone. Shen Qingzhu’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he raised the basket in his hand. “I thought your hand might still be inconvenient, so I brought you some breakfast.”

Zhou Song looked up, his unseen ears seemingly perking up. “For me?”

“Yes.” Shen Qingzhu nodded, handing him the basket. “It should still be warm. Take it inside and eat.”

Reaching out to accept the basket, Zhou Song’s gaze shifted beyond Shen Qingzhu. Instead of grabbing the basket, he clasped Kun Ze’s arm, pulling him inside.

Thud.

The courtyard gate swung shut, leaving Shen Qingzhu standing in the middle of the yard, blinking in confusion.

Zhou Song, now having shut the gate, exhaled in relief. Turning around, he found Shen Qingzhu staring at him. He glanced down at the hand still holding Shen Qingzhu’s arm and quickly let go. “I didn’t mean to…”

At a loss for words, Zhou Song grew flustered.

Shen Qingzhu had already regained his composure, smiling at Zhou Song’s fidgeting. “It’s fine. What’s wrong?”

Relieved that Shen Qingzhu wasn’t angry or misunderstanding, Zhou Song explained, “I saw one of the neighborhood aunts just now. She’s… rather talkative. I was worried she might start spreading rumors if she saw you at my door…”

Shen Qingzhu understood immediately—this auntie likely had a fondness for gossip. He nodded, “Got it. Your hand—is it alright?”

Just a moment ago, Zhou Song had instinctively used his right hand to take the basket. Before he could say anything, Shen Qingzhu had already pulled him inside.

Only now did Zhou Song realize the slight throbbing in his wrist. He lifted it to check. It hurt a bit, but it wasn’t serious.

His eyes glinted with an idea. If he said it hurt, would Shen Qingzhu hold his hand like yesterday to check?

This thought lingered for a second before he quickly dismissed it, shaking his head slightly. “No, it’s fine. I heal quickly. It hardly hurts now.”

Taking advantage of an injury to get close would be shameful, he thought.

Shen Qingzhu glanced at Zhou Song’s wrist and saw that the swelling had indeed gone down. “Good. That eases my mind a bit.”

Zhou Song murmured an affirmative but fell silent, unsure what else to say. The atmosphere grew somewhat awkward, and he found himself envying Lin Erzhu’s easygoing way with words.

Struggling for conversation, Zhou Song walked over to the door and peeked outside. The auntie was still there, chatting animatedly with two villagers, seemingly in no hurry to leave.

Seeing Zhou Song’s expression, Shen Qingzhu offered him the basket again. “Why don’t you go ahead and eat?”

This time, Zhou Song remembered to use his left hand to take it. “What about you?”

“I already ate.” Shen Qingzhu patted his stomach.

“Well, then…”

Knock, knock, knock.

Zhou Song didn’t even finish his sentence before another round of knocking came from the gate.

“Zhou Song, open up!”

It was Lin Erzhu.

Shen Qingzhu took a step back, positioning himself to the right of the door and gesturing for Zhou Song to open it.

Following his signal, Zhou Song opened the left side of the door, glancing out to see the auntie finally turning away with her friends.

“Brother Song, what are you looking at?” Lin Erzhu waved a hand in front of Zhou Song’s face.

Finally, Zhou Song’s gaze fell on him. “What do you want?”

Lin Erzhu sensed a strange edge in Zhou Song’s tone. Geez, he thought, why’s Brother Song in such a mood this morning?

Raising the basket in his hand, Lin Erzhu said, “I brought you breakfast! Your hand’s injured, so I figured you’d need some help.”

His gaze flickered to Zhou Song’s hand and found him already holding a basket. “Who beat me to it?”

Zhou Song’s face reddened slightly. He turned his head to avoid Shen Qingzhu’s gaze from behind the door.

“Oh, it must’ve been Aunt Wu, then,” Lin Erzhu mused, not waiting for a response. After all, Brother Song’s injury had come from saving Shen Xiaolang; of course she’d care. “Doesn’t matter. With an injury, you should eat plenty. Just have both meals.”

Saying this, he moved to step inside, but Zhou Song stayed firmly planted in the doorway. “Why aren’t we going in?” Lin Erzhu asked, bewildered. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

Zhou Song didn’t budge. “I can manage on my own. You can go.”

“What do you mean you can manage? Your right hand’s out of commission, and I can at least help you with your chopsticks, wash up your—”

Lin Erzhu pushed the other half of the door open himself and froze.

Shen Qingzhu stood calmly behind the door, a serene smile on his face. “Little Brother Lin.”

Lin Erzhu’s hand was still raised in the air. Hearing Shen Qingzhu’s voice snapped him back to reality, and his first impulse was to close the door again and make his exit. “Oh! I just remembered my mom’s waiting for me to help out at home. Brother Song, I’ll be—ouch!”

Zhou Song grabbed the collar of Lin Erzhu’s shirt and hauled him back. “Be careful with your hand!” Shen Qingzhu called out.

Realizing he’d used his right hand, Zhou Song quickly released Lin Erzhu, wincing at the slight ache. Shen Qingzhu stepped forward, gently lifting Zhou Song’s wrist to inspect it.

Zhou Song stood as still as a rock.

“Cough… cough…” Lin Erzhu, still recovering, looked up to protest. “Brother Song, did you have to pull so—”

His words trailed off as he took in the scene.

There were no visible injuries, but Shen Qingzhu softly pressed his fingertips against Zhou Song’s wrist. “Does it hurt?”

Stiffly, Zhou Song shook his head. “No, it doesn’t.”

His frozen expression reminded Shen Qingzhu of something, and he released Zhou Song’s hand. “It’s best to be careful with an injury.”

Zhou Song could only nod, feeling a strange warmth in his chest.

Shen Qingzhu turned to Lin Erzhu, who looked as if he’d rather slip away unnoticed. Shen Qingzhu nodded to him. “I’ll be going, then.”

“I’ll see you out.” Zhou Song spoke quickly, then hesitated slightly.

Shen Qingzhu didn’t decline, letting Zhou Song accompany him to the gate. Just before leaving, he added, “Aunt Wu is making bone broth at home for you. It should be ready by lunch. Just wait for it.”

Zhou Song opened his mouth to say it wasn’t necessary, but he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. After a brief hesitation, he nodded. “Alright.”

Pleased, Shen Qingzhu smiled and turned to leave.

“Brother Song…” Lin Erzhu began, but Zhou Song turned around, staring him down. “Don’t gossip about this.”

Lin Erzhu nodded repeatedly. He knew his brother well enough to know what to say and what to keep to himself. Feeling reassured, Zhou Song went to the small table in the courtyard and set down the basket.

Inside was a bowl of clear soup noodles made with fine white flour, topped with fresh greens, meat bits, and green onions. The smell was mouthwatering.

Zhou Song thought back to the noodles he’d once brought Shen Qingzhu, and a soft look appeared in his eyes.

Beside the noodles was a small bowl of custard and a small earthen jar. He opened it and sniffed—herbal wine.

Lin Erzhu sat down on the stool next to him, theatrically placing his own basket on the table. “Brother Song, don’t just look at his. Take a look at mine too!”

Zhou Song ignored him completely, rising to fetch water to wash up.

Watching him, Lin Erzhu chuckled, noting the joy radiating from Zhou Song, but then his expression grew somber.

It was good to see his brother happier, unlike before, when he seemed indifferent and lifeless. Yet, seeing him fall so deeply, Lin Erzhu couldn’t help but worry like his mother did.

Though Shen Xiaolang showed genuine concern, his gaze had been far too clear. He didn’t seem like someone who returned Zhou Song’s feelings.

If, in the end, it was only Zhou Song’s one-sided affection… what then?

“What are you spacing out for?” Zhou Song asked, back from washing up. He tapped Lin Erzhu’s forehead.

Lin Erzhu covered the spot with an exaggerated pout. “Brother, here I am feeling hurt that you don’t care about me, and you go hitting me!”

Zhou Song, knowing his friend’s nature, ignored him and began eating the noodles. Aunt Wu’s cooking was as good as ever, but having Shen Qingzhu deliver it himself made it even more special.

Lin Erzhu wanted to ask how Zhou Song truly felt about Shen Xiaolang. Did he really mean so much to him?

But seeing the joy in Zhou Song’s expression, Lin Erzhu couldn’t bring himself to ask.

Forget it, he thought. There was no need to rush to conclusions—it might all turn out well in the end.