After pulling out the arrow, Zhou Song tossed the lifeless pheasant into the basket behind him, casually grabbing a leaf to wipe the blood off the arrowhead.

Shen Qingzhu watched him, his gaze sweeping from the arrow to the longbow slung over Zhou Song’s shoulder, noticing the clear handmade details. “Did you make all these yourself?”

Zhou Song looked up at him, noticing his focus on the arrow. He instinctively twirled it in his hand and nodded, “Yeah, though the materials are a bit rough.”

The bamboo used for the bow was cut from the mountain—an old bamboo about ten years of age, still with decent flexibility. The bowstring was made from cow tendon, purchased from town after carefully picking out a sturdy one.

He crafted each arrowhead himself, grinding each one by hand; they were consumables after all, and he couldn’t retrieve every arrow each time.

He’d been using this bow for years, repairing it occasionally; it fit well in his hands. His very first bow was made by his father when he was just a child, a toy of sorts to play with. He remembered being a tiny kid, crouched beside his father, eagerly learning how to make bows. His father, rather than dismissing him as being silly, had patiently taught him, guiding his little hands as he sanded the bow.

Shen Qingzhu had seen many fine bows before; his father alone had quite a collection and would sometimes string his own bows. But he rarely saw bows handcrafted in this fashion from start to finish, sparking his curiosity. “Mind if I try it?”

Zhou Song hesitated. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share it, but he was worried Kun Ze might injure himself—he still remembered how Shen Qingzhu had rubbed his palm raw last time using the sickle.

But looking into Shen Qingzhu’s earnest eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to refuse. After a long pause, he finally walked over and handed him the bow. “Be careful; don’t hurt your hands.”

“Got it,” Shen Qingzhu replied, taking the bow. It was surprisingly light, made entirely of bamboo, not requiring much strength, entirely unlike the heavy bows his father owned.

He weighed it in his hands to get a feel for the weight and then pulled the bowstring with a standard motion.

Zhou Song was surprised. From the way Shen Qingzhu handled it, it was obvious this wasn’t his first time holding a bow—he’d clearly trained before.

But Shen Qingzhu could only pull the bow halfway before it resisted him completely. He released it with a sigh, “As expected, I can’t pull it all the way.”

Zhou Song snapped out of his surprise and offered reassurance, “This bow is crafted to suit my arm strength. Being able to pull it this far is impressive.”

Shen Qingzhu already knew this and wasn’t disappointed, only chuckling, “I understand.”

Seeing he wasn’t disheartened, Zhou Song felt relieved. His curiosity got the better of him, and he asked, “Judging by your stance, have you been taught?”

“Yes.” Shen Qingzhu nodded, glancing down at the bow in his hand. “My father taught me some basics. He even had a bow specially made for me. When I went out with him, I once managed to shoot a rabbit.”

He recalled that trip clearly, how he caught a chill and fell ill from the wind, prompting his normally gentle mother to scold his father. After that, his father didn’t dare let him touch a bow for a while.

Zhou Song remembered hearing rumors that Shen Qingzhu had come to their village due to a decline in his family’s fortunes. If that were true and his parents hadn’t accompanied him, then likely…

Not wanting to bring up painful memories, Zhou Song kept his silence. He pressed his lips together and said softly, “If you’d like, I could make one for you.”

Shen Qingzhu, with a hint of nostalgia, looked up to meet Zhou Song’s slightly hesitant gaze, seeing the desire to comfort but the uncertainty of how to express it. He lowered his eyes briefly before looking back up with a smile. “Then I’ll be waiting for it.”

Zhou Song took the longbow back from him and slung it over his shoulder. He couldn’t bring himself to look directly at Shen Qingzhu’s radiant smile, but he still stole glances from the corner of his eye.

Kun Ze’s almond-shaped eyes usually appeared sharp and distant when he wasn’t smiling, making him seem cold and aloof. But when they curved with a smile, there was a soft, lingering warmth that made Zhou Song’s heart race.

Zhou Song nervously clenched his fingers at his side. “I’ll do my best.”

He turned abruptly, not daring to stay in place any longer, fearing his feelings would be discovered. “Let’s go check over there.”

Shen Qingzhu chuckled and followed him.

After a few steps, Zhou Song calmed down, slowed his pace, and glanced back to check if Shen Qingzhu was following. When he saw him close by, just two steps away, he turned his gaze back ahead.

This part of the mountain had many visitors, so there wasn’t much wildlife left. Aside from the pheasant they’d found, they didn’t encounter any other prey for a long while. Even the wild vegetables and fruits had been mostly picked clean.

During the farming off-season, there were always more people coming to the mountains, eager to add some variety to their meals with the bounty they could bring back.

Usually, Zhou Song wouldn’t linger here long. By now, he would have already gone deeper into the mountains, with his basket holding more than just a single pheasant. But for him now, even without any prey, today felt better than the times he returned fully loaded.

Shen Qingzhu, unlike a Qian Yuan, didn’t have the same robust physique, and the mountain paths were hard to traverse. After walking for so long, he began to feel tired, his steps slowing and beads of sweat forming at the tip of his nose.

Noticing this, Zhou Song stopped, reached into his pocket, and carefully pulled out a handkerchief, reluctantly handing it over. “I’ve been meaning to return this to you but never had the chance. Wipe your sweat.”

Shen Qingzhu recognized the handkerchief he’d given Zhou Song to wipe his sweat back in town. It had been folded neatly, clearly washed. He hadn’t expected Zhou Song to carry it around, close to him. He glanced up at the Qian Yuan, saying nothing, then took it and wiped the sweat from his nose and face.

Perhaps because it had been carried by Zhou Song for a while, the handkerchief smelled faintly of pine wood in addition to soap.

The private scent of another person—especially the scent of a Qian Yuan—on his personal belongings felt subtly intriguing.

Shen Qingzhu lowered his gaze, tucked the handkerchief into his sleeve after using it.

Zhou Song, seeing him silent, assumed he was simply tired and hesitantly took out his water pouch. “Would you like a sip? Don’t worry, I wash it every time, and it hasn’t been used today—it’s clean.”

Shen Qingzhu paused, taking the pouch with a simple “Thank you.”

Zhou Song watched as Shen Qingzhu drank, his lips turning a bit red and glistening with moisture. Feeling his heart skip, Zhou Song quickly looked away and pointed to a direction, flustered. “There’s a stream not far from here. Want to take a break there?”

Shen Qingzhu, lowering the water pouch, initially thought of heading back down the mountain so Zhou Song could go further into the mountains to hunt. But hearing this, he grew curious and asked, “Is it far?”

Zhou Song shook his head, “Not far, we’ll get there soon.”

He hesitated before adding, “It’s just a bit tricky to find.”

The place was near the edge of the deeper forest, with more dense bushes and rough paths, so it was less frequented.

“Then let’s go check it out.” Shen Qingzhu motioned for him to lead the way.

Once he agreed, Zhou Song reattached the water pouch to his waist and led the way, clearing branches as they went to keep Shen Qingzhu from getting scratched.

At one point, they encountered a steep slope that was difficult to descend and easy to slip on.

Zhou Song looked it over and wasn’t comfortable letting Kun Ze navigate it alone. He turned and asked, “Do you want to hold onto me?”

Shen Qingzhu, seeing the tricky slope, wasn’t picky about such details and nodded in agreement.

Zhou Song extended his arm, already bracing himself, yet still stiffened slightly when Shen Qingzhu’s hand landed on his arm. He clenched his hand into a fist, trying to calm his nerves as he guided him down.

Even through the fabric, Shen Qingzhu could feel the solid muscle in Zhou Song’s arm, warmth pressing into his palm, steady and reliable.

He glanced up at Zhou Song’s face and saw his lips pressed tight, clearly nervous.

A mischievous thought crossed Shen Qingzhu’s mind. Lowering his gaze, he gently squeezed Zhou Song’s muscular arm.

Zhou Song suddenly froze, turning to look at him.

Shen Qingzhu blinked innocently, “What’s wrong?”

Zhou Song told himself it must have been his imagination, or that Shen Qingzhu hadn’t meant it. He shook his head lightly, “Nothing. Be careful where you step.”

“Alright,” Shen Qingzhu answered with a smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

No wonder his father liked to tease the family’s big wolfhound so much—it really was fun.

Unaware he’d just been “teased,” Zhou Song continued guiding him down the slope with utmost care.

After descending the slope, they walked a bit further until Shen Qingzhu heard the sound of running water.

He looked up and saw a fairly wide stream, forming a shallow pool downstream. Because it was a flowing pool, it was remarkably clear, sparkling under the sunlight.

“I didn’t expect to find such a place in the mountains,” he remarked, stopping by the water’s edge.

Zhou Song joined him, “I discovered it by accident. Sometimes, when I’m hunting in the mountains and get tired, I come here to rest.”

“Are there fish here?” Shen Qingzhu’s gaze fixed on the water as a fish swam by quickly, looking rather large.

“There are,” Zhou Song nodded, pointing to the deeper part of the stream. “You’ll see more over there. Sometimes I catch some to roast right here.”

In the deep mountains, hunts didn’t always end the same day; often, he’d stay two or three days or even longer. Thankfully, there was plenty to eat in the mountains. If he didn’t mind putting in the effort, sometimes he ate better here than at home.

“You know how to roast fish?” Shen Qingzhu asked with a smile, then realized how silly the question sounded. Given Zhou Song’s lifestyle, it made sense he’d know.

Zhou Song didn’t find the question odd and answered earnestly, “At first, I didn’t. I kept burning or undercooking it, wasted countless fish from this stream.”

Shen Qingzhu laughed at his words, a light, joyful sound.

Seeing Kun Ze’s cheerful expression made Zhou Song happy as well, so he added, “The first few times I tried catching fish, I fell a bunch of times and always went home soaking wet.”

If these childhood mishaps could make Shen Qingzhu laugh, Zhou Song didn’t mind a little embarrassment.

Shen Qingzhu’s brows lifted in amusement, and he remarked, “Your parents must have scolded you whenever you came home like that.”

Zhou Song’s smile faded a little, his gaze dropping to the flowing stream. “When I was ten, my father died after being attacked by a tiger in the mountains. My mother passed away the next year from illness. After I differentiated at fourteen, I entered the mountains alone. No matter how bedraggled I looked, they couldn’t see it anymore…”

The smile faded from Shen Qingzhu’s lips. He only knew Zhou Song’s parents had passed away, leaving him to live alone, but he hadn’t realized they’d left so early, forcing him to fend for himself as a young Qian Yuan.

A pang of regret rose within him for accidentally bringing up painful memories. “I’m sorry…”

Zhou Song quickly shook his head, “It’s alright; don’t apologize.”

He hadn’t intended to share such things with Shen Qingzhu, things he hadn’t thought about in years. But somehow, in their casual conversation, it had slipped out.

The conversation took a melancholy turn, the only sound being the cheerful babbling of the stream.

Trying to lift Shen Qingzhu’s spirits, Zhou Song placed his belongings on the ground, rolled up his pants, and drew an arrow. “I’ll catch a fish to roast for you.”

Shen Qingzhu didn’t stop him, only reminding him to be careful as he waded into the stream.