Lin Erzhu noticed Zhou Song setting aside some meat for himself and shot him a curious look. “Song-ge, what are you doing with that meat?”

Zhou Song paused in his actions, responding naturally, “I got hurt earlier, and Aunt Wu and the others helped take care of me, so I’m bringing some for them.”

Hearing this, Lin Erzhu raised his eyebrows knowingly and nodded, refraining from further questions. After a moment, his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Then you’d better hurry up. If it gets dark, you wouldn’t want to disturb them. And by tomorrow, the meat won’t be as fresh as it is today.”

Zhou Song, who had been planning to go but felt too shy to say so, was momentarily speechless.

Seeing him hesitate, Lin Erzhu swiftly took the meat-slicing knife from his hand. “Go on, then. I’ll handle the rest.”

Zhou Song, nudged to his feet, nervously smoothed his sleeves. Lin Erzhu, understanding the situation completely, waved him off. “And change your clothes, will you? All that blood might scare Shen Xiaolang.”

Zhou Song didn’t respond, but he quickly turned to leave. Watching him go, Lin Erzhu chuckled to himself. For someone as clever as Song-ge, he sure acts silly when he’s around someone he likes.

Zhou Song washed up and changed into a fresh set of clothes. Under Lin Erzhu’s urging gaze, he picked up a basket of meat and left.

Walking along the road, he couldn’t help adjusting his hair and collar, feeling as though something was still out of place. Once he reached the door, he took a deep breath and finally raised his hand to knock.

“Who is it?” Wu Lanshu’s voice came from within.

Zhou Song quickly raised his voice, “Auntie, it’s me.”

After a moment, the gate opened, revealing Wu Lanshu, still wearing an apron—she’d been cooking. “Zhou lad, what brings you here at this hour? Is something wrong?”

Zhou Song instinctively glanced past her before handing her the basket. “I got some game from hunting yesterday and thought to bring some meat over. You all helped take care of me when my hand was hurt; it’s the least I can do.”

“Oh, there’s no need to be so polite,” Wu Lanshu replied, pushing the basket away. “You were hurt because of Qingzhu; it was only right for us to help. How could I accept this from you?”

“It’s still a favor you did for me,” Zhou Song insisted, pressing the basket into her hands. “I brought some for Aunt Qian and the others too, so please, don’t be so formal.”

The basket was heavy, filled with meat, and Wu Lanshu felt a bit embarrassed. But seeing Zhou Song’s resolute expression, she realized he wouldn’t take it back. She hesitated, then finally sighed and relented. “Alright then, Auntie will accept it.”

Only then did Zhou Song relax. Having delivered the meat, he knew he should leave to avoid disturbing their evening meal, but he couldn’t help glancing past her again.

Wu Lanshu noticed and, after a pause, said, “Qingzhu isn’t feeling well; he’s resting inside.”

Zhou Song was startled, a hint of worry appearing on his face. “Not well? What happened?”

Seeing his concern, Wu Lanshu was touched. “Probably caught a chill from the woods. He wasn’t feeling well on the way back, and last night he had a slight fever, which finally subsided this morning.”

Zhou Song lowered his gaze, recalling how Shen Qingzhu had been splashed by fish at the stream yesterday. He must’ve caught cold then. His expression darkened, feeling guilty. It was his idea to go to the stream, and he hadn’t taken proper care of him.

Noticing Zhou Song’s guilt, Wu Lanshu tried to reassure him, “Qingzhu’s always had a frail constitution. It took years of care at home to make him stronger. Traveling here to the village and adjusting to the conditions has been hard on his body. Falling sick every now and then is just part of it.”

Zhou Song seemed lost in thought, only concerned with Shen Qingzhu’s illness. “Did you call for a doctor? Has he taken medicine?”

“Yes, the village doctor saw him, and he’s taken medicine. He should be fine in a couple of days,” Wu Lanshu replied, feeling comforted by Zhou Song’s genuine concern. Though she’d already suspected his fondness for her young master, seeing him like this made her more certain. She also knew Zhou Song was a good kid.

Zhou Song opened his mouth, wanting to ask if he could see Shen Qingzhu. But reason held him back, reminding him that as a Qian Yuan, he couldn’t just enter a Kun Ze’s room.

Wu Lanshu, seeing his furrowed brows, knew he was worried. However, letting him go inside would be improper, so she encouraged him, “You’d better get going, lad. It’s almost dinnertime, and I won’t keep you.”

Zhou Song pursed his lips, muttered a low agreement, but still lingered at the gate, stealing glances into the courtyard.

Sighing at his reluctance, Wu Lanshu was about to say more when he suddenly collected himself and, with a polite farewell, left.

Watching him go, Wu Lanshu shook her head and closed the gate.

She returned to the kitchen to place the meat down, checked on the porridge simmering on the stove, and gave it a stir. Then, she covered the pot and headed toward Shen Qingzhu’s room.

Opening the door quietly, she saw he wasn’t asleep but leaning against the headboard, reading a book.

Walking over, she adjusted his blanket. “Why aren’t you resting? Using up your energy like this isn’t good.”

Shen Qingzhu looked up with a pale face due to his illness. “I slept too much; I can’t sleep anymore. Who was at the door just now?”

Wu Lanshu, still arranging his blanket, replied, “Zhou lad came by. He went hunting yesterday and brought a lot of meat. I felt too embarrassed to take it.”

Hearing this, Shen Qingzhu’s expression shifted slightly before he chuckled. “Just accept it. We can send something back to him as a return gift another day.”

“Got it,” Wu Lanshu nodded, but she hesitated, a look of indecision on her face.

Shen Qingzhu noticed. “Just say whatever you want to say.”

With his permission, Wu Lanshu spoke up, “Zhou lad… he has feelings for you.”

Shen Qingzhu raised an eyebrow. “You noticed, too?”

So he was aware. Wu Lanshu nodded. “Yes, spending time around him, I’ve come to understand his character. He’s warm-hearted but not overly friendly, yet with you, he’s… different.”

Shen Qingzhu stayed silent, his acceptance implicit.

Wu Lanshu studied his expression and then asked, “And what do you… think of him?”

To be honest, her young master was eye-catching anywhere he went. During their time in the village, a couple of unmarried men had tried to get close to him, but he’d shown no interest. Yet with Zhou Song, he seemed more receptive.

Understanding her hint, Shen Qingzhu’s fingers tapped lightly on the page. “Aunt Wu, do you remember what I once told you?”

Wu Lanshu was briefly taken aback, not immediately recalling it.

Lowering his gaze, Shen Qingzhu’s fingers gently brushed the edge of the page. “While we’re in this village, we’ll eventually need someone to rely on.”

He wore a faint smile, his curved brows and gentle eyes concealing a depth of emotion, making it hard to discern his true thoughts.

Wu Lanshu was at a loss for words.

Just then, a knock came from the courtyard gate, breaking the silence. Shen Qingzhu gestured for her to go.

Wu Lanshu composed herself and opened the gate, surprised to see Zhou Song standing there again. “Zhou lad, why are you back?”

Slightly out of breath, Zhou Song had clearly run back. He didn’t answer her but handed over a tightly held cloth bundle.

Puzzled, she opened it as he gestured, revealing a large, well-aged ginseng root, probably decades old.

Startled, she tried to push it back. “This is too valuable. What are you giving it to me for?”

Zhou Song stepped back, avoiding her attempt to return it, his gaze drifting past her. “It’s for Shen Qingzhu, to help him recover.”

This ginseng was something he’d found deep in the mountains years ago. He’d sold off some smaller ones but kept this one as a safeguard, considering he often ventured into the wild and never knew when he might need it.

Seeing his sincerity, Wu Lanshu felt a pang of emotion. His open-heartedness stirred something in her, a feeling of warmth despite her usual guardedness.

She tried to push the ginseng back into his hands. “Zhou lad, this is too much. I appreciate the gesture, but you should keep it.”

Zhou Song shook his head, retreating further, insistent. “It’s for Shen Qingzhu’s health.”

He refused to take it back, and Wu Lanshu, torn, was on the verge of setting it down when she heard a soft creak.

Shen Qingzhu stood at the door, sunlight casting a warm glow over his pale face, adding a touch of color. His peach-blossom eyes sparkled in the orange light.

Glancing between the two, he asked with a smile, “What’s going on? I could hear you from inside.”

Zhou Song’s gaze fixed on him as soon as he appeared, unable to look away.

Wu Lanshu gratefully brought the ginseng over. “Young Master, this Zhou lad insists on giving us this ginseng.”

Shen Qingzhu looked at the root and then back to the gate. “It’s too valuable; we can’t accept it. You should take it back.”

Zhou Song’s pulse quickened under Shen Qingzhu’s gaze. He lowered his head but didn’t waver. “It’s for you, to help your health.”

For a moment, Shen Qingzhu’s smile faded as he looked at him thoughtfully. Then he released his grip on the door, loosening his hand slightly before relaxing.

His lips curved again, his voice gentle. “Zhou Song, my body is weak, and taking this whole ginseng could be too much. I might get worse instead. Are you trying to harm me?”

Zhou Song’s eyes widened in panic. “I—I didn’t know…”

Seeing him like this, Shen Qingzhu’s heart softened. He sighed lightly and told Wu Lanshu, “Just cut off some of the roots to cook into chicken soup for me. That’ll be enough. We’ll accept your kindness this way, but you should keep the rest.”

Zhou Song nodded, looking down, clearly ashamed.

Defeated, Zhou Song carefully took back the ginseng. He was mindful not to touch Shen Qingzhu’s hand.

“Now, go home before it gets dark,” Shen Qingzhu urged with a gentle smile.

Zhou Song gave a final look at Shen Qingzhu’s pale face, then said quietly, “Take care, and rest well.”

He quickly turned and left, too shy to look back.

Wu Lanshu, watching him go, sighed. “He’s such a genuine person.”

Shen Qingzhu didn’t respond, his gaze lingering on Zhou Song’s retreating figure in the fading sunlight. Smiling softly, he thought, Yes, with such sincerity, it’s hard not to feel moved.