When Qian Chunhua returned to the Zhao household, Zhao Daqing and the others had already finished lunch.

The main room was empty.

Only Zhao Qingsong was still standing in the courtyard, shivering in the cold.

Qian Chunhua grabbed Zhao Qingsong’s hand. “Come, come with Second Aunt.”

Zhao Qingsong struggled a little, but couldn’t break free.

This time, Qian Chunhua was determined to take him away.

Under her insistence, she led him to the west wing—Zhao Qingyun’s room.

Zhao Qingfeng and Zhao Xiaoling were napping in the room next door.

Qian Chunhua entered under the pretense of getting some medicine.

She pulled out disinfectant, anti-inflammatory cream, and cotton swabs from her space, then brought Qingsong into Qingyun’s room.

“Second Aunt,” Zhao Qingsong said, lips purple from the cold.

“Qingsong, sit down. I’ll treat your wounds first.”

From the tears in his thin clothing, she could see the severity of his injuries.

When she removed his shirt, she was horrified to see his small body covered in scars.

Fresh wounds from today, old bruises, cuts oozing blood, patches of dark, aged bruises—there was not a single spot of unblemished skin.

This child was only eight years old.

Qian Chunhua’s heart trembled.

And then she saw it—on the right side of Zhao Qingsong’s waist, there was indeed a coin-sized red birthmark.

Zhao Qingsong was her child, the one Li Cuihong had switched.

Qian Chunhua pushed aside her heartbreak and fetched hot water from the kitchen.

She then used a clean towel from her space to gently and carefully clean Qingsong’s body.

Qingsong clenched his teeth, holding back tears—not from pain, but from gratitude.

In this moment, with Second Aunt, he finally felt the maternal love he had always longed for.

His arms and legs were covered in wounds.

Qian Chunhua’s hands trembled as she cleaned each one, eyes brimming with tears.

Zhao Yongcai and the original host had been fools—raising someone else’s child in comfort while letting their own son suffer so deeply.

“Second Aunt.” Zhao Qingsong didn’t understand her emotion.

“Does it hurt, child?” she asked gently.

Qingsong didn’t answer, but his reddened eyes gave him away.

Experience had taught him that crying out would only bring more beatings—whether he cried on purpose or not.

“If it hurts, it’s okay to cry out.”

After cleaning him, she carefully disinfected every wound and applied medicine.

Then she found a clean set of clothes belonging to Zhao Qingyun and dressed him warmly.

The moment that soft padded jacket touched his skin, Qingsong’s defenses broke completely—his tears poured out uncontrollably.

“Don’t cry, child. From now on, I’ll protect you,” Qian Chunhua whispered as she embraced him, patting his back.

To hell with waiting for the right moment.

She’d expose everything tonight.

That vile woman, Li Cuihong, deserved to rot in hell.

Chunhua now regretted going too easy on her earlier.

After dressing Qingsong, she brought him a pair of cotton shoes.

When she removed his shoes, she was stunned—he hadn’t even been wearing socks. His feet were covered in frostbite, already festering and leaking pus.

She couldn’t hold back anymore. Tears streamed down her face.

“Second Aunt,” Qingsong shrank back, hesitant to put his injured feet into such warm, good shoes.

Chunhua could see how bad the frostbite was—these were long-term, recurring injuries. If he wore socks now, the pus would stick and tear off scabs later.

“Don’t put on the shoes yet. I’ll get warm water. Let’s wash your feet first and apply ointment.”

She fetched more hot water from the kitchen and retrieved frostbite cream from her space—a supply she’d stocked in case of extreme cold disasters.

Qingsong sat in clean clothes, nervously glancing toward the door, worried that his mother would come looking for him and become even more furious.

He also feared that his aunt’s kindness would bring her punishment if Li Cuihong found out.

He knew Second Aunt could only protect him for a while—not forever.

Every time she helped him, his mother would double his punishment.

How he wished Second Aunt could be his mother instead.

Qian Chunhua returned with hot water.

“Qingsong, soak your feet first to warm up.”

His feet weren’t just frostbitten—there were cuts from walking barefoot too.

She changed the water three times before finally washing away all the grime.

Then she disinfected the wounds and applied medicine and frostbite cream.

She let out a long breath—aside from the injuries, the boy was severely malnourished.

Recovering would take time and effort.

“Qingsong, rest for a bit. I’ll go cook you some noodles.”

Once he was settled, Chunhua went to the kitchen.

She knew there would be nothing in there.

So she pulled out dried noodles and eggs from her space, picked a handful of greens from the backyard garden, and prepared a bowl of egg noodles for Qingsong.

The main house wasn’t far from the kitchen.

Hearing the sounds, Zhao Mother stepped out and saw Qian Chunhua.

“Mom, I’m making Qingsong a bowl of noodles,” Chunhua greeted her.

Zhao Mother nodded, sighed, and said nothing, turning to go.

Back in the main house, Zhao Daqing looked up. “What was the noise?”

Zhao Mother: “It’s Second Daughter-in-law. Making noodles for Qingsong. She’s using her own noodles.”

Zhao Daqing nodded and said no more, continuing to smoke.

Zhao Mother hesitated, then said, “The second daughter-in-law is kind… but the eldest daughter-in-law…”

Zhao Daqing looked at her in confusion.

After a lifetime together, he knew she had more to say. “If you’ve got something to say, just spit it out. I’m not in the mood for guessing.”

Zhao Mother: “About the separation talk that Eldest brought up this morning—maybe we should wait a bit. If we follow Eldest’s family, I’m worried about… his wife.”

Zhao Daqing shook his head. “What’s promised is promised. We can’t go back on it. Second son is gone. Even if Old Three succeeds in his studies, that’s his wife’s family supporting him—he won’t be able to help us much. The only ones we can rely on now are Eldest’s family.”

He took a long drag on his pipe.

Thinking about his second son still pained him—but the living had to plan for the future.

Zhao Mother fell silent again.

..

Qian Chunhua returned with the noodles to the east wing.

Zhao Qingsong was half-lying on the bed.

“Are you cold?” she asked with a smile.

Seeing that warm expression, Qingsong was dazed.

This—this was how he had always imagined a mother would feel.

She didn’t press him.

Instead, she pulled the table over and said, “Quick, eat while it’s hot.”

As Qingsong quietly ate his noodles, Qian Chunhua began planning how to blow up the truth about Li Cuihong’s child-swapping scheme.