Life’s fortunes twist and turn unpredictably. In just four short months—a span that felt as long as a lifetime—he had plummeted from the unreachable heights of the clouds straight into hell, only to be pulled back into the world of the living just as he had resigned himself to fate.
After bathing, combing his hair, changing into clean clothes, and even getting a new pair of undergarments to wear—he felt completely renewed.
Qi Zhaoye sat upright at the dining table, watching Qing Luan bring the reheated dishes from the kitchen. Several times, he used his eyes to stop Qi Yuchen’s restless little movements: when eating someone else’s food, one must understand the rules and know their place.
Suppressing the pain from his injuries, he stood up and arranged the bowls and chopsticks.
Qing Luan hurriedly told him to sit down. “You’re not feeling well, so don’t move around unnecessarily. These small tasks, Brother Yu can handle too.”
Hearing this, the boy lowered his eyes, an indescribable sense of loss washing over him.
Before he could let his thoughts wander, fingers still warm with steam gently pinched his earlobe, playfully rubbing it as a pleasant voice softly coaxed him.
“If you truly mean well, then rest properly. After the meal, I’ll apply medicine to your wounds. The sooner you recover, the less I’ll have to worry.”
Qi Zhaoye blinked, his expression restrained, unable to utter a single word of refusal to her considerate concern.
His heart felt warm.
This feeling was entirely different—unlike his mother’s love, which came with constraints and expectations; unlike his aunt’s honeyed words and hidden daggers, her unconditional indulgence tainted by ulterior motives; and completely unlike his father’s stern and cold indifference.
In Qing Luan’s eyes, he was an injured, fragile little creature in need of care—simply a… child.
Qi Zhaoye gradually came to his senses. He was only nine years old.
After his father’s death, he had become the eldest son shouldering the family’s reputation, the descendant of a disgraced official whom everyone avoided, the older brother protecting Qi Yuchen, a thief, a beggar, a stray dog begging for scraps, worthless mud that couldn’t be lifted onto a wall…
But now, in her eyes, he was just a child.
The boy’s heart ached, his eyes growing warm. He sat back down at the table and began eating in small bites, adopting the dignified posture he had once taken pride in, straightening his back as if a part of the proud self that had died was now coming back to life.
The meal was exceptionally lavish: a large bowl of vegetable and meatball soup, a plate of cold shredded bamboo shoots, a plate of vegetables stir-fried with lard, a plate of braised pork spine stewed with cabbage, and a basket of coarse-flour steamed buns.
The two brothers were terribly thin, and despite their efforts to maintain decorum, they couldn’t help but eat faster and faster.
Qing Luan, who ran her own food shop, had no shortage of food for these two. Gracefully, she poured them hot tea to soothe their digestion and said gently, “Eat slowly, don’t choke. There are plenty of steamed buns. If these dishes aren’t enough, I’ll fry two more for you.”
Her cooking wasn’t as delicious as Su Zhen’s.
Yet, watching the two children transition from delicate manners to devouring their food ravenously, she felt an inexplicable sense of achievement, like raising pets—no wonder Su Zhen would often lift her head during shared meals, looking at others’ eating habits with a satisfied smile.
Seeing people enjoy their food was also a joy.
The voracious appetite that surged after prolonged hunger was a bottomless pit, but children’s stomachs had their limits. Halfway through the meal, they could eat no more. Seeing them so full they were burping, Qing Luan leisurely finished the remaining dishes.
Hot soup, hot dishes, and hot rice—the two brothers hadn’t eaten such a comfortable meal in a long time. Qi Yuchen was so full he felt a bit dazed, while Qi Zhaoye fared slightly better, his face gradually regaining its color.
Weighing his words carefully, he finally spoke: “Auntie, thank you for taking us in. I can never repay your great kindness. I can only…”
“Cough, cough.” Qing Luan pretended her throat was itchy, cutting off his attempt to express gratitude.
She had no intention of adopting them. It was currently October, and by the end of the year at the latest, she would find a suitable family to send them away.
She hadn’t wanted to speak too bluntly, but now it seemed dragging things out wasn’t good either. It might lead to misunderstandings, and if they ended up clinging and unwilling to leave, that would be troublesome.
She wasn’t much older herself, and she didn’t have much spare money—how could she possibly raise two children?
She stood up, collected the bowls and chopsticks into a basin, and carried it to the kitchen to wash. Just as she poured hot water, she saw Qi Yuchen’s small figure step over the threshold and walk toward the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he went, imitating her.
“I’ll wash with Auntie!” The little one’s eyes were still bleary, but his body was already at the basin. He grabbed the loofah and began scrubbing the dishes in the hot water.
No one dislikes diligent and sensible children.
Watching this, Qing Luan felt both pleased and a bit suspicious: This child used to be the most playful—how had he completely changed his nature in just a few months?
Sitting on a small stool, she secretly glanced out of the corner of her eye at the young man in the main room, who was tremblingly supporting himself against the wall as he walked out.
Perhaps because he sensed something from her deliberate interruption, Qi Zhaoye didn’t step forward to offer help. Instead, he silently walked back to the woodshed and gently closed the door.
Her gaze returned to the boy beside her, who was already yawning from exhaustion but still scrubbing the dishes with his small hands, reddened from the heat.
Qing Luan quickly guessed the brothers’ little scheme.
Send the younger one to win her favor and make her happy, then have the younger one pull the older one along—that way, both brothers could stay.
Indeed, one shouldn’t casually pick people up and bring them home, nor should one carelessly raise children. See, now she was stuck with them.
She had to make things clear to them.
In the woodshed, Qi Zhaoye drank his medicine and lay down. The bitterness lingered intensely on his tongue, and even with his eyes closed, he couldn’t sleep.
Qing Luan was a good person. Though she was frivolous, mercenary, and biased… she was someone trustworthy, the only person the brothers could rely on for now.
But no matter how good she was, Qi Zhaoye knew how much pressure two extra mouths to feed would place on an ordinary household. She didn’t have land to farm, and there wasn’t much housework to do—raising them offered her not the slightest benefit.
From her hesitant words after the meal, he had sensed her predicament—he needed to think of a solution.
Half an hour passed, and moonlight filtered through the mottled window paper.
The door was pushed open, and the young man, half-opening his eyes, looked toward the newcomer. He saw Qing Luan holding his sleeping brother in her arms, her plain face pressed against the boy’s soft-haired head, her expression affectionate and gentle.
He wondered what expression she had worn when holding him: Qi Zhaoye thought this untimely thought.
He sat up from the bedding, watching the flowing hem of her skirt move closer like rippling water. Unconsciously, he averted his gaze and lifted the corner of the quilt.
Qing Luan placed Qi Yuchen under his quilt, her tender gaze lingering on the boy. She patted his back gently, pausing for a moment before turning her attention to the young man right beside her.
“Does the wound on the back of your head still hurt?”
Suddenly asked, Qi Zhaoye felt a bit nervous. “It hurts less now. As long as I don’t move too much, it doesn’t hurt.”
Qing Luan hummed in acknowledgment and picked up the nearby medicated wine. “Take off your clothes and lie face down. I’ll apply some for you.”
Her voice sounded somewhat cold.
Qi Zhaoye didn’t ask further. He took off his clothes and lay face down, letting her hands—warmed by the medicinal wine—knead the bruised and swollen patches on his body. The medicinal wine seeped through the surface, and as she increased the pressure, it gradually reached his muscles and bones, causing a mix of pain and itchiness.
Such new and old injuries were countless on his body, so Qing Luan’s well-intentioned application of medicine turned into a prolonged “torture.” The pain made him clench his teeth, shut his eyes tightly, and squeeze tears from the corners of his eyes.
After the treatment, his body was covered in mottled red marks, infused with the scent of the medicinal wine. His skin felt hot, and his mind grew dizzy.
“Zhao’er, I know of two wealthy families looking to adopt children. I plan to inquire on your behalf. They are well-off and have certain requirements for the children they adopt, but don’t worry. Even if they aren’t willing to take you in, I’ll find other families. I’ll make sure to choose the kindest and most amiable parents for you.”
Qing Luan wiped the remnants of the medicinal wine from her palms with a handkerchief and calmly shared her plans with him.
Qi Zhaoye wasn’t surprised. This wasn’t the first time he had been passed around like a burden. He had long grown accustomed to the sense of defeat that came with being an unwanted child, always losing out in matters of interest.
His muscles and bones, loosened by the kneading, still felt warm, but his heart seemed to have plunged into an icy abyss.
Moonlight slanted in through the broken window, drawing a bright, clear line between them.
He crawled up from the bedding, meticulously put his clothes back on, and showed no displeasure on his face. “Auntie, you’ve already shown us more kindness than we deserve by taking us in. Whatever plans you have, Yuchen and I won’t hold any grudges.”
Hearing him say this, Qing Luan felt as though she had become the villain… Fortunately, she had no intention of being some extraordinary saint. After laying out her plans honestly, she felt much more at ease.
“You’re someone who has studied and learned great principles, smarter than many. Naturally, you understand my situation, so I won’t explain further.”
She smiled and helped straighten his collar.
“I’m just telling you in advance so you can prepare yourself. But don’t worry—the adoption matter isn’t urgent. You and your brother can stay with me for a while longer. Until your injuries heal, I won’t let you go hungry or thirsty.”
“Mm, thank you, Auntie,” Qi Zhaoye replied flatly. He lay back down, turned over, and hugged Qi Yuchen, burying half his face in the blanket and leaving only his back to her.
Suddenly learning that he might be sent away, he must have felt uncertain inside.
Qing Luan understood his feelings well, but she also knew she wasn’t these two children’s birth mother. Sympathy and pity were the greatest kindness she could offer. If she worried any more, she would truly become a fool raising someone else’s sons.
She stood up and returned to her room, letting him slowly learn to accept it.
One day passed, then two. Everything remained as usual.
Qi Yuchen was still foolishly cheerful, following his brother’s instructions to fill the water vat when she wasn’t home, break the firewood into manageable pieces, and sweep the courtyard clean…
Qi Zhaoye, covered in injuries, couldn’t move around easily. Aside from eating and using the restroom, he spent the whole day in the woodshed, making little noise, neither approaching her nor causing her any trouble.
Qing Luan occasionally thought: What good children.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t afford to raise them. Even if she tried to keep them, they would only live as commoners their whole lives with her—what future could they have? They might be happy now, but in the future, if they were neither successful nor content, they would eventually resent her.
What one thinks about during the day, one dreams about at night. That evening, Qing Luan had a dream—a rare occurrence.
In the dream, Qi Zheng was dressed in plain white mourning clothes, drifting like a ghost to her side, neither speaking nor leaving.
Qing Luan was sitting in the cabinet counting money, annoyed by his persistence, she waved her hand at him, her sleeve passing through his body, scattering half of his soul.
“Ouch,” he cried out in pain.
Qing Luan turned her head, giving him a delicate, disdainful glance. “You’re already dead, and you still know pain?”
Qi Zheng’s face darkened. “Qing Luan, you’ve changed.”
“I’ve always been this kind of person. It’s just that you were too foolish, fooled by me.” She counted the copper coins one by one, as if each additional coin could give her a little more confidence.
“It’s my fault for not leaving you more money to rely on, making your life so difficult.” The man’s voice grew low, and the color of his soul faded.
Qing Luan froze for a moment, setting down the money in her hand. A wave of complex emotions surged in her heart: grievance, anger, sorrow…
She sighed helplessly. “When you were alive, you wouldn’t marry me. What’s the use of saying these things now?”
The wispy soul drifted closer to her side, damp and cold like mist, his voice seeming to come from deep underground, muffled and hoarse, carrying a plea: “I still have two sons. If you’re willing to raise them, in the future… they can take care of you in your old age.”
If the old one couldn’t be relied on, what use were two little ones?
Qing Luan wanted to punch him. Her fist clenched, and she woke from the dream, finding nothing beside her.
She sat up, pressing her cool palms to her face. An inexplicable sadness churned in her chest, tears falling, her soft sobs echoing alone through the long night.
The night wind blew into the courtyard, the gate creaking and groaning.
When she woke in the morning, Qing Luan saw the courtyard gate slightly ajar, swaying gently in the morning breeze.
Her heart sank: Had thieves broken in?!
But when she turned, she noticed the firewood shed door was also open. Peering inside, she saw the bedding neatly spread over the haystack, the borrowed clothes folded neatly and placed on top.
The two brothers were gone.