When Ciren heard Dündup’s deep, quiet “Mm,” the weight hanging over his heart finally lifted.
A bright smile instantly spread across his face. He slapped Dündup firmly on the shoulder, his tone becoming much more cheerful.
“Big Brother, now that you’ve said that, I’m relieved. By the way, which family is the girl from? Do I know her? When are you going to bring her home for us to meet?”
He was so excited that he completely failed to notice Dündup’s jaw suddenly tense or the increasingly deep look in his eyes.
Looking at his younger brother’s carefree smile, Dündup swallowed back the confession that had nearly burst out of his chest.
He lowered his eyes, concealing the emotions surging within them. When he looked up again, his gaze was as calm as a still lake.
“It’s not the right time yet.”
Dündup’s voice was deep, carrying a faint hoarseness that was difficult to detect.
Ciren simply assumed his elder brother was reserved and embarrassed to talk about it, so he tactfully stopped asking questions.
Instead, he happily draped an arm around Dündup’s shoulder and began sharing his own thoughts about love.
“Big Brother, I actually support you too. Dad’s thinking is still too conservative. He doesn’t even consider that we might each have a girl we like. Don’t worry, I’ll help persuade Dad.”
After saying this righteously, Ciren muttered under his breath,
“After all, I don’t want to have to share A-Luo with my brothers before I’ve even managed to win her over.”
Dündup’s body stiffened unconsciously when he heard that.
His throat bobbed, but in the end, he remained silent.
Over the next few days, the grasslands seemed to return to their usual tranquility.
Sang Luo continued changing Dündup’s dressings every day.
At first, Ciren did not pay much attention because he knew his elder brother already had someone he liked.
But these past few days, he gradually realized that there seemed to be an atmosphere between Dündup and Sang Luo that he could not penetrate.
Their conversations were no longer limited to Dündup’s injuries.
“The theories in this Barefoot Doctor’s Handbook are very practical, but some parts aren’t well adapted to the actual conditions here in the Tibetan region.”
As Sang Luo prepared the ointment, she naturally brought up the subject.
Dündup looked at the well-worn book and nodded.
“The handbook we use in the military is similar. But in a high-altitude environment, treating bleeding and preventing infection requires methods better suited to local conditions.”
He rarely spoke at such length, and his gaze remained fixed on Sang Luo’s nimble fingers.
“Exactly. For example, Rhodiola isn’t mentioned much in the handbook, but when combined with spiritual…”
Sang Luo nearly let the secret of the spiritual spring slip. She quickly caught herself.
“I mean, when combined with local medicinal herbs, it’s very effective for promoting wound healing and fighting fatigue.”
“Did you study these things in Rong City as well?”
Dündup remembered the steady, experienced way she had treated him with acupuncture over the past few days. That level of skill could certainly not have come from simply reading a handbook.
Sang Luo’s movements paused. She looked up at him and met his curious but harmless gaze before smiling slightly, a trace of nostalgia in her voice.
“Yes. I studied under a teacher at our medical school for a while. She always said that a doctor should learn from every source and never restrict themselves to just one approach. So after I came here, I began studying the medicinal herbs in this region.”
“She was right.”
Dündup nodded. A hint of softness seemed to enter his normally stern features.
“Systematic medical training in the cities and the practical knowledge passed down on the grasslands each have their own strengths. Combining the two will greatly benefit your medical skills.”
Dündup was knowledgeable and well-traveled. Although he rarely spoke, whenever he did, he always managed to get straight to the heart of the matter.
Sang Luo discovered that this seemingly stern officer possessed a thoughtfulness and depth that contrasted sharply with his appearance.
And through their repeated conversations, Dündup saw more and more clearly the resilient soul and intelligent mind hidden beneath Sang Luo’s gentle beauty.
The feelings that had already begun to stir within him grew increasingly intense.
All of this was witnessed by Ciren, who also found himself increasingly frustrated.
He clearly realized one thing—
He couldn’t get a word in.
Conversations about the city, books, and deeper ideas were unfamiliar territory to him.
All he could do was watch the approving light in Sang Luo’s eyes whenever she talked with Dündup.
And watch the focused, profound gaze in Dündup’s eyes whenever he looked at Sang Luo.
That was definitely not merely the way an A-Bu looked at his younger sister.
A mixture of anxiety, jealousy, and faint unease gradually accumulated in Ciren’s heart.
So he began interrupting their conversations more frequently.
Sometimes he would pull Sang Luo away to go riding. Other times, he would take her to identify some unknown wildflowers he had picked.
Sang Luo always smiled and agreed, but Ciren keenly noticed that her gaze seemed to drift toward that quiet, reserved A-Bu more and more often.
As their relationship changed, their father, Zhandui, naturally noticed it as well.
That evening, as usual, Sang Luo came to change Dündup’s dressing.
“Another two or three days and you should be fine.”
“Thank you for your hard work.”
Dündup’s voice was deep, carrying a hint of barely concealed disappointment.
“It’s nothing.”
Sang Luo packed away her medicine box, her tone light.
“Now that your injury is almost healed, you’ll be preparing to return to the military, right?”
“Mm.”
Dündup silently put his clothes back on.
“Then… are you still going to keep arguing with Uncle Zhandui—Dad?”
“I…”
Over the past few days, Dündup had never reconciled with Zhandui, mainly because he did not know how to tell his father that he had changed his mind.
He could already imagine his father mercilessly laughing at him.
Dündup licked his lips and was just about to speak when Zhandui appeared at the doorway.
“Dündup, come outside for a moment.”
Dündup gave Sang Luo a deep look. Encouraged by her gaze, he turned and followed Zhandui outside.
When Ciren happened to pass by and saw his father and elder brother walking away together, his feet unconsciously followed them.
Outside the tent, night was beginning to fall, with only a faint glow of sunset remaining on the horizon.
Zhandui stood with his hands behind his back and looked at his increasingly mature and capable eldest son.
He got straight to the point.
“So? If I asked you and Ciren to marry the same woman now, would you still refuse?”
Dündup pursed his lips and said nothing.
Zhandui sighed.
“A-Luo is a good girl. She’s like White Tara on the snow mountain—kind and capable. Not only do you like her, even Ciren does too. How about I go speak with your mother Lhazhen and arrange the marriage?”
His voice was not loud, but in the quiet evening, every word was especially clear.
Dündup’s Adam’s apple moved.
The words he had kept buried in his heart for so long were almost about to leave his lips.
However, before he could respond—
Ciren suddenly burst out from the shadows of a nearby tent like an enraged young leopard.
His eyes were wide with anger and panic, as though his territory were about to be invaded.
He glared fiercely at Dündup and Zhandui, his chest heaving violently.
His furious roar nearly tore through the peaceful night over the grasslands.
“Dad! What the hell are you talking about!”