Song Yunfei was lost in thought when Chu Jinhan finished clearing away the dishes and came in from beside the water jar in the courtyard.
He was holding a small earthenware jar. Reaching the table, he said nothing, simply took her hand.
“Cousin, what are you—?” Song Yunfei was startled and tried to pull away.
Chu Jinhan’s palm was broad and warm, and his grip was so strong she couldn’t move at all.
“Don’t move.”
His voice was low. He pulled out the wooden stopper, scooped up some dark green salve with his fingertip, and carefully spread it over Song Yunfei’s fingers.
The salve felt cool to the touch and smelled pleasantly of herbs. In an instant, it soothed the fiery pain in her skin.
Song Yunfei froze.
The salve was clearly high quality, with a rich scent. It was no ordinary ointment. The original owner had long since stolen all the money from his person and squandered it.
Where, then, had he gotten the money to buy such precious medicine?
How many other things was Chu Jinhan hiding from her?
Under the dim oil lamp, its tiny flame reflected in Chu Jinhan’s eyes. He lowered his head, utterly intent on what he was doing.
The natural coolness he usually carried seemed to have vanished without a trace.
Only Chu Jinhan knew how tightly his hand had clenched around the ax handle when he saw the countless dried beads of blood on her fingertips in the ox cart.
Song Yunfei composed herself and decided she should probe him after all.
“Cousin, this ointment…” She heard her own voice tremble slightly. “It doesn’t look cheap.”
“Mm.” Chu Jinhan answered, but his hands never stopped. He gently rubbed the salve in with the pad of his thumb. “I traded a month’s worth of firewood for it at Physician Lü’s place in town.”
A month’s worth of firewood?
That really was a lot to pay.
But when had he traded for it?
Had he somehow known she would hurt her hands?
Or was this just one of many preparations he had made for her?
Countless thoughts churned through Song Yunfei’s mind, and she forgot to keep questioning him.
“All done.” Chu Jinhan finished applying the salve to her last finger and let go of her hand. He set the jar on the table. “Get some rest.”
With that, he turned, lifted the curtain, and went to lie down on the straw couch in the outer room.
Song Yunfei looked down at her fingers, then toward the curtain.
She suddenly felt that she didn’t know Chu Jinhan nearly as well as she had thought.
Since that night, something subtle and hard to define had entered the atmosphere between them.
He still spoke little, and she still went back and forth each day to the embroidery workshop in town, quietly saving every copper coin she earned in the earthen jar under her bed.
It was her escape fund.
Each morning, the bowl of thin rice porridge kept warm on the earthen stove grew more substantial, with plumper grains. It was no longer watery gruel.
Every evening, when she returned home dragging her weary body behind her, there was always warm tea on the table, and sometimes a piece or two of osmanthus cake—the kind she usually couldn’t bring herself to buy.
The jar of salve, too, was always left where she could easily see it.
Chu Jinhan’s silent concern seeped little by little into Song Yunfei’s heart.
And yet the more he cared for her, the heavier her unease grew.
How could the man Auntie Wang described—the one who could take down a gang of thugs in moments—possibly be the same person as the “Cousin” before her, who spent each day reading, writing, and cooking over the fire?
If he had already recovered his memories, why was he quietly playing along with her act? What was he after?
Once that thought took root, it grew like a vine, leaving her unable to settle.
No. Rather than worry every day, she might as well test him herself.
That day, Song Yunfei had made a point of asking the embroidery workshop for leave. Early in the morning, she took a basket up the mountain behind the village.
She remembered Auntie Wang once saying that a wild mushroom called Jianshouqing grew on the mountain behind Nanshan Village. It looked no different from ordinary mushrooms, but if it wasn’t cooked properly, eating it could cause hallucinations and make people blurt out the truth… and it wasn’t fatal.
She would gather some and find out where Chu Jinhan stood.
Once he ate the mushrooms, he would naturally tell the truth.
Song Yunfei searched the mountain for half a day. At last, beneath a patch of damp, rotting wood, she found the mushrooms: green caps and stems marked with a netlike pattern.
She carefully picked a whole basketful, then gathered some wild fruit to hide them beneath. Satisfied, she went home.
As soon as Song Yunfei stepped inside, Chu Jinhan returned from outside. He glanced at the contents of her basket and raised an eyebrow slightly.
“Cousin, try some of the hawthorn berries I picked.” Song Yunfei held out the basket to him as if presenting a treasure, her face beaming. “We’ll have mushroom soup tonight.”
“Mm. Looks good.” Chu Jinhan’s gaze lingered for a moment on the green mushrooms, then moved away as if nothing were amiss. He took the basket from her with both hands. “You rest. I’ll take care of it.”
Something was wrong.
He had looked at the Jianshouqing for far too long.
Did he… recognize these mushrooms?
But now that she had started, there was no backing out.
Uneasy, Song Yunfei followed Chu Jinhan into the kitchen. She crouched by the stove to tend the fire and asked as casually as she could, “I picked these mushrooms in that old grove on the mountain. They look so lovely, but I wonder how they taste. Cousin, do you recognize them?”
Chu Jinhan lowered his head to wash the mushrooms. “I don’t know much about wild plants,” he replied calmly.
He sounded perfectly at ease, but Song Yunfei still felt something was off.
She pushed down her doubts and helped Chu Jinhan wash the mushrooms, cut them into small pieces, and toss them into the pot to simmer.
Before long, a rich fragrance drifted from the pot and filled the whole courtyard.
At dinner, Song Yunfei deliberately served Chu Jinhan a heaping bowl, piled high with Jianshouqing mushrooms.
“You work hard every day, Cousin. You should have something nourishing.” She handed him the bowl, her eyes full of concern.
Chu Jinhan took it with an unchanged expression and even smiled at her.
He picked up his spoon, scooped up some soup, and slowly brought it to his mouth without the slightest hesitation.
Ah!
He ate it!
He really ate it!
Could it be… that she had just been overthinking things?
It was fine. She would wait. Once he ate more, he would start telling the truth.
Before long, Chu Jinhan had finished his mushroom soup. He wiped his mouth and smiled at Song Yunfei. “It really is delicious. Fei’er, give your elder brother another bowl.”
Song Yunfei’s eyes widened.
Wasn’t Jianshouqing supposed to make people blurt out the truth?
Why hadn’t Chu Jinhan changed at all?
Had she picked the wrong mushrooms? Or had Auntie Wang remembered wrong?
Wait. What had he just said?
Delicious?
Well, they did smell especially savory, with an alluring fragrance unlike anything she could quite describe.
Looks like she really had mistaken them for the right mushrooms. Ah, what a waste—she’d held back from eating such delicious mushrooms earlier.
Since he was fine after eating them, she’d better put on an act and eat some too, or it would look odd.
As Song Yunfei thought this, she served Chu Jinhan another bowl of mushroom soup, then picked up a bowl for herself.
The first sip was indescribably savory and sweet. It slid down her throat, warmth spreading through her.
Wow!
It really was delicious!
So tasty! So good!
Song Yunfei drained the bowl in just a few gulps. She was about to serve herself another when she looked up—and froze.