Jiang Chengyuan frowned at the words, his face darkening. The two children saw his expression and immediately fell silent.
Yun Shuyue, noticing that the younger boy suddenly stopped crying, followed his timid gaze and instantly understood. She gathered him into her arms to comfort him, but the effort made her shoulder throb—she hissed in pain.
Knowing she was injured, Jiang Chengyuan stepped forward to take the child, but Yun Shuyue avoided his hand: “My lord, this isn’t suitable for you. If you truly want to help, fetch me a basin of clean water.”
She then handed the unfinished tunic to the older boy: “You’ve been holding it in, haven’t you? If you need to relieve yourself, don’t be shy—go quickly.”
The boy threw on the garment and dashed out like the wind. When he returned, his face was back to normal.
Yun Shuyue placed the younger one in the basin and gently washed him. If not for her injury, she would have bathed them days ago.
As she worked, the little one began to sob again. Yun Shuyue thought he was frightened of Jiang Chengyuan and explained softly: “This uncle is a good man. He just doesn’t smile much. He’s the one bringing you grain to survive these hard times.”
Uncle? Jiang Chengyuan’s brows knit tighter.
The child’s nose reddened, his little mouth quivering pitifully. At last, he whispered: “Dongdong just misses Mama.”
He hadn’t seen his mother for so long. She used to make clothes for him, bathe him. But his brother had told him their parents had gone to heaven, watching over them from above.
The words pierced Yun Shuyue’s heart. She said gently: “From now on, sister will buy you new clothes. Once Rong County’s troubles are resolved, I’ll take you both back to the capital and send you to private school.”
Sister? Jiang Chengyuan’s frown deepened further.
The younger boy, Dongdong, turned to his brother. He was too little—whenever something happened, he instinctively relied on him.
The older boy had been busy since entering the room, trying to clean up the bed his brother had soiled. But after all, he was only four or five years old. All he managed was to push the quilt aside from the wet spot.
Hearing Yun Shuyue’s promise, he whipped his head around, disbelief in his eyes: “Sister, you really will take us away?”
“I will,” Yun Shuyue answered firmly.
The boy’s uneasy gaze shifted to Jiang Chengyuan, who sat silently. To the children, he looked more like the one who could make the final decision.
Jiang Chengyuan, however, only sat in his chair, brows furrowed, watching Yun Shuyue bathe the child. At first, he hadn’t paid much attention to her words. But when she told the children to call him *uncle*, while she called herself *sister*… The difference in generations was rather glaring.
Yun Shuyue saw his concern and reassured softly: “Uncle will agree.”
After settling the children, she wrapped them in coarse cloth and asked Chen Ping to take them back to their room. As for herself, she returned to finish sewing the unfinished tunic. “My lord, you should rest. I still have work to do.”
Jiang Chengyuan asked quietly: “You truly mean to take them back to the capital?”
“Yes. They have no parents. How can such little ones survive?” Yun Shuyue thought he was unwilling to bring them into the Prime Minister’s household, so she explained: “Don’t worry, my lord. Once in the capital, I’ll send them to the estate in the west of the city. The old couple there will care for them. As for their schooling, you needn’t worry—I already have a plan.”
Jiang Chengyuan was about to reply when a knock came at the door: “Cousin, cousin, are you asleep? I asked the kitchen to stew some soup, and I’ve brought you a bowl.”
The moon hung over the willows, the night deep and quiet. At such an hour, Zhao Qingyun, knocking again, felt like a plaster that wouldn’t peel away.
Jiang Chengyuan was about to refuse, but when he heard she had stewed soup, he opened the door. He stood at the threshold, accepted the bowl with a brief “thank you,” and closed the door again.
Zhao Qingyun, staring at her empty hands, stomped her feet in frustration.
Meanwhile, Yun Shuyue wrestled with the garment. After much thought, she gave up—she simply couldn’t sew proper buttonholes or buttons. So she used a modern trick: cut a slit at the front and stitched on two cloth ties. That way, tying them together would keep the tunic closed. To prevent it from hanging loose, she even sewed two waistbands, each four fingers wide. By the time she finished, it was nearly midnight. Only then did she realize Jiang Chengyuan was still awake behind her.
“Husband, you’ve worked all day. Why haven’t you slept?”
“And haven’t you worked all day too?”
Glancing at the table, Yun Shuyue saw the results of her long struggle. Though crude, she felt more pride than shame—it was the best she could do. “Yes, I’m tired. I’ll sleep now.”
“Wait.” Jiang Chengyuan, who hadn’t disturbed her earlier, now brought over the soup: “Drink this before you sleep.”
Yun Shuyue hesitated: “But this was specially made for you by cousin. For me to drink it, isn’t that improper?”
Jiang Chengyuan’s lips curved faintly: “If you drink it, won’t you feel you’ve won over her once again?”
Yun Shuyue: “…”
He was clearly alluding to the morning, when she had sent Zhao Qingyun to record the names of the elderly and orphans. Yun Shuyue hadn’t wanted to drink it, but since he spoke so plainly, she dropped the pretense of ladylike restraint. She took the bowl and drained it in one gulp. “If you pity your cousin, you shouldn’t have let her do those tasks. Now to come and scold me—what’s the point? She’s already done the work, suffered the hardship. Isn’t this all redundant?”
Jiang Chengyuan sighed: “Since cousin wishes to contribute to the disaster relief, I must give her the chance. But Madam, how shall we sleep tonight?”
Only then did Yun Shuyue remember—Dongdong had wet the bed earlier. She turned to look at the large, damp patch on the mattress and felt troubled. Supplies in Rong County were scarce, and at this late hour, it would be improper to ask the magistrate for another quilt.
Yun Shuyue’s gaze fell on the pile of fabric scraps on the table. An idea struck her—she layered several pieces over the damp spot on the bed. One layer, two, three, soon it no longer felt wet. With the last large piece, she turned proudly: “My lord, see? Problem solved, not even a—ah!”
She had forgotten to put away the needle after finishing the tunic. Without warning, it pricked deep into her finger. Blood welled instantly. Yun Shuyue clutched her hand, sitting down in pain.
Jiang Chengyuan rushed over, took her hand, and saw the damage. Each of her five fingers bore punctures—two or three at the least, seven or eight at most. The fresh wound bled again. Without hesitation, he brought her finger to his lips to stop the bleeding.
Yun Shuyue: “…”
When he released her hand, the bleeding had ceased, but his face was grim. The atmosphere in the room dropped to freezing.
“Leave such tasks to the servants. If you can’t sew, why force yourself?”
Yun Shuyue answered firmly: “Chun Liu is ill and didn’t come. I can’t wait for her return to make clothes for the children. Even though it’s spring, mornings and evenings are still cold, and with scarce clothes and medicine here, what if they fall sick?”
Jiang Chengyuan’s temper flared unexpectedly: “There are countless suffering people in the world. Do you think you alone can solve it all?”
Yun Shuyue bristled: “My lord flatters me. You speak for the many I’ll never meet. But these two children—I did meet them. And this matter, I will manage.”
With that, she turned away, lay down facing the wall, and fell asleep, leaving him no chance to reply.
Next door, Zhao Qingyun pressed her ear to the wall, listening to the quarrel. Moments ago, she had been furious, but now her face lit with delight. She refused to believe her cousin could truly care for a pampered invalid.