Chapter 8: A Day of Being Well-Fed

Watching his mother’s retreating back, Song Tiancheng slowly clenched his fists.

Ever since he broke his leg, his mother’s once-straight back seemed to have gradually begun to stoop. She never hid the family’s hardships from him, yet there was never a trace of resentment or disdain in her eyes. The more she acted this way, the more Song Tiancheng understood that self-pity was useless; he had to get better as quickly as possible. If he could recover—even if it meant only barely being able to stand—he could help his mother with so much more. He looked at the wound just bandaged by Uncle Song, his gaze growing increasingly firm.

When Mother Song finished cooking, Huan Ya arrived at the door, carrying a large bundle of medicinal herbs.

"You're back?" Mother Song peeked out upon hearing the commotion and gestured toward the kitchen. "I left two flatbreads and some vegetables on the stove for you. Go ahead and brew the medicine using the clay pot. Also, once you're done, apply the medicine to your own wounds and get to sleep early. We have to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow, understand?"

Huan Ya nodded eagerly, committing Mother Song's instructions to heart. Seeing Mother Song enter Song Tiancheng’s room, she hurried into the kitchen. Her stomach gave an uncooperative growl at the sight of the two flatbreads resting on the warm stove.

"I’m eating right now, don't make a fuss," Huan Ya murmured, rubbing her belly. She set the medicine to brew first, then squatted by the stove to eat the oil-braised cabbage Mother Song had prepared. The cabbage had only a hint of salt, and the flatbread was a bit dry, but for Huan Ya, who had gone too long without a full meal, this was a feast fit for the heavens. She ate in small bites, chewing each one slowly and thoroughly.

Every time she pulled at the wounds on her face, she would wince and hiss in pain.

Mother Song stopped by once more to fetch medicine for Song Tiancheng before leaving. Before she departed, she reminded Huan Ya again to finish up quickly, apply her medicine, and move into the main room to avoid wasting lamp oil. Huan Ya nodded repeatedly, ignoring the stinging pain as she finished her meal, hastily applied medicine to her bruises, and stood in the courtyard, waiting.

Only after the oil lamp in Song Tiancheng’s room was extinguished did Mother Song emerge. Seeing Huan Ya standing there, motionless and looking utterly obedient, a flash of helpless amusement crossed Mother Song’s face. She beckoned, "Follow me inside."

"Yes!"

Like a little puppy, Huan Ya followed closely behind Mother Song into the main hall.

"You’ll stay here from now on," Mother Song said as she pushed open a door, pointing to the room on the right.

Huan Ya nodded, stealing a cautious glance at the interior of the Song family’s home. It was much like her old house: a main hall with three rooms, the center one housing a shrine and a table where guests were usually entertained. The room on the left was clearly Mother Song’s, while the one on the right was small and cluttered with various items, containing only a tiny bed. Yet, to Huan Ya, there could be no better place to live.

With reddened eyes, she nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes!"

Her employer was far too kind to her; she must work hard to repay her! Seeing Huan Ya’s shining, tear-filled eyes, Mother Song’s heart softened instantly. She was reminded of her own younger sister, who had once been just as innocent, though sadly...

Mother Song sighed inwardly and said, "I’ll go get you some bedding; you go ahead and tidy up the inside."

"All right."

Huan Ya moved with agility, clearing the clutter by the window to one side and dragging the bed into place. Her body ached terribly, and every movement pulled at her bruised and swollen skin, but she didn’t care—she even felt like laughing.

Thus, when Mother Song returned carrying two quilts and a pillow, she found the girl, despite the injuries on her face, grinning so wide her mouth seemed to stretch to the back of her head.

Utterly silly.