Chu'he still had many questions for Song Tieniu, so she used the pretext of asking about the customs and traditions of Wutong Village to sit down with him in the main hall for a conversation.
"Brother Song, are there any strange places in this village? Or perhaps any herbs that can make people's memories fuzzy?"
Song Tieniu shook his head. "Strange places? Not that I know of. As for herbs that blur memories, I’ve never heard of such a thing."
"Then have you ever heard of a sword called Suixin (Follow the Heart)?"
Song Tieniu looked blank. "Suixin... Suixin..."
Suddenly, he clutched his head in pain, his eyes bloodshot as if the pressure in his skull was so great his eyeballs might burst from their sockets.
"Suixin... What is that? What...?"
His expression was terrifying. Afraid he might drive himself to death, Chu'he quickly said, "It’s just a kind of pastry! Not a tasty one, so don’t think about it anymore!"
"A pastry... not a sword?"
"Yes, I misspoke earlier. It’s a pastry, not a sword."
Song Tieniu slowly lowered his hands from his head, his eyes returning to normal. After a brief daze, he blinked. "What were we talking about just now, Miss Chu?"
Chu'he felt an even deeper chill in her heart and dared not bring up anything related to his memories again. Instead, she changed the subject. "That girl named Lan Yingying—what do you think of her, Brother Song?"
Song Tieniu paused, then said, "She’s a good girl."
Chu'he pressed further. "What’s so good about her?"
"She has a kind heart. Last time, when Granny Wang’s chicken fell into the river in the east of the village, she was the one who waded into the cold water to retrieve it. And that litter of abandoned wild kittens in the back mountains? She’s been feeding them with leftovers every day. Now they’re so attached to her. Once, when it rained, the kittens looked pitiful out in the downpour. I saw her give them her umbrella to shield them while she walked home drenched."
Song Tieniu’s voice unconsciously softened. "Later, she caught a cold and was bedridden for days, but she never complained. She even asked Chun Ming to check if the kittens were still doing fine."
A kind and gentle girl, caring for small animals in the rain—even the most oblivious man would feel his heart stir.
Song Tieniu might not yet realize his feelings for Lan Yingying were different, but this was already the beginning of falling for her!
Chu'he buried her head in her hands and slumped onto the table. "We’re doomed."
Outside the house, a gentle breeze drifted by.
Ninth sat on the steps, fiddling with the short flute he had made for Chu'he, pondering which tune to teach her today. Every now and then, he glanced back at the people inside the house, displeased.
Chu'he had scolded him for being disruptive and ordered him to stay outside, forbidding him from entering.
Chongyang crouched on the ground, playing with mud. Before long, the rough outline of a figurine took shape—likely a man, crudely formed.
Ninth propped his chin on one hand and let out a mocking laugh.
Chongyang ignored him and continued shaping the mud. This time, he made a small figurine—a child—and placed it beside the male one.
Still ugly.
Ninth rested his chin on both hands and laughed again.
Without looking up, Chongyang picked up another lump of mud. Moments later, he molded a woman in a dress and set her on the ground. The small figurine stood between the man and the woman, like a family of three.
Ninth crossed his left leg over his right, swinging it idly. He glanced sideways, ready to sneer again, but his gaze abruptly caught on the tiny bow atop the female figurine’s head.
He turned his head. When Chu'he spoke to Song Tieniu, the golden butterfly hairpin in her dark hair fluttered lightly, as if coming to life.
Ninth’s expression darkened.
Chongyang’s small frame was suddenly overshadowed by a tall, menacing figure. He looked up to see a pale-faced youth with eerily crimson eyes.
"What are these mud figures supposed to be?"
Chongyang pointed with his stubby fingers. "Father, mother, me."
"Who’s the father? Who’s the mother?"
Chongyang answered, "Brother, sister."
And who Chongyang saw as "brother" and "sister" was obvious.
Ninth laughed coldly. "Little worm, you’re not allowed to call my Ah’he that, and you’re not allowed to make mud figures in her likeness."
Chongyang said, "You can’t… make. I can. Why… not?"
Ninth gritted his teeth. "Because I said so."
Chongyang lowered his head, staring at the figurine with the tiny butterfly. "I saw… sister… hug you, kiss you. Me and you… alike. Why… can’t I?"
Ninth’s face instantly turned stormy, his aura turning icy. "If you dare set your sights on Ah’he, I’ll rip you out by the roots."
As he turned away, he crushed the two larger mud figures underfoot and snatched the one with the bow, walking off without a backward glance.
Chongyang stared blankly at Ninth’s retreating figure, his white ponytail swaying in the wind—strikingly eye-catching. He touched his own hair, also white.
The difference was, no one treated him the way Chu'he treated Ninth.
When she embraced the youth, she would joyfully twirl his white hair around her fingers. Even his demon-like crimson eyes seemed to sparkle like precious gems in her gaze.
Was it so wrong to want someone to look at him like that?
After talking with Song Tieniu, Chu'he felt utterly defeated. Ever since she had ended up in Miaojiang, everything had spiraled out of control. Yet, at crucial moments, the plot somehow managed to right itself!
No—she had to find a way out of this village, fast!
A small mud figure sat on the windowsill, while the red-clad youth sprawled on the bamboo bed, seemingly occupied with something. The moment Chu'he pushed the door open, he hastily stuffed whatever it was into his robes.
Catching only a glimpse of his furtive movements, Chu'he narrowed her eyes and pounced. "What are you hiding? Show me!"
Ninth lay pinned beneath her, limbs splayed. "I’m not hiding anything."
She frisked him from head to toe but found nothing. Frowning, she muttered, "Did I imagine it?"
Ninth feigned innocence. "You definitely imagined it."
As he spoke, his gaze flicked to the little green snake slithering off the bed, struggling to drag a book into hiding beneath it.
Without evidence, Chu'he couldn’t accuse him. She pulled him up. "You wandered around the village this morning, right? You once said your memory is excellent—draw me a map of the village."
Ninth’s handwriting was messy, and his drawings were crooked, but they were still legible.
Soon, Chu'he studied the village’s layout. "First, we can rule out the entrance and exit routes. No need to test them—they’re definitely blocked."
Finally, her eyes landed on a circle at the center of the map. "What’s this?"
Ninth replied, "A pool."
Every path in the village led to this pool. Conversely, the roads seemed to branch outward from it like veins, as if this was the "root" of everything.
Chu'he pointed her finger at the spot and said, "Let's start our investigation from here!"
For some reason, Ninth seemed less enthusiastic, responding only with a faint murmur.
Fearful of complications, Chu'he pulled Ninth out the door before nightfall, retracing the same path they had taken that morning. But as dusk settled, a thick fog rolled in.
With visibility low, Chu'he instinctively drew closer to Ninth. Suddenly, her foot stepped on something—she looked down and saw a pile of bleached bones.
"Ninth!"
She clung to the arm of the person beside her, but soon, a strange unease crept in.
A hoarse voice whispered, "Don't be afraid."
The figure turned its head—revealing a white, skeletal face, its hollow eye sockets staring straight at her.
Chu'he gasped, stumbling backward over a rock. In an instant, darkness swallowed her consciousness.
When she opened her eyes again, she was lying in bed, greeted by the morning chirping of birds.
She bolted upright, scanning the unfamiliar room in confusion.
The door creaked open, and a silver-haired boy slipped inside. He scurried to the bedside, clasping her hand. "Mother, wake up. Time for breakfast."
"Chongyang, I told you not to disturb your mother's rest," chided a tall, handsome young man as he entered. He ruffled the boy’s hair with an exasperated smile.
When his gaze shifted to Chu'he, his eyes softened with warmth. "My dear, if you're still tired, sleep a little longer."
Chu'he hesitated, her mind sluggish. After a long pause, she asked, "What did you call me?"
"My dear," he repeated.
She turned to the child. "And you?"
"Mother."
Her thoughts swirled in disarray. For a moment, her eyes glazed over—then, slowly, an odd light flickered in them. She pulled the boy into her arms, stroking his cheek as a smile bloomed on her face.
"Come, let’s go have breakfast together—you, your father, and me!"
