Chu'he looked up at Ninth, then at the bewildered young man. She quickly stepped forward, positioning herself between the two. "Your name is really Song Tieniu? You don’t remember the name Fang Songhe at all?"
Song Tieniu shook his head. "I’ve never heard that name before, miss."
Chu'he thought for a moment. "May I see your hand?"
Though puzzled, Song Tieniu extended his hand. His fingers were slender and delicate, yet the thick callus on the webbing of his right thumb stood out prominently.
Chu'he’s eyes flickered as she glanced at Ninth.
As if reading her mind, Ninth crossed his arms and drawled, "That’s the hand of a swordsman."
"No way." Song Tieniu scratched the back of his head. "You must be mistaken. I chop firewood often, so I’ve held plenty of axes, but never a sword."
Chu'he still found the situation odd. She had more questions, but before she could speak, the boy hiding behind Song Tieniu suddenly collapsed. Song Tieniu caught him just in time.
"Chongyang? Chongyang!"
The boy remained unconscious, his eyes shut tight. His health had always been frail, and after nearly dying earlier that day, his body had finally given out.
Song Tieniu prepared to take the boy home to care for him. Chu'he quickly interjected, "We’re travelers, and it’s getting late. We haven’t found a place to stay yet. Could we trouble you for shelter tonight? We’ll pay."
Song Tieniu was warm-hearted. "Just follow me. Helping others is its own reward—no need for payment."
As night fell, the wind grew stronger, and the temperature dropped.
Song Tieniu, experienced in such matters, remarked, "It’s going to rain soon."
He quickened his pace, leading the two travelers along a narrow path.
Chu'he held Ninth’s hand as they followed, whispering, "Are you sure he’s not Fang Songhe?"
"Of course he is."
Chu'he frowned. "How can you be so certain?"
The man had insisted he was Song Tieniu, recounting his identity with such clarity that even she doubted whether they’d mistaken him for someone else. Could there really be two people who looked identical?
Ninth arched a brow, smirking. "I took one look at him and disliked him."
Chu'he was speechless for a moment.
Ninth had always clashed with Fang Songhe. From the day they’d met, he’d harbored an instinctive aversion to the man.
Chu'he lowered her voice further. "If he’s forgotten his past, is it due to an injury, trauma, or perhaps some kind of poison or curse?"
Ninth replied, "There’s nothing wrong with his body."
Then, with a wicked grin, he added, "But I might’ve missed something. If we cut him open, we might find the problem."
Ahead of them, Song Tieniu shivered and glanced back. Chu'he wore a gentle expression, and the strangely dressed young man beside her smiled amiably. They seemed like good people—he must’ve imagined things.
"I used to live with my younger brother, but after he married, it became awkward for me to stay with the couple. So, I moved out and built a cabin on the eastern edge of the village."
The area was sparsely populated. Amid swaying trees stood a lone wooden house by a stream. Two patches of land flanked the dwelling, lush with green vegetables and radishes.
Pushing open the wicker gate, they crossed the yard and stepped into the tidy, well-kept home.
Chu'he continued whispering to Ninth. "I suspect Fang Songhe was ambushed, which is why he lost his memories. Ninth, we should help him."
"No. I dislike him."
Song Tieniu first settled Chongyang in a room before returning. "My home is humble, and I only have two rooms. I wasn’t sure how you two would prefer to..."
His gaze shifted uncertainly between Ninth and Chu'he.
Chu'he understood. "Ninth and I can share a room."
Song Tieniu exhaled in relief. "Good. I was worried if you wanted separate rooms, I’d have to give Miss Chu'he one and have Master Ninth share with Chongyang."
Chu'he asked, "What about you?"
"I’ll just make do outside." Song Tieniu smiled. "Master Ninth and Miss Chu'he are a perfect match—a natural pair. I knew at first glance you were a loving couple."
Ninth pressed his lips together but couldn’t suppress the pleased curve of his mouth. He leaned down and murmured in Chu'he’s ear, "He looks decent enough. Not entirely hateful. Chu'he, let’s help him."
Chu'he glared. "Stop misusing idioms!"
Ninth sulked. How had he misused anything? He’d heard Su Lingxi describe someone as "decent enough" all the time.
Was he wrong for trying to speak like the Central Plains people?
Chu'he asked, "I heard the village has a rule—those unloved must be drowned. Fang—I mean, Brother Song, don’t you find that strange?"
Every place had its customs, but she’d never heard of anything like this in Wutong Village.
Song Tieniu frowned slightly, clearly uneasy about the rule. "That’s just how it is here. If you lack friendship, family, or love, you don’t deserve to live. Chongyang is one such case."
Chu'he retorted, "Undeserving? Those people abandoned him. Why should he die because of it?"
A creak sounded as a door cracked open.
The boy’s pale eyes fixed on the adults in the main room—first on Chu'he and Ninth’s clasped hands, then lifting to Chu'he’s face.
Suddenly, he met a pair of smiling crimson eyes and shrank back, trying to hide. Song Tieniu noticed him.
"Chongyang, you’re awake."
Song Tieniu led the boy out. "Are you feeling unwell? Are you hungry? I’ll cook something for you."
Chongyang kept his head down, silent—until his stomach growled at the word "cook."
Song Tieniu chuckled. "I’ll prepare the meal."
Chongyang looked up, clutching Song Tieniu’s sleeve as he followed.
Song Tieniu turned, exasperated.
Chu'he stepped forward and took the boy’s grimy hand. "Brother Song needs to cook. Let’s wait outside with Ninth, and we’ll play with you. Okay?"
After a long pause, Chongyang glanced at Chu'he’s hand holding his and nodded slowly.
