The interior of the carriage remained silent for a while.
Only the clatter of wheels rolling over the road and the occasional bird song from the distance could be heard.
Xia Ling shrank into the corner, her small body curled into a ball as if she wanted to hide herself from the world.
Her eyes were red, and the tear stains on her face had yet to dry. Mixed with the dirt, they left her little face looking like a messy smudge.
She didn’t dare move or look around recklessly; the young girl in the brocade dress sitting opposite her had been glaring at her the entire time.
That gaze was like a small knife, stabbing into her bit by bit.
Xia Ling didn’t know what she had done wrong, so she could only shrink her body further.
“Can my sister… still live?” she asked in a tiny, thin voice.
Song Ning, sitting across from her, tilted his head slightly upon hearing her words.
Beside him, Song Youyi was tightly clutching his arm, half of her body practically hanging off him.
The moment Xia Ling spoke, Youyi’s vigilance spiked. Her eyes narrowed into circles and her lips pressed into a thin line, making her look like a small beast guarding its food.
Song Ning couldn’t see any of this, especially not the look in Song Youyi’s eyes.
He only knew that he was being held in a death grip, and his arm was starting to feel numb.
He assumed that because Youyi was young, she was simply afraid of the strange girl in front of them.
It made sense; Youyi’s health had always been poor, and she was weaker than others her age.
It was natural for her to feel uneasy when meeting another girl.
“She has been fed,” he answered softly. “As for whether she will live, I am not sure myself. We will have to wait until we see a physician before we can say for certain.”
He added another sentence: “Do not worry, I will do my best to save her.”
He had specifically ordered for the other girl to be placed in the carriage behind them.
He was kind-hearted, but he wasn’t a fool. This world was nothing like his previous life; the medical conditions were far too primitive.
There were no vaccines or antibiotics, and a simple chill could be fatal. What if it was a contagious disease?
Song Ning didn’t dare gamble on such things, especially when he was traveling with his frail sister.
Although he knew that internal energy existed in this world and that someone who reached the First Grade realm could sweep through 10,000 soldiers, people were still mortals after all.
There was no such thing as flying through the sky or burrowing into the earth. Even Qi Chuyao’s mother was a Second Grade expert, yet she still fell ill like anyone else.
It was better to keep them isolated for now.
Hearing his words, the tears in Xia Ling’s eyes shimmered again. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then swallowed the words back down.
“Brother,” Song Youyi suddenly spoke, her voice immature. “How are we going to settle them? We won’t be bringing them back to the Song family, right?”
Xia Ling’s heart suddenly jumped into her throat.
She looked up, her gaze falling on Song Ning’s face.
That face was truly beautiful. She hadn’t dared to look closely before, but now she stole a secret glance.
His features were refined and handsome, his complexion pale, and his facial structure looked as if it had been drawn with a brush—every stroke was exactly where it should be.
The most striking feature was his eyes. The pupils were white and lacked focus, staring blankly ahead. Yet, they weren’t terrifying at all; instead, they carried an indescribable…
Xia Ling lacked the vocabulary to describe the feeling. She could only stare, unable to look away. She felt that those eyes seemed cleaner than the dark eyes of many other people.
Song Ning didn’t answer immediately.
He fell silent for a moment, appearing lost in thought.
“How is your family?” he asked. “Is it just you and your sister now?”
Xia Ling’s eyes reddened again.
“Yes…” She lowered her head, her voice muffled. “There’s only me and my sister left.”
“My family didn’t have many fields to begin with. This year’s disaster forced us to sell the land, but my mother and father still…” She couldn’t continue. Tears began to drip onto her tattered clothes.
Song Ning sighed.
He had already guessed as much. In this era, the risk-management capacity of these peasants was far too low; a single famine could harvest many lives.
If he only provided them with one full meal and then let them go, they would most likely starve to death eventually. Since they had met, he supposed it was fate.
“How old are you?” he asked.
Xia Ling sobbed as she gave her age.
Song Ning asked a few more questions about her family background and then nodded.
“Why don’t you come to our Song family,” he said, his tone flat. “Two extra mouths to feed is nothing.”
“If you are unwilling, there are other households in the Capital City…”
Before he could finish, a loud thump echoed.
Xia Ling had dropped straight to her knees in the carriage, her forehead hitting the wooden floorboards with a loud thud.
“Thank you, My Lord! Thank you, My Lord!” Her voice trembled, and tears smeared her face. “For such great kindness, my sister and I will surely repay you! We won’t go anywhere else—we only want to stay by My Lord’s side!”
Song Ning was startled by her sudden kneeling and hurriedly reached out to help her up.
His hand touched her thin shoulder, and through the flimsy fabric, he could feel her protruding bones. He sighed inwardly.
“Don’t call me ‘My Lord,'” he chuckled. “Do I look like a grown man to you?”
Xia Ling was pulled up, looking at him through tear-blurred eyes.
Indeed, he wasn’t very old. He was leaner and taller than most people his age, wearing a plain white robe that made him look elegant and otherworldly. His white eyes gave him a unique temperament.
Xia Ling’s heart suddenly skipped a beat. She didn’t know why it was racing; she just murmured:
“Then what should I call you? My Lord?”
“Broth—”
The moment the word started to leave her mouth, she felt a freezing stare.
Song Youyi was glaring at her, the hostility in her eyes completely unconcealed.
Xia Ling’s words were forced back down her throat, and her back turned cold.
“Gongzi,” she said, having a sudden flash of inspiration. She remembered how the aunts and older women in her village would gossip about the stories of young ladies and noble sons in storybooks. “Hello, Gongzi.”
Song Ning nodded.
“Mm, that works too.” He helped her steady herself.
His sleeves were stained with quite a bit of mud from her, yet he didn’t seem dirty at all; instead, it looked like a few strokes of pale ink had been added to his white clothes. “There is one more thing.”
Xia Ling listened obediently.
“At the manor, you must follow etiquette and rules when meeting others,” Song Ning’s voice was gentle but serious. “But when you are with me, you do not need to kneel.”
“I do not like people kneeling to me. Do you understand?”
Xia Ling nodded, though she was still a bit confused.
“There is no need for you to kneel to me,” Song Ning repeated.
Xia Ling nodded again.
She was very close to him now—close enough to smell the faint scent of soap on him.
She blinked hard, tears still clinging to her eyelashes, but she stared at the person before her without blinking.
His brows, his eyes, his nose, his lips.
The way the corners of his mouth curved slightly when he spoke.
His sleeves, which she had dirtied.
She wanted to memorize him firmly, recording him in her heart and reflecting him in her eyes.
Watching this scene from the side, Song Youyi’s face fell even further.
She hugged Song Ning’s arm even tighter, pressing her whole body against him as if claiming him as her own property. Her eyes darted toward Xia Ling every now and then, looking exactly like a small wolf cub guarding its meal.
Unfortunately, Song Ning couldn’t see it. He didn’t understand Song Youyi’s childish thoughts at all.
Mother Song had no daughters of her own. In this world, she naturally needed a woman to inherit everything, including her political legacy and influence.
Moreover, she needed someone to protect the blind Song Ning after she passed away, so she had adopted two foster daughters with deep ties to the family.
Song Youyi was the youngest daughter, and because her health was frail, she was always pampered at home, which made her temperament quite different.
In Song Youyi’s mind, being a sister didn’t require a blood relation; one only needed to be brought into the Song family and be younger.
This little girl appeared to be even younger than her. When the time came, wouldn’t she become the little sister of the family?
‘Does this mean I won’t be Brother’s only little sister anymore?’
Song Ning felt his arm starting to hurt from Youyi’s grip, so he freed his other hand to pat her on the head.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
Song Youyi gave a muffled “Mm” in response, though her eyes remained fixed on Xia Ling.
Under that stare, Xia Ling shrank further back into her corner.