The next morning, when Qingheng jolted awake from his dream, the sky was already bright with daylight.

He instinctively glanced at the bed across from him, only to find it empty. For a moment, he was completely frozen with fear.

Without bothering to put on his shoes, he leaped out of bed and rushed frantically toward the door: “Where is everyone? Xing Yue? Xing Zhao?”

He shouted at the top of his lungs, “Xing Yue! Xing Zhao!”

In that split second, he even thought about how he might lose his twenty acres of land and have his butt whipped to pieces.

But just a few steps after bursting out the door, his head slammed into a wall of flesh. The impact was so forceful that the other person, with both arms wrapped around him, dragged him forward several steps before coming to a stop.

His butt didn’t end up in pieces, but his nose was nearly broken.

“It hurts!” Qingheng quickly clutched his nose, tears falling uncontrollably, plop, plop.

“I’m sorry!” Xing Yue held him tightly in his arms and instinctively spoke in modern Chinese. Realizing what he’d just said, his heart sank, and he quickly switched to Mandarin: “Apologies.”

He, too, felt a dull ache in his chest from the impact. His walking stick slipped from his grasp, and he nearly lost his balance, nearly plopping down on his butt. Instinctively, he clung tightly to Qingheng, using him for support, and took five or six quick steps backward before finally managing to steady himself.

“Brother, what’s going on?” Xing Zhao’s voice came from nearby as he stared at the two of them with curiosity. Xing Yue snapped back to his senses, let go of Qingheng, rested his arm on his shoulder, and took a wobbly step backward. “I… accidentally… bumped into something,” Xing Yue stammered, searching for the right words as he clapped his hands together to illustrate. Xing Zhao understood immediately. He hurried over to pick up the cane and hand it to him, then reached out his small arm to support his leg. Xing Yue patted his head. “I’m fine. You don’t need to hold me.”

Then he looked down at Qingheng: “Are you bleeding? How are you?”

“You…” Qingheng looked up through tear-filled eyes. He’d been about to scold him for running around so early in the morning, but upon hearing those words, he froze. Coming to his senses, he forgot all about his nose and, overjoyed, grabbed his arm: “You’ve regained your memory? Can you speak Mandarin now?”

Xing Yue：“……”

All along the way, he had been observing and trying to figure out the pronunciation of many words, but he wasn’t sure if his guesses were correct.

Facing the constables who might put them to death, he dared not reveal how much he didn’t know, fearing they would discover his core had been replaced and burn him as a demon on the pyre.

He had no choice but to put on an aloof act and keep his mouth shut.

But when Master Qingquan, a medical practitioner, used his professional expertise to explain that his head injury had caused brain damage and that he might lose his memory and skills, he finally felt at ease.

Once he was reassured, he dared to ask questions boldly and voice the words he had been pondering. After all, even if something was wrong, he could always blame it on his head injury.

“No,” Xing Yue shook his head and stammered, “I only know the basics. The healer said that the more I talk about it, the more likely I am to remember.”

“Alright!” Qingheng sighed in disappointment. Only now did he finally remember to ask him why he’d gone out so early in the morning: “Where did you just go?”

He looked at the two brothers and noticed that Xing Yue was now wearing the short tunic he had given him.

Xing Zhao had also changed his clothes and shoes; he was wearing a pair of small leather boots, a round-neck pullover, and overalls. They weren’t new clothes or boots, but the leather of the boots looked quite supple, and the fabric of the clothes appeared to be padded with cotton—it looked fine-weaved and thick. 

Qingheng’s question this time was simple, and Xing Yue understood it; he handed the documents in his hand to him. Xing Zhao explained to his older brother: “The monk has a brush and ink.”

He then pointed happily at his own clothes: “The monk gave them to me.”

“Wow, so pretty, so cute.” Qingheng, seeing how lively and spirited he was, smiled and praised him, then asked, “Did you thank the monk?”    

“I did.” Xing Zhao hopped up and down happily, unable to resist looking down, left and right, up and down, examining himself.

Children really do recover quickly. As soon as his fever broke and he felt a little better, he was already bouncing around. Unlike Xing Yue, who was still so weak he could barely stand.

Qingheng shifted his gaze to Xing Yue. Seeing the documents open in his hands, his eyes lit up. “Off to sign them?” All the documents bore Xing Yue’s fingerprints—he was delighted.

Finally, he doesn’t have to waste his breath trying to convince him to sign the marriage contract.

But how did he sign it so quickly? Wasn’t he still shaking his head before bed last night? Qingheng looked up at Xing Yue, but the other man just gave him a puzzled look in return.

Qingheng：“……”

Fine, as long as it’s signed, he doesn’t care why he changed his mind. He wasn’t planning on getting married anyway; he just wanted to save someone. Xing Yue played along, and everyone was relieved.

“We won’t run away.” Xing Yue recalled how he’d rushed out just now without even putting on his shoes—he must have been afraid they’d flee. Realizing Qingchen wasn’t there, he feared he might have startled him, so he hurried to reassure him: “You helped Xing Zhao and me. We won’t drag you down with us. Don’t worry.”

Xing Zhao had already obediently fetched Qingheng’s black leather boots from the room and placed them by his feet, saying in a babyish voice, “The floor’s cold. Brother Qingheng, put on your boots.”

Only then did Qingheng remember that he’d run out without his boots. His linen socks had been soaked in water so many times that the fabric had loosened and frayed, and his toes had even poked two large holes right at the top.

His face flushed instantly. He pulled his feet back and quickly bent down to stop Xing Zhao: “No, no, I’ll do it myself! I’ll do it myself!”

Xing Yue instinctively followed his gaze down to Qingheng’s feet.

And there they were—his two big toes had already poked through the holes, sticking out into the breeze. Xing Yue: “……”

Qingheng seemed to sense his gaze and immediately looked up, glaring at him.

But the moment their eyes met, he noticed a trace of embarrassment on Xing Yue’s face as well, and couldn’t help but follow his gaze.

Then he saw that on Xing Yue’s pair of tattered cloth shoes, two big toes had also poked through, equally exposed to the breeze. 

Qingheng: “……”

He couldn’t help but look at Xing Yue, and Xing Yue looked back at him.

As they stared at each other, they both burst out laughing. Well, we’re in this together—one’s predicament is no better than the other’s; we’re all in the same boat.

That early morning laugh completely dispelled the sense of awkwardness between the two strangers.