Anzhi saw a flash of seriousness in her eyes. In modern times, forcing a child to take medicine as punishment would be considered abuse—both physically and emotionally.
But this wasn't the time to dwell on that. For now, she pushed those thoughts aside and gently coaxed the confused young boy, "Be good, Yan'er. You're the best. No one's going to punish you."
Sometimes, over-the-top praise could bring comfort to someone lacking a sense of security.
Sure enough, the boy slowly calmed down. After what had just happened, he didn't even ask for water anymore. With a faint smile, he quietly fell asleep.
Anzhi absentmindedly kept boiling the medicine and fanning him, her heart quietly aching for the boy.
Boiling the medicine, feeding him, helping him drink water—another day passed.
…
"Pervert!"
"Scum!"
"I'll kill you!"
Anzhi woke up feeling sore and exhausted. She heard an angry voice and, the next second, random objects were flying at her.
Startled and confused, she ducked and waved her hands to block them, not even having time to say a word.
Yan, breathless and weak, had watery eyes full of anger. Seeing her dodge just made him even more furious.
"You shameless woman!"
Shameless?
Anzhi, covered in grass and dirt, snorted coldly. "Me? Shameless? I stayed up day and night taking care of you without even changing clothes, and now you're calling me shameless?"
She was more wronged than anyone.
She was still clueless about what had happened, but one thing was clear—last night, the sweet and pitiful boy had now turned into an angry little tiger. Clearly, looks could be deceiving.
That bit of pity she felt? A mistake.
Then she saw the boy show an expression of disbelief. He flushed red from his neck to his face, puffing with anger. "You brought me here and my clothes are all messy—you!"
"Did you do something bad to me, you filthy beggar?!"
Yan hesitated as he spoke. Waking up in a strange place, even though he looked like he wasn't afraid of anything, he truly didn't know what happened while he was unconscious. Being alone with a strange woman scared and embarrassed him.
Especially with his clothes hanging so loosely. He knew that if someone saw his body, he would be expected to marry them.
Afraid and panicked, he could only act fierce to protect himself.
Anzhi now understood that the boy didn't even know he had been cast out. He was still confused.
As for his clothes—when he had a high fever, she had only wiped his face, arms, and legs with water. But since this was a matriarchal world, even that might seem like a big deal to him.
He must be scared and overwhelmed now.
"I didn't bring you here to hurt you."
Seeing the boy's doubtful eyes, Anzhi explained, "You had a bad fever and were sweating a lot. You pulled your own clothes off. I only wiped your face."
A small lie to make things easier.
And honestly, the boy had pulled at his own clothes while feverish.
She paused before continuing, keeping her voice calm. "I was passing through a small alley in Shanshui Town when an old man called me over. He said you were a servant who made a mistake and got thrown out. He asked me to take you as a husband. You were already burning with fever and collapsed, so I brought you here."
No response came from the other side.
Anzhi, feeling dry-mouthed, sipped some cooled water. Then she heard quiet sobbing.
The boy curled up, arms wrapped tightly around his legs, head buried. He trembled slightly.
She poured another bowl of water and walked over to him. As she did, she heard him cry softly.
"I'm not a servant… I'm not someone who made a mistake. I'm Yan, young master of the Chu family… sob sob…"
Anzhi didn't know how to react. She hadn't expected this.
Why would a young master be mistaken for a disgraced servant and thrown out while unconscious?
There had to be a bigger story behind this.
Yan clutched himself tightly, swallowed up by helplessness.
He didn't want to believe the beggar's words, but deep down, he knew they were true.
He had been abandoned.
And not just abandoned—they wanted to ruin him.
He felt guilty about that person. He had stolen sixteen years of a comfortable life. But it wasn't on purpose.
He was the fake young master. He had planned to return everything to Chu Moran.
He was even willing to do so.
His mother had promised to give him a place to stay…
Then why did this happen?
Someone must have agreed to let him be thrown out while sick.
Did his mother know?
Or did she agree to it too?
Yan lifted his head. His eyes, red and unfocused, stared blankly ahead.
What would he do now?
Anzhi looked at him—shocked and devastated—and felt a twinge of sympathy. "I didn't lie to you. As for all that husband talk, you don't have to take it seriously. I won't use it against you. The medicine's bought. Once you're better, your residence is registered here. You're free to go anytime."
Yan turned to look at her, the beggar he had avoided making eye contact with. A strange emotion flickered in his eyes.
Even a beggar could treat him kindly, but the people closest to him had tried to destroy him.
"…Thank you," Yan murmured, biting his lip.
Silence settled over the small temple.
Now that he was awake, it meant he was healing.
There was still time. Anzhi wasn't in a rush to make more medicine. She poured a bit of white rice into the medicine pot, added water, and let it simmer slowly.
Soon, a soft rice aroma filled the air.
Gurgle~
Then came the sound of rustling cloth.
Yan's face flushed red. He looked away, embarrassed, but couldn't help swallowing.
After days of barely eating, even plain rice porridge seemed like a delicacy.
His stomach had betrayed him—how shameful.
Anzhi didn't say anything. It was normal for someone recovering from illness to be hungry. But she pretended not to notice to avoid embarrassing him.
The porridge was ready. She poured it into a bowl, filled just to the brim.
Because it was cooked in the medicine pot, even after cleaning it, the porridge had a faint herbal bitterness.
"Here. Eat."
The thick porridge was rich and fragrant. Yan stared at the bowl, hesitant. He had seen her—she only made this one bowl.
She was giving it all to him. What would she eat?
"What about you?"
"I don't fight patients for food." Anzhi pulled out a hard, dry bun from somewhere and waved it. "I'll eat this. It's filling."
Out of money.