Meng Biao fetched a wooden plank, moved Yin Heng onto it, then found a piece of cloth to make a curtain, hanging it across the middle of the room to separate Xia Shi from Yin Heng.
Xia Shi had never seen Meng Biao so decisive; by the time she reacted and wanted to stop her, Meng Biao had already finished everything.
Meng Biao took her mother's pulse. Xia Shi's cold syndrome was extremely severe, a stubborn chronic illness that had dragged on for years.
In the past, Meng Biao would go up the mountain to gather herbs—prolonged illness made her somewhat of a healer, and she knew a little. But far from being as much of an expert as the current Meng Biao.
These past days, the grandmother had sent some medicine, claiming it was to treat Xia Shi's illness.
The morning's medicine bowl was still there; Meng Biao casually grabbed the empty bowl from the bedside, sniffed it, and her face turned cold.
No wonder Xia Shi's illness never improved—there was cold-natured substance added to the medicine.
Xia Shi's illness was a cold syndrome to begin with, so this worked like a slow poison—like a lamp running out of oil, she'd wither away sooner or later！
That old woman, how utterly heartless！
Meng Biao said, "Mother, lie down for a while. I'll go find medicine right away."
Not only did her mother need medicine, but the person she brought back needed treatment as soon as possible too.
Before leaving, Meng Biao remembered something and turned back, walking to a water vat to look at her own reflection on the water's surface.
The girl's figure floating on the water was scrawny, but her face was fairly delicate and pleasant to look at, and her eyes were dark and bright.
Meng Biao was relieved. As long as she wasn't ugly, that was fine—otherwise, one look in the mirror and she'd have a heart attack.
She went out, locked the courtyard gate, then headed to the mountain she used to frequent to look for medicinal herbs that could treat cold syndrome and external wounds respectively.
To save time, she first gathered some common, easy-to-find herbs to make do.
The yard was thick with the strong smell of herbs. Meng Biao worked without rest, brewing medicine for Xia and Yin Heng while also pounding medicinal herbs for external wounds and setting them aside for use.
Yin Heng's bloodstained clothes were unwearable. She needed to strip them off to treat his wounds.
But before Yin Heng could voice an opinion, Xia began coughing, her breath ragged, and said, "Biao, absolutely not. He, he's a man！"
Meng Biao blinked and said, "Then what should we do? We've already brought him back. Are we supposed to just watch him die?"
Yin Heng said, "Madam, I actually don't mind."
Xia said, "I, I wasn't talking to you！ If Biao touches you today, how can she ever hold her head high in society！"
Meng Biao thought to herself, with this kind of opportunity, she was actually quite happy. Being able to look and touch—if anything, she wouldn't be the one losing out.
But her mother was a staunchly traditional woman.
Yin Heng cast a glance at Meng Biao with his pale eyes, unceremoniously addressing her as "Biao" as well, and added, "Biao said she wants to keep me as her 'child husband.'"
Hearing this intimate tone, Xia behind the curtain was so furious she nearly fainted on the spot： "Biao！"
Meng Biao casually pinched Yin Heng, hearing his grunt of pain, and quickly soothed Xia, saying, "Mother, don't get worked up. We can discuss that later. For now, saving him is the priority, saving him is the priority."
In truth, when Meng Biao undid Yin Heng's clothes and saw the wounds on his body, let alone finding a spot to get a feel, even taking a second look was disturbing and shocking.
Most of the wounds had stopped bleeding, but they needed to be cleaned, or infection was highly likely under these conditions.
Boiled water on the stove had been cooled, and a pot of medicinal water had been boiled specifically to clean his wounds.
Meng Biao cleaned him over and over again without getting tired, not missing a single wound, big or small, all over Yin Heng's body.
There were two deep ones on him, and she had to stitch them up with a needle and thread.
Throughout the whole process, Yin Heng rarely made a sound, remaining groggy and dazed, his face pale to the point of being almost translucent.
Meng Biao chatted casually with him, trying to distract his attention.
Yin Heng’s eyes were slightly open, his light-colored pupils vaguely fixed on Meng Biao, as if she were the only gleam of light left.
Her hands moved quickly, her expression determined, yet her motions were incredibly gentle.
She was incredibly patient, and before she knew it, her forehead was covered in fine beads of sweat. By the time she had properly treated the last wound and applied medicinal mud to Yin Heng’s body, two hours had already passed.
Meng Biao stood up, poured the medicinal broth from the pot, and went inside to feed it to Yin Heng.
But Yin Heng seemed to have fallen into a deep coma, not knowing to open his mouth to swallow.
He had lain alert in the sorghum field for so long earlier, but now, seeing how meticulously and patiently Meng Biao took care of him, he finally couldn’t hold on any longer and fell into a peaceful sleep.
What else could Meng Biao do? She took a sip herself, and like before, pinched his chin, leaned down, and just fed him.
Even though a curtain separated them, Xia, with a woman’s strong sixth sense, suddenly asked sensitively, “A Biao, what are you doing？”
That sudden question nearly made Meng Biao choke on the medicine.
She held a mouthful of medicine, insisted on finishing feeding Yin Heng, and then mumbled, “Oh, I’m bandaging him… yeah, bandaging.”
Yin Heng, as if sensing something, subconsciously moved his tongue, barely perceptibly licking Meng Biao's lips. Though his mouth was full of bitterness, he cooperatively swallowed it.