Chapter Twelve: Bound to the Tree Trunk by Him

“Ah, village chief, what brings you here?”

The comrades from the supply and marketing cooperative shook hands with Song Shijing before explaining their purpose. “There was a flood disaster in the neighboring city yesterday. Our town’s urban area was also mostly submerged. Mrs. Song was worried about your safety and asked you to let your family know you’re safe when you have the chance.”

Upon hearing this, Song Shijing’s expression instantly grew serious. His medical instincts made him anxious to inquire, “Were there any casualties?”

“It must be severe,” he answered himself, then turned to the village chief. “Village chief, I request to go to the neighboring city to provide aid!”

The village chief glanced at the comrade who had just reported and quickly waved his hand to stop him. “Dr. Song, our clinic needs you here. You better not go to aid them.”

With that, the village chief held his hand and pleaded for quite some time.

What a joke—this man was the living ancestor of their village. How could the village chief dare to let him go? If anything happened, he’d be the one to suffer.

Seeing the village chief’s earnestness, Song Shijing gave up on the idea of going.

The village chief sighed in relief when he saw him desist.

Yet as he was leaving, he suddenly recalled the girl who cooked at the lumber yard—didn’t she go to the city yesterday? He wondered if she had encountered the flood.

He hesitated for a long moment, glanced at Su Yanyan, who was linked arm-in-arm with Song Shijing, and finally shook his head helplessly before departing.

Song Shijing pulled his hand free from Su Yanyan’s and for the first time wore a cold, serious face. “Yanyan, you are a married woman, and I have a fiancée. Don’t act so intimately in front of others, or they will misunderstand. Understand?”

Having said that, he didn’t look at her again and turned toward the lumber yard.

Su Yanyan was stunned, standing there for a long time unable to regain her composure.

Before, when she and Song Shijing held hands in front of Xu Jinhua, he never worried that the rustic girl might get jealous or angry. Why was he suddenly trying to distance himself now?

Suddenly, Su Yanyan realized that Song Shijing must be going to look for Meng Shuyue. She hurriedly chased after him.

Yesterday, she had heard from a comrade at the lumber yard that Meng Shuyue had already resigned and returned to the capital.

But if there was a flood in the city yesterday, Meng Shuyue surely couldn’t have left. She couldn’t let Song Shijing find out so soon that the rustic girl was missing, or else she wouldn’t be able to guarantee whether this man would abandon her to chase after someone else.

Out of breath, she arrived at the lumber yard and saw Song Shijing furiously knocking on Meng Shuyue’s dormitory door.

“Brother Jing, I saw Sister Shuyue this morning. She slapped me without reason, probably still angry and refusing to talk to you. She’s spoiled rotten by her parents and acts like this because of it. I think you should leave her alone for a while to let her cool down. With her personality, how could she get along with her parents or Shi Xuan and the others?”

“Listen to me, if you give in now, you’ve already lost!”

Su Yanyan tugged on the man’s sleeve, her eyes shimmering with tears, acting entirely concerned for him.

Song Shijing stopped knocking, clearly taking in her words.

He turned to look at Su Yanyan’s half-swollen, reddened face, and his expression darkened.

“How could Meng Shuyue be so unreasonable? Don’t worry, I’ll make her apologize to you!”

Su Yanyan covered the burning, painful side of her face, feeling awkward since the slap was actually a self-inflicted act meant to make Song Shijing despise Meng Shuyue.

For over a year, she had used countless such self-harm tactics to frame Meng Shuyue, all to provoke fights between her and Song Shijing, hoping he would grow to loathe her.

Unfortunately, Meng Shuyue was too tolerant, never crying or making a scene.

This time, she had finally driven away the rustic girl. As for Zhou Dajun, she had plenty of ways to keep him locked up in the detention room.

Now, with only one step left before marrying into the Song family, she would never allow anything to derail her return to that glorious home!

*

Dawn light pressed into her eyes like a shaft of breaking darkness, awakening the sleeper.

Meng Shuyue rolled her eyes and struggled to lift her eyelids. Before her were a pair of narrow eyes with raven-black lashes, closed now, resembling a quiet sculpture.

The faint sunlight, filtered through a thin rain, fell softly on the man’s face, casting two shadows on his eyelids like silent butterflies in the rain, ready to take flight.

She lifted her hand to wake him but froze mid-air, unsure where to touch.

Because she realized they were hanging against a large tree trunk.

Her entire body was pressed tightly beneath the man, whose arms wrapped around her waist, clutching her back to the tree.

Even though he might be asleep or unconscious, she could still feel the strength of his grip.

She moved slightly but didn’t loosen; inexplicably, her cheeks flushed.

Afraid to call out or move for fear of startling him, which might cause them both to fall into the water, she instead blew gently toward his eyes, trying to rouse him.

The rain was like nature’s most exquisite painter, tracing the contours of the man’s face with striking depth and allure.

Drops dripped from his sharp jawline as if falling into her own eyes.

It was the first time she had seen such a handsome man—unlike Song Shijing’s refined, pale appearance, this man’s skin was bronze-toned, his features more delicate. His high nose and tightly pressed thin lips radiated an air of dominance. Even with his eyes closed, his innate handsomeness was palpable.

After blowing on him for a while with no response, Meng Shuyue sensed something was wrong.

Through the thin fabric between them, she felt the man’s body burning hot.

Could this soldier have fainted?

Worried, she quickly touched his forehead, then pulled on his tightly wrapped arms, placing his wrist against her chest to take his pulse.

As she tugged, she noticed fresh blood steadily seeping from a wound on his back, clearly a recent injury from the floodwaters.

With his wrist in her hand, Meng Shuyue’s brow furrowed deeper.

His pulse was weak, his breathing unstable. Without prompt treatment to cool the wound, his life could be in danger.

She glanced around. Fortunately, the tree trunk where they hung branched widely, as broad as their backs combined.

The floodwaters beneath seemed less fierce than before, and the tree stood firm without trembling.

After several attempts, she finally managed to help the man slowly sit up from beneath her.

As she straightened him, she saw a bundle strapped to his other side—her own pack.

Her face lit up with hope.

Inside the bundle were the antipyretic tablets she had bought at the clinic.

Carefully, Meng Shuyue took the bundle down and opened it, pouring out a tablet of analgin.

When it came time to give him the medicine, she hesitated.

Without water, how could she administer it?

Moreover, when the body’s temperature is high, it expels much moisture; without replenishing fluids, the fever won’t subside.

Her gaze fell on a square cloth pouch tied at the man’s waist.

She fumbled around and surprisingly found a bottle-shaped object.

Pulling it out, she discovered it was a bottle of water.