He seemed to have made this place his home, showing not the slightest reserve or awkwardness.
These past few days, each morning, as the first rays of sunlight pierced the gaps between the bamboo leaves and cast dappled shadows, he would draw clear water from the well outside, light a fire, and cook.
Qin Hongmian's injuries needed quiet rest, as well as medicinal soups to help her recover.
Lin Xuan could always find herbs in the back hills that were good for her injuries, then stew them with the game he had hunted into a medicinal dish that gave off a rich, enticing aroma.
At first, Qin Hongmian would refuse with a cold face, saying she had no appetite.
Lin Xuan did not argue with her. He simply set the steaming bowl of meat soup on the bamboo table beside her bed and said casually:
"Your internal injuries have left you with stagnant blood and poor circulation. If you rely on your own breathing exercises to recover, it'll take too long."
"I added herbs to this soup that promote blood circulation and disperse stasis. Drink it while it's hot; it'll do you good."
"If you don't drink it and end up with some lingering ailment, you'll become a sickly beauty. Then, when your enemies come looking for you, I'll have to go to the trouble of burying you."
His words were always like that: three parts concern, seven parts teasing, and yet impossible to argue with.
Qin Hongmian glared at him, but in the end, after he left, she would silently pick up the bowl and drink it in small sips.
The warm liquid, rich with the mixed scents of herbs and meat, slid down her throat and into her stomach, dispelling the chill in her body and the discomfort