As the saying went, children of the poor learned to shoulder responsibility early.
The little boy's father had died long ago, leaving his mother to raise him and his younger brother in the village.
Although their neighbors often helped them out, the little boy had a strong sense of pride. He had started working in the fields early on to ease some of his mother's burden.
A year earlier, a sudden flood had struck the village. He had been too slow to escape and was swept away.
Qing'er's father had been swept away by the raging flood while trying to save him. When they found his body, it was wedged in a tree stump.
Qing'er had cried bitterly. Her mother had died after giving birth to her, and now her father was gone too. For a time, she had sunk into despair.
Fortunately, Old Master Lian, the village physician, had taken her in. From then on, Qing'er had studied medicine under him.
The little boy had lived through all of it himself. Seeing Qing'er sobbing so helplessly back then had felt like a knife through his heart.
For the past year, he had blamed himself every day, regretting that he hadn't run faster, that he had been so slow. If he had just been a little faster, Qing'er's father wouldn't have died.
At such a young age, he had already experienced something others might never face in their entire lives. It had made him more mature and sensible than other children his age.
"We never said we'd stand by and do nothing. Aren't we trying to find a way? Don't rush into this. Besides, he wants two people. What good would you going alone do?" Unable to refute him, his mother did her best to dissuade him.
At her words,