Chapter 304: Does It Hurt?

Chapter 304: Chapter 304: Does It Hurt?

"What’s wrong? Did you twist your ankle?"

Ji Huan brought the lantern closer to Song Jing, wanting to see if he was alright. Instead, she saw his pale lips and the beads of sweat covering his forehead.

"What on earth is wrong?" Ji Huan asked urgently.

Song Jing was still trying to act tough. "It’s nothing, I just twisted it a little. I’m not hurt..."

As he spoke, he gritted his teeth and kicked his foot twice for Ji Huan to see.

As if Ji Huan would believe him. His condition didn’t look like a sprained ankle at all; he was clearly forcing himself to endure something.

Recalling that he had grunted in pain when she’d grabbed his arm just a moment ago, Ji Huan seized that arm again and yanked up his sleeve. Her pupils instantly contracted.

The arm was covered in a crisscrossing network of red welts. Some had even broken the skin and were seeping blood. In the spaces between the welts were dark bruises, as if from a person’s grip.

Ji Huan switched the lantern to her other hand and pulled over his other arm to check. It was in the same condition.

Having his most wretched side seen by Ji Huan, Song Jing felt a little ashamed. He forced a smile and tried to pull his sleeve down.

"I was just careless... It’s fine. You should go back and rest..."

"Shut up," Ji Huan cut him off, staring into his eyes. "Was it her?"

’No wonder,’ she thought. ’He’s sounded so weak ever since he got here.’

And here she was thinking it was due to nervousness and worry. It turned out he had suffered such a vicious beating.

’He was beaten this badly, yet he still ran over here to explain things to me...’

Song Jing paused, pressing his lips together in silence.

"Fine. A son doesn’t speak of his mother’s faults, is that it?"

Ji Huan nodded, placed a hand on her forehead, took a deep breath, and paced in a circle on the spot.

Her chest felt tight. She was both furious and miserable.

"Ji Huan, don’t..."

"Don’t talk to me right now."

After snapping at him, Ji Huan stood there for another moment before suddenly whirling around, grabbing Song Jing by the wrist, and pulling him into the courtyard.

Song Jing was stunned. He still hadn’t come to his senses even after being pulled into the main hall.

It wasn’t until Ji Huan pushed him down into a chair and took out a medicine box that he finally reacted, suddenly feeling like he was on pins and needles.

But Ji Huan kept one hand pressed on his shoulder, refusing to let go.

"Ji Huan, it’s so late. It was already improper for me to knock on your door. For things to be like this now... it’s not appropriate..."

Ji Huan completely ignored him, focusing only on applying medicine to his wounds.

At first, she thought it was just a few superficial wounds. But upon closer inspection, she realized there were far too many injuries—more than she could have ever imagined.

There weren’t just pinch marks and welts from being whipped; there were also small punctures on the surface of his skin, as if he’d been stabbed by something sharp.

She had assumed the injuries were only on his forearms, but as she tended to them, she discovered the marks continued further up.

Ji Huan placed the supplies on the nearby table, freeing her hands to roll Song Jing’s sleeve all the way up to his shoulder.

He was wearing the wide-sleeved scholar’s robe issued by the academy, so it wasn’t difficult.

Song Jing couldn’t stop her in time. His entire arm was exposed, and along with a sense of awkwardness, a faint blush spread across his pale face.

He called her name. "W-Wan..."

Ji Huan turned a deaf ear.

As she applied the medicine up to his shoulder, she saw the red marks extended even further inward.

Both of his arms were like this.

Ji Huan finally looked up. "Where else are you hurt?" she asked.

Song Jing fell silent again.

Ji Huan didn’t waste any more words with him. She grabbed the lapels of his robe at his chest, pulled them apart with force, and then ripped open his inner garment.

Just as she’d expected—red welts and dark bruises covered his entire chest.

As for his back, she didn’t even need to look to imagine that it must be the most severely injured part of his body.

Song Jing was completely stunned.

Seeing that Ji Huan was about to apply medicine to his chest, he grabbed her wrist, his tongue tied in knots.

"I-I’ll do it. I’ll do it myself..."

Ji Huan ignored him. He didn’t dare snatch the medicine away, nor did he dare pull his clothes closed.

Ji Huan’s head was bowed, so Song Jing couldn’t see her expression. He could only see the top of her head.

For some reason, though, he could sense her sadness, her anger, and her heartache from her gentle movements and the suppressed aura around her.

He managed a smile. "Ji Huan, it really doesn’t hurt..."

’In truth, it still hurt a little, but the warmth and sweetness in his heart had overshadowed the pain.’

Ji Huan’s hand paused. She suddenly shoved the medicine bottle and cotton swabs into his hand, threw a "Do it yourself" over her shoulder, and turned to leave the main hall.

Ji Huan didn’t go far. She just stood in the courtyard.

The old verse spoke of preparing winter clothes in the ninth month.

The late-September night wind already carried the chill of deep autumn.

Relying on this chill, Ji Huan barely managed to suppress her surging emotions. Otherwise, she was afraid she would lose control and rush out to confront Mrs. Meng.

But she had no grounds to do so. What was her status? What right did she have to question Mrs. Meng?

Besides, this era was one where ’one’s body, hair, and skin are a gift from one’s parents.’ When children were beaten, they couldn’t even think of resisting, let alone say a word against their parents even if they were beaten to death.

She could tell as much from Song Jing’s reaction.

It wasn’t that he was pedantic; it was that he had been taught from childhood that filial piety was paramount. This was especially true for him as a scholar, not to mention the hardship Mrs. Meng had endured raising him alone...

Understanding was one thing, but she was still seething inside. It was an unbearable feeling.

Song Jing didn’t bother with the medicine. He hastily pulled his clothes together and followed her out.

The courtyard was pitch-black. He could only make out the silhouette of a slender figure, standing with her back to him in silence.

Enduring the pain that wracked his body, Song Jing walked over. His mouth opened and closed, but he didn’t know what to say, so he simply stood there with her in silence.

After a long time, Ji Huan spoke, her voice thick with emotion.

"Let’s just forget it, Song Jing. Maybe we should..."

"No!"

Song Jing blurted out, cutting her off. "Ji Huan, you know I don’t want to hear this."

"Song Jing, don’t be so stubborn."

The conflict had only just begun, and things were already like this. What would happen next, when Song Jing had to confront Mrs. Meng directly? It was impossible to imagine.

"It seems your mother’s prejudice against me is never going to disappear. We... we can’t possibly continue..."

"My mother is my mother, and I am me. You can’t reject me completely because of her. At least give me a chance to fight for this."

Seeing Ji Huan’s silence, he seemed to think of something and rolled his sleeve back up.

"Do you think I was beaten because of you? It’s not true. My mother has always been very strict with me. If my handwriting was poor, if I missed a line or two while reciting texts, or if I accidentally dirtied a book, I would be beaten. This time was for other reasons, too. Don’t blame yourself. It really has nothing to do with you."

Ji Huan was shocked.

To verify his words, she pulled Song Jing back into the main hall.

In the light, she observed him closely. Sure enough, new injuries were woven together with old scars. It was clear this was not the first time he’d been beaten.

She looked up at Song Jing, shock and heartache alternating in her eyes. She didn’t know what to say, and she couldn’t imagine how he had endured all these years.

’Beaten for poor handwriting? Beaten for making a mistake in recitation? Beaten for accidentally dirtying a book?’

’This isn’t raising a child, this is sadism!’

The words, "Is your mother sick in the head?" almost escaped her lips.

Ji Huan seriously suspected that Mrs. Meng had psychological problems.

What kind of mother could bear to beat her child like this? And over such trivial matters.

But then again, she recalled her past life living in the countryside, where she had indeed seen parents hang their children from the rafters and whip them with belts...

’And to say his mother was crazy to his face...’

She forced the words back down, the effort of holding them in making her feel sick.

Her gaze returned to his wounds. With red-rimmed eyes, she asked softly, "Does it hurt?"

Song Jing knew she wasn’t just asking if the Song Jing before her was in pain, but also about the weak and helpless Song Jing of the past, and all the neglected sorrows of days gone by.

He shook his head, his gaze overflowing with tenderness. "As long as you’re by my side, it doesn’t hurt."

A pang of sorrow struck Ji Huan’s heart. The words she had been about to say moments ago could no longer be spoken.