I didn't drink any of the concoctions this morning.
Not because we ran out of herbs, but because I told them not to waste another coin on it.
There had been a moment of hesitation of course, Mother's hand had paused mid-stir, Father had looked at me with a furrowed brow, the kind that asked more than it said.
But when they glanced at my face again, and saw the color returning to it, the roundness that hadn't been there just yesterday, the hesitation naturally slipped away.
Yes, let the plumpness of these cheeks speak for itself.
My father, right after breakfast, didn't say much, he just stood, stretched his back with a familiar creak and crack, and grabbed the worn-out hunting gear propped against the door. The bow looked older than me, and the arrows had seen better days, their fletching frayed like they'd lost a few battles of their own.
He clamped the quiver to his shoulder with a grunt and motioned for Shanyuan to follow.
My eldest brother didn't say anything, just slipped on his shoes and trailed behind with quiet obedience, already used to the rhythm of work that never quite waited for childhood to finish.
"I'm hoping for some pheasant meat we could sell in the village," Father said as he pulled the door open, sunlight catching the silver in his hair.
Mother didn't look up from where she was rinsing the bowls, but her voice came out steady. "Yes... the need for new clothes is dire. Winter is fast approaching."
From the corner of my eyes, I watched as Father fastened his shoes a little more securely, the way he always did when the trek ahead was long or steep. Shanyuan was already waiting just beyond the doorway, shifting from foot to foot, but Father lingered beside Mother, their conversation low and hushed.
"If we still have time after setting up the new traps and checking the old ones," he said, tightening the strap across his shoulder, "I'll look for some fingerroot near the cliffs."
Mother nodded as she dried her hands on the apron tied around her waist. "Yes, some fingerroot would be nice. A little something to help warm us up."
The moment I heard the word fingerroot, something in me perked up, though I couldn't say why. The name felt unfamiliar… and yet not. Like a forgotten word caught between memory or better yet, instinct.
"What else shall we need?" Father asked.
"Some fish that we can smoke and store," Mother replied after a moment's thought. "We'll need more food we can stretch through winter."
"Then I'll do that too," Father said, already halfway out the door. "But I might have to fish at night."
"Then take the boys with you," she called after him. "They can help gather wood to burn for light."
After a good while, Father finally set off with Shanyuan. That left only Mother, Yaoting, Yubing, and me at home. With no fields to plow and no immediate chores left, the house suddenly felt... idle. Mother sat by the table, glancing at the water jar as she poured herself another bowl.
"It's strange," she muttered, frowning slightly. "I've used the water from this jar for cleaning, cooking, and drinking since yesterday… but it hasn't gone down even a little."
My brothers exchanged looks, careful, sideways glances like they were trying to pretend they didn't know anything... which of course meant they absolutely knew something.
"Yeah... that's funny," I echoed, pretending to sound just as confused, even as I avoided making eye contact.
Mother slowly turned her gaze to me, and instantly, I felt the air shift. Her brows furrowed, and she fixed me with that Look. The Look all mothers are born knowing. The one that says 'Don't think I don't see through you.'
"And you," she said, her voice tightening just a little. "Shouldn't you still be resting, dear?"
I blinked and pointed at myself. "Who? Me? Nah."
Mother's eyes narrowed further as she stood and crossed her arms. "Yes. You."
Yaoting snickered behind his hand.
Mother ignored him, focusing entirely on me like a hawk eyeing prey. "You only just recovered from a fever that nearly took you. Don't think you can start running around now. Go sit. Rest."
I threw my hands up in surrender. "I am sitting," I said, even though technically I was standing, but that wasn't the point.
Mother wasn't having it. "Sit longer, then."
I sighed. "If I sit any longer, Mother, I'll take root and become a tree."
Yubing tilted his head and nodded like this was perfectly reasonable. "If that happens, I wanna hang my swing on you."
Yaoting burst into laughter.
Mother, however, wasn't laughing. She filled another bowl of water, handed it to me, and jabbed her finger toward my chest. "Drink. And don't even think about going anywhere anytime soon."
I held the bowl in both hands, nodding obediently. "Yes, yes. No sneaking. Drinking now."
Her eyes narrowed, unconvinced. But after a long stare, she finally sighed and turned away, muttering under her breath, "Thats reassuring, Lan'er is always so reasonable."
After absentmindedly sipping the water in my hands, my eyes wandered.
The tired, worn-out look that usually clung to my family's faces like a second skin… was lighter. Softer.
A faint, healthy hue was starting to bloom on their cheeks. It wasn't much, but it was subtle enough that anyone else wouldn't have noticed.
But I did.
The lines under Mother's eyes weren't as deep. Yaoting's usual pale lips looked a little less ghostly, and Yubing wasn't sluggishly leaning on the table like a wilting cabbage.
I blinked, lifting the bowl to hide the smile up my face.
"Mother, I've been meaning to ask…" I set the bowl down, careful not to chip it further, "but what is this fingerroot you asked Father to gather?"
The sound of her sipping paused, the wooden cup lingering by her lips. Her gaze shifted, thoughtful, before she gently tilted her head like she was sorting through her own memories.