Chapter Thirty-Six: The Eldest Brother's Suspicion

In the afternoon, the siblings went to the fields to dig for centella. An Yi found two cocklebur plants, each around ten centimeters tall, in a tangle of weeds. Her heart leapt with joy—she finally had a way to get rid of Xinliu.

The entire cocklebur plant is poisonous, with the young shoots and seeds being the most toxic parts. If someone eats the seeds raw, symptoms appear within four to eight hours; eat cocklebur seed cakes, and it takes ten to twenty-four hours; consume the young shoots, and it can take between a day and five days before symptoms manifest. Cocklebur flowers in July and August, and bears fruit in September and October.

An Yi’s lips curved in a cold smile. Just a few more months of patience, then she could gather enough seeds to make a plate of cocklebur seed cakes for Xinliu. By then…

The cakes would take ten hours to show their effect, and without modern instruments, who would ever suspect her?

“Ouch, why are there brambles here?” An Jian accidentally scratched his hand on a thorn bush.

“What’s the matter, Second Brother?” An Yi hurried over to ask.

“It’s nothing, just a little scratch, some blood.” An Jian sucked his finger to stop the bleeding.

“Second Brother, let me make you a pair of gloves,” An Yi said, looking at his rough hands with a pang.

“No need, I’m a man, not a girl.” An Jian dismissed the idea with a grimace. “Men shouldn’t have such soft hands.”

“You’re so young—what do you mean, a man?” An Yi replied, half exasperated, half amused.

“I’m a man no matter how old I am. Or do you think I’m a girl?”

An Yi snorted and rolled her eyes.

An Jian chuckled. “Little sister, you’d better hurry and learn to make shoes from Mother. I’m waiting to wear them.”

“Making soles is so hard. Once we earn some money selling herbs, can’t I just buy you a pair?” An Yi tried to shirk the task.

“No way, I want to wear shoes made by your own hands. And you’ll have to make a pair for Eldest Brother too,” An Jian insisted.

“Fine, I know,” An Yi replied, her voice weary. Embroidery was such painstaking work and so hard on the eyes.

Several days later, on the eighteenth day of the third month, the academy granted a three-day Spring Festival break, and An Kang returned from the city. This time, although Xinliu had calculated the timing and had a chance encounter with him at the village entrance, she did not follow him back—instead, she waited until after lunch to come by, using literacy lessons as her pretext.

An Yi knew perfectly well for whom Xinliu had come. She sneered inwardly, fetched a slate, a wooden stick, and some water, and said, “Eldest Brother, go read in the next room and don’t disturb me while I teach Xinliu her letters.”

“Oh? My little sister is becoming a teacher now,” An Kang teased.

“Eldest Brother, didn’t you say before that out of three people walking, one can be my teacher? Why can’t I be a teacher?” An Yi lifted her chin slightly.

“That saying isn’t mine—it’s from the sage Confucius,” An Kang replied with a smile.

An Yi, of course, knew those were Confucius’s words. She pouted, “Whoever said it, it’s fine. You go on, don’t bother us.”

An Kang laughed. “Alright, alright, I’ll be off now.”

Xinliu watched An Kang leave, her mouth opening as if to call him back, but she couldn’t find a suitable reason. She couldn’t very well say she wanted him to teach her to read. Her infatuated gaze followed him until he disappeared through the doorway, but still she didn’t look away.

A cold glint flashed in An Yi’s eyes as she took out “A Thousand Family Poems.” “Xinliu, let’s learn a new poem today.”

Xinliu turned back, listlessly. “Alright.”

Pretending to notice nothing, An Yi opened to Li Shen’s “Sympathy for the Peasants” and recited: “Hoeing grain at noon, sweat drips into the earth. Who knows that each bowl of food, every grain is hard-earned.”

The words in this poem were not difficult, and Xinliu quickly learned to write them.

“You’ve got it. Practice a few more times at home,” An Yi said, closing the book. She had deliberately chosen something simple, hoping to send Xinliu away sooner.

With nothing left to keep her, Xinliu, though unwilling, had to leave.

“Xinliu, take these with you,” Madam Luo offered her some mugwort rice cakes and a bundle of baby greens.

“Auntie, there’s no need. We have these at home,” Xinliu declined.

“You have yours, but these are from me. Take them.”

“Auntie, I’m already troubling Xi’er to teach me. I couldn’t possibly accept more,” Xinliu insisted.

Madam Luo pressed her, but Xinliu firmly refused.

An Yi watched their exchange, frowning slightly. Usually, whenever they gave something to Xinliu, she accepted as a matter of course. Why was she suddenly being so polite today?

“Xinliu, my mother is giving them to you. Just take them,” An Kang said, coming in from the next room with a smile.

“Well… alright, I’ll accept them. Thank you, Auntie, thank you, Brother Zhuzi,” Xinliu replied, adopting a bashful, demure manner.

Unable to bear the sight, An Yi turned and went inside.

An Kang followed her in. “I just noticed the whole backyard is covered with drying herbs.”

“Those are what Second Brother and I dug up,” An Yi replied with a smile.

A curious glint flashed in An Kang’s eyes. “You’re amazing, little sister, knowing so many medicinal plants.”

An Yi’s heart skipped a beat. He was suspicious—he’d just been waiting for her here. She pretended not to hear the probing in his words and smiled, “It’s not me, it’s all in the books.”

She pulled out “Notes from the Apricot Grove” and “Herbs of Suiyuan,” laying them before him. “It’s easy to find the plants if you follow the books.”

An Kang leafed through them. “You can read both?”

“There are lots of characters I don’t know, so I ask Second Brother,” An Yi replied with a light laugh.

“What made you think of digging herbs to sell?” An Kang pressed, still not satisfied.

An Yi’s mind raced as she answered, “The medicine I took when I was sick tasted awful. Dr. Lu never thought to prescribe anything sweet. I wanted to find sweet herbs—then, if I got sick again, I wouldn’t have to take bitter ones. But once I found the herbs, I wasn’t ill, so I couldn’t take them. I remembered you saying people gathered cicada sloughs to sell. Cicada sloughs are medicine, so they can be sold. The herbs I dug are also medicine, so they should sell too. The pharmacy manager is very kind—he’s willing to buy them.”

It was a plausible explanation. An Kang laughed. “Silly girl, good medicine is bitter but cures the illness. How could medicine be sweet?”

“Who says it can’t be? The book says licorice is sweet,” An Yi replied, relieved to see his doubts disperse.

“But licorice doesn’t cure all diseases,” An Kang said with a chuckle.

“Just you wait. I’ll find a sweet cure-all someday,” An Yi puffed out her cheeks.

Looking at his adorable, earnest little sister, An Kang’s suspicions vanished entirely, and he silently rebuked himself for ever doubting his precious sister. He reached over and tapped her nose affectionately. “My little sister will become an even more renowned herbalist than Lady Qiao someday.”

When An Jian returned from school, the two brothers went to the hillside to dig shepherd’s purse, while An Yi was kept at home by Madam Luo. When the brothers came back, they were joined by a little tagalong: Li Guyu, dressed in rags, his face sallow.