The two of them froze.
For a long moment, Chen Wanqing didn't lift her head to look at him, and Zhao Jing didn't move away.
Not until there was a noise from outside.
Mrs. Zhao cleared her throat and called to Zhao Jing through the window, "Jing, your cousin said you drank a fair bit today. I've made some sobering soup. Do you want to come out for a bowl?"
Zhao Jing's voice was husky. "Yes… I'll be right out. Just a moment, Mother."
As soon as he finished speaking, he pulled away. His voice grew even huskier. "Your forehead isn't hot, Wanqing, but just in case, I'll go make you a bowl of ginger soup."
Without waiting for Chen Wanqing to reply, Zhao Jing picked up the water bucket from the room, stepped outside, and gently closed the door.
The courtyard was silent, as was the room. The only thing to draw the eye was the occasional flare of a candlewick.
A little while later, after even Mrs. Zhao had closed her door to rest, Zhao Jing returned with a bowl of ginger soup.
