Chapter Eleven: Punishment

“What?” Han Bingyan was startled by Han Bingran’s words. He hurriedly dropped the tools he was carrying and ran to his sister’s side. After helping her up, he turned to look into the crevice between the giant rocks.

The ravine was shrouded in shadow, and with dusk approaching, the light was dim. Even so, Han Bingyan could just make out the vague silhouette of a person at the bottom.

“Wait here. I’ll go down and check.” With that, Han Bingyan clambered down the narrow, winding slope. Reaching Han Bingruo’s side, he saw that Han Bingruo had already lost consciousness. His head, shoulders, and limbs bore clear wounds, blood gushing forth.

“What should I do?” Han Bingyan had never witnessed such a scene before. For a moment, he stood frozen.

“Brother, can you carry Bingruo back up?” Han Bingran called down urgently.

Her words jolted Han Bingyan back to his senses. He reached out, propped up the unconscious Han Bingruo, slung his arm over his own shoulders, and staggered back up to the rocks above.

“We have to get him to the hospital, quickly!” Without pausing for breath, Han Bingyan hoisted Han Bingruo onto his back again and ran toward the nearest road. “Ran, is your foot okay? Can you manage?”

“I’m fine!” Han Bingran replied stoutly, then added, a little ashamed, “If it weren’t for me, Bingruo wouldn’t be hurt like this…”

“No, this isn’t your fault.” Han Bingyan dashed into the middle of the road, hoping to flag down a passing car. The road was remote, with few vehicles, but luck was on their side—a car eventually came by. The driver, seeing a child covered in blood, didn’t hesitate and drove them to the nearest hospital.

Han Bingyan dared not imagine what he would have done had the driver been heartless enough to turn them away. Fortunately, that didn’t happen. Perhaps it simply wasn’t Bingruo’s time to die.

“We need type A blood. This is only a small clinic—our supply isn’t enough!” a doctor said gravely. “He must be transferred to a larger hospital immediately.”

“No, he’s already lost so much blood! If we don’t replenish it right away, he… he’ll die!” Han Bingyan cried, glancing at Bingruo’s face, now deathly pale from blood loss.

There was no time to transfer him. That would be sending him to his death. Blood—Han Bingyan suddenly realized what was most critical: as long as they had blood, Bingruo could be saved. “Doctor, take mine. I’m type A.” He recalled a school physical where his blood type had been tested—he was the same as Bingruo.

“No, you’re too young. It’s against our regulations,” the doctor refused flatly.

“I said take it!” Han Bingyan’s furious gaze startled the doctor. “It’s still better than letting him die! Hurry!”

The doctor looked at the stubborn yet frail boy—he couldn’t be more than ten, delicate, almost like a girl. He glanced at the boy lying on the bed, face drained of color, life slipping away by the second. With a heavy heart, he made what he knew was a wrong decision for a doctor to make. “Come with me. I’ll test your blood type once more.”

Relief and joy lit up Han Bingyan’s face—the doctor had relented. The test took only a moment: type A, a perfect match.

As the fine needle pierced his vein, a sharp pain shot through Han Bingyan’s arm, and bright red blood began to flow down the tube. The doctor, noticing how pale Han Bingyan was becoming, wanted to stop the transfusion. “Don’t stop—just a little longer. It’ll be fine in a moment,” Han Bingyan said through gritted teeth, eyes squeezed shut.

The doctor hesitated, waited a few more moments, then withdrew the needle before Han Bingyan could protest. The life-giving blood was slowly transfused into Bingruo’s body. The doctor then set up a nutrient drip for Han Bingyan to replenish what he’d lost. Beside him, Bingruo’s complexion gained a hint of color.

By the time the doctor had finished bandaging all of Bingruo’s wounds, it was already midnight. With nowhere to go, the three of them stayed at the small hospital. Stroking the sleeping Han Bingran at his side, Han Bingyan’s thoughts drifted—how would he explain all this when they returned home?

※※※Feather※※※Emperor※※※

A resounding slap echoed through the room. Han Bingyan clutched his stinging cheek, momentarily seeing stars from the force of the blow. Han Liang glared at him furiously, her eyes wide enough to strip him bare.

“The winter break has only just begun and already something like this has happened. It’s lucky it was only Bingruo who was hurt—if Bingran had been injured too, how would you answer to the family?” Han Liang’s words were cutting. Her meaning was clear: Bingruo was simply not as important as Bingran. Bingruo getting hurt was tolerable, but if anything happened to Bingran, the consequences would be far more than Han Bingyan could bear.

And by “the family,” she wasn’t just referring to Han Bingyan’s mother, Han Xianyu, but to all the elders of the Han clan. From her words, it was clear that Han Liang regarded Han Bingran as the heir apparent to the clan’s leadership. Unless something unexpected happened, the next head of the Han family would be Han Bingyan’s mother, Han Xianyu, and after her, Han Bingran.

“Speak. Whose idea was it to go to Tianyuan Mountain?” Han Liang’s icy tone made Han Bingran tremble, her small mouth opening and closing as she prepared to confess, “It was… me…”

“It was me! I suggested it!” Han Bingyan couldn’t bear to see his sister take the blame. He longed to spoil her as a brother should, but he lacked the strength—his weakness was his lack of martial skill. Still, he could at least shoulder this for her.

“It was… you?” Han Liang’s fury made her voice tremble. She stretched out her right hand, and from several meters away a thick wooden rod flew into her grasp—about as thick as two fingers, dense and solid.

“Thud!” The stick landed with a dull impact on Han Bingyan’s arm, leaving a vivid red welt on his delicate skin.

“Brother—”

“Bingyan—”

“Mother—”

The three voices came from Han Bingran, Han Xianyu, and Han Xianyun respectively. Guilt and pain filled Han Bingran—she wished she could take her brother’s punishment herself, for it was she who had insisted on going to Tianyuan Mountain. Han Xianyu and Han Xianyun were shocked; they had never expected their mother to punish Bingyan so harshly, even if he was the one who suggested the outing. Was such severity really necessary?

Their hearts sank to the lowest depths—this alone showed how little Bingyan mattered to Han Liang. Had it been any other member of the Han family, things might have turned out differently.

A rapid succession of blows sounded through the room. Han Bingran covered her ears with her hands, curling into a corner as tears streamed down her cheeks. Han Xianyu and Han Xianyun could no longer bear to watch. Bingyan’s clothes were torn to shreds, and beneath them, his skin split open, blood flowing freely.

“Crack!” The stick snapped in two. That such a heavy rod could break across the body of a boy of only ten spoke volumes. Already weakened from his unorthodox blood donation, Han Bingyan could not withstand the punishment—he slipped into unconsciousness as the stick broke.

Panting, Han Liang left the room, leaving Han Xianyu and the others behind. “Brother!” Han Bingran flung herself on her battered sibling, heedless of everything. Han Xianyu and Han Xianyun, hearts aching, gently lifted the unconscious boy and carried him step by step back to his room.

“Mom, it was actually me who wanted to go to Tianyuan Mountain. I insisted, and brother and Bingruo only agreed because they couldn’t refuse me. If it weren’t for me, Bingruo wouldn’t have been hurt, and brother… he took the punishment for me. I’m the one who should be punished!” Han Bingran sobbed.

Han Xianyu was stunned for a moment, then reached out to gently stroke Han Bingyan’s head, her eyes filled with a mother’s love.