Qi Qing made sure to keep an eye on her brother and to ensure that she noticed any and all abnormalities in his behaviour.
The entire journey from their home to the Imperial Palace, with both their mother and father, their mother working as a seamstress and her father working as one of the scribes under the financial ministers and magistrates.
None of them spoke the entire way there, mother already scowling and ready to throw herself in front of the nearest cart as she worked on the desperate preparations needed for the upcoming ambassadors visits, preparing gifts for him and decorations to deck out the Imperial Palace, more often than not just fixing and sprucing up old pieces and works that had been put into storage.
In her mother's own words, they were to make the palace inviting, but not too inviting, and make the ambassador feel as if some effort had been put into his reception and stay, but not too much to think that he was properly welcomed or even that much effort.
Their father was busy running his fingers through each other, his hands holding each other, and fiddling nervously, a habit that he had admitted to picking up, with a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, that came from the daily grind of copying down each and everything that had been uttered by those above him, as his job, as quickly and as smoothly as possible, leaving his hands so occupied that they needed to move about all the time nowadays, as he had scaled down his working hours to look after the twins properly.
Qi Qing, at the time, had beamed up at him while her brother had congratulated their father on managing to get through that whole piece without stuttering once at all, their mother joining in to pat her husband on the head as well, feeding him a dumpling later that supper with her chopsticks while keeping a beaming and blushing smile on her face throughout the exchange.
It had been nice to see, but now, their father's nervous habits were the least of Qi Qing's worries.
Her brother was clearly nervous and unready, his hands continuously clenching and unclenching at his sides, a less sophisticated and dextrous imitation of their father, while he wore the same scowl as their mother had when she was frustrated at the gifts of clothing that their aunts had gifted her, barely holding back the urge to complain about the terrible hemming and the trim of the fabric not at all matching the sewn décor on it, all the while trying to school her face into something thankful and gracious, rather than telling their aunts where exactly they could," stick it!" in her own words.
Qi Tao's face was far more scrunched up and less hidden than their mother's though, and from where Qi Qing was stood, it looked as if he maybe was trying to hold himself back from bursting into tears there and then.
She reached out to grab at his arms, clinging onto the sleeves of his uniform and keeping a firm grip on him.
She was there for him, and he needed to know that.