Fourth Brother really was fasting, refusing to take a mouthful of food or medicine.
His dark eyebrows furrowed together.
Qiufang cleared away the meal and took it to the kitchen.
Leaving a bowl of food out in autumn wouldn't spoil it, and even though the family's circumstances had improved, waste was still not acceptable, so he ate up all of Qinghe's uneaten cold food.
He made new breakfast, setting aside a portion for his wife and keeping it warm on the stove with a slow fire before carrying another portion into Qinghe's room.
He had also warmed up the medicine and placed it on the table.
He didn't leave immediately but took Qinghe's pulse...
The situation was dire; Fourth Brother had no will to live, his wrist injury was severe, and without eating or drinking, he wouldn't last more than a few days before he would...
Pain flickered through his pitch-black eyes as he solemnly changed the dressing on Qinghe's wrist injury.
