Chapter 187: Absolute Savages All Around

He truly harbored a deep aversion toward that eldest son, the one he could never quite fathom.

Especially because the eldest son bore such a striking resemblance to his deceased wife. That pair of eyes, when gazing upon you, felt as though the departed wife had been resurrected.

This was something Old Master Song simply could not endure.

"Sigh, let's not speak of this anymore, Dad. Let's eat," Song Qinglan said with a sigh as she watched Mother Zhou emerge carrying the dishes.

"Dad, Mother Zhou has packed the broth. I'll go to the hospital and deliver some to Aunt and the others." Song Qinglan accompanied Old Master Song through a light meal before standing up to leave.

"It's good that you are filial. Your Aunt hasn't had it easy all these years..."

Blah, blah, blah. Song Qinglan almost couldn't resist hurling her lunchbox right into his face just to make him shut up.

She exerted every ounce of self-restraint and sneered inwardly.

Only after the old man had finished his endless nagging did Song Qinglan pick up the lunchbox and head out the door.

The moment she stepped out of the residential compound, her expression darkened.

Her heart felt as though it were being sliced by the freezing winds and blades of the dead of winter. Yet there was no pain; she had grown numb long ago.

She only felt a profound sense of injustice for her biological mother, and for her younger sister.

Right now, in the old man's heart, they likely left not even the faintest trace—especially her mother.

That foolish woman, diligent and tireless, who served her parents-in-law with devotion and guarded their small household for her husband, ultimately never received a single word of appreciation from him, and even lost her life on account of him.

Perhaps, in the old man's heart, her mother had merely been an obstacle blocking his path.

A desolate chill permeated Song Qinglan's chest.

Her eyes grew red-rimmed as she tightly clutched the lunchbox against her breast.

After a long while, she managed to calm herself, composed her expression until not a trace of abnormality remained, and finally stepped into the hospital carrying the lunchbox.

A bowl of broth for each of them; not a single person lying on those beds was missed.

Song Qinglan watched with absolute calm as they drank the broth and chatted with them, yet within her heart surged an unprecedented sense of elation.

...

Two days later, just as Lin Jingyue was preparing to leave, she abruptly received some news.

Her expression turned frosty and stern as she sprang to her feet. "Uncle, what did you say?!"

"Your aunt... has likely been poisoned as well."

Lin Jingyue's countenance plummeted instantly. Without a word, she turned to stride out the door, only to be grabbed firmly by Song Zhen.

Faced with Song Zhen's stern and chilling gaze, Lin Jingyue forced herself to calm down.

The poison meant for her and Song Qinglan had been administered by Song Qinglan directly into that single pot of broth. Aside from Song Lian, the son currently away at university, everyone else had fallen victim to it, including Song Xinran and the others.

However, the hospital failed to detect that it was poisoning; tests showed nothing of the sort.

Moreover, traditional Chinese medicine was a taboo subject at this time, and no one dared to consult a practitioner of herbal medicine. Consequently, the hospital's official conclusion was... food poisoning.

As it happened, that particular dish was mushroom and chicken stew.

Naturally, the Song family refused to believe this explanation, particularly the old man and that woman.

Having schemed and clawed their way through life, what hadn't they experienced? Judging others by their own standards, they immediately guessed that someone had targeted the Song family.

Yet, far more terrified than Old Master Song was that woman.

Still, they were granted no spare time for contemplation. The poison struck with ferocious violence. Every two hours—four hours total—the agony would strike anew. This pain originated from the soles of the feet, starting deep within the marrow of the lowest bones, inch by inch, resembling a myriad of insects gnawing away at the flesh, tearing mercilessly at their very souls.

Even the hospital's strongest painkillers failed to provide any notable relief.

Those with a sturdier constitution could barely manage to endure it—such as the old Song matriarch. Having already suffered a beating from Lin Jingyue and subsequently undergoing surgery, she was hardly young to begin with, and now she was being relentlessly tormented.

Her complexion was ashen, her eye sockets deeply sunken, making her look like a dying, desperate crone.

Yet she inspired no pity, only loathing.

The authorities had already been keeping a close eye on the Song family, and such a sudden flurry of strange occurrences naturally drew their attention and sparked an ongoing investigation.

Meanwhile, Song Shiyun, who was away on a mission, also received word.

His very first reaction was sheer delight: aside from his father, the entire Song family was finally reaping what they had sown.

His second reaction was bewilderment: why had his aunt fallen victim as well?

Delving deeper into thought, he arrived at an answer, which left him thoroughly unsettled. He realized something must have gone terribly wrong for his aunt to resort to taking such a dangerous risk herself.

Suddenly, a fierce longing to return home gripped his heart.

In Beijing, Lin Jingyue and Song Zhen engaged in a silent standoff.

Song Zhen wanted to send her away, but she steadfastly refused.

"If the investigation traces back to you..."

"Uncle, I'll go check on Aunt and then I'll leave," Lin Jingyue said, drawing a sharp breath.

Song Qinglan had poisoned herself precisely to sever all possible connections, ensuring that no one would ever dare suspect Lin Jingyue.

As long as she too fell victim to the poison, both Lin Jingyue and Song Zhen would be entirely cleared of suspicion.

She longed so desperately to make the Song family pay the price; she had even once contemplated perishing together with them, though her husband had always opposed the notion. But now, it didn't matter—since death wouldn't claim them, they would simply bear the burden together.

"Give me the antidote, and I will deliver it to her," Song Zhen said, shaking his head. "Your aunt will be fine. I give you my word, she will live a long and healthy life. You cannot go over there. This is your aunt's explicit wish."

They would not allow Lin Jingyue to face even the slightest thread of danger.

Not even suspicion could be permitted.

That old woman still had numerous connections lurking in the shadows; if any of them set their sights on Lin Jingyue, it would spell endless trouble.

Lin Jingyue gazed steadily at Song Zhen, who remained tight-lipped.

After a long pause, Lin Jingyue relented with a defeated sigh, retrieving a small porcelain vial and handing it to Song Zhen. "You must use the antidote. If Aunt wants to make it look convincing... use two-thirds of the dose."

"Understood. Two hours from now, I'll have someone take you to the railway station."

What more could Lin Jingyue say? She had no choice but to agree.

Two hours later, Lin Jingyue, having completely altered her appearance, was escorted away by a taciturn, burly man.

All the way to the train station, the burly man watched her personally board the train, and only turned to leave just as the locomotive was about to pull away.

However, he failed to notice that right before the train set into motion, Lin Jingyue moved with the lightness of a swallow, leaping directly out of the carriage window.

Goodness!

The passengers on the train widened their eyes in shock, "!!"

Avoiding the crowd, Lin Jingyue slipped away until she found a secluded dead-end alley. Ducking inside, she vanished into her spatial dimension, emerging a moment later with yet another unfamiliar guise—that of an ordinary-looking, somewhat elderly village woman with a weathered face.

With a slightly stooped posture and a cloth bag slung over her arm, she made her way back to the hospital.

Waiting patiently until nightfall, when the surroundings grew quiet and deserted, Lin Jingyue slipped inside. Unsure of which ward Song Qinglan occupied, she adopted a heavy rural accent and muttered, "Elder sister, you..."

"Auntie, is something the matter?" A nurse at the front desk spotted Lin Jingyue and immediately inquired.

Yet she received no response from the older woman.

The next instant, the nurse watched in astonishment as the supposedly frail old woman burst forward with astonishing agility, darting straight down the corridor.

"Goodness, that auntie sure moves with a spring in her step!" She must be here to visit a patient.

The nurse shook her head and returned to her duties.

Meanwhile, Lin Jingyue was already tailing closely behind Han Yizhou and Han Xingye.

Both young men possessed some martial background, forcing Lin Jingyue to exercise extreme caution.

"Mom / Auntie..." The two pushed open the door and saw Song Qinglan drenched in cold sweat, realizing she had just endured another bout of agony, which filled them with heartache.

Han Jianmin was wiping the sweat from Song Qinglan's brow and holding her hand. Seeing the two young men enter, he said, "You two stay with your mother; I'm going out to fetch some hot water."

"Uncle, I'll go," Han Xingye offered.

"No need, I'll go," Han Jianmin replied, picking up the thermos flask and stepping out of the ward.

Seeing him emerge, Lin Jingyue quickly darted into the adjacent ward.

Finding the room empty, she safely secreted herself inside. Just as she prepared to wait for Han Jianmin to leave before proceeding to her destination, she suddenly caught sight of him carrying the thermos into a ward a short distance ahead.

She froze for a fraction of a second, and as the identity of the occupant of that room dawned on her, a profanity escaped her lips internally—*What the hell?!*

Realization striking her like a thunderbolt, she surged forward in a single bound.

Han Jianmin clutched the thermos as he stared at the slumbering Old Song Matriarch. It truly felt like heaven was aiding him; with no one else around, he raised the heavy thermos flask, taking dead aim at the old woman's head.