When Jiang Xia heard An Ning shout, he knew what she meant. He just gave her a disdainful look and said, "You need this young master just to dig up some grass?"
"Hurry up."
An Ning only said those two words, and Jiang Xia reluctantly went over.
"When are you going to fix that bleeding-heart flaw of yours? Aren't you afraid someone's going to sell you out?"
"And when are you going to fix that smart mouth of yours? Or you'll end up dead fast."
Their eyes met, clashing in a silent, mutual show of disdain.
Then, they both looked away at the same time, their gazes falling to the ginseng under the withered tree.
"There are a few of them."
Jiang Xia crouched down, his interest piqued. He started clearing away some dirt with his hands and pulled a red string from his waistband.
"What's that for?"
An Ning didn't understand.
Jiang Xia held up the red string. "This is called respecting the wisdom of our ancestors."
"Just like how you fear ghosts."
