Wan Hai had no intention of giving Liangzi any money. Giving in to a scoundrel like him would only encourage more demands. “Let’s talk somewhere private,” Wan Hai suggested.
Liangzi wasn’t afraid. He had nothing to lose.
Xiao Wanshi, both anxious and regretful, trembled in fear. Even He Donglai’s gaze toward her had turned sinister, leaving her utterly terrified.
When Wan Hai returned, Xiao Wanshi, pale and visibly shaken, asked, “How did it go?”
Wan Hai didn’t go into detail but sternly said, “Mother, you shouldn’t have done this in the first place.”
Xiao Wanshi burst into tears. “I won’t do it again, I swear!” She hadn’t expected Liangzi to be so shameless, demanding money despite having been paid.
Since He Zifeng’s family had moved out, Xiao Wanshi had been consumed by worry, and the strain had aged her visibly.
—
Unaware of the drama at the He household, He Zifeng was busy grinding flour at the village entrance.
Curious villagers gathered around him.
“You really sent your son to school? How’s it going?”
“Is it expensive?”
“How much do you earn a day now?”
“I saw your house foundation—such a big area! Building a mansion?” Many admired him. Who wouldn’t want to live in a big house? He Zifeng had accomplished what everyone dreamed of.
Several women eyed his sturdy build approvingly, wondering why they hadn’t noticed his handsomeness before.
Some joked, “We really overlooked him back then. If we’d known he was so capable and good-looking, we’d have made our move earlier!”
Uncle Xu chimed in, “Why not trade some flour for white flour? My wife cooked some the other day, and even the noodle soup was nourishing.”
White flour was expensive, reserved for special occasions. He Zifeng thought about their dwindling supply and asked, “What’s the exchange rate?”
“Three pounds of coarse flour for one pound of white flour,” Uncle Xu offered.
“I’ll trade for ten pounds,” He Zifeng decided.
“You young folks sure know how to enjoy life,” Uncle Xu laughed, heading off to fetch the flour.
Someone asked, “What’ll you do with the flour?”
“Not sure yet,” He Zifeng admitted. Rural families hoarded grains, especially homemade white flour, which was hard to come by.
One woman teased, “Maybe you’re craving noodles after all this talk?”
He Zifeng laughed. “Actually, I don’t like making noodles.”
He recounted how, during his childhood, Xiao Wanshi would sweet-talk him into working and then find an excuse to withhold food.
The villagers laughed, unaware that Qiu Yu had overheard while passing by with newly purchased jars. Qiu Yu didn’t linger and quickly returned home.
There, Old Madam Gao delivered some pickled radishes. “We made too much last year. I’m sharing some with the neighbors.”
“Thank you, Grandma Gao,” Qiu Yu said.
“No need to thank me; it’s nothing fancy,” she replied.
After a moment’s thought, Qiu Yu gathered some coins and went to the neighboring village’s butcher. He bought pig intestines, stomach, heart, liver, and two pork bones, spending a hundred wen on twenty pounds of offal. The butcher threw in the bones for free, glad to get rid of the less popular cuts.
Back home, Qiu Yu meticulously cleaned the offal and started cooking, setting up a small stove in the courtyard to simmer the ingredients while sterilizing jars for their spicy sauce.
By dusk, He Zifeng returned with three sacks of flour. Seeing him, Qiu Yu realized he’d been so focused on work that he forgot to prepare dinner. “What do you want to eat? I’ll make it now.”
“I’ll cook,” He Zifeng offered. Then, like a magician, he pulled out a bunch of mountain grapes. “Here, try these.”
Qiu Yu’s mood lifted. “I haven’t had these in ages.”
“These are sweet,” He Zifeng said, handing them over.
Qiu Yu tasted one and found it deliciously sweet. Blushing slightly, he peeled another and fed it to He Zifeng, who savored it with a smile.
“What do you want for dinner?” He Zifeng asked.
“Noodles,” Qiu Yu replied, glancing at him.
“Soup noodles or minced meat noodles?”
“Hmm…” Qiu Yu hesitated.
“I’ll make both,” He Zifeng decided, quickly getting to work. In no time, he served two steaming bowls: one with vegetable soup, the other topped with spicy minced meat.
Both were delicious, and Qiu Yu smiled as he ate. Seeing his happiness, He Zifeng couldn’t help but grin too.
After finishing his meal, He Zifeng returned to kneading dough for the next day’s pancakes. Qiu Yu, done washing up, offered to help, but He Zifeng stopped him. “Get some rest. We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”
Unable to argue, Qiu Yu retreated to their room.
Later, when He Zifeng joined him, Qiu Yu snuggled close. “You’re not asleep?” He Zifeng asked softly.
“Not without you,” Qiu Yu replied, his voice barely audible.
He Zifeng hugged him tighter. “Sleep well.”
“Mm.”
After a moment of silence, Qiu Yu finally spoke, “You’re hugging me too tightly.”
He Zifeng asked, “Do you regret being with me?” This year had been better, but they had endured many hardships in the past.
The night was quiet, and He Zifeng didn’t know why he suddenly became sentimental. Qiu Yu, however, didn’t respond.
He Zifeng didn’t press further. It was understandable—after all, Qiu Yu was a fine “ge’er,” beautiful and with the potential to marry into a better situation. By choosing to be with him, Qiu Yu had endured exploitation by a cruel father-in-law and Xiao Wanshi. Life hadn’t been easy before.
Just then, a kiss landed softly on He Zifeng’s cheek.
“Go to sleep,” Qiu Yu said.
He Zifeng froze for a moment, but the gesture ignited something in him. He turned over, propping himself up on his elbow. The room was unlit, but the bright moonlight outside made it possible to see Qiu Yu’s face. One brief kiss wasn’t enough—He Zifeng wanted Qiu Yu to know the depth of a man’s love.(s*x)
“Qiu Yu, can I kiss here?”
“I never thought someone like you would agree to be with me.”
“Yu Yu.”
“I’m willing to do anything for you.”
Qiu Yu’s heart grew warm and tender at He Zifeng’s words, spoken one after another. “Me too,” he murmured.
…
The next morning, despite only a few hours of sleep, He Zifeng was full of energy.
Qiu Yu, still groggy, barely registered when He Zifeng leaned over and kissed him awake.
“Ah?” Qiu Yu blinked, his drowsiness replaced by playful annoyance.
Unfazed, He Zifeng prepared their stall, packing 300 pancake dough portions and yesterday’s braised pork offal, which Qiu Yu had perfected with rich broth for extra flavor.
They left before dawn, the savory aroma trailing behind them and waking nearby neighbors.
“What time is it?” a man grumbled, roused from sleep.
“Not even midnight,” his wife replied, half-asleep.
“But I smell stew,” he said, his stomach growling.
“Go back to sleep,” she muttered, ignoring him.
By morning, the man, still obsessed with the smell, resolved to buy meat, only to find the butcher nearly sold out.
“What’s with your village today?” the butcher asked, amused.
“Everyone’s just craving meat,” the man grumbled, selecting a cut.
“Got it,” the butcher said, laughing.
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