When Li Feng pushed the bowl of soup in front of him and told him to eat, Lu Liu was momentarily stunned—his eyes went wide.
“Huh? Me? I’m eating it?”
Li Feng nodded. “Yes, it’s for you.”
This was Lu Liu’s first time making pork tripe soup. He had never even tasted it before.
One pork tripe wasn’t much, but it was enough to spare a bowl.
He’d put in a lot of work—had even gone down to the river to scrub it clean. Li Feng remembered his effort and wanted him to be the one to eat it.
This year had been expensive overall, but they still had some silver left. Li Feng figured he’d start by keeping his mother happy, and Lu Liu could have the first taste. Once the New Year cakes were ready, he planned another trip to the county. He’d buy another tripe then so they could have some at home. With how little Lu Liu ate, just drinking the soup would fill him right up.
Lu Liu hadn’t expected to get a chance to eat pork tripe. He was surprised again and again. Li Feng had been smiling, but seeing Lu Liu’s eyes grow red made him hurry him along.
“Eat it while it’s hot—it won’t taste as good cold.”
Lu Liu sniffled, trying to hold back his emotions. But then the rich, savory aroma of the soup hit his nose.
He picked up his chopsticks, grabbed a piece of tripe, and popped it into his mouth. The tripe was soft, tender, and smooth. He didn’t even have time to savor the flavor—it went right down.
He couldn’t even say for sure whether it was delicious or not—he just knew he wanted more.
He took three more bites in quick succession. When he finally looked up to tell Li Feng, “It’s really good,” he realized Li Feng didn’t have any soup.
His feelings of gratitude instantly turned into panic, and he hurriedly started to serve Li Feng a bowl.
He’d forgotten!
But Li Feng waved it off. “I’ve had this stuff plenty of times—honestly, I’m a little sick of it.”
Lu Liu didn’t believe that. Who ever got tired of soup?
He insisted on sharing, and Li Feng, unable to turn him down, took a few pieces of tripe. But he didn’t want the broth.
“It’s nourishing. You drink it all,” he said.
They went back and forth over this small thing, and really, Li Feng should’ve gotten annoyed. But looking at Lu Liu, his heart just turned to mush.
Lu Liu wasn’t just being polite—he truly cared. He saw him, thought of him, and remembered him even for the tiniest good thing.
Li Feng told him softly, “Go on and drink. You should have more—it’s good for the baby.”
Lu Liu had been upfront—he’d mentioned wanting a child to Li Feng more than once.
But hearing it at the breakfast table made him feel shy. He remembered how, before the wedding, his father had made him all sorts of good food to build up his health. So this time, he didn’t argue or insist. He quietly drank up the soup.
It was cold out. Once the soup was served, it didn’t take long to cool down.
By the time Lu Liu drank it, it was warm—not piping hot—but still delicious. He was content. The rich, fresh flavor was miles better than any fried egg soup.
He licked his lips, unconsciously showing how much he liked it.
That morning, Li Feng hit the road with the cart, bringing Erhuang the dog along too. Before he left, he told Lu Liu, “Shun-ge will be here after breakfast. If you get nervous, go hang out at Yao Fulang’s place for a bit.”
But Lu Liu wasn’t afraid. He was used to staying home alone.
Once Li Feng left with Erhuang, Lu Liu started washing the day’s laundry.
He’d changed his clothes yesterday too. At the time, he didn’t think much of it, but by morning they’d started to smell a little.
He’d handled chicken the night before, and worried it might’ve dirtied the bedding. Li Feng had just grabbed whatever clothes were nearby and told him to change—even if he didn’t want to.
Lu Liu didn’t mind the smell of meat on clothes.
But that other scent—he had to wash those right away.
If Shun-ge, who wasn’t even married yet, saw them, it’d be way too embarrassing.
Honestly, even if it was the already-married Yao Fulang who saw them, Lu Liu would still be mortified.
Yao Fulang had waited until Li Feng left before dropping by. He didn’t really have anything urgent—just came to chat. He told Lu Liu, “Looks like the weather’s nice these next couple of days. We’re planning to go to the market. Tell Da Feng ahead of time, so he can eat in the new village. No point coming all the way back to a cold kitchen.”
Lu Liu nodded, face flushing pink, quietly scrubbing away at the laundry.
Yao Fulang had been married a while, and as soon as he saw the look on Lu Liu’s face, he didn’t even need to ask—he knew right away. He teased, “Ah, newlyweds really are different. Look at you! I’ve been married so long, my skin’s thick enough to fry in a wok!”
Lu Liu gave an awkward chuckle and mumbled, “No, it’s not like that.”
Yao Fulang was just killing time, and the more flustered Lu Liu looked, the more fun it was to poke at him. He grabbed a small stool, sat diagonally in front of Lu Liu, and started joking about “serving one’s man.”
It was something Lu Liu himself had brought up during a past visit. At the time, Yao Fulang had asked, “You didn’t go out for two whole days after that—what happened? Did you really make Da Feng serve you and end up getting beaten for it?”
After all, during snowy days, if a newlywed couple stayed in for two days straight, well—even if there was “fighting,” it was the kind that happened in bed.
Yao Fulang grinned, urging Lu Liu to spill the details.
Lu Liu’s face turned even redder. He didn’t know exactly what kind of “beating” Yao Fulang meant—maybe he was talking about sticks?
What he did know was that in Li Village, the men held all the power.
Still, to protect Li Feng’s pride, he pursed his lips and said, “He hit me.”
Yao Fulang wanted more detail, but Lu Liu just said, “I asked him to serve me, and he hit me.”
Yao Fulang already knew Lu Liu was a straightforward sort, so he didn’t think too hard—he just looked shocked. “He really hit you?”
Then, feeling indignant and sympathetic, he said, “What’s wrong with your Da Feng? He always seemed like a reasonable guy. Can’t even take a joke?”
Seeing that Yao Fulang was getting too worked up, Lu Liu quickly tried to walk it back: “But he did serve me!”
Yao Fulang relaxed a little. Ah, so it was just some playful teasing between a couple.
Grinning again, he asked, “And how did he serve you?”
Naive as ever, Lu Liu didn’t think twice. “He made me noodles! And pancakes! And porridge!”
Yao Fulang went speechless.
He didn’t even know what to be more shocked about.
What a strange couple—what kind of married life were they living?
As someone born and raised in Li Village, married right here in the village, Yao Fulang had never heard of a man going into the kitchen.
But Li Feng? He’d gone and cooked for his husband. Now that was something to talk about.
After a few more pleasantries with Lu Liu, Yao Fulang headed home.
He did some housework, and soon a few young wives and husbands dropped by to chat. They talked about the upcoming market and asked who was going to drive the cart, so they could ride along.
Yao Fulang said, “I’ve got Da Qiang driving. He’s been so idle lately he’s practically bored out of his mind. Perfect time to send us into the county.”
He was just waiting for someone to show up so he could let loose all the gossip about the Li couple.
But he didn’t dare outright say that Li Feng had cooked for his husband—what if Li Feng heard and came after him?
So instead, he dropped heavy hints: “If someone’s too sore to even get out of bed… who’s gonna cook, huh?”
Cooking and staying in bed mentioned in the same breath—it didn’t take much imagination.
The others had already heard rumors that Lu Liu had been so “disciplined” he couldn’t leave the kang bed, and they all chuckled knowingly. “Yao Fulang, you’re impressive—you even got that bit of gossip? I heard Da Feng’s super protective of his husband. Did you guys hear about the wedding dinner with San Miao’s brothers? Da Feng was at the table scolding people for just laughing at Lu Liu. Said his husband was shy and didn’t want people teasing!”
Yao Fulang got flustered. “No, wait—I was talking about cooking!”
Who said anything about beatings? That was way more serious than stepping into a kitchen!
But everyone else, stuck in their usual thinking, figured: if the husband couldn’t cook, then no one was cooking.
“Poor thing, middle of winter, cold stove and no hot meal.”
Yao Fulang: “……”
Talking to these people was pointless.
He gave up trying to explain and shifted the conversation back to the upcoming market, then politely ushered them out.
Just as he stepped outside, he spotted Shun-ge’er driving a mule cart past his front door. Yao Fulang casually called out, “Hey, Shun-ge’er! Not pounding rice cakes today?”
Shun-ge’er had actually come to help Lu Liu make cured meat, and he replied with a nod.
Yao Fulang laughed, “How much meat do they have to cure that they need your help?”
Shun-ge’er had no idea. “Maybe my big brother just wanted to let me slack off for a day.”
They’d been pounding rice cakes day after day, and even meal prep was starting to feel exhausting.
But just then, the young wives and husbands who had left Yao Fulang’s place chimed in behind him, saying, “What do you mean slack off? Your big brother beat his husband so bad he can’t get out of bed! If you don’t come help, who’s going to cure the meat? Let it sit any longer and it’ll spoil!”
Shun-ge’er: !!!
Yao Fulang: ???
Yao Fulang was speechless, then snapped, “You all sure have a lot to say, don’t you?”
He hurried them off.
“One day after another, you people never stop talking!”
Shun-ge’er didn’t want to be part of this conversation anymore either—he rushed straight toward his brother’s house.
At that moment, Lu Liu had just finished hanging up the laundry to dry.
