What a good dog.
For lunch, Lu Liu didn’t bother making anything fancy. He scooped out a ladle of pickled vegetables, broke up the frozen leftover rice into loose grains, and fried it all together into a simple pickled veggie fried rice.
Er Huang’s lunch was a bit better. Lu Liu cleaned out some fish scraps, tossed in some pork offal, and stewed it up with a handful of chopped greens. He hadn’t even eaten well himself, so the dog had to make do too. There was some rough rice set aside especially for Er Huang—Lu Liu rinsed it, grabbed a couple handfuls, and threw it into the pot to cook.
He also wanted to wash up, so after setting the dog’s food out to cool, he went inside to drag out the big wooden bath barrel. Inch by inch, he worked it out of storage, planning to scrub it down and heat water for a bath.
Li Feng had lived on his own for a long time—he rarely used the bath barrel. If not for getting married, he probably wouldn’t even wash up that often. As he’d explained, mountain hunters like him got used to dirt and grime. Even when the grit caused rashes or sores, he’d just tough it out—the itch was nothing compared to the other hardships of the forest.
Clean water and dry clothes mattered far more than a clean body up there. If they slipped and fell into water—unless it was the height of summer—they’d usually head straight home. The mountain streams were filthy, soaking in them made you sick, and wet clothes were heavy and slowed you down. They couldn’t afford to carry spares, so turning back was always the best bet.
Lu Liu loved listening to Li Feng’s stories of life in the mountains. It was all new to him—so deep, so mysterious, full of dangers and wonders beyond anything he’d imagined. So many strange plants, animals, even bugs he’d never heard of before.
He’d said, with simple honesty, “No wonder mountain pheasant tastes better than farm chicken. I heard the meat’s firmer, finer, and sweeter. They must eat well every day up there.”
Good food made for strong bodies—and strong bodies fetched a good price at market.
Back home, when he caught bugs for his chickens, it was mostly garden pests. Now, living at the foot of the mountain, he was already looking ahead: next year, he’d trap mountain bugs for his chickens. Raise some fat, sweet-tasting free-range birds!
The thought of it filled him with hope. He added hot water to the bath barrel, tossed in a crushed soap bean to soak, then went out to feed Er Huang his lunch. After that, he grabbed a bamboo brush, tied it to a long stick, and gave the barrel a good scrubbing.
Once he’d scrubbed it clean, he rinsed it down with cold water—no sense wasting hot water on that.
He went back and forth several times before finally setting the barrel out in the yard to dry in the sun.
By then, the sun was low. There wasn’t time to start anything big, and he was feeling a little tired anyway. So he fetched his embroidery hoop and started working on some mittens.
He wanted to make three pairs—one for each of his fathers and his brother. Two pairs were already done.
Yao Fulang had made him a pair, and he’d been wearing them—so they weren’t suitable as gifts. Better hurry up and finish the rest.
As the saying goes: After Laba, it’s the New Year.
Just a couple of days left—he could finish before New Year visits began.
Lu Liu also wanted to sew a few hats. The one he was wearing now was Li Feng’s—real fur, nice and warm. A little big, kind of heavy, and loose on his head, but it kept him toasty.
He’d even asked Li Feng if things like hats and mittens could sell for money. Li Feng had said yes, definitely.
His mother-in-law and brother-in-law were old hands at making fur goods. Besides hats and mittens, they made vests and short fur coats. They worked fast and well.
That made Lu Liu both excited and nervous. If these things could sell, then he could learn to make them too.
But if they were worth money, was it really okay for him to be giving three pairs away like this?
Li Feng didn’t mind. He told him to just practice for now. After all, they were only using scrap bits of hide.
By the time the sun set, Lu Liu got up to tidy the yard.
He left the bath barrel outside—it could wait for Li Feng to help bring it in. The paper wedding flowers, he took inside to a spare room, ready to tie to the mule’s bridle for Laba.
He gathered up the cured meat one piece at a time. The bamboo poles he left out—they’d be needed again tomorrow.
With his work done, Er Huang’s guarding duties were over for the day. The dog dove back into his fresh, clean straw pile, rolling and wriggling and pouncing on it in pure joy.
Even though Er Huang couldn’t speak, Lu Liu could see how happy he was—and it lifted his own spirits too. Humming a tuneless little melody, he went back to the kitchen to make dinner.
After all, in a village at the foot of the mountains, everybody could sing a mountain song.
Lu Liu didn’t know how to sing mountain songs, but after hearing Yao Fulang hum a few lines, he couldn’t stop thinking about it—he really wanted to learn.
That night, he made a simple dinner. No fish today—Li Feng had had fish soup several meals in a row, so they took a break from that.
Lu Liu put his thrifty skills to use. After stir-frying the meat slices with greens, he fished out the meat and used it to make a light soup. The soup was mostly vegetable-based—hardly any meat—and since the meat had already been cooked once, he didn’t add many more greens. Just enough for a bit of flavor. He boiled up just over a bowl’s worth of broth and set it aside.
For the main dish, he braised daikon radish in soybean paste. He cut the radish into big triangular chunks, boiled them briefly to soften, then tossed them into the wok with thick paste and stir-fried until coated. After that, he added water and let it all simmer. Once the radish had soaked up the flavor, each bite was rich with savory goodness—enough to make you want two mouthfuls of rice with every piece.
When the food was just about ready, Lu Liu ran out to wait.
It was cold outside. Li Feng always told him not to come out to meet him, but Lu Liu would just laugh sheepishly and forget all about it. Now, with his big fur hat on, hands stuffed in his pockets, and his thick padded coat, he didn’t mind the chill one bit. He just wanted to see Li Feng as soon as possible.
Li Feng’s eyes were sharp—darkness didn’t stop him from spotting his husband. Even bundled up, Lu Liu was still slim. His fair skin seemed to glow in the faint lantern light, and with the way the light hit his face, there was something about him that reminded Li Feng of a mountain spirit—mysterious and just a little bit wild.
From that angle, Lu Liu’s usually gentle, soft features carried an almost mischievous air, and it made the hunter’s heart race as he hurried home.
By the time Li Feng came close, Lu Liu bent down to pick up the lantern. It was too cold to hold it in his hands the whole time.
Li Feng glanced at the lantern but didn’t tell Lu Liu what he’d been thinking—that just a moment ago, he’d looked like a mountain spirit trying to lure him in.
Once home, Li Feng went to unhitch the mule and fed it too. He spotted the rabbit hutch in the shed and, worried the mule might trample it, carried it back to the doghouse.
Er Huang let out a string of low, pitiful whines.
Sharp-eyed as he was, Li Feng hadn’t noticed right away that the dog’s straw bedding had been replaced. So he tried to calm the dog down.
“Settle down—once the rabbits are fat, you’ll get a rabbit leg all to yourself.”
Er Huang fell silent but kept eyeing the rabbit hutch with a look of pure betrayal.
When Li Feng came inside, Lu Liu already had hot water ready for him, along with a clean cloth for washing his face and hands. The two dishes and the soup were all set out, rice served—they could sit down and eat right away.
Li Feng mentioned the dog’s sulking. “We’ll need to build a proper rabbit pen soon. He’s had enough of seeing those rabbits right under his nose.”
Lu Liu explained about changing the straw, and Li Feng froze for a second before laughing and scolding gently, “So that’s why he’s been pouting—spoiled by you, that mutt!”
Lu Liu chuckled. “He calls me papa now. It’s only right I take care of him!”
Li Feng might have scolded, but his heart was warm. He treated his hunting dog like a son—many hunters in the village did. But most wives or husbands who married into the family didn’t get it. To them, a dog was just an animal. Some even begrudged the dog its food, worried it might eat too much.
The way Lu Liu doted on Er Huang touched him deeply. Before they’d even started eating, Li Feng was already piling Lu Liu’s bowl with food.
While he was doing that, a thought hit him—at the wedding feast, the good dishes would go fast. His soft-spoken husband—how would he manage to grab any? He didn’t want to see him left with an empty bowl, close to tears.
Maybe he could ask San Miao’s mother to save a plate for him?
No… that wouldn’t work. If everyone started asking for that, it’d make things hard on her.
So Li Feng turned to Lu Liu. “Do you know how to grab food at a feast?”
Lu Liu blinked. “Huh? Grab what food?”
Li Feng decided they’d practice. There wasn’t much point in fighting over the greens, so he made the braised radish stand in for red-braised pork—chunky, slippery, and not easy to pick up. Perfect for training.
Lu Liu still didn’t quite get what Li Feng was up to, but he went along with the game. If Li Feng wanted to play at grabbing food during dinner, so be it.
At first, Li Feng tried to go easy on him—he moved his chopsticks slower, didn’t press too hard. But to his surprise, Lu Liu was a natural. He might look soft and gentle, but when it came to grabbing food, his face stayed calm and focused, his chopsticks precise and steady. Every move landed cleanly—one radish chunk at a time, no misses.
