The darker the fabric, the more expensive it was. So Lu Yang changed his mind—he didn’t mind what went into the inner linings. He pulled some indigo and brown cloth, then took a full bolt of plain white.
The three of them at home all used white cloth, so he grabbed extra.
For Zhao Peilan and Xie Yan, he picked brighter colors.
Especially for Zhao Peilan—he chose bold reds and greens for her.
The red was rich, the green a vivid jade. Both flattering colors: one bold and lively, the other calm and dignified. But Zhao Peilan refused to wear red, so they kept the green.
For Xie Yan, he chose the finest fabric in the shop—clear, bright colors that didn’t overwhelm the wearer. Just from a glance, you could tell it was high-quality. He picked a water-blue and a pale green. A scholar’s attire should stay on the understated side.
They bought from the Wu family’s cloth shop. Young Master Wu always took care of their business, and since Lu rarely came, he didn’t haggle. Altogether they spent eight taels and three qian. By the time they got back, it was late—they wouldn’t be sewing anything tonight.
The next afternoon, when Xie Yan came home for lunch, Lu dragged him inside to take his measurements.
The door shut behind them. Since it was just the two of them, Lu wasn’t shy at all. He teased his scholar, “You’ve grown taller—did your cock grow too?”
Xie Yan had come home in high spirits. At that question, he froze up instantly, barely lifting his arms, trying to pin Lu’s hands down so he wouldn’t fool around.
He wasn’t as strong as Lu and was tense besides, so the resistance looked more like half-hearted struggling. Lu measured him inside and out.
Whenever Lu lifted the tape to show the length in front of him, Xie wanted to cover his face.
Lu wrote everything down. The last measurement didn’t get a label—just a number. After finishing, he told Xie to check everything.
Xie didn’t want to check at all. He didn’t even look. “It’s fine. It’s right.”
Lu leaned over and murmured by his ear, “And if I wrote that one too small?”
Xie didn’t care.
Small was fine. Didn’t affect him.
He’d read motivational books that said men were supposed to obsess over this sort of thing—Xie felt nothing about it.
He told Lu, “As long as you know the size, that’s enough.”
That killed the teasing mood immediately.
Lu kissed him and took him to eat.
People from Lizhai had just delivered new goods—more sauces, fresh mushrooms, and two baskets of bamboo shoots. Not quite enough; they’d need to order more next time.
Bamboo shoots were versatile—stir-fried plain, stir-fried with meat, cooked into soup. Not many variations, but they were fresh and delicious. And unlike cabbage or radish, they weren’t something you ate every day until you got sick of them.
Today was bamboo shoots with sliced pork again. Both the shoots and the pork were cut thinner this time, so they absorbed flavor well. One chopstickful picked up a lot. Xie ate plenty of it with rice.
There was also a plate of bean sprouts. Sprouted at home, of course—Lu had handled beans all his life. He timed the harvesting precisely so they’d be tender. Light stir-fry, crisp and refreshing. A big plate of it, barely seasoned—you could eat it plain. After finishing his meal, Xie even ate a whole bowl of bean sprouts by itself.
He had a small gift for Lu today—a portrait he’d drawn earlier. He’d promised to turn it into a little scroll, but he’d been busy and only found time this morning to finish it.
He’d also drawn more sketches—quick outlines, no coloring, just a few strokes each. Whenever he missed Lu, he’d draw a few. After accumulating dozens, he bound them into a small booklet for Lu to keep.
The two of them chatted while eating. Lu looked at the scroll, then at the booklet, his heart swelling with joy.
Xie always drew him full of life—eyebrows lifted, spirited and lively. Among street folk, “fiery” could be praise or scolding. But in the pictures, even the fierceness looked charming and cute.
Every picture was of him—Xie never drew himself next to him. There was Lu bustling around the stove, Lu calling customers from the shopfront, Lu dozing on the heated kang, Lu squatting outside eating steamed buns. Even several of him sleeping.
He’d lost a lot of weight lately—still hadn’t gained any back. Yet Xie always drew him with a round, full face, looking blessed and well-fed.
Different from reality, yes. But anyone could tell at a glance that the chubby little figure was undeniably him.
Lu could talk big all day long—flirting, teasing, spouting flowery words—but he truly loved looking at these drawings.
Because Xie loved him, the drawings were full of spirit—bright, warm, and endearing. Fierce looked cute, greedy looked cute, sleeping looked cute, working looked cute. Everything about him looked like something worth loving.
Holding the booklet felt like holding Xie’s feelings for him. A sweetness gathered and overflowed until his eyes burned.
Lu wiped his eyes and carefully stored the gift away.
He remembered his little brother once carried a small leather pouch. He wanted to make one too—his treasures were growing, and a sachet wasn’t enough anymore.
“I love it. Really love it. But you’ve got exams coming—you focus on that. Don’t let me distract you,” Lu said sensibly.
Xie took his hand. They wore the same red cords, their matching lovers’ knots touching—hearts close as breath. “I’m fine. Studying isn’t hard. I just miss you.”
A wandering mind was a scholar’s enemy. Xie had long solved that problem with a habit: whenever his thoughts drifted, he grabbed scrap paper and wrote them out. Once they were out of his head, he could study again.
But this year, his wandering thoughts weren’t random troubles—they were all about the person he loved.
Lu could tease him for treating him like a distraction—but hearing those words, he couldn’t bring himself to argue.
He loved when Xie coaxed him; loved blushing helplessly in front of him.
“A-Yan, your mouth gets sweeter every day.”
Xie let him taste exactly how sweet before heading off to the academy.
Days moved on. With Xie’s measurements recorded, Lu spread out the fabric on the kang and started cutting.
He first made two pairs of well-fitted pants.
Once cut, everything went into the embroidery basket, ready for him to stitch a little at a time while minding the shop.
On the next sunny day, he opened his tasting stall again—just like he’d planned—selling two big pots of plain noodles out front.
Not long after opening, familiar faces showed up. Old Chen brought his two sons to support the stall. Each bought a bowl and stood there eyeing Lu.
Lu stayed calm, treating them like ordinary customers, pretending not to know them—after all, Lu Liu shouldn’t know the Chen family.
Prosperity had improved his complexion, though he was still thin. He’d always been thin—thin enough before that he’d looked sickly. Now, with color in his face, he looked different. When he’d lived in the Chen household, he ate poorly and had no energy. Everything about him now was different.
Leaving the Chen family had opened the world to him. He could shoulder a household, do what he wanted, breathe freely. With affection and support around him, his entire temperament had changed.
He didn’t acknowledge them, and Old Chen didn’t dare approach him directly—Lu Liu was officially the husband of Scholar Xie.
And who was Scholar Xie? The talk of the entire county—author, the young scholar who’d made a fortune after the county exam, the one everyone whispered about.
People had plenty more to say about him.
Debates with other scholars? Rumors everywhere. Commenting on books in public? More rumors. Suing someone in court? Even more.
A man like that wasn’t someone you could push around.
Lu Lin was helping at the stall. When he saw the Chen family, he panicked for a second but remembered Lu’s instructions—no need to be scared. So he smiled, wiped his hands, and introduced them.
“Brother Liu, this is Uncle Chen and your two cousins. You might not remember them—you remember Third Aunt, right? Aunt Lu Sanfeng? These are her people. I mentioned them before—the family that runs the tofu shop.”
Lu’s smile was bright. “Ah, relatives! No wonder I haven’t met you all before!”
Old Chen, thick-skinned as ever, immediately jumped in, laughing, “We used to sell tofu on the east side of town. Rent to pay, mouths to feed—never a moment’s rest. Then we heard you opened a shop here, so I brought the boys to say hello. We’re family—no need to treat us like outsiders.”
