Lu Liu didn’t know how to cook eggplant, so Chen Guizhi made a plate for him.
She was generous with her cooking and told Lu Liu, “Every dish has its own way of being made. We aren’t short of anything at home—meals can’t be skipped. We save money where we can, pinching from little things, and over the year it adds up. But we can’t pinch at every meal. Poor food leads to weak bodies, and then work feels harder. Life won’t go anywhere.”
Save where you should, spend where you should.
Those six words were worth thinking about.
Lu Liu considered how to tell the difference between what to save and what to spend. That evening, back in his room, he wrote down the six words and circled two of them. He still didn’t know how to write the character for “should,” so on paper it just read: “save save, spend spend.” He looked at it and smiled.
The weather was warming, and Lu Liu liked soaking his feet. After a short soak, when his body felt warm, he would dry his feet on the kang.
By night, they had developed a habit of studying together, playing flashcard games, taking turns drawing cards and guessing the characters.
They recognized most characters, and for the few they were unsure of, they would check the primer, find the character, and match it with the correct pronunciation.
It was almost like a lullaby—once the habit formed, they often drifted off to sleep mid-study.
Li Feng would touch Lu Liu’s cheeks and say, “We’re clearly not scholarly types. I wonder about Zhuangzhuang.”
Lu Liu sighed. Even though they were eager to study and making good progress, the sight of the characters still made them feel dizzy and sleepy.
He said, “We need to trick him now, make him think we love studying. Once he’s born, I’ll read to him every day, train his ears. When he starts talking, we’ll teach him the Three Character Classic. Brother said our literacy is enough to start learning simple texts. When Zhuangzhuang is older, we can even get him into school with all the little scholars. That’ll do.”
A child’s body wasn’t fully developed yet—two years of study first to build patience, then teach him archery.
Li Feng found it amusing, glanced at his own belly, and said, “Poor Zhuangzhuang.”
After joking for a while, they wrapped up their study session for the night and turned off the lights.
Li Feng had a nightly routine of teasing and playing with his little husband—touching, licking, tossing. Lu Liu wanted to nibble on his chest, but that wasn’t allowed; he had to start with the big rooster.
Lu Liu was skilled at raising chickens. Under his care, the chicks grew quickly.
The roosters swelled up and strutted around, laying eggs in abundance.
The eggs weren’t for eating; Li Feng, the naughty one, tricked him into licking them, and Lu Liu ended up smeared all over.
He was no longer the naive little husband—he was the Iron-Toothed Rabbit!
Hearing the name made Li Feng laugh. The next morning, he rose early, fed the rabbits in the backyard, and observed them for a long time.
When Lu Liu joined to care for the animals, the two of them would huddle together watching the rabbits.
Li Feng said, “Their ears are long; yours are small.”
Lu Liu replied, “They have tails; I don’t.”
Li Feng continued, “They eat vegetables; you eat chicken.”
Lu Liu pinched his arm.
Li Feng’s arms were muscular, so it was hard to pinch.
Lu Liu relaxed his grip to nibble lightly on Li Feng’s arm.
“Salty, Da Feng. You should take a bath.”
Li Feng: “…”
“Spit it out quickly—don’t get a stomachache.”
Lu Liu stuck out his tongue. “I was teasing you!”
He was a little rascal now.
That day, the little rascal made egg pancakes for Li Feng.
The batter didn’t need yeast; he mixed it, added eggs, stirred, scooped it into pancakes, and spread mushroom sauce on top.
In the morning, he also made mixed mushroom soup. One bite of pancake, one sip of soup—it warmed them both up.
Li Feng had been going up the mountains recently, sticking close to the footpaths, gathering whatever he could.
The lower mountain areas, reachable within a day, were considered common hunting grounds—any villager could go, each relying on their own skills. Mostly women and husbands came to pick mushrooms, dig vegetables, or gather fruit.
During the spring-to-summer transition, they could also collect knotweed.
Knotweed was both a medicinal and edible plant, good for cooking or medicine—but pregnant women couldn’t eat it.
At this season, Shun Ge’er and friends would go up the mountains together, not straying too far, and could carry a full basket of fresh knotweed back in a day.
They could process it at home or sell it to an apothecary. It was an annual source of income.
Fresh knotweed was tender, delicious in stir-fries or soups. Lu Liu had never tasted it, and watching the family gather around the table, he couldn’t eat it and drooled like little pearls.
Li Feng found him other treats; mulberries were also in season.
Early in the season, few were fully ripe—just enough to satisfy Lu Liu’s craving.
He brightened, calculating that when his brother returned from the city, the mulberries would be ripe, and he could enjoy some then too.
Fruits were expensive, and wild fruits from the mountains were delicious. They all ate together.
That day, Li Feng stayed home, tending goods, chopping wood, fetching water, and looking after the vegetable garden.
He also stopped by the little shop to chat with his little husband.
Lu Liu’s complexion had improved—fleshy, tender, and plump. He looked very appealing.
Wearing new clothes, arranging papers, sewing his sketchbook, the scene was calm and beautiful.
His timidness faded day by day, replaced by growing confidence. He became more opinionated, and his aura changed. In Li Feng’s eyes, he was like fine raw ingredients, carefully prepared over time, giving off an irresistible aroma—looking even more appetizing.
Li Feng’s gaze fell on Lu Liu’s earlobes, threaded with a simple wax string. Children from poor families often had pierced ears but couldn’t afford jewelry, so the wax thread kept the hole open.
Li Feng bought him earrings, but Lu Liu had only worn them indoors a few times. Each time he quickly removed them, wrapped them in a soft cloth, and treasured them carefully.
Li Feng asked, “Why don’t you wear the earrings?”
Lu Liu was reluctant.
“What if you lose them?”
And he wasn’t used to wearing them. He rarely wore even wax threads, only occasionally keeping his piercings open.
Raised in a poor household, he was used to grayness; he disliked makeup and jewelry. Even looking in a bronze mirror made him uneasy—afraid someone would see and tease him for vanity.
Li Feng said, “I bought you this jewelry for the first time. Wear it; it makes me happy to see it. Once you get used to it, you can wear more.”
Lu Liu wanted to wear them. Sliding the silver onto his ears felt like a little celebration.
With extra silver at home, jewelry could be made.
He whispered, “What if someone laughs at me?”
“I’ll deal with them,” Li Feng replied.
Lu Liu laughed softly, finished a few more stitches, cut the thread, and packed his little book. Together they went to the room, taking out a small wooden box.
The box held Li Feng’s collection of counting stones, used for keeping accounts before they could read numbers.
Now that they could read numbers, the stones weren’t necessary—but they kept them as a memento.
Lu Liu carefully wrapped his rouge, earrings, and small bronze mirror in scraps of cloth and placed them with the pretty stones.
He took out an earring, examining it carefully.
The newly crafted silver gleamed like a willow leaf in the sunlight, reflecting dazzling light.
He leaned forward, letting Li Feng help him put it on.
He didn’t usually wear the wax string, and his piercings were small. Putting on the earrings required care.
Li Feng’s rough hands gently fastened them, and Lu Liu felt a tickle, laughing at the sensation.
Once both earrings were on, he squatted on the kang, basking in the sunlight, tilting his head side to side as the silver willow leaves reflected tiny glimmers across Li Feng’s face.
Li Feng said, “They’re a bit small; we’ll get bigger ones next time.”
Lu Liu shook his head. His husband had a masculine style, and jewelry was mostly masculine in design—hairpins mostly, earrings few. Small pieces were just for accent. Bigger ones wouldn’t look as nice.
