The two chickens sent as ransom were still frightened, clucking nervously in the corner.
Listening to the chickens, sipping chicken soup, and basking in the admiring gaze of the man beside him, Lu Yang sat up straight, feeling utterly smug.
The soup had been prepared by a villager at Xie Yan’s request—Lu Lin, the younger cousin from Lu Yang’s uncle’s side.
Xie Yan explained, “If we’d cooked it at home yesterday, someone would’ve stolen the whole pot.”
Lu Yang praised his cleverness.
Xie Yan had been called smart his entire life—anyone who met him in the village said so. He’d grown numb to the compliment. But today was different. Hearing it from Lu Yang made him smile.
Then, Lu Yang picked out a chicken drumstick and placed it in Xie Yan’s bowl. “Gotta nourish that scholar brain of yours.”
Xie Yan froze.
How did he still remember that?
Lu Yang gave the other drumstick to his mother-in-law, Zhao Peilan, leaving himself with just a couple of small chicken pieces.
Xie Yan silently put his drumstick back into Lu Yang’s bowl without saying a word to spoil the mood.
Whether or not he became a top scholar was a matter for the future.
Lu Yang was surprised.
A chicken only has two legs. He’d eaten drumsticks before, but rarely. With two younger brothers and Father Chen to feed first, he’d long learned to ignore the sight of drumsticks.
After a moment of hesitation, he tried to return the drumstick to Xie Yan.
Xie Yan had done enough today—he deserved it.
But just as he did, Zhao Peilan reached over and gave it back to Lu Yang.
The plump chicken leg sat once more in his bowl.
Lu Yang’s eyes went wide.
He hadn’t expected that. And, honestly, it felt pretty nice.
Zhao Peilan wasn’t as accepting as Xie Yan; there was still some fear in her eyes. But there was no hostility. It was a start.
“Don’t be shy,” she said. “We made this soup especially for you. Eat while it’s hot.”
Lu Yang didn’t need to be told twice.
The soup wasn’t much—just enough for one bowl each. When it was gone, they added water and noodles to the pot, stretching it into a half-pot of chicken noodle soup. One more bowl each, and their bellies were full.
With the fire still warm, washing up was easier with hot water.
Zhao Peilan shooed the two of them away. “It’s your first night as a married couple. The groom shouldn’t be scrubbing pots.”
While she cleaned up, she heated water for washing.
While waiting, Lu Yang explored the house.
The Xie home was sturdy, built with blue bricks—the only one like it in the village. The courtyard was spacious, but the rooms were small. Many rooms sat empty and damaged, abandoned after years of intrusions.
Only two rooms were in use: one for Zhao Peilan, one for Xie Yan.
The study was locked. A makeshift desk had been added to Xie Yan’s room, with two crates of books underneath and two stacks of paper on top—one written on, one blank.
The other shared spaces were the main hall and the kitchen.
The kitchen was connected to the firewood storage. Food supplies were scarce, with only a rice jar and a water jar sitting in the empty space.
After his little inspection, Lu Yang returned to unpack.
He spread out his new wedding quilt, folded his clothes into the wardrobe beside Xie Yan’s, and placed the rest of his belongings wherever seemed best.
By then, the water was ready.
Lu Yang washed first, Xie Yan second.
Tonight was their wedding night. Lu Yang sat on the heated brick bed and waited for his groom.
The room was small—just a big brick bed along the wall, with the wardrobe at the foot and the desk a step away.
The cramped layout was suffocating.
Someday, he thought, we’ll fix up the study.
His mind was still planning renovations when Xie Yan walked in with a porcelain bottle.
Lu Yang saw the oil and assumed its purpose immediately.
When Xie Yan told him to take off his clothes, Lu Yang raised a brow.
“Wow, straight to it, huh?”
As he spoke, he peeled off his shirt in a flash, baring his lean torso.
Xie Yan quickly stopped him. “Not so much! I just need to apply medicine.”
Lu Yang froze.
“Oh.”
Well, that was embarrassing.
Apparently, the impatient one was him.
His bold misunderstanding made Xie Yan’s ears turn pink.
Seeing the blush, Lu Yang leaned in to tease him.
“Why so red? Never seen anyone naked before?”
“I have,” Xie Yan said matter-of-factly.
Lu Yang narrowed his eyes.
“When I took the provincial exam,” Xie Yan explained, “they made us strip to prevent cheating.”
Lu Yang huffed a laugh. “Never seen anyone cute, then? A little brother or sister?”
“No.”
“Really? I thought scholars liked inviting performers to drink and lament their unrecognized talent—and end the night tangled in bed with their ‘soulmate.’”
Xie Yan draped the discarded shirt back over Lu Yang’s shoulders.
“Not my thing.”
“Why not?”
“It’s noisy.”
Xie Yan examined Lu Yang’s skin. There was one prominent bruise on his collarbone, dark and spreading across the pale surface.
Lu Yang didn’t seem to feel it. He raised his arm to sling it around Xie Yan’s shoulders. The movement sent his shirt sliding off again, exposing more smooth skin.
He leaned in, voice low. “So, you like quiet? Something a little more refined?”
He brushed a kiss against Xie Yan’s cheek. “Like this?”
Xie Yan’s face burned.
Without a word, he uncorked the medicine, poured some into his palm, and rubbed it onto the bruise.
The sharp sting made Lu Yang yelp.
“Ow! Wooden block!”
The acrid scent of the medicine stifled the mood.
Still, Lu Yang kept up the chatter. He demanded that Xie Yan say something romantic—something fitting for their wedding night.
Xie Yan thought for a moment.
“Hero,” he said dryly, “impressive skills.”
Lu Yang blinked.
Great. Instead of becoming a married couple, they’d become sworn brothers.
The injury treated, Xie Yan cleaned up while Lu Yang lay down to sleep.
The medicine’s pungent odor filled the small room. Xie Yan blew out the candle and settled in beside him.
He fell asleep immediately.
Lu Yang couldn’t believe it.
He turned his head to glare at Xie Yan’s peaceful expression, then jabbed him with his foot.
“Do you know what a wedding night is for? I’m lying right here, and you’re treating me like a hot-water bottle!”
Xie Yan’s answer was simple:
“You’re hurt.”
That single sentence made Lu Yang’s irritation vanish.
So thoughtful.
“Fine,” Lu Yang said. “Then I want more chicken soup.”
Xie Yan started to get up.
There was no soup left, but there was still a chicken. If he started now, it’d be ready by morning.
Lu Yang shoved him back down.
“I meant your chicken soup.”
Xie Yan froze.
When he realized what that meant, all he could do was stammer.
Lu Yang found his flustered reaction delightful.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
Xie Yan groaned. “How am I supposed to drink regular chicken soup after this?”
Lu Yang grinned.
“Simple,” he said. “From now on, you can drink mine.”
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