Lu Lin thought it over and decided to take the things back with him.
“We just split from the family. If I bring something home, it’ll make things feel a little better for them.”
Lu Yang went along with whatever he said.
When Lu Lin and his wife got off work, they kept the front door open a little longer. Lu Yang then wandered out onto the street.
He’d caught up on sleep that afternoon and felt refreshed. When he spotted Xie Yan turning the corner, his face flushed—the kind of pink that came from pure joy.
Xie Yan saw him coming and grinned foolishly. When he reached him, he asked—despite already knowing the answer—“What are you doing out here?”
Since he’d been asked, Lu Yang wasn’t going to answer.
“I’m just walking around in front of the shop. Problem?”
Xie Yan wrinkled his nose. He knew that wasn’t the truth. He asked again, “You came out to wait for me, didn’t you?”
Lu Yang refused to admit it. “What did I say yesterday?”
Xie Yan remembered. Lu Yang had said he’d warm the bed and wait.
A bit of disappointment flickered through him.
When the shop closed, Xie Yan went back to the room to drop off his schoolbag. Seeing the quilt in disarray on the heated kang, he paused. On impulse, he reached over and touched it.
Lu Yang had napped earlier—there was still a faint trace of warmth left inside.
Xie Yan couldn’t help smiling again.
It had been a while since they’d “become top scholar and drink chicken soup.” Tonight, whatever they did, they were in a rush.
They ate a dinner of leek-and-egg dumplings, and Xie Yan hurried to prepare their “dragon-phoenix soup.” By the time he came back, climbed up onto the kang, and the sky had gone completely dark.
As always, Lu Yang undressed first.
“Hurry up. If you don’t get into the exam hall soon, your chicken soup’s gonna get cold.”
Even Xie Yan, clever as he was, couldn’t decipher that jumble of nonsense. Still—lights out, onto the kang, and let scholarly virtue be thoroughly trampled.
He wanted to be gentle, but Lu Yang told him the blunt truth: “You don’t have much strength to begin with, so don’t go soft. Otherwise all that craving was for nothing.”
Craving…
Xie Yan felt himself ignite from the inside out.
And he rose to the challenge.
A pork knuckle should be eaten with big hearty bites—that’s when it tastes best. But Lu Liu had never eaten one that way.
It was a dish served only on occasions. With a whole table of people vying for it, there was no chance to eat freely.
Li Feng had bought a huge knuckle from the county—over three jin.
They prepared it that same evening. First, singeing off the hair over the stove fire, then soaking and cleaning it. After that, it went into cold water to bring out the scum, then into the pot for braising.
Chen Guizhi handled the cooking. Lu Liu hovered beside her, learning, his eyes shining, absolutely craving it.
It was a fresh knuckle, made with the traditional farmhouse method—scallions and ginger at the bottom, some dried orange peel, soy sauce for color and aroma, sugar for balance, and a splash of wine. Expensive ingredients.
After it went in, they added boiling water and covered it to simmer. The knuckle was huge—getting it perfectly tender would take an hour or two.
They usually prepared it at night, setting it on the stove to braise slowly. Feed the fire two sticks of wood now, another before bed. No need to wait till midnight—before dawn, the scent would already slip from the cracks of the lid, trail into their noses, and stir every last craving awake.
Half-asleep, half-awake, breathing in that smell, Lu Liu opened and closed his mouth and—chomped twice on Li Feng’s chest.
He liked sleeping on top of Li Feng, but now that he had a belly, that wasn’t ideal. So they slept on their sides, facing each other. Lu Liu was small; no matter how he slept, Li Feng could wrap him up completely.
Whether he lay on top or curled on his side, he could always reach Li Feng’s chest with his teeth.
He had never bitten him before.
But this time, he startled Li Feng awake.
Li Feng instinctively swatted around, thinking an insect had crawled in.
His fingers brushed soft skin—his little husband’s cheek. Following the damp, ticklish sensation, he found Lu Liu’s tongue.
Li Feng burst into a laugh.
“If only you had this skill when eating chicken.”
Lu Liu was chewing with gusto—but “gusto” wasn’t the right word.
He’d finally gotten his mouth on something, but couldn’t taste anything. He grew anxious—and then his tongue was pinched.
He whimpered twice, aggrieved.
That dragged him fully awake.
And he discovered the culprit—Li Feng was playing with his tongue.
With his tongue restricted, his words slurred.
“What are you doing?”
“Catching a little greedy bug.”
Lu Liu shrank his head.
He definitely shouldn’t have been caught dreaming of gnawing on pork knuckles.
But Li Feng asked, “How many knuckles did you eat in your dream?”
Lu Liu stammered, unwilling to admit it.
Li Feng said, “Be honest and I’ll take you to eat real knuckle.”
Lu Liu licked his lips and confessed, “Seven or eight… and none of them had any flavor. Drove me crazy. With something that big and expensive—if it’s not braised through, it’s such a waste.”
Li Feng released his tongue and pinched his nose. “Smell it—tell me if it’s fragrant. Think it’s ready?”
Lu Liu sniffed hard several times. The aroma made his legs kick under the quilt.
He hugged Li Feng and whined, “Da Feng, Da Feng, it smells so good… I want some. Is it done yet?”
He didn’t want to seem too greedy, so he added, “It’s not me who’s craving—it’s the baby. Our little Zhuangzhuang wants pork knuckle.”
Li Feng touched his belly, amused. “Does our Zhuangzhuang know he wants pork knuckle?”
Lu Liu nodded vigorously. “He knows. He wants some. He’s still in my belly, so I have to work hard and eat it for him.”
Li Feng could barely keep from laughing. He patted him, got up, lit a candle, and went to check the pot in the main room.
He found a pair of chopsticks and poked the knuckle. It was soft, though still not fully tender. Enough to carve off a piece to satisfy cravings.
He went to the kitchen, grabbed a small bowl, scooped a bit of cold rice from the cupboard, and pressed it into a curve at the bottom.
The rice was cold, so he placed a thick slice of hot braised knuckle on top and spooned broth over it to warm it through.
The moment he brought the bowl back, his little husband melted into sweetness—smiling, glowing, practically bubbling over.
Li Feng set the kang table in front of him.
Lu Liu lay over it eagerly. Seeing only one bowl, he asked, “Da Feng, aren’t you eating?”
Li Feng said, “Zhuangzhuang isn’t in my belly. I can’t help him eat.”
Lu Liu flushed, grumbling softly. He poked the knuckle with his chopsticks, picked out the best piece, dipped it in the sauce, and fed the first bite to Zhuangzhuang’s father.
“Zhuangzhuang says you can have some.”
Li Feng asked, “And what about little Liu? Does he let me eat?”
Little Liu let him too.
Lu Liu had eaten well at dinner; he wasn’t actually hungry—just craving. They shared the bowl.
He liked fatty knuckle, but since it wasn’t fully braised, the fat didn’t have the melt-in-your-mouth texture he wanted. So he ate mostly lean pieces. The sauce was delicious; he had two bites of rice as well. Li Feng finished the rest.
When the illicit midnight snack was done, they rinsed their mouths and pretended nothing had happened, sleeping straight till morning.
At dawn, Shun-ge got up early to check the knuckle.
The moment he lifted the lid, he saw a chunk missing.
“!!!”
“Mom! Big brother! Someone stole the knuckle!”
Lu Liu heard the shout through his half-dream haze and wanted to crawl into the mattress out of embarrassment. He didn’t want to go outside at all.
Li Feng answered without shame, calling through the door, “I ate it. I was hungry.”
Shun-ge licked his lips and muttered, “I was hungry too… and you didn’t call me.”
Li Feng said, “I didn’t even call your sister-in-law. Why would I call you?”
Shun-ge was shocked. “You didn’t even call sister-in-law?”
Lu Liu burst into muffled laughter under the covers.
Li Feng pulled him out. “Are you getting up? You can have knuckle now. I’ll cut you the fatty part.”
Lu Liu got up instantly.
Knuckle for breakfast—greasy, yes.
But they ate happily.
Lu Liu cooked fresh rice, and even made crispy rice crust. The four of them each took a plate—crust at the bottom, two spoonfuls of rice on top.
