“They say your bookworm just needs to push a little harder. Once he passes the imperial exams and enters officialdom, he’ll have the means to protect himself.”
Lu Yang was surprised. “Isn’t that harsh enough already?”
Luo Dayong shook his head. “A scholar’s pen is a killer’s blade. This is just a sip of water—still too weak.”
Luo Erwu laughed. “Don’t scare Yang-ge’er. He’s only seen a kitchen knife.”
Lu Yang wasn’t about to be outdone. He pointed at their swords. “I’ve seen these too.”
The three of them exchanged smiles.
After chatting a bit, Lu Yang offered to carry some vegetables for them. They declined—they already had enough to sell from their own gardens.
He gave them meat buns instead. As the stall was about to close, he handed over whatever buns were left, mixing big and small ones. The Luo brothers gratefully accepted and urged him to head home early.
“You don’t look so well,” they noted.
Lu Yang touched his face. “Really? Maybe I’m just tired—I went back to the village today.”
That explained it.
They advised, “Don’t exhaust yourself for money. You just returned from the prefecture. Rest for a while first.”
Lu Yang agreed.
That evening, he returned home, prepared dinner, and even started walking toward the private school before meeting Xie Yan halfway.
Xie Yan had been anxious to get home, practically running. Seeing Lu Yang, he froze for a moment, then his face lit up in delight, making Lu Yang’s heart flutter.
This bookworm was easily satisfied—seeing him was like seeing treasure.
Xie Yan loved him more than he loved Xie Yan.
Feeling secure, Lu Yang held his hand as they walked home together, bathed in the sunset glow.
“I made eggplant pockets and chive pockets,” Lu Yang said. “The wrappers were pan-fried on low heat until golden. I tried them—they’re crispy outside, tender inside. Even the bland taste is good. I left two pieces of crispy rice from tonight’s porridge for you to eat at home.”
Knowing Xie Yan liked a crunch, he also prepared a cucumber salad.
Xie Yan felt guilty and hesitant to accept this care.
“I didn’t even notice you were gone last night… and you didn’t blame me,” he murmured.
Lu Yang hummed, “Eat first. Afterward, I’ll deal with you.”
Xie Yan asked how he meant “deal with,” and Lu Yang teased, “I’ll eat you.”
Xie Yan thought he meant chicken soup at first, unsure whether this was punishment or reward.
After dinner and washing up, Lu Yang took some lip balm to apply.
Xie Yan leaned back in alarm. “I won’t let you put it on me.”
Lu Yang dabbed a little on his fingertip, leaned forward slightly, voice playful: “Really won’t let me?”
Xie Yan nodded.
So Lu Yang smeared the red balm across his own lips, making him look like a little demon who had just drunk blood—dangerously alluring.
Xie Yan leaned in. Lu Yang stepped back.
Xie Yan moved closer again, Lu Yang retreated.
This continued until Lu Yang pressed one finger lightly against Xie Yan’s lips, the red on it matching the color on his own lips.
Softly, he said, “Ah Yan, this balm is edible.”
Xie Yan opened his mouth, biting his finger, and licked it with his tongue.
Lu Yang instinctively withdrew his hand, but the bite held firm.
Xie Yan was “eating” him.
Lu Yang leaned in, and Xie Yan kissed him in return.
His kisses were messy, leaving marks on Lu Yang’s lips, which Lu Yang cleaned with his own lips and tongue.
That night, everything smelled sweet.
The night they returned from the county, the Li family’s oil lamps burned half the night.
Everyone returned to their rooms to rest, still buzzing with excitement.
The next morning, Li Feng left early to collect wild mushrooms.
Before heading out, he visited the houses of Sanmiao, Erjun, and Simou to explain the situation, asking them to help temporarily store the mushrooms.
Once the brothers came down the mountain, they’d negotiate the partnership details. If agreed, they’d work together; if not, wages would be paid.
No need to mention Wang Meng—Chen Jiu was already helping collect mushrooms. The family had set up rain shelters and cleared empty rooms for storage.
Li Feng also carried two jars of wine to the village chief’s house, notifying him of the deal—good news for their stronghold.
Later, when the business expanded, he planned to recruit a junior member from the chief’s household, ensuring things ran smoothly in the stronghold.
While Li Feng was busy outside, Lu Liu also had work to do.
Early that morning, Lu Liu went to the kitchen to cook.
He made a porridge mixing fine rice with half a bowl of milled wheat—a blend of refined and coarse grains.
He also kneaded some dough to steam buns in the afternoon. When there was free time, he could prepare fillings or steam filled buns.
Mother and Shun-ge’er were tidying mushrooms in the small shop.
The family’s mushrooms were stacked on the shop’s open space—over thirty baskets filling the area.
Da Feng would take some in sacks to deliver to the county, but afterward they were stored in baskets for breathability and to prevent crushing.
They spread out the mushrooms on round trays, roughly separating them, checking quality. A few were broken to test dryness: if dry enough, they were bagged; if not, they went back to the racks for sun-drying.
After kneading the dough, Lu Liu went to the backyard to feed Erhuang.
With so many animals, Erhuang had to assert his place—he had to be fed first, or he’d bark and whine all day.
Next in line was the mule, the family’s loyal companion, worth far more than Erhuang.
Mountain dogs weren’t expensive, usually just traded for big bones. Those familiar with the family often brought them home directly.
The mule needed fine fodder; Li Feng had stocked beans for it, adding them to the feeding trough occasionally, keeping the old companion happy.
Today, Li Feng took the mule out for work, making Lu Liu’s task easier.
He fed Erhuang, then the rabbits.
Rabbits weren’t as important as chickens, mainly because Lu Liu had less experience raising them. A small delay wouldn’t matter.
He had already lost three rabbits, two of them does, which had made him heartbroken.
After tending the rabbits, he moved on to the chickens.
Living in the stronghold had its perks—bugs crawled everywhere. Returning home the night before, he had taken his small insect basket and long chopsticks and caught half a basketful while chatting.
He remembered that much of the wood in the woodshed had been stored for a long time, likely with many insect eggs.
Patting the chickens, he went to the woodshed, pulled down two bundles of wood, and found lots of insects scrambling in the light.
Without hesitation, he returned to the backyard, holding each hen to feed on the insects.
All eight hens he caught survived.
Da Feng suggested not having too many roosters crowing—let them fatten before being slaughtered.
Lu Liu no longer craved chicken soup; he was tired of it. Saying this made him feel guilty.
But Da Feng suggested stir-frying the chicken instead. Pieces would be tender and juicy, full of flavor, unlike chicken soup, where the flavor is in the broth.
Lu Liu’s mouth watered immediately. Da Feng also mentioned roast chicken.
Da Feng had a special knack for enticing appetite—he described the roasted chicken, fish, and meat they’d had in the mountains, making Lu Liu incredibly hungry.
Lu Liu stared at the hens eating insects, wiped his mouth, and went inside to get his small bronze mirror to check his greedy expression.
So this was how obvious it was to be hungry for chicken.
Too obvious. He would need to restrain himself in the future.
He practiced making faces in the mirror.
Shun-ge’er called out, “Big brother!” noticing Li Feng had returned. Lu Liu hurried out to greet him.
