Sunlight slipped through the gap, slanting in as a narrow beam. It was beautiful.
Back then he’d been too busy to notice.
He kept that hole there right up until the rainy season came.
He liked sunny days. On clear days, he could watch the sunlight during the day, and at night he could look at the stars.
His eyesight kept getting better. The stars he saw grew clearer and clearer, no longer just blurry blobs of light.
“Before, I’d head home before it even got dark. Once night fell, I’d lie down. I never looked up at the stars.”
On the rare occasions he got up at night and went outside into the courtyard, he only watched the ground beneath his feet. He never looked up.
Lu Liu told Li Feng, “Ever since I’ve been with you, I look up all the time. You’re taller than me—when I look at you, I have to tilt my face up. I get to see so many different skies. Sometimes you’re facing the sun, and it hurts my eyes. Sometimes you’re backlit by it, and the sky behind you is so blue. Last winter, when I looked at you, everything behind you was a vast stretch of white—you stood out so clearly. At night I still don’t like going out much. When I used to wait for you outside the courtyard, I only watched the road, not the sky. But it’s so open here—just looking down the road, I can still see stars in the distance. When you come home at night, it’s like you’re wearing the stars.”
He didn’t realize it himself—he rambled on and on, his eyes fixed on Li Feng the whole time, never once lifting them to actually look at the stars.
Li Feng said, “If you weren’t shy, I could make a bamboo bed, hang a mosquito net around it, and we could sleep outside. You could fall asleep wrapped in starlight.”
Lu Liu was shy.
He didn’t want to sleep wrapped in stars. He wanted to sleep holding Li Feng.
“I want the babies to be born soon. I really want to hold you.”
Li Feng felt his heart melt.
With Lu Liu, his heart softened day by day—melting again and again—until it became soft enough for Lu Liu to settle there, to openly tie a rope around it, to give him something to worry over, something to long for.
The hot water was ready. Lu Liu went to fetch clothes while Li Feng poured the water into the tub.
Li Feng still had things to do. He planned to have a shallow bathtub made, about knee-high. If Lu Liu held onto something, he could step right in.
It wouldn’t be as comfortable as a big tub, but it would be convenient. There were still a few months before the baby was born—he’d need to bathe during that time.
He decided to go to a carpenter the next day to have one made.
A lantern was lit in the courtyard. Lu Liu walked over by himself.
His face was flushed. He undressed quickly and teased mischievously, “Da Feng, right now you can’t look like you’re craving chicken—you have to look like you’re craving a horse. Because you want a horse, and for now, you don’t have one.”
You couldn’t eat the chicken, but you could still touch it—take advantage in other ways.
Li Feng reached out, pulled him close, and helped him undress.
His hands were busy but purposeful. It looked like he was touching at random, but to Lu Liu, it felt like every inch of his skin was being reached.
After that, Lu Liu behaved himself, soaking obediently in the tub.
Li Feng scrubbed his back, and Lu Liu leaned forward.
He couldn’t reach his own back and didn’t know whether it was dirty or not.
He asked if it was dirty.
Li Feng said it was fragrant.
Lu Liu huffed twice and ignored him.
After the bath, Lu Liu felt relaxed all over, lazy and loose.
Back in the room, he sat instead of lying down.
If he lay down, he’d have to lie on his side—and lying on his side meant he couldn’t see Li Feng.
There were still things he wanted to say.
Lu Liu had one more thing on his mind.
He wanted to let Li Feng eat chicken. He was afraid Li Feng would hold it in too long and suffer for it.
That day he’d finally thought it through—if other ways were inconvenient, he could use his mouth.
Li Feng only let him touch the chicken.
“I didn’t marry you until I was twenty-three. I wasn’t ruined before that—what’s there to be afraid of?”
Lu Liu didn’t understand why he couldn’t use his mouth. In the drawings, there were scenes like that.
Li Feng thought for a moment and said, “After the baby’s born, we can do whatever makes us happy. For now, let’s not. It’s too much for you.”
Lu Liu felt warm inside. He leaned into Li Feng’s arms. After touching him for a while, he remembered that Li Feng had once asked him to lick. This time Li Feng hadn’t said anything—but Lu Liu did it anyway. The chicken he’d lulled to sleep stood right back up.
Lu Liu froze for a moment, then looked at Li Feng and smiled.
“Da Feng, did I… cheer you up?”
“Da Feng, did I cheer you up?”
Li Feng’s soul practically got coaxed right out of him.
They didn’t fall asleep until very late. Lu Liu was so sleepy he was half out of it. When the embrace from behind wrapped around him, he realized he wasn’t uncomfortable at all.
He discovered that he just liked sticking close to Li Feng. As long as he was in his arms, it didn’t matter which side he leaned on.
When he slept on his side, one arm always dangled uselessly in the air, leaving him feeling oddly empty. The bamboo pillow wasn’t great either—too high, too low, never quite right. He’d usually cushion his belly first. As for his arm, he’d just tuck it however he could.
After a while, he got used to it.
Now he could sleep holding Li Feng’s arm, his hands restless, always touching the calluses on Li Feng’s palm and fingertips.
He had calluses too, though much thinner. When their hands clasped, it was like two pieces of sandstone rubbing together.
They were both hardworking people. They worked, they lived—there wasn’t nothing but chicken on their minds. Thinking that, Lu Liu chuckled softly.
Li Feng kissed the back of his neck and told him to stop moving.
Lu Liu stilled his fidgeting feet. “Mm,” he answered.
“Da Feng, I’m going to sleep.”
“Mm. Me too.”
A good sleep. Good dreams.
Lu Yang rested for two days. He went to bed early and woke late, drifting through the days in a daze.
He didn’t like how soft and listless he felt. He always tried to struggle upright. Several times, when he opened his eyes and realized where he was—realizing this was his new home—only then did he relax.
It was as if some faint unease still lingered in his subconscious, only stretching out its feelers when his body and mind were completely unguarded.
That unease couldn’t stand the light.
Once Lu Yang closed his eyes and went back to sleep, it naturally faded away.
When he was home, Xie Yan liked to make nourishing soups and stews for him, saying he wanted to fatten him up until he was fair and plump.
Lu Yang said he was being raised like a pig, which made Xie Yan so mad his lips jutted out.
Lu Yang didn’t have any particular favorite foods. When people can’t get enough to eat, they crave food desperately—whatever others eat, they want too.
If he was starving while watching others eat, even poor ingredients would look like delicacies to him.
Now he lacked nothing. He could eat whatever he wanted—and instead, he had no cravings at all.
He didn’t care for sweets. He didn’t want meat. Three meals a day, warm and filling, were enough.
Once he’d rested enough, he went to sit at the shop.
Ginkgo and Pomegranate treated him with great respect, admiration shining in their eyes. When they called him “big brother,” they sounded thrilled, and they never dared do anything out of line.
With Lu Yang in the shop, the two of them behaved even more carefully—backs straight, movements stiff and proper.
Lu Yang wasn’t sure when the rush harvest would start. He needed to let Lu Lin and Zhang Tie take time off early to go home.
As soon as he arrived at the shop, he gave the couple a day off. They couldn’t sit still, so he told them to go stroll around town.
“Buy some meat, pick up some sweets. You’re about to put in hard labor—eat well at home.”
Seeing how firm he was, Lu Lin called Zhang Tie along, and the two of them went out.
After they left, Lu Yang grabbed a small stool and sat at the shop entrance.
They’d built a stove inside the shop. Steaming buns and mantou was more convenient—but also much hotter.
Outside, there was sunlight and a breeze. It was cooler than indoors.
He took out his embroidery basket, brought fabric and needle and thread. When there were no customers, he stitched a few lines.
After Ginkgo and Pomegranate finished their work in the kitchen and came out front, they didn’t see him and nearly panicked. They hurried outside and only relaxed when they saw him sewing.
Lu Yang called them over to sit and chat.
The two were paternal cousins. Their grandfathers had been brothers—still within five degrees of kinship—and they lived in the same village, growing up close.
When they first came to the county town, neither was very talkative, just hardworking. Now they were more open, but their mouths still weren’t practiced.
When Lu Yang asked questions, they answered. When he didn’t, they stayed quiet, sitting on either side of him, watching him closely.
Lu Yang asked them, “Do you want to know what the prefectural city is like?”
