Lu Yang felt pretty content. He no longer rushed through meals—he could chew slowly, savoring the texture, and even the slightly crunchy foods got extra attention. He wasn’t picky, and with other dishes on the table, there was plenty to enjoy.
They closed the courtyard gate before nightfall.
Dinner was at a small table in the kitchen to avoid carrying dishes back and forth. Water was heated on the remaining embers for the meal, and after eating, hot water was used to wash dishes and then for washing up.
Zhao Peilan asked Lu Yang to go read the letters. “I’ll handle the water,” she said.
Lu Yang didn’t rush and stayed with her for a while longer.
With just the two of them, snuggled together, the house finally felt alive.
He called Weimeng into the kitchen. The dog, already trained in the village, didn’t understand complex commands but knew dining etiquette—it recognized its bowl and didn’t misbehave in the kitchen.
Lu Yang cooked noodles for it with lard, adding shredded meat and greens. He stirred them, let them cool slightly, then served in the dog bowl. Weimeng wagged its tail happily and devoured the meal.
Previously, Lu Yang had tried to save money by buying pork offal from the butcher to feed the dog. But after trying it twice, it was too much hassle—the offal was smelly and cleaning it was tedious. He wasn’t idle at home, so he gave up on saving that small amount. Besides, his younger brother had said dogs could eat plain meals too—sometimes just rice mixed with vegetable broth was enough.
He also didn’t want to wash the offal or his clothes. Last year he had no choice, but now that it was warmer, there were only a few garments to wash, so it wasn’t a problem. In winter, he would hire someone to do it; they weren’t bothered by the cold. Zhao Peilan knew the wages, so she left it to him.
After washing up, the mother and son returned to their room to rest.
Lu Yang sat at the desk unpacking the letters. Xie Yan was truly amusing—the letters were even bound, like a proper book.
He realized that Xie Yan, who loved dismantling books, must have been frustrated at not being allowed to touch the prefectural library’s volumes.
Lu Yang looked at the neatly bound letters without opening them and smiled.
Xie Yan knew the proper format for letters, though he had little experience with friendships, and Wu Pingzhi was nearby, so he hadn’t really written letters to anyone.
Previously, Lu Yang had left him letters without much formality—just free writing. Xie Yan wanted to be casual too but couldn’t fully relax, so he treated it like homework: one entry per day, marked with the month and day.
The content was orderly, mostly about daily life, studies, and social interactions—like a daily self-reflection journal.
Flipping through several pages, Lu Yang saw how childlike Xie Yan was. Out in the world he could impress people and act like a little gentleman, but on paper, his words were innocent and charming.
He could write and draw. He illustrated the prefectural school’s small cafeteria, showing the layout, the outside view, the inside, even the taste of buns and congee.
Xie Yan had also kneaded dough and made buns at home. He found the school buns strange—uniformly large, so filling he could only eat one and a half before getting full. Following his usual appetite, he would get hungry before morning classes ended and snack on dried meat during breaks. He asked the book assistant, who would pinch the school buns into tiny balls—no wonder he hadn’t been satisfied.
He remarked: “They make buns so large—I’ve never seen such sneaky merchants.”
He only ate one meal in the cafeteria. Displeased with the buns, he judged the taste of other dishes poorly. Eventually, he bought buns anyway, bringing along mushroom and meat sauce to dip them in. This sauce proved popular; in a few days, he made friends with classmates and shared it with them.
He also noted that the prefectural school felt colder than outside, likely because the space was large, students were spread apart, and doors and windows were open. He counted six windows in his regular classroom, including both sides.
He drew this for Lu Yang, like he had for the cafeteria, including a small self-portrait demonstrating scale.
In the cafeteria sketch, Xie Yan was tiny with huge palms, holding buns the size of grains of rice—he called them “black-hearted little buns.”
In the classroom sketch, there were two Xie Yans: one measuring a window with outstretched arms, the other in the center, gesturing to Lu Yang, showing the window’s size.
He had put a lot of effort into these drawings, and fearing Lu Yang might be displeased, he added a note explaining that it wasn’t troublesome—it was a way to rest his mind between studies.
Lu Yang read that line twice, then flipped ahead, seeing more drawings: the family dining scene, showing three people at a small table, laughing together.
He missed home.
Lu Yang took another sheet of paper and wrote extensively. He told Xie Yan that the dog had arrived home—three mouths to feed, still awkward for now. Today he sat with his mother, chatting and dropping words, realizing the house needed all three together to feel complete.
He even touched his belly and wrote freely: “I wonder when I’ll be able to have a child, to bring more life and cheer into the house.”
After writing, he set the paper aside to dry and continued reading.
Xie Yan finally described the library, called the Quiet Room. He followed a strict format, recording small daily events to help Lu Yang become familiar with the space and Xie Yan’s routines.
The library was immense—Xie Yan’s first time seeing one of this size. Even private study rooms in the prefectural city couldn’t compare.
The first time he arrived, he stood at the entrance in awe.
The shelves numbered over ten per wall, and students moved between them selecting books.
It was post-lunch, sunlight slanting through the windowpanes, casting a sacred glow on anyone walking through.
His heart pounded as if drumming, leaving him in awe.
Despite the size, there were no desks—students either borrowed books to read elsewhere or stood to read. Those standing usually only glanced at books, rarely staying to read fully.
Xie Yan didn’t read immediately on his first visit. He wandered, pausing at each shelf.
He drew a color page for Lu Yang, including detailed sketches of the Quiet Room and a portrait of a small old man.
The old man is depicted hitting Xie Yan’s hand with a ruler.
The next page explained why: Xie Yan, impatient to grab books, read too quickly and tried to dismantle them, shocking the old man. The first time he was stopped, the second scolded, the third brought the ruler.
Xie Yan felt very wronged—he hadn’t been punished with a ruler for many years.
