San Miao had both hands on the dog. Weimeng had already recognized its owners; its clingy nature was selective, sticking to Lu Yang and Zhao Peilan, while toward outsiders it was friendly but not overly attached.
The more San Miao petted it, the more Weimeng barked at him, wagging and alert.
Miao Xiaohe stood aside, talking to Lu Yang about the mountain village.
The village was colder than the lowlands. Thin cotton jackets weren’t enough; thick clothes were necessary.
The drying fields had been completed, and now most mushrooms were sold there. Lu Liu’s little shop was bustling.
It was winter. People came to have books sewn and bound; some elderly couples took the books, sewed them nearby, chatting and laughing, earning a few coins. Some left empty-handed, then returned with money, all cheerful.
Miao Xiaohe said, “It might be a bit noisy at home. Da Feng’s sister-in-law is about to give birth; not sure if it will be chaotic.”
Lu Yang asked, “What does the midwife say? Around the same time as my brother? Will she feed my brother’s child?”
Miao Xiaohe blinked—he wasn’t expecting such bluntness. He was just trying to avoid awkwardness and be friendly; these matters were not so easily predicted.
Lu Yang planned to ask around in the village. If there was enough milk, the child wouldn’t need goat’s milk. One child needed milk; three children still needed milk.
But he didn’t want things to go poorly. If life went badly, jealousy could arise, and people might act out. He didn’t trust Wang Dongmei.
After staying two more days in the county, Lu Yang went to the shop to personally teach them, then, together with his mother, headed to the mountain village.
In the mountain village, Lu Liu’s body was growing heavier. Since Li Feng left, he hadn’t written for days. Today, thinking his brother would arrive, he tidied up his papers and notebooks, organizing his scattered thoughts to be ready to speak with him.
While tidying, he noticed the letter Li Feng had left.
The envelope bore three large characters: “For Xiao Liu.”
Lu Liu blinked, unsure when Li Feng had written it.
He sat at his desk and opened the letter.
It was thick, though each page held little writing.
Lu Liu, obedient by nature, read carefully from beginning to end, without skipping.
Li Feng began by listing prices: a pound of rice four to six wen, a pound of flour seven wen, a pound of meat thirteen wen, a pound of oil twenty-three wen… all the household expenses were tallied. He then reassured Lu Liu that basic sustenance required little money—three taels of silver would suffice to keep them well-fed for a year.
At this point, the letter seemed to skip a page. On the next, Li Feng wrote:
“This year we tried many things and gave up some along the way. It has been hard. You stayed home while I traveled far. I know it weighs on you, thinking you can’t help me or the family. I’ve thought a lot. No empty words: it is because of you that I can go far and see different worlds.”
Lu Liu stopped reading further. His emotions weighed heavily; he hadn’t contributed, yet felt like a burden.
The thick letter didn’t grow thinner as he read each page. Li Feng, busy with travel and learning, wrote carefully, each stroke deliberate.
Lu Liu pressed his lips together and read on.
Li Feng continued:
“You brought opportunities to me. Because you married me, Lu Yang favored our family. This mountain has nurtured many, but only we have carried its reputation to the prefectural city and beyond through traveling merchants. Don’t think yourself useless; your existence is our greatest value.”
Anticipating possible objections, the next pages read:
“Had you not remarried, and if Lu Yang and I were a couple, we wouldn’t have come this far. Some people are meant only to be friends, not partners.”
Lu Liu hurried to the next page: four simple characters—“Wait for me at home.”
His vision blurred; tears fell like rain.
He let the tears drop freely. Finally, he seemed to understand what Li Feng meant by a “living person.”
All his emotions could be embraced. Da Feng would not consider him troublesome or melodramatic. He didn’t need to fear, conceal, or partially hide anything. He could be himself, honest with all of him.
He was alive, and his existence had value.
This year had been difficult. They had tried many things, each giving up something, and yet he had gained the most precious care.
He realized how lucky he was. Initially, he had only wanted someone to shelter him. Now, he was loved by many.
Though short in stature, he didn’t need to compete to dominate; he could stand firmly, keeping a light burning for his family.
Lu Yang said he would stay in the mountain village for a while, though the exact dates were uncertain.
After Li Feng left, Shun’er patrolled the new village daily, waiting nearby. As soon as Lu Yang’s carriage entered, he would call out.
When Lu Yang’s carriage slowed in the new village, Shun’er waved enthusiastically, running toward them.
Lu Yang stopped the carriage. “What are you doing here?”
Shun’er said, “Waiting for you! My brother said he left, so you came. I’ve been waiting for days!”
So earnest, even in the freezing cold.
Lu Yang was touched, patting Li Feng’s shoulder.
“Eight-foot man, not hurting anyone at all.”
Shun’er pointed east, “Want to see the drying fields? It’s right there, very close, very big—one hundred baskets wouldn’t suffice.”
Lu Yang just checked the location today, intending first to visit Li Feng’s younger brother.
He had Shun’er climb into the carriage. Zhao Peilan sat inside, holding Weimeng.
Shun’er reached out to pet Weimeng.
“So fat, chubby dog, solid and meaty.”
Lu Yang: “…Enough commentary on its weight.”
He guided the carriage straight to the mountain village.
This time of year, many were arranging marriages. Matchmakers rode around on donkeys, visiting households.
On one road, many young men and women followed elders shyly.
Shun’er told them, “They’re going to meet potential matches. Many families aren’t satisfied with a proposal, so the matchmaker negotiates again. They gather a few families, meet each, then pick the best.”
Shun’er loved the hustle and bustle of the village. Curiosity drove him to ask these questions, though in recent years, as he had grown, the adults often teased him, asking if he was there to look for a husband—so he avoided the crowd.
Zhao Peilan peeked at the scene, having never seen so many matches at once.
Lu Yang asked Shun’er, “Has anyone come looking for you?”
Shun’er nodded. “A few months ago. My brother refused, saying you’d introduce. People still ask when I go out, what sort of person I’d be matched with. I say I haven’t seen anyone yet.”
Lu Yang asked, “Do you want me to help?”
Shun’er cupped his hand over his mouth, whispering, “Mother says she’ll find me a husband. No rush.”
Lu Yang explained about arranged marriages, “My godfather’s household has only one son, also arranged. They’re doing well.”
Shun’er had never seen a son-in-law brought in this way. He felt both joy and worry: joy at staying with family, worry over what kind of man he might find.
Lu Yang asked his thoughts, “Since it’s arranged, marrying a few years later is fine. Tell me what you think; I’ll keep an eye out.”
Shun’er had ideas but stayed shy: “I’ll listen to Mother!”
