Wang Fengnian’s tears fell instantly.
It was far too cold to be crying in the winter wind.
Lu Yang wiped them away, left him a handkerchief, and told him to head home first.
“Da Song probably told you already, right? I bought some farmland near Lujia Village and hired two tenant families to work it. By the end of the year, I’ll handle moving my father’s grave, calculating the right day to do it. I’ll come back to visit, attend the pig-slaughtering feast at eldest uncle’s, give his little grandsons a gift, and then we’ll stay in the village for New Year.”
Stay in the village for New Year…
Wang Fengnian froze again. The change in his expression caught Lu Yang’s eye—like grey beads suddenly catching the light. Surprise, delight, joy, and a hint of excitement shimmered there.
He glanced back at Xie Yan and Zhao Peilan still in the cart, suppressing his feelings. “Better not. Your mother-in-law’s still here—it wouldn’t be good to spend New Year with me,” he urged Lu Yang.
Lu Yang reminded him, “Forget not—we have land near Lujia Village, tenant families living there, so there’ll be houses to sleep in.”
Only then did Wang Fengnian break into a full smile. Normally taciturn, his face lit up with warmth.
The brothers were similar, except time had worn him down.
Lu Yang urged him to head home, and Wang Fengnian agreed.
Watching the two fathers walk away, Lu Yang felt faint ripples of emotion stir within him. Not earth-shattering, no crashing waves—more like raindrops falling from the sky, touching the heart and sending concentric ripples outward. Gentle, subtle, continuous.
It was at this moment he truly understood the bond of blood.
He could understand their situation, and so he bore them no ill will.
Because of this blood-bound affection, he was willing to continue the ties that connected them.
Turning back to the road, Lu Yang climbed into the cart, rubbed his hands together, held his mother’s hand with one, and reached forward to let Xie Yan hold the other.
One hand for each, his mood bright, he smiled without speaking.
Zhao Peilan asked, “Look at you, so happy. What did your papa just say?”
Lu Yang replied, “Nothing much. We’ve been busy all year, yet the whole family is together—that’s a great joy. Back in the county, I’ll fetch ingredients from the shop, set a table, offer some wine, and pay respects to father, telling him about moving the grave. At year’s end, we’ll celebrate on the farm. This is our ancestral property—we’ll celebrate the New Year with papa.”
Zhao Peilan laughed, recalling Lu Yang previously mentioning having the in-laws manage things, oversee the graves, and more. The memory made her laugh less now.
She hesitated, asking, “Yang Ge’er, did you just tell them?”
Lu Yang squeezed her hand. “Not yet, mother. Don’t worry, I won’t say anything. It’s good you held me back, stopped me from making a mistake. I wasn’t ready for that.”
Xie Yan, curious, asked, “What mistake? You still make mistakes?”
Lu Yang didn’t hide it, but didn’t explain on the road. He felt a bit coquettish, preferring to tell the story at home.
Speaking plainly, Xie Yan choked on the wind, coughed, but still laughed, finishing the words through the cough.
“All right, I’ll wait. Mother, you heard it—be my witness. He said it himself!”
Zhao Peilan, now middle-aged, had to endure their display of affection—truly overwhelming.
She muttered, urging Xie Yan to hurry the horses along.
Quickly home, quickly cook, quickly pay respects—she wanted to speak to Xie Yan’s father.
Understanding her meaning, Xie Yan urged the horses forward, eager to get home.
Back in the county, the three of them set a table and held a feast.
Lu Yang and Xie Yan busied themselves in the kitchen, letting Mother warm the kang so the room would be cozy.
The kang in this room connected to the main hall’s two stoves. They usually weren’t used, but had been sealed with stone slabs.
Now it was like having two fireplaces: one warming the kang, the other the main hall.
They set the table in the hall with five dishes and one soup—quite lavish. The wine was rice wine, for ceremonial purposes. They first offered wine and food to pay respects to Xie Yan’s father, then began the meal.
Lu Yang toasted to his mother, acknowledging her effort in helping him run around.
In Lizhai Yuan, she was unfamiliar with people, shy, and the place was cold.
Zhao Peilan didn’t feel hardship or grievance; she was happy to be included wherever Lu Yang went.
Lu Yang then toasted Xie Yan, explaining his long journey home and how he hadn’t attended to him for several days.
Xie Yan laughed, drinking the rice wine. “Jingzhi, what’s this politeness?”
Lu Yang didn’t see it as politeness. Some things must be said, must be expressed.
Among family, one shouldn’t be too calculative; acknowledging each other’s efforts was enough.
He asked about Xie Yan’s studies and life in the prefectural city.
Xie Yan said everything was fine: “I’m familiar with my classmates now. Previously, classes were one month every two months; now it’s two months every one month. I’m top in the monthly exams. Some classmates ask to discuss essays privately, and I explain to them thoroughly—they say I’m considerate. Instructors notice my consistent attendance and are friendlier than before. My relationship with Master Cui is also good; he’s altered his approach in chess and helps me review essays and teaches me new things.”
Lu Yang waited until year-end to ask, ensuring other matters wouldn’t distract Xie Yan, and asked if he wanted to stay in the prefectural city to study. Xie Yan hesitated briefly, then nodded.
“The prefectural school has so many books I haven’t read. I want to read more.”
Lu Yang turned to Zhao Peilan: “Mother, how about this—after New Year, A Yan goes to the prefectural school, and we follow a month later, handling family matters first?”
Knowing Lu Yang had changed his plan, she had no objections.
She guessed they would build a mill and buy a donkey after the New Year, and indeed they would—so she had no further objections.
Hearing they’d also go to the prefectural city, Xie Yan’s face brightened with excitement.
He suddenly remembered Wu Pingzhi, wanting to ask if he was going too.
Lu Yang was puzzled: “You traveled with Master Wu; didn’t he tell you?”
Xie Yan had been enjoying the ride, chatting about daily life, never discussing going to the prefectural city.
Lu Yang told him Wu Pingzhi’s plan: “He’ll go after April next year. We’ve set a date to visit him.”
Xie Yan remembered. He had new thoughts on examination essays and could teach Wu Pingzhi. He also considered staying longer in the county if needed to finish teaching.
After chatting, eating and drinking, they cleaned up, boiled water, washed, and went to their rooms.
Inside, Xie Yan’s eyes signaled Lu Yang to come and be spoiled.
In the small room, he stood in the middle, arms outstretched, waiting for Lu Yang to fall into his embrace.
Lu Yang didn’t fall immediately, making him sit on the kang, adjusting his posture multiple times—sitting, lying, none satisfactory. He finally settled leaning against the desk, facing the kang, and Lu Yang was satisfied.
Xie Yan said, “So serious, so attentive.”
Once Lu Yang sat on his lap, he was silent, thinking the effort had been worthwhile.
He held Lu Yang close, adjusting him slightly, arms wrapping around his waist, not letting him leave.
“All right, now you can be spoiled.”
Spoiling required naturalness; a long prelude dulls the feeling. With thick clothing and their close embrace, there was little intimacy yet. Paired with Xie Yan’s silly smile, there was still no hint of romance.
Lu Yang lifted a hand to his shoulder, stared at Xie Yan, touched his jaw’s faint stubble and slightly messy brows, asking, “Want me to shave and tidy your brows? I can do it.”
Xie Yan wanted to keep the stubble—it made his face appear older.
Lu Yang told him to wait a few years: “I like it soft and tender.”
