Xie Yan was overjoyed. He was chattier than usual, excitedly recounting the whole drama from earlier like he was his husband’s personal cheerleader, showering Lu Yang with so much praise it could have made the stars blush.
“Ma, give it a little time—those village debts will be gone soon.”
With the way everyone was bickering and tearing each other down, all those so-called debts that had never really existed wouldn’t hold up for long. Before you knew it, the whole mess would fizzle out.
Zhao Peilan didn’t say much, just kept nodding as she listened, her eyes red with tears. She wiped them away over and over as she ate, touched to the heart. Every time she got emotional, she’d pick out bits of food and put them in Lu Yang’s bowl.
Even fish heads had a bit of meat. Zhang Tie had been too embarrassed to bring over just the bare bones, so he’d sliced off a bit of belly meat to go with them. Zhao Peilan carefully picked out that precious meat and made sure it all went to Lu Yang.
Lu Yang didn’t play polite. He smiled sweetly and said, “Thanks, Ma. I love fish!”
Hearing that made Zhao Peilan so happy. The whole family felt at peace, the warmth around the table filling the little home.
Later that night, after they washed up, everyone went to their rooms to sleep.
No chicken soup tonight, and Xie Yan was a little disappointed.
Lu Yang teased him. “You just craving my body, aren’t you?”
But soup wasn’t what was on Lu Yang’s mind anymore. His tone shifted. “There’s something I’ve been keeping from you.”
Xie Yan had a feeling he knew what was coming. Part of him wanted to stop Lu Yang from saying it, to run off somewhere and hide so he wouldn’t have to hear the truth.
He’d known for a while now that his husband wasn’t ordinary—but he’d been too scared to really think about it.
And now, whatever was hidden was about to come out. It was time to lay everything bare.
Xie Yan’s chest ached. Their family had carried so much, their life so bitter. Since Lu Yang had married in, he hadn’t had a single easy day—up before dawn, working himself ragged outside, handling things at home, cleaning up the debts and dealing with all the village bullies. Xie Yan’s heart hurt to see it.
He didn’t want to lose Lu Yang—but he understood.
He bit his lip and nodded, voice tight. “I know.”
Lu Yang felt this needed to be said properly. He pulled Xie Yan out of bed. The two of them, wrapped in their cotton coats, sat side by side on the brick bed, looking at each other.
This little cramped room had felt stifling at first, but now Lu Yang was used to it. He didn’t mind anymore. It felt good, actually—he only had to roll over to pull his scholar into his arms.
The bed was short, the room tiny. Even though it was a full platform bed, it was smaller than most. Whenever they rolled over, they’d bump into the wall and knock down bits of plaster.
And every time that happened, Xie Yan’s face would turn red with embarrassment.
Lu Yang always joked he’d find time to glue up the walls with Xie Yan’s manuscript pages. Let all those lines of Confucian wisdom surround their bed and bear witness to their shamelessness.
That always made Xie Yan burn with shame—and when that happened, he got bold, pressing closer, trying to shut Lu Yang up with kisses. And Lu Yang would just laugh.
Lu Yang’s thoughts drifted, and when he came back to himself, he realized he’d been daydreaming again.
Good thing it was late at night, or he might’ve run off to stir up more trouble.
He took Xie Yan’s hand. Both of them were nervous, but the touch gave him strength.
“I found out this afternoon. I knew I had to tell you, but I kept feeling unsettled, so I kept myself busy—ran around, got back early, went to watch that mess in the village… I was just thinking about patching up the walls, too.”
Xie Yan saw his chance and said, “Then don’t say it. Okay?”
Lu Yang felt that silly, sweet concern and it gave him the courage he needed. The words that had been stuck in his throat finally came out smooth.
“I’m Lu Yang. Yang as in poplar tree.”
Xie Yan repeated it softly, holding his hand so tight his fingers turned red. “Lu Yang.”
Lu Yang glanced down, heart steady now, and smiled. “I’m your husband.”
Xie Yan’s joy was like a wave—first shock, then delight, rising and crashing all at once. He was so happy, it brought him back to life, and the tears came too.
Lu Yang wiped them away. “Look at you—not much of a man, are you?”
But Xie Yan held tight to his hand, voice soft like a plea but firm as could be. “Teach me.”
Lu Yang kissed him.
He’d been wanting to kiss him ever since he got back.
And of course, once he kissed him, he had to nip at him a little—had to taste for himself how sweet his scholar really was.
……………………………………………………………………..
Once the market trip was over, Lu Liu returned to his quiet mountain routine.
Li Feng had been craving clay pot porridge. That night, when boiling water, Lu Liu added some extra firewood, and once the house quieted down, he set the porridge to slow-cook through the night, adding slivers of ginger and minced meat. By morning, when he brought the pot into the kitchen, the rich aroma of porridge filled the air.
Clay pot porridge had its own unique toasty fragrance, like the crispy rice at the bottom of a steamed rice pot, only a bit stickier and softer in scent, not as intense.
The fire had been strong, and some of the rice stuck to the sides of the clay pot, forming crispy, golden crusts.
Not wanting to waste anything, Lu Liu poured out the porridge, added hot water to the pot, and left it on the stove’s edge to keep warm.
After he’d tidied up the supplies from the market and got everything in order, he checked back. The crust had softened from soaking, and he poured it out—another bowl of porridge. It was a bit watery now, the rice fragrance faded, so he just ate it with pickled vegetables and flatbread, making do for breakfast.
The day after his wedding, Lu Liu had already gone through the house inside and out, tidying up. When Li Feng later wanted to find those crumpled paper flowers from the wedding, Lu Liu thought for a second and knew right where they were—in the woodshed, covered by several unused bamboo baskets to keep the dust off.
Dust they’d kept away, but not the damp. The crumpled flowers were made from red paper—cheaper and more practical than fabric flowers, but easier to ruin too.
Lu Liu took them out and carefully set them on a sieve to spread out in the sun.
In the village, weddings usually used paper flowers like these. Some folks didn’t even bother with flowers—just picked an auspicious day, brought the bride or husband home, let the neighbors know, and that was that.
So throwing a banquet wasn’t common either. That was for the wealthier families.
According to Yao Fulang, there had been quite a few weddings lately in the village, but none as lively as Li Feng’s. The next biggest had been the Sanmiao family’s—set for the Laba Festival, and they’d started planning it a month in advance.
Other households had made a bit of noise, maybe hired a small band for the wedding procession, but most only set out a table or two for close family to share a meal. They wouldn’t invite the neighbors.
This led Yao Fulang to casually explain why Chen’s husband didn’t like Lu Liu.
“He married into our village thanks to your mother-in-law’s matchmaking. Thought he was something special—collected twelve taels of silver for the bride price, had three banquet tables, and with Da Feng as his brother, he strutted around like a big shot. After the wedding, he tried throwing his weight around, promising this and that. But Da Feng didn’t lift a finger to help him, and he ended up losing face. Then not long after, you came along—your wedding was even grander. Sure, you’re both from Chenjiawan, but you grew up in town. You’re not like him, just some village boy. It eats him up inside. He only has to see you for a minute before he’s fuming.”
Chen’s husband was actually the child of Chen Guizhi’s eldest brother—so family was close.
His match hadn’t been a bad one, either. His bride was one of Li Feng’s regular hunting partners—a good friend. Chen would be at the feast too.
Lu Liu thought about all this and felt a little nervous.
He really wasn’t good at arguing. And on such a joyful occasion too—what if Chen picked a fight with him? What would he do?
Sigh.
Lu Liu went back to tending the paper flowers, worried the wind would carry them off. He went inside, grabbed a mesh cover, and set it over them. That way no matter how the wind blew, the flowers stayed put on the sieve.
Mesh covers were something every household had, especially near the woods where there were lots of birds. Without one, the grain, dried goods, or even meat set out to dry could be pecked at.
With that sorted, Lu Liu went to feed the rabbits.
No need to feed Er Huang—the dog had already been fed by Li Feng that morning.
The rabbits were doing well; their fur was looking softer and healthier. They’d gotten used to living in the doghouse and weren’t wary when Lu Liu came near—just waited for their food.
The rabbits ate, drank, and relieved themselves in the doghouse. Since they were kept in a cage, they couldn’t get out. But still, it made the place smell, and poor Er Huang’s home was a mess.
Er Huang’s mate hadn’t even messed up the place like this, and Lu Liu felt bad.
So he moved the rabbit cage over to the mule shed, then cleaned out the doghouse, carrying out the old straw, bringing in fresh straw, and spreading it out warm from the sun.
Er Huang let out happy little howls, wagging his tail like mad, circling around Lu Liu with his big round doggy eyes shining with joy.
