Li Feng asked him, “What about you?”
Lu Liu had gotten pretty good at understanding suggestive talk—even though this wasn’t an explicit question, he could read the look in Li Feng’s eyes. It was definitely a “chicken-eating” look.
He answered, “I’m clean too! I broke a sweat, so I quickly wiped down with hot water!”
Li Feng followed up with another question, “So when are you going to take a proper bath?”
Lu Liu blushed and thought for a moment. “After you finish making the rice cakes?”
Li Feng sweated a lot during work, and wearing thick cotton coats could get stuffy. He bathed more often than Lu Liu. But it was winter, and too-frequent bathing wasn’t good. Once the rice cakes were done, there wouldn’t be any more physically demanding tasks, so a proper bath would be nice—then another one after the Little New Year.
Lu Liu served him a bowl of pig stomach soup. He made sure to fish up all the pieces from the bottom for Li Feng and only took the small half-bowl of leftovers for himself.
Li Feng switched bowls with him and told him not to eat rice just yet—drink the soup first.
It felt so indulgent that Lu Liu almost couldn’t believe it. He and Li Feng went back and forth for a bit, but in the end, he listened and drank the soup, feeling deeply satisfied—his eyes even squinted with happiness.
Even though the pig stomach had been sitting a while and the soup wasn’t as rich as when it was fresh, to Lu Liu, it was still incredibly delicious.
He didn’t want to enjoy it alone—he insisted that Li Feng drink too. When Li Feng refused, Lu Liu started feeding him spoonful by spoonful.
Li Feng couldn’t even remember the last time someone fed him like this—maybe when he was a toddler. It made him want to laugh, felt weird, but he still ate every bite.
Ever since they got married, life had been simple and peaceful. A few eggs, a bit of meat, a pot of soup—that was enough to bring steady, lasting happiness. No complications. They ate when hungry, drank when thirsty, never nitpicked over who got more or less, or what was shared with others. Li Feng really liked that.
When he saw Li Feng willing to be fed, Lu Liu grabbed the big ladle and poured him three more scoops of soup—“You need to drink more water,” he said.
Li Feng wasn’t a fan of drinking water, for good reason. In the mountains, hunters tracked animals by their droppings. Animals also used urine to mark territory. When hunters entered the forest, they had to leave as few traces as possible. Dangerous predators could use those clues to backtrack and hunt them instead.
Of course, sometimes, when they found signs of a predator passing through, they’d pee on the spot as a challenge—to signal that a powerful human was here. If the beast wasn’t scared off, they’d just run.
Dinner was hearty that night. Lu Liu didn’t eat much rice; the soup filled him up. Afterward, seeing that half a bowl of pig stomach soup was still left, he warmed it on the stove and brought it out for Er Huang.
There was a rabbit living in Er Huang’s kennel. Even though Lu Liu had moved the rabbit to the barn during the day, the kennel still smelled musky. It was unavoidable. He wanted to treat Er Huang a little better.
He gave him the pure soup—no water added, no rice soaked in it. Er Huang licked it up with his tongue curled from delight. When the soup was gone, he licked the bowl clean. Clearly loved it.
Lu Liu felt deeply satisfied.
He realized he really loved watching people (and dogs) eat heartily, drink eagerly. It made him happy.
Back in the room, he soaked his feet before bed. Li Feng pulled a piece of firewood from the stove, letting the small flame gently toast a sesame rice cake.
“You hardly ate any rice earlier. You’ll be hungry later,” Li Feng said.
Lu Liu got hungry on the spot. As soon as he finished soaking his feet, he lay down on the warm brick bed and waited.
The rice cake was made from cooked glutinous rice and didn’t take long. He got to eat it right before bed—and it was so tasty, even his dreams smelled like sesame.
The next morning, when he woke up, he told Li Feng, “San Miao’s husband is really such a good guy.”
Sesame and rice cake were just a perfect match. Delicious. Addictive. Fragrant.
Li Feng chuckled and asked, “If I make you chicken, does that make me a great guy too?”
Lu Liu rolled his eyes. Why does he always find a way to bring up chicken? “You’re a bad man,” he muttered.
He was asking for trouble.
Li Feng threatened to grab a stick and give him a spanking.
“Wait till tonight. I have to go out this morning.”
The snow had stopped and the sky had cleared. Every household was taking their quilts out to wash and air. Li Feng reminded Lu Liu not to go to the river—just use hot water.
“We don’t have a lot of stuff, and we can wash fast. Don’t push it.”
Lu Liu nodded immediately, promising to follow instructions.
Li Feng, still worried he might sneak off and freeze himself, added, “Catching cold isn’t good for making babies.”
Lu Liu’s face changed. He nodded again, this time looking very serious.
Lu Liu truly cherished his little home. He really liked Li Feng and was fully content with their current life. Just the two of them in a big house, their daily range of activity was small—but Lu Liu still cleaned everything meticulously, wanting every corner to be just right.
A clean home felt fresh and calming. Everything in its place made life run smoothly.
There was still cured meat hanging out to dry. He told Er Huang to keep watch in the front yard.
The skies had cleared, so Lu Liu changed out the dry straw in Er Huang’s bedding.
He dismantled and washed all the laundry—clothes, quilts, even the door curtains. Everything went into hot water. It cleaned better. He liked to crush soap beans and toss them in to soak with the fabric.
The washbasins were shallow and didn’t hold much, so he dragged out the bathtub and threw in the quilt covers and bedding sheets.
These weren’t like clothes—they didn’t get washed often. Lu Liu even brought out a chair, laid a board across the tub, and started scrubbing. He’d lift a piece of fabric, lay it on the board, and pound it with a wooden mallet.
The board was set across the middle, leaving both ends of the tub open. After pounding, the fabric would slide into the water again, turning it darker with dirt.
Lu Liu’s eyes widened in shock.
Oh my god!!
He had already washed these three times! First soaking them in the tub, then stomping on them in the basin, and finally scrubbing them again with a washboard.
He’d been at it all day and still hadn’t finished rinsing. When Li Feng came home, Lu Liu hadn’t even gotten to the clean-water rinse stage.
Li Feng told him to take a break, picked up the washed bedding, and took it to the river for rinsing.
Using hot water at home was warmer, but changing out the water over and over was exhausting. The river was faster—but freezing cold and rough on the hands. Each method had its pros and cons.
Li Feng was strong. Rinsing didn’t require scrubbing anymore. He just dipped the bedding into the river a few times, wrung it out, and brought it home.
By nightfall, there were usually very few people near the river. But families did live along that little riverside path.
When they saw Li Feng come out carrying a big basin of bedding to rinse, they all looked completely baffled—and kind of stunned.
What the heck?
Why was he doing laundry?
Didn’t he spend the day pounding rice cakes? Now he’s out rinsing bedding at night?
Someone called out to him, “Da Feng! Where’s your husband? Why are you washing the bedding?”
Li Feng casually made something up. “He’s cooking dinner. I wasn’t careful and dropped the covers on the floor. I figured I’d give them a rinse before we eat.”
Back in the day, if he’d said something like that, everyone would’ve believed him—he was known for being straightforward.
But now, things were different. There were only two people in that house, and gossip had been swirling through the village. People were saying he didn’t get along with his husband—that he had even beaten him so badly the poor man couldn’t get out of bed.
The gossip that had quieted down after the Laba Festival suddenly came roaring back—fueled by nothing more than a trip to the river.
Neither Li Feng nor Lu Liu had any idea. That night, Li Feng even dragged his husband onto the bed and gave him a “beating.”
The next day, he got up early and headed out with a group of men to keep pounding rice cakes. He heard nothing about the rumors.
Lu Liu stayed home, still cleaning and tidying. He was horrified by the dark water that came out of the bedding wash—he was dying to take every piece of Li Feng’s clothing and scrub it clean too!
He loved fussing over their little home. He’d been so busy that he hadn’t even stepped out in days, completely unaware of what people were saying out there.
That day, Yao Fulang went back to his mother’s house for a visit, bringing along some holiday gifts. It wasn’t far, and everyone around there knew each other. As soon as he sat down, he got pulled into conversation.
The hot topic? Li Feng washing bedding at the river.
Yao Fulang, not knowing the full story, casually chimed in, “Wow, Da Feng really spoils Lu Fulang. If I’d known he was only fierce with outsiders, I wouldn’t have married Da Qiang! Look at my hands—I’ve got chilblains just from one day of washing!”
He had just sat down and hadn’t heard the rumors yet. But that one line got him laughed at for ages. He was confused—until Sister Yao explained.
What? Wait a minute—this whole “beat his husband to death” story… sounds familiar.
Didn’t someone say the same thing at his house not too long ago? How long has this rumor been floating around?
Hmm… last time, they said Li Feng beat his husband so badly he couldn’t get out of bed. Now they’re saying he outright killed him.
Yao Fulang: “…”
If Lu Liu hadn’t just sent him a plate of sesame rice cakes, he might’ve believed it.
While cracking sunflower seeds, he scoffed at them. “You guys don’t know anything. Have you even seen those meat pies from the county? Ten wen apiece! Last time we went to the market, Da Feng kept nagging until Lu Fulang bought one. What other man is that generous, huh?”
