With an ox to help, the work went smoothly. That vast, seemingly endless plot of land was plowed in just a couple of days. Yuan Zhao drove the ox to till the fields, while Shi Zhangshi followed behind with the children, scattering seeds and gathering grass.
Once the land was turned and the seeds sown, March passed in a blur of labor, and before they knew it, Qingming had arrived.
Shi Wuxiang had deliberately bought plenty of paper money and incense, including a bundle for Yuan Zhao, filling a large package.
He himself was unusually at ease; after all, having lived through the body of the original occupant, it was only natural to take on the responsibilities and duties left behind.
Spring rains were common around Qingming, and they were a boon for the crops; rain was always better than none.
At home, they had only two umbrellas—bought specifically by Shi Wuxiang on a rainy return trip—but it was clearly not enough for the six of them.
“Mother will take A-Yue,” Shi Wuxiang said, “I’ll go with Yuan Zhao. Ranran and Yuan’er stay at home. Don’t go out in the rain.”
Shi Zhangshi thought for a moment. “That’s fine.”
“I can go by myself,” Yuan Zhao said, a little embarrassed. As the eldest son of the Shi family, it seemed inappropriate for him not to be present for such a ritual.
“No matter, the offering is a matter of the heart,” Shi Wuxiang replied. He was not from this place and did not place much importance on performing rituals at an exact time. After all, what mattered was the intention; any act of remembrance was equal in sincerity.
Yuan Zhao could not argue with that, and now that he was married, having Shi Wuxiang accompany him was a mark of respect he was more than willing to accept.
With plans settled, they parted ways.
Although Shi Wuxiang’s father had handled matters in town, he was buried on a hill in Qingluan Village, giving Shi Zhangshi the confidence to claim the village as their home.
Yuan Zhao’s parents had died early, buried on a hill across the river from Xiahe Village. A narrow upstream path led to the graves on the opposite bank.
The fine rain had made the path muddy. Yuan Zhao carried a basket, leaving footprints in the wet soil, grateful he hadn’t worn especially clean clothes, or they would already be soiled.
Yet—
His gaze fell on Shi Wuxiang’s boots, originally white but now stained with mud, and a pang of guilt prickled at him.
“It’s nothing. If it bothers you, just clean them when we return,” Shi Wuxiang said, holding the umbrella and noting Yuan Zhao’s glance, offering reassurance.
“I’ll make them spotless,” Yuan Zhao said, reassured, and they continued up the hill together.
Many villagers ventured into the hills for Qingming offerings, so they encountered plenty of people along the way. Seeing Yuan Zhao and Shi Wuxiang together, expressions grew unusually complicated.
Although Yuan Zhao had been used as a “lucky charm” for a sickly child, everyone pitied him, never expecting him to come back thriving—and moreover, tall and handsome.
No matter how one looked at it, Yuan Zhao had gained quite a lot.
Graves in the village were grouped by household. Yuan Zhao’s parents’ graves were naturally near the senior Yuan family members. As they approached, they ran into the Yuan Daguang household.
“Oh, bringing some stranger to see your parents? Aren’t you afraid they’ll jump out and scold you, you little minx!” Wang Xiaohua spat venomously. Ever since Yuan Zhao left, the household chores had tormented her, yet he seemed to be doing well—infuriating her.
Shi Wuxiang’s handsome brows knitted in displeasure; he hadn’t expected Yuan Zhao’s relatives to start cursing on sight, yet Yuan Zhao seemed unbothered.
His mood was indifferent; he hadn’t intended to respond. But seeing Yuan Xiangxiang’s eyes glued to Shi Wuxiang sparked some anger in him.
“Aunt, what you said is interesting. Standing on my parents’ graves, insulting their son—if they climbed out, they’d take you away first,” Yuan Zhao said, the humor in his tone twisted by irritation.
Wang Xiaohua and Yuan Xiangxiang shivered but continued their verbal assault, undeterred.
Shi Wuxiang’s voice was stern. “Disrespect the dead, and even at the magistrate’s office, it will be you taking the punishment.”
Wang Xiaohua spat, intending to continue, but recalling Shi Wuxiang’s status, she swallowed her curse and resorted to veiled complaints instead.
Without naming anyone directly, Yuan Zhao naturally did not engage further. He walked a few steps ahead, crouching before his parents’ grave. The wooden marker had long-faded characters.
“Father, Mother, I’ve come to see you. Escaping that place where people eat one another, Yuan’er and I are doing well now. Life is tight, but at least we have enough to eat and no one beats us. Today it rained, and Yuan’er stayed home.”
“And also the one who came with me—” Yuan Zhao trailed off instinctively, his gaze sweeping toward Shi Wuxiang standing under a tree, holding the umbrella for himself.
He wanted to say “my husband,” but the truth was, they were husband and wife in name only, not in reality.
When he first learned that Shi Wuxiang was his benefactor, all he had in mind was repaying the kindness. He never thought about love or romance; he merely occupied the position by title.
Yet he was not a fool. During these days together, he felt a warmth he had never experienced before. To Shi Wuxiang, it might have been nothing—a small gesture here or there—but to him, whether it was worrying about the chilblains on his hands or noticing the fatigue from his work, that care felt different.
Shi Wuxiang, however, did not see it that way. He regarded him simply as a part of the family, no different than A-Yue or Ranran.
In Shi Wuxiang’s eyes, he was merely a dutiful, obedient younger brother.
“—Brother,” Yuan Zhao added slowly.
He had little to say to his parents; life now held more hope than before, and the tears had long been swallowed. With Shi Wuxiang still standing in the drizzle for him, the words spilled out quickly.
Shi Wuxiang brushed the water from his forehead and spoke softly, “Is that all?”
A faint smile touched Yuan Zhao’s face. “Yes. There’s really nothing to say. I just made you stand in the rain for nothing.”
“No matter,” Shi Wuxiang said, taking the umbrella and raising it. Seeing Yuan Zhao’s subdued mood, he didn’t press further.
They had come quickly and planned to return quickly. By the time they descended the hill toward the village, the rain had eased, though the sky remained gray, mirroring the heaviness in people’s hearts.
Villagers gathered in small groups, chatting quietly. Upon seeing Yuan Zhao and Shi Wuxiang, they immediately fell silent, scrutinizing the pair with open curiosity.
“Yuan Zhao has returned to pay respects,” someone remarked.
“Yes, even if I can’t fully honor my parents, at least I can try here,” Yuan Zhao replied openly.
Another asked, “Is this your husband? Handsome and proper… must be a scholar, right? You’ve really got lucky!”
Yuan Zhao’s spirits, previously low, lifted with the comment, and his face brightened noticeably. This was his nominal husband!
At fifteen, he was young, sharp, and quick-witted, but still sensitive. Hearing the teasing words, his cheeks flushed.
“Thank you for the compliment,” Shi Wuxiang smoothly took over the response. “It’s not about luck. Time’s getting on, Yuan Zhao, we should head back.”
He disliked nosy people who pried into every detail of others’ lives, as if they had a right to everything, and he wanted nothing to do with it.
Yet he kept his expression neutral, focused solely on getting Yuan Zhao home. He did not fully grasp the local customs, coming from a world where most people minded their own business, tolerant and unintrusive.
“Three days without returning home, and when we meet you, you don’t even acknowledge us. What kind of ungrateful child are you!” Wang Xiaohua’s sharp voice rang out, laced with resentment toward Yuan Zhao.
Their previous rift was no secret, so there was no need to hold back.
Yuan Zhao immediately countered, “Aunt, your words are harsh. The relationship has been severed for a long time. What loyalty is there left?”
Wang Xiaohua’s anger flared. Her face twisted in hatred. “Severed or not, we raised you all this time! Ungrateful brat!”
“You misappropriated my parents’ silver and land and treated Yuan’er and me like livestock. You are the shameless ones!” Yuan Zhao snapped, furious at their use of so-called ‘raising debts’ to guilt him. He felt like a cornered little leopard, clenching his fists, ready to leap at Yuan Xiangxiang if Wang Xiaohua continued.
Shi Wuxiang had only heard a few stories from Yuan Zhao’s mother, nothing that revealed the full hardship of his past.
He could not stand by while Yuan Zhao was verbally attacked, stepping forward to shield him, blocking Wang Xiaohua’s flying spit.
Frowning in disgust, he pinched her arm with precision. “You have a scholar in the family, yet you curse without manners. Don’t you know such behavior can ruin his future prospects? I may be only a scholar, but I’ve met the county magistrate!”
What?
Cursing could affect one’s son?
And this was someone who had actually met a county magistrate!
To the villagers, the county magistrate was remote; the village head was what mattered locally. Still, everyone feared even the magistrate, more than a mere village official.
Wang Xiaohua suddenly remembered Shi Wuxiang was a scholar. Her bravado vanished instantly—she was the epitome of the bully who feared the strong.
“Brother Shi, my mother didn’t mean it that way. She’s just worried because her cousin hasn’t returned. She still cares,” Yuan Xiangxiang cooed, trying to appear magnanimous.
But nothing escaped Shi Wuxiang’s eyes. Compared to such obvious flattery, he found a young girl acting coquettishly even more unbearable.
He straightened his posture and said seriously, “Speak plainly. There’s no need for pretense.”
“As for your mother, she can say such cutting things while worried. Imagine if she weren’t worried—would she really strike Yuan Zhao with knives and sticks?”
Yuan Xiangxiang froze, stunned. She had never encountered someone so blunt!
Yuan Zhao felt a pang at his nose, moved by the open and unwavering support. This public defense made his budding heart sway profoundly.