After the autumn harvest, the last batch of rice was dried in the sun and stored in the granary. A few autumn rains later, winter had arrived.
With the granary full and the farm work done, it was the busy season for weddings. The countryside buzzed with activity.
Qin Xiaoman bit on a rice cake and opened the door to glance outside. The sky was gloomy, but at least it wasn’t raining.
Having lain in bed for two days, his legs felt weak, and his head was still a bit foggy. The cold winter wind cleared his mind a little.
Farmers didn’t dare waste time, and he knew in his heart that no matter how difficult life got, it still had to be lived.
In the thin mist, Qin Xiaoman hoisted a hoe and went to check the fields. In the cold wind, the muddy expanse of winter grassland turned to white mist with every exhale.
Arriving at his own field that winter morning, he noticed a few gray-clad village women with headscarves and a thin man—likely a fellow farmer—already busy in the fields.
They had been working for some time, wiping sweat and muttering about which household had this or that problem.
As Qin Xiaoman steadied himself on a ridge to jump into the field, a distant string of firecrackers echoed from the mountain valley.
Though the sound was muffled in the hills, it lasted a while.
“Who’s having a celebration this lively?” Qin Xiaoman muttered, hands on hips, looking toward the source of the noise.
“You don’t know?” one of the village women replied eagerly. Her eyes sparkled—not gossiping about him this time, but about something bigger.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“The older son in the neighboring village is getting married today,” the woman said. “The firecrackers you heard earlier were part of it.”
Qin Xiaoman’s brow twitched. “The older son in the next village is finally getting married?”
He was surprised. That man, over twenty-five, had never married. Village gossip often used him as an example.
If a household was picky about a match, villagers would say:
“Be careful! Don’t dawdle like the older son next village, or you’ll be left at home too!”
“If you wait too long, our family can’t even afford a late wedding gift for you.”
Though Qin Xiaoman’s parents were gone, and he had no one to scold him, the neighbors were enthusiastic, treating him like a son.
Even though he was now of marrying age, a recent canceled engagement had left him alone. Matchmakers had once come to offer him a widower in his forties, whom he had chased away with a broom.
Villagers now advised him not to be picky, to prepare a dowry, or he’d end up like the older son next door.
That the older son in the next village had finally married stirred a pang of envy in him. In just a few days, people he knew had found a home.
“Yes,” the woman continued, “at such an age, he’s finally married. His parents are overjoyed, showing off to everyone. And guess what—they got a live-in son-in-law, with no bride price at all!”
Even a composed man like Qin Xiaoman paused. That hit a nerve. He quickly asked, “A live-in son-in-law? But that household isn’t wealthy—how did a man agree?”
“Well, it’s a matter of fate,” said the thin man nearby, drawn by the conversation. “This year, our county suffered crop failures. Refugees even came here begging. Villagers rarely see them. A few days ago, I went to the city to sell vegetables—streets were full of beggars.”
“The officials kept driving them away, saying it spoils the city’s appearance. The county magistrate was furious.”
“Anyway, the man who married the older son was one of these displaced people. Whether he was driven out or came on his own, he ended up begging in the neighboring village. The older son’s family saw him, strong and capable, and decided immediately.”
Qin Xiaoman listened intently.
The woman picked up the conversation: “And the man agreed to it?”
The fellow farmer nodded. “Oh yes, the couple asked him first, and he willingly agreed. Things were settled quickly. Besides, why wouldn’t he? He’s a displaced person, with no guarantee of tomorrow. Getting a home and a chance to be a live-in son-in-law—who wouldn’t be happy about that? Those refugees were practically wishing for it.”
The woman said, “That makes sense, though I do wonder if he has a family already—what if things go well and there’s a fight later?”
“We didn’t see the man ourselves, so who knows what he’s really like. But that older son never married, so finding a live-in son-in-law is a good thing. Of course, there’s always some risk. Even a formal arranged marriage can be full of troubles,” the fellow farmer added.
The two villagers exchanged a knowing chuckle, chatting on a bit more. Seeing Qin Xiaoman remain quiet, the woman addressed him: “Full Ge’er, I heard you were thinking of finding a live-in son-in-law yourself. Well, this is a good chance—why not try your luck? Don’t let the Zhao family’s business keep you down. Another match will do.”
Qin Xiaoman replied lightly, “I’m not upset.”
The farmer and woman glanced at each other, keeping their skepticism to themselves. They didn’t dare show it—if they annoyed Qin Xiaoman, he could get violent. He was strong enough to handle men his age, let alone them.
“Well, that’s good. It’s just a marriage that didn’t work out. The village sees plenty of matches come and go,” said the woman.
“Mm,” Qin Xiaoman murmured, and then bent back to his work, turning the soil. He was a little distracted today, but in less than an hour, he had finished the plot.
Once he left, the field buzzed with village chatter.
“That Full Ge’er isn’t just tough with his fists—he’s sharp-tongued too. He stayed indoors for days, says he isn’t upset. Bet he cried himself hoarse at home,” one woman whispered.
“No one’s home, so we wouldn’t know,” another replied.
“Though the Zhao family’s cancellation was harsh, they weren’t wrong in their own way. Zhao’s daughter never liked him. If it were my child, I wouldn’t want my son marrying such a fierce, domineering guy. With even a little quarrel, he’d probably start hitting—even his mother-in-law wouldn’t be safe.”
“Yeah, a live-in son-in-law is perfect for him—no parents to interfere, he can fight whenever he wants.”
“But will he really find a live-in son-in-law? They’re not easy to come by, like cabbages in the field,” the villagers muttered, resuming their chatter.
That night, Qin Xiaoman lay in bed, tossing and turning.
Hearing about the older son next door stirred something inside him. He knew the villagers’ gossip was just for amusement, yet it struck a chord.
His previous match had fallen through. He had argued fiercely with the Zhao daughter, and even chased away the matchmaker. His reputation as fierce and domineering was now cemented in the village. No one would dare send a suitor now, and no matchmaker would risk coming to him.
He admitted to himself that his temper was reckless and his actions impulsive.
But the Zhao family and the visiting matchmakers had insulted him—they assumed he was easy to bully because he had no parents and no siblings. If it happened again, he would act the same way.
The villagers’ words, though harsh, were reasonable. Even though the older son married late, he had parents and siblings to support him. Qin Xiaoman, however, was alone. He had to rely entirely on himself.
At least he was young and could feed himself, but what about the future? He needed a plan. He couldn’t depend on anyone else; he had to earn his own way.
The next day, Qin Xiaoman began keeping an eye out for refugees coming to the village, hoping to find a live-in son-in-law. But after three or five days, he hadn’t seen a single person.
He realized it wasn’t easy—just because he wanted someone, didn’t mean he would find them. If none came to the village, he’d check the main roads. Eventually, he did encounter refugees, mostly women and children. Men were rare; the few he saw were old or weak.
He shared the food he had on him with the refugees. Half a month passed with no luck, and he sighed, giving up the search for a live-in son-in-law among the displaced.
Winter bamboo shoots grew in the hills, and he set the idea aside.
By the time the winter month arrived, Qin Xiaoman had collected half a basket of winter bamboo shoots, planning to sell them in the county seat and buy some candles for home.
When bamboo shoots were in season, they lined the vegetable stalls in the town. This year, there were plenty, and prices were low—only five or six wen per pound. Many sellers were there as well.
Qin Xiaoman sold his shoots by the afternoon. He had planned to explore the town a bit, but the rain began in the early afternoon.
It was a light winter rain, but damp and cold enough to make him shiver.
He carried his empty basket and wrapped the candles in oiled paper to keep them dry, pressing them to his chest. He hadn’t brought an umbrella, so he spent fifteen wen to buy an oiled-paper one—normally priced at twelve or thirteen. Rain day markups, he thought, were infuriating.
Fuming, he left town under the rain.
Originally, he had planned to take a cart home. But having bought a new umbrella, he decided against paying extra for the cart. Walking would be cheaper.
The drizzle grew heavier, so Qin Xiaoman quickened his pace. The main road out of town was paved with stones, making it easier to walk than the slippery village paths.
The farther from town, the fewer people on the road. Eventually, he noticed a mother and child ahead, struggling through the rain.
He kept a steady distance, walking behind them to stay warm and keep moving.
“Mother… that is… uh…”
Qin Xiaoman suddenly heard a voice besides the patter of rain. He raised the umbrella slightly.
The mother and child stopped in their tracks. The little boy let out a startled cry, but before he could finish, his mother covered his mouth, whispered something into his ear, and then hurriedly pulled him away.
Qin Xiaoman frowned, curious. Not one to shy away from trouble, he stepped closer to where they had paused and glanced toward the side of the road.
There, lying slanted in a roadside ditch, was a figure that looked like a mud-stained doll.
From where he stood, Qin Xiaoman could see the person had a large frame, long limbs—seemingly a man.
Clad in filthy, tattered clothes, he lay at the edge of the water, motionless, and it was impossible to tell if he was still alive.
Just as Qin Xiaoman hesitated, unsure whether to go down and check, the man suddenly twitched, as if he had seen him, and weakly stretched out an arm.
Author’s note:
Qin Xiaoman: Ooh~ So this is “seek a child and gain”… wait, no, “seek a husband and gain a husband”?!