After selling his goods, Qin Xiaoman didn’t wait for Qin Xiong’s ox cart. He bought a few items in the county and spent two wen on the cart ride home.
He didn’t bring much—he could have walked, but Du Heng’s feet were wrapped and required care, making movement inconvenient.
Returning home before noon, Qin Xiaoman was about to call out from outside the yard when he first heard voices from inside the house.
“This last line needs to be stretched out a bit, otherwise it’ll look unbalanced.”
“Doesn’t seem too hard to write.”
Pushing the door open, the people in the yard jumped in surprise and quickly ducked behind Du Heng.
“You’re back so early?” Du Heng looked at Qin Xiaoman, a little surprised.
Last time selling vegetables, it had taken most of the day—he expected Qin Xiaoman to return closer to evening.
“Yes. How did you end up in the yard?”
Qin Xiaoman, still thrilled at having earned money, wanted to call out to Du Heng but noticed outsiders in the house. He suppressed his excitement and stayed quiet.
“Zhuzi helped me move the stool. There’s nothing to do in the yard, so I’m teaching him to write two characters on the ground with a stick.”
Qin Xiaoman saw a layer of mud spread over the bluestone slabs, with a crooked row of the character “Wang”—Zhuzi’s surname.
Seeing Qin Xiaoman return, Wang Zhuzi slipped out from the other side of Du Heng. “I-I’ll be going now.”
“Wait a moment.”
Qin Xiaoman went inside to set down the basket and retrieved an oiled-paper package. He opened it and took out a still-warm bun, handing it to the thin little boy.
Zhuzi had expected a scolding, but instead, Qin Xiaoman was giving him food. He wiped his hands on his thighs, then carefully took the bun.
The soft, white bun smelled fragrant—such treats were rare in his poor household. He held it like a treasure, swallowed hard, and timidly looked at Qin Xiaoman, saying politely, “Thank you, Brother Xiaoman.”
“Go now—your mother will be looking for you soon.”
“Okay.”
The boy ran off happily, leaving the yard, and only remembered to wave to Du Heng outside. “I’m going home first!”
Du Heng nodded.
Qin Xiaoman came out of the house and slipped the oiled-paper package into Du Heng’s hands. “You’re clever—managed to rope in the kids from the chrysanthemum garden to help with your chores.”
Du Heng took the bun. “The child is eager to learn. He said I look like a scholar and might teach him to write, so I showed him how to write his name.”
“Cabbage and lean pork filling?” Du Heng lifted a bun. Even though it was mostly cabbage, the occasional three-wen-worth of meat made him think: “Business went well today?”
Qin Xiaoman pulled over a stool and sat beside Du Heng, unwrapping a bun. The smile he’d been holding in finally broke. “Very well!”
He quickly stuffed the bun into his mouth and then took out the heavy money pouch to show Du Heng. “Sold for twenty-one wen a pound, total two hundred ten wen. After subtracting our costs, we made a solid one hundred thirty wen.”
Qin Xiaoman calculated: the chili was homegrown, so thirty wen could be ignored. He was overjoyed. “You really know how to make food. No wonder your family used to do business!”
Du Heng, seeing Qin Xiaoman’s delight, smiled faintly. “Sold that fast, and the price’s not bad either.”
“I didn’t even call out in the street—went straight to the small shop and tavern. They bought it on the spot,” Qin Xiaoman said, his money-making instincts fired up. “Let’s make more. If we earn a bit extra, we can get more things for the house by the New Year.”
Du Heng said, “But we’ve run out of chili.”
“I’ll check other places. As long as we ask, the villagers will happily sell.”
Du Heng knew supplies could be bought, but doing the same thing repeatedly was boring. “We also have pickled vegetables and beans. Besides the oil-chili paste, we can make some oil pickles.”
Qin Xiaoman was more than satisfied. “Good, let’s do that.”
In three to five days, Qin Xiaoman had chopped and organized all the firewood in the yard, leaving everything clean and tidy.
The two of them made another ten pounds of chili sauce and pickles.
Originally, they could have made more, but the tavern staff had said they’d only accept more if the first batch sold well. To avoid surplus, they prudently made less.
This time, Du Heng even added diced cured meat to the pickles, making them irresistibly fragrant.
Qin Xiaoman, pleased with Du Heng’s handiwork, kept a small jar at home for New Year consumption, not intending to sell it in town.
The remaining chili sauce and pickles were carefully packaged and placed under the table in the main room, ready to be taken to the tavern on the next market day.
On the first night of the twelfth lunar month, when the county market was set to take place on the 2nd, 4th, and 8th days, Qin Xiaoman went to bed early as usual. He had to get up early the next day to sell his pickled vegetables in town.
Half-awake, he shivered as a cold gust swept through the room. Rubbing his eyes, he realized the window hadn’t been closed. Outside, darkness pressed in, clearly the dead of night, and the coldest month of the year had begun.
He wondered if it would snow this year. He hoped it would—though bitterly cold, a heavy snowfall promised a good harvest, and the crops would grow strong the following year.
Rubbing his stiff hands from the chill, he was about to return to bed when he heard rustling noises.
Instinctively alert, Qin Xiaoman noted that the sounds weren’t the faint scurrying of a mouse—they came from the main room. He grabbed a thick stick from behind the door and quietly opened the inner room, moving stealthily toward the source.
In the dim light, he saw nothing, and the uncertainty made him tense, every muscle coiled tight.
“Xiaoman?”
Du Heng appeared at the doorway holding an oil lamp. The warm yellow light was enough to chase away the darkness in the room.
After the start of the twelfth month, nights had grown colder. Du Heng, a light sleeper, had been woken by noises in the room—first a mouse darting along the beams, then a cat’s cry—leaving him unable to sleep.
When a shadowy cat flicked past, he rose from the bed to shoo it out, only to see Qin Xiaoman clutching the stick. “What’s wrong?”
“I… I heard a noise. Thought maybe a thief got in.”
Seeing Du Heng and the light from his lamp, Qin Xiaoman felt a sudden sense of relief he didn’t even recognize in himself. His taut nerves loosened, though his body felt drained, as if he’d just done a heavy labor.
“The doors are all properly fastened. Must be a night cat sneaking in. It probably followed the mouse and made a fuss.”
Du Heng reassured him. “I was going to chase it out, but it was inconvenient to get up, so I let it be. Didn’t expect to wake you.”
“That’s fine,” Qin Xiaoman murmured. “A little cat or a mouse doesn’t matter.”
Noticing Qin Xiaoman still seemed unsettled, Du Heng softened his voice. “Go back to sleep. You have to go to town tomorrow. I’ll keep watch—nothing will happen.”
Qin Xiaoman looked at him and approached, holding onto him. “Okay, I’ll take you back to your bed first, then I’ll go back to mine.”
Following him inside, Du Heng noticed Qin Xiaoman’s hands trembling.
Qin Xiaoman tucked him in carefully, every movement slow and gentle. His mind seemed distant, and after a long while, realizing he had lingered too long, he said, “I’ll head back to my room now.”
Du Heng suddenly grabbed his wrist. “If you’re scared, I’ll stay with you.”
Qin Xiaoman froze for a moment, hesitated, then said quickly, “What’s there to be scared of? It’s my own house. I’ve lived alone before, and now there are two grown adults here! Nothing to fear…”
As he spoke, his tone weakened without him realizing it. Embarrassed by the thought of showing weakness, he freed his wrist and tried to run back to his room.
Du Heng, understanding, let him go but added quickly, “I’ll have to get up at night. If you’re around, I can ask you to help.”
Qin Xiaoman glanced at him, rubbed his arm, and pressed his lips together. “True… alright, then I’ll sleep here tonight.”
Du Heng cleared his throat. “You have the small cot in your room. I’ll sleep on that.”
This time, Qin Xiaoman didn’t argue.
Du Heng shifted his position and saw Qin Xiaoman painstakingly lay out bedding on the cot, making it warm and cozy. Though smaller than a bed, it would do.
With both of them in the same room, Qin Xiaoman no longer felt anxious. Curling up under the covers, listening to Du Heng’s steady breathing, his frayed nerves gradually calmed.
He thought about how he’d filled Du Heng with water before bedtime a few nights ago so he’d need someone’s company to get up at night. He hadn’t expected Du Heng to refuse at the time—but now, it turned out to be a stroke of luck.
“Earlier, when Zhuzi and Erniu were playing in the yard, they told me about what happened before.”
Under the covers, Qin Xiaoman shifted slightly. Even though he was a bit slow-witted, he understood Du Heng was giving him a way to save face. It seemed Du Heng truly saw him as a child—but that wasn’t such a bad thing.
“Mm,” Qin Xiaoman responded.
Earlier this late autumn, a man with unclean hands had broken into the house and almost carried off a large sack of rice from the granary.
He still remembered the dark night, the man creeping from room to room, skilled enough to pick a lock with an iron pin, loosening bolts quietly.
If Qin Xiaoman hadn’t gotten up to go to the bathroom that night, he dared not imagine what might have happened if the man had found him alone.
Though nothing was ultimately taken, the memory left a lasting unease in his heart. Nights were haunted by the triangular eyes and hooked nose of that man’s coarse face.
Realizing he couldn’t go on living in fear, he had sought out Zhao Qi to ask when he and Du Heng might be of age to marry. Had he not asked, he wouldn’t have known the Zhao family had long considered it.
“I remember Second Uncle said it would be safer if you went there. Why don’t you want to go?”
Du Heng had been saddened upon learning Qin Xiaoman lived alone. A small boy living alone was never ideal.
Qin Xiaoman turned over in bed, facing the direction where Du Heng was sleeping. “Second Uncle has always treated me well. Living with him after my father passed is probably the best arrangement. But you’ve met my Second Aunt. Ever since I can remember, I’ve never gotten along with her. Back then, because of me staying at your house, the whole household was in constant quarrel—never a moment’s peace.”
“My Second Aunt thinks I can’t just live there for free. The family land—though not legally hers—would be considered hers, and the compensation from the county would be taken as support. She even says it’s to save as my dowry. Do you think I don’t know her character?”
Even if he stayed, and his Second Uncle supported him, men work outside the home while women manage the household. Going there would inevitably mean working for them for free, while the compensation would be monopolized by his aunt. He couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t use it to marry off her sons.
Naturally, this was the worst-case scenario. His uncle wouldn’t let her have total control, but still, conflicts at home would be unavoidable if he moved in.
“Second Uncle treats me well. Why should I go there and make his household chaotic? Nobody would benefit.”
Du Heng frowned. Initially, he had thought the boy was simply being headstrong about wanting a husband, but understanding the reasoning, he realized Qin Xiaoman had carefully considered things. In fact, it was a sensible choice.
“It’s okay. Time will make life gradually better.”
Qin Xiaoman hugged his blanket and smiled faintly, comforted by Du Heng’s calm voice. He felt the same way.