After the New Year, villagers would also visit relatives, and Qin Xiaoman was no exception.
On the morning of the third day, Qin Xiaoman changed into clean, presentable clothes. “Today we’re visiting our uncle in the county town. I’ve already told Second Uncle—your leg isn’t fully healed, so stay home. No need to come along.”
Du Heng agreed. His leg was almost fine, but since he and Qin Xiaoman hadn’t formally gone anywhere together yet, it wasn’t appropriate to join the city visits.
“That’s the uncle who works as a scribe in the county office? And you’re preparing so properly?”
“Yes. He’s a relative on my father’s side, long settled in the county as a scribe. Villagers visiting need to present themselves properly—not to embarrass the uncle. His husband, whom I call ‘uncle-in-law,’ is from a well-to-do city family and very particular.”
Qin Xiaoman carefully packed their homemade sausages—both salty and sweet—using clean square cloths. If it weren’t for Du Heng making sausages last year, he wouldn’t have known what to bring that would seem proper.
“The uncle-in-law will appreciate these,” he said.
Du Heng added, “I remember the family used to buy sausages during the New Year. Something presentable.”
Qin Xiaoman nodded. “Take care of yourself at home.”
Du Heng nodded. “Don’t worry. Now I can move around. You go visit your relatives; coming back a little later is fine.”
Hearing this, Qin Xiaoman pouted. “Is this what a husband does—telling me to come back later?”
Du Heng smiled. “I just mean you shouldn’t worry. Stay out, enjoy yourself. That’s what matters.”
Finally feeling reassured, Qin Xiaoman gave Du Heng a few more instructions and left, gifts in hand.
In truth, he wished Du Heng could go with him, but city households had rules. If they went together, people would gossip about them, spoiling the New Year mood. Leaving Du Heng at home was still hard on his heart.
As he left, he hesitated, feeling he might have forgotten something, but seeing the gifts in hand, he realized everything was taken care of.
“Xiaoman, hurry up!”
Hearing Qin Xiong already waiting with the cart, Qin Xiaoman ran over.
“Take care of yourself!”
Sitting on the ox cart, Qin Xiaoman waved vigorously at Du Heng.
“Go on, don’t worry,” Du Heng called back.
On the ox cart, Li Wanju looked particularly neat today, and Qin Xiaozhu had put on her finest clothes and wrapped the scarf she cherished. She busied herself with adjusting it, ignoring Qin Xiaoman entirely.
Their uncle was the most respectable of the Qin family’s relatives, and it was a rare occasion to visit the county town, so they naturally dressed well.
Qin Xiong, having sold pork in the county for several years, had made some acquaintances. Today, besides visiting the uncle, they planned to stop by several other households in town, likely returning only in a couple of days. With his wife and Qin Xiaozhu along, he probably wanted to get to know people, so when they spoke on behalf of the family, everything would be in good order.
“Look at you two, so clingy. One would think you’re leaving for work far away for a long time,” Li Wanju muttered, unable to stand the sight of them fawning over each other.
Before Qin Xiaoman could respond, Qin Xiong shot Li Wanju a glare. “If you don’t want to ride, get off and walk.”
Li Wanju huffed but still stayed close to Qin Xiong, unwilling to argue on such a happy day. At least, for now, there was a moment of peace.
The wind on the ox cart was strong. Qin Xiaoman shielded his face, worried about the cold. Once they reached the main road, he slapped his thigh. “Ah! I forgot the pickles Uncle asked me to bring! No wonder I felt like I was forgetting something!”
Earlier, he had left two jars of pickles with his uncle after selling the rest in the county. His young uncle liked them, but Qin Xiaoman was too shy to ask directly, so he had his uncle send a message.
Qin Xiong pulled the ox to a halt. “Just take them next time; we’re already on the main road.”
“No, Uncle asked. Forgetting would be too careless.”
Qin Xiaoman jumped down. “Second Uncle, you go ahead. There’s still plenty of time. I’ll grab a cart and be right there.”
Qin Xiong wanted to call him back, but Qin Xiaoman ran off so fast that he disappeared into the mist almost instantly. Sighing, Qin Xiong could only let him go. “Take it slow, then.”
After several days of intermittent snow, it had finally stopped, though the fields were still covered in snow. The sky remained gray, and the fog made the roads hard to see.
After Qin Xiaoman left, Du Heng tidied the house a little. In his room, he pulled out the money he had saved from selling New Year paintings over the past days—a half box of copper coins. Though it seemed like a lot, counting carefully revealed only two hundred eighty-eight coins.
It looked like a child’s piggy bank—full, yet small in actual value. Even the half-jin and smaller coins weren’t much.
He held the box and sighed. He had never realized earning money could be this hard. The wealthy made money easily, with connections and opportunities. For ordinary people, even earning a single coin was difficult. The so-called “primitive accumulation of capital” was a huge hurdle.
With time, money could accumulate, but for now, it was so little that he didn’t know when he could ever save enough. What he lacked most was time.
Du Heng put the box back in the cupboard and began looking for some way to make money, heading toward his field.
The New Year meals had been eaten over the past two or three days, finishing all leftovers, so he needed to cook again today.
Being alone, even a good meal wouldn’t feel satisfying, so he planned something simple to fill his stomach.
With barely any vegetables left and snow continuing in waves, most crops in the field had frozen.
Du Heng picked a cabbage, but the outer leaves were frozen and spoiled. He stripped the ruined leaves in the field; the rotted yellow leaves weren’t fit for livestock, so he left them in the soil to decompose. Holding the snow-chilled cabbage, he was about to rub his hands when a tentative voice called out:
“Ah Heng…”
Du Heng looked up. Standing by the roadside, almost out of the fog, was a man. Though the mist blurred the background, the man in front of him was clear.
The middle-aged man wore a thick, cross-collared brocade coat. Though plain black, without adornment, the fabric and cut revealed he was of distinguished background, far from an ordinary man.
Du Heng hesitated, searching his memory for a face, and finally muttered awkwardly, “Uncle?”
His voice was full of disbelief—surprised to see a relative of his original self and shocked to encounter him here.
“It’s really you! Finally, I’ve found you! How did you end up like this?” The man, having confirmed he wasn’t mistaken, frowned and grabbed Du Heng’s wrist, scanning the patched, plain clothes he wore. “To have ended up in such a place—you must have suffered!”
Shaking his head, he sighed. “With the family in trouble, why didn’t your father and mother send word sooner? When I received your letter, it was already the New Year, and the household was busy with affairs. I thought it was just a greeting, but who knew your family had suffered such misfortune!”
Du Heng remained silent, offering no reply.
He knew Du Heng’s mother had been the daughter of a merchant family in Huizhou, though before marriage she was only a minor concubine daughter. Her father was wealthy, with many wives; merchant families held limited status, and as a minor concubine’s child, her position was humble.
If it weren’t for Du Heng’s grandmother, who had been a servant in the household and loyally assisted the main wife during pregnancy, ensuring her place, Du Heng’s mother would not have married as a principal wife.
Children of prominent merchant families, even legitimate ones, often became concubines or married for alliances; children of minor wives were even more marginalized.
Du Heng’s mother, though married far away to small Qiuyang County, became a principal wife and lived in love with Du Heng’s father for decades. That stability was thanks to the previous generation’s favors.
The uncle before him was from the main line of Du Heng’s maternal family, born legitimate in the Huizhou household.
Du Heng only remembered having seen this uncle a few times. The grand mansion in Huizhou was formal, and the journey to Qiuyang County took a month or two, so visits were naturally rare.
Later, after his grandmother passed away, visits became even rarer, though a few yearly letters of greeting still arrived.
Du Heng never expected that his uncle would come searching for him after receiving the letter meant for the original Du Heng. He didn’t know whether it was a special journey to find him or merely a coincidence as the trade caravan passed through Luoxia County. Though belated, it still showed some degree of familial affection.
“I’ve already made inquiries. Seeing that you are alone today, I’ve come specifically to find you. Come with me to Huizhou—whether to study or help manage the shop,” Wei Feng said.
He looked at Du Heng, well-formed but clad in tattered clothes. Having grown up in wealth and comfort, Wei Feng felt a pang of pity.
Although the Du family’s fortunes were far less than the Wei’s, they still had enough to live comfortably. Now that Du Heng had fallen so low, even as a distant relative, his misfortunes drew Wei Feng’s sympathy.
“Our family business is extensive. With me around, you’ll have a place to stay. Your mother was deeply saddened to hear of your mother’s plight. You are her only son; if you do not fare well, she cannot rest at ease.”
“The carriage and horses are ready; we can leave for Huizhou in three days. This remote, harsh land—heaven truly has been unkind to you. You’ve suffered, child!”
Du Heng listened silently, astonished. He had never imagined a relative would seek him out.
Wei Feng’s wealth was remarkable; compared to that, not only the village but the entire Luoxia County seemed impoverished.
As Du Heng prepared to speak, there was suddenly a crunch—the sound of something being crushed underfoot.
Wei Feng’s eyes flickered. “Who’s there?”
They looked toward the sound but saw nothing; the snowy mist limited visibility.
“This is no place to linger. We must leave quickly. I’ve learned that the young man who brought you here is fierce; if the villagers get wind of us, they might detain you. Out in the world, we must travel light and not stir trouble on another’s land.”
Wei Feng grabbed Du Heng and led him to a secluded spot to make their escape. Yet Du Heng, far from feeling the relief of escape, froze in place.
“Uncle,” he said, frowning. “I am grateful for your visit, but if it weren’t for him bringing me back, I would have died along the road.”
“You are a good man and know gratitude; that is commendable,” Wei Feng said, stopping in his tracks. “I’ll have someone send money to thank him for saving you and looking after you—would that suffice?”
Du Heng spoke softly: “He brought me back as a prospective son-in-law. The village knows this. I have lived with him for so long—if I leave today, how will his reputation remain intact? He saved me, but would I drag him down for life?”
Wei Feng was stunned.
“You mean to stay here?”
Du Heng did not answer directly. “I promised him I’d help with spring plowing. I will not go back on my word.”
“Silence!” Wei Feng could not believe his ears. “To spurn wealth and comfort to be a country bumpkin, yet act as a son-in-law! How can a scholar do such a disgraceful thing?”
“After facing life and death, what are these matters?” Du Heng said calmly. “Besides, I cannot be heartless and ungrateful. I… I also quite like him.”
Wei Feng stared at Du Heng for a long time.
“Do you realize what you’re saying? You favor a rustic, coarse boy? How did the Du family produce someone so unworthy! One must not act on impulse. Today, you claim to have loyalty and feelings—but that will shape the rest of your life!”
Du Heng replied earnestly: “With effort and care, life will not be bad.”
Wei Feng pointed at Du Heng’s nose, wanting to scold him, but in the end, he retracted his finger, trembling with frustration.
“You’ve come all this way to find me. I am grateful but cannot repay you, so I ask you to allow me this choice.”
Wei Feng regarded him, already calculating. If he stayed, it must mean the young man had a big heart.
“Very well, come with me.”
Du Heng was no fool. Putting aside whether Qin Xiaoman would be willing to go, even if he left everything behind and accompanied him to the unfamiliar land of Huizhou, relying on others’ protection—even with great wealth—would life truly be better?
“Uncle, I have decided to stay.”
“Do you want to drive me mad? I rearranged my business and traveled all this way, and you repay me like this?”
Du Heng let Wei Feng scold him. Perhaps tired or frustrated by the lack of response, Wei Feng eventually gave up.
“I too was young once. I understand a moment of impulse. In three days, I will leave Luoxia County. Du Heng, this is your final chance! If you come to the Lingxi Inn in the county town having thought it over, fine. If not, do not blame me for being ruthless.”
Du Heng remained silent. “Thank you, Uncle, for allowing me this choice.”
Seeing Du Heng so stubborn, Wei Feng flung his sleeves in anger and strode off.
Du Heng watched the figure disappear into the snowy mist, thought for a moment, then hurried after him.
“I’ve made up my mind!” he called. “We do not know when we will meet again on this road. It’s treacherous—let me escort you, Uncle.”
Wei Feng quickened his pace in frustration.
In the afternoon, the snow and fog cleared for a while, though later clouds gathered overhead.
Du Heng looked around the yard several times, but Qin Xiaoman had not returned. Seeing the worsening weather, with a chance of sleet, he worried about him getting cold.
Oddly, they were supposed to eat dinner together. How could it be so dark, yet no sign of him?
He wondered if Qin Xiaoman had been detained for dinner, though that seemed unlikely; from town to village it took over an hour, and in such weather, no one would linger for dinner.
After looking around three times with no sign, Du Heng took two umbrellas, preparing to go find him.
Just as he closed the door, he saw a familiar figure emerge from the low stone wall along the path, head bowed, returning home.
“How come you’re back so late? Did they keep you for dinner?”
Qin Xiaoman stepped through the yard gate and, seeing Du Heng approaching, suddenly threw himself into a hug.
Du Heng stumbled back slightly, puzzled, feeling the chill of Qin Xiaoman’s body, as if he’d just crawled out of a cellar. He gently wrapped his arms around Qin Xiaoman’s shoulders. “What’s wrong? Did something unpleasant happen at your uncle’s house?”
“No.”
Qin Xiaoman answered with just a single word, then slowly let go of Du Heng and looked at him quietly.
Du Heng’s brow twitched; seeing that Xiaoman didn’t wish to speak, he didn’t press further.
“What would you like for dinner? I can make it. Looks like it’ll rain or snow again tonight; I can make some tangyuan for you.”
“I’m not hungry. Just tired… want to sleep.”
Hearing this, Du Heng was taken aback. Xiaoman, who usually lit up at the mention of food, was unusually quiet.
He slipped into the inner room, removed his clothes, and crawled into bed, burrowing himself under the covers.
Du Heng frowned at the sight.
The boy lay on his side, hugging a pillow, half his face hidden beneath the blanket.
“Is there something you can’t tell me? You can tell me—I can help you figure it out.”
Qin Xiaoman looked up at the figure standing by the bed, gentle in voice and expression, full of concern. And yet the more comforting Du Heng was, the heavier Xiaoman’s chest felt, as if a cloth were stuffed inside, stifling him.
“I’m sleepy… just want to sleep.”
Du Heng watched him close his eyes, pursing his lips. “Alright… rest first. If you get hungry, I’ll make food for you.”
“I ate plenty at noon. Don’t worry about me; I’ll sleep until morning.”
Du Heng sighed and relented, going along with Xiaoman’s stubbornness. “Then I’ll bring a brazier over for you.”
Xiaoman said nothing further.
Du Heng didn’t press, tucked the covers around him, and stepped out. Just as he reached the door, a soft voice called behind him:
“Du Heng… don’t go.”
Turning back, Qin Xiaoman’s voice was low. “Please… don’t leave.”
“Alright.”
Du Heng returned to the bedside, sitting down. He looked at the small boy resting his brow against the pillow, and spoke gently: “I’ll stay here while you sleep. Don’t be afraid.”
Xiaoman blinked slowly, saying nothing more.
He had forgotten the pickled vegetables; on his way back to fetch them, he had run into Du Heng—and realized his uncle had come for him. Almost, he had been ready to rush out and drag Du Heng along.
But when he heard his uncle’s words, he paused.
So Du Heng had wealthy relatives who could provide a good life. This place was just a poor, remote corner of the world.
His heart sank bit by bit. He slipped on a rotten cabbage, disturbing the others, and didn’t know exactly how the two had arranged their departure.
He had sent word via a messenger to his second uncle, saying he wouldn’t go to town, spending the whole day in the forest, freezing stiff, and didn’t expect Du Heng to still be there when he returned.
He didn’t know why Du Heng hadn’t left yet—perhaps tidying up, or maybe… he was truly a good person, one who had stayed with him all this time. He wanted to say farewell in person.
The trip wasn’t for another three days.
But Xiaoman felt foolish. Out here, in the countryside, people were often unreasonable. Who knew if someone might try to detain Du Heng?
His heart felt heavy. Listening to the calm breathing beside him, he almost felt as if today’s events had been a dream.
But how could it be a dream? He had thought his father’s death in childbirth and his older father’s accident were dreams too—but that was only because he didn’t want to accept the truth.
Dazed, he felt his head swim, unsure when he fell asleep—or even if he had truly slept. The whole night was heavy and restless.
Yet in the haze, it seemed someone’s hand held his, for a long, long time.
The next morning, Du Heng had prepared breakfast, but Qin Xiaoman still hadn’t stirred.
He kept the food warm in the pot, waiting for a while before knocking on the bedroom door.
No response.
The door wasn’t locked. Du Heng pushed it open and saw him still in bed, tucked under the covers.
Du Heng shook his head helplessly; he had never seen this boy linger in bed so long.
“Xiaoman, come on, eat your breakfast first, then you can sleep more.”
He approached, reaching to lift the curtain to let the morning light in, and noticed Xiaoman’s cheeks flushed red.
Concerned, he touched his forehead. Earlier, the hand he had warmed over the fire had been warm, but Xiaoman’s forehead now burned to the touch.
Du Heng quickly poured a cup of water. “Xiaoman… wake up. Are you feeling unwell?”
After some shaking, Xiaoman furrowed his brows and opened his eyes. He felt exhausted, his head throbbing, lightheaded. Seeing Du Heng support him by the shoulders, he caught a faint whiff of medicinal ointment and felt slightly better.
He tried to speak but found his throat raw, almost unable to utter a word. Luckily, Du Heng handed him warm water in time.
After drinking, he managed to croak, “I… don’t feel well.”
“You have a fever. Drink this water, and I’ll go fetch the doctor right away.”
Xiaoman drank the water obediently. Du Heng carefully laid him back in bed. “I’ll be quick.”
“Mm.”
Du Heng hurried to summon Dr. Cui from the village. After examining him, it was confirmed: Xiaoman had a fever.
“How did you suddenly get a fever? Xiaoman’s always been healthy.”
Last night, Du Heng stayed by him almost until midnight. When he returned to his own room, Xiaoman was fine. The fever must have come in the latter half of the night.
“Perhaps you caught a chill,” Dr. Cui said. “With this weather, a little fever is nothing. There are far worse illnesses out there. Take the medicine I prescribe on schedule; once the fever breaks, you’ll be fine.”
Du Heng nodded repeatedly, paid the doctor, and hurried to brew the herbal medicine for Qin Xiaoman.
He thought about how Xiaoman had spent the whole day yesterday in the snow and mist visiting relatives. Riding the ox cart back, he had complained of fatigue—it was no wonder he had caught a cold.
With the limited medical resources here, even a minor fever made Du Heng anxious. In these conditions, a small illness could easily turn fatal.
He brewed the herbs while also making some porridge, letting Xiaoman have a small meal first before taking the medicine.
The large bowl of herbal brew was thick and bitter—so bitter that even Du Heng wrinkled his nose—but Qin Xiaoman drank it down without a word of complaint. After finishing the medicine, he lay back down.
His body was weak. Watching Du Heng bustle about, he could do nothing but offer soothing words. “I’m fine. After taking the medicine, I’ll recover quickly.”
He had rarely been sick as a child, always thinking himself strong. Now, struck down by this sudden fever, he realized how powerless anyone truly is in the face of illness.
Du Heng nodded. “Sleep some more. Rest after taking the medicine.”
Qin Xiaoman nodded, and the medicine soon took effect. He drifted into sleep.
His dreams were chaotic—he saw his father, then dreamt of Du Heng leaving. The flickering images unsettled him.
When he woke again, he didn’t know what time it was, only that he saw Du Heng sitting at the small table in the room, partially obscured by the curtain.
The fear and unease from his dreams vanished immediately, replaced by a deep sense of security.
Yet when he lifted the curtain and saw Du Heng quietly reading a journal by the window, his brows furrowed again.
Du Heng’s refined features and scholarly air seemed better suited to sitting by the window reading leisurely, living a life of comfort—not bent over a poor rural household, working for every grain of rice.
The last two days of panic, the worry while ill—they all seemed to resolve at this moment.
Hearing movement from the bed, Du Heng quickly put down his book. “Awake?”
“Mm.”
Qin Xiaoman propped himself up. The medicine had lightened the heaviness in his body, though he still felt weak in waves. Seeing Du Heng checking his forehead, he offered a faint, tired smile and blinked. “I drank too much water… I need to go to the privy.”
“All right.”
Du Heng quickly helped him up. The boy wore only his underclothes, having been cocooned in blankets, still carrying the warmth of the bed.
Fearing he might catch another chill, Du Heng enveloped Qin Xiaoman in his arms and draped a coat over him carefully.
Xiaoman leaned into Du Heng’s broad shoulders, not moving.
They had been close before—Du Heng had been cared for after his injured foot, and Xiaoman had often helped or even carried him. But now this closeness was voluntary, and it felt dreamlike.
He remained silent, unsure if it was because, as the saying goes, the child who cries gets the milk, or because Du Heng might soon leave, and he wanted to be treated better.
He knew the fever and worries of the past night had weakened him; now, feeling better, his mind was clearer.
The morning light still lingered outside. Xiaoman placed his hand on Du Heng’s.
Feeling the warmth, Du Heng instinctively looked at the hand resting on his. It was slightly damp with the sweat of fever, sending ripples through his heart.
Seeing Xiaoman ill over these two days had truly terrified him.
“I think I’m fine now,” Xiaoman said. “I’m even a little hungry.”
Du Heng hurriedly asked, “What would you like to eat? I’ll make anything.”
Tilting his head, Xiaoman looked at Du Heng. “I want wontons. The thin-skinned ones filled with meat. When I was little, in the county, my father bought me some at a street stall. Over these past two days while I was sick, I kept dreaming of my father.”
Du Heng tenderly stroked Xiaoman’s soft hair. “That’s easy. I’ll make them for you. I’ll make the filling bigger, they’ll be even better than in the county.”
Xiaoman shook his head. “No rush. I’m still weak and can’t eat much. Besides, there’s no fresh meat or flour at home. In two days, when we go to town, you can buy some then, okay?”
He looked at Du Heng, giving a warm smile and lowering his gaze slightly.
Xiaoman thought Du Heng was a little silly—without giving him a reason to go to town, he might not even know what to buy and would need Xiaoman to make up an excuse. How could such a person ever live comfortably?
Fortunately, his family background was good. Even though their household had fallen on hard times, he still had a wealthy uncle who had come all this way to bring him back. Surely, his later life would be smooth.
Whether reading or trading, he wouldn’t have to worry about a plain meal or when there might be meat on the table.
“All right. I’ll make scallion and pork filling for the wontons then.”
Qin Xiaoman pressed his lips together, silently entering the privy.
Two days later, Du Heng rose early to prepare for a trip to town to buy flour and fresh meat. While dressing, he heard sounds from the kitchen.
Going to check, he found Qin Xiaoman had already prepared breakfast—a small bowl of steamed eggs sprinkled with finely chopped cooked lean pork.
“What’s the occasion today, making such a hearty breakfast?”
Qin Xiaoman smiled. “The hen has been sitting on her eggs for a while, and now she’s laying again. I also picked up a bit of cooking from you, so I thought I’d give it a try this morning.”
“I’ve been idle at home for a couple of days. Once you head into town, I’ll go up the mountain. With all the recent snow, I’m not sure how much damage the trees have taken, so I’ll go check.”
Du Heng frowned slightly, uneasy. “The weather’s only just cleared. The coldest time isn’t during snowfall—it’s right after heavy snow. Your body is still weak; the mountain’s even colder than the village. Don’t catch another chill.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” Qin Xiaoman replied, returning to his usual cheerful self. “Besides, after last time, I know to wear an extra layer. And honestly, a little cold isn’t so bad with you taking care of me.”
Du Heng chuckled, carrying over the steamed egg. He had noticed something strange in Xiaoman over the past few days, yet seeing him slip back into his natural self brought an almost subconscious relief. “Nonsense… no one purposely tries to get sick just so someone will take care of them.”
Even if he weren’t ill, Du Heng would have cared for him just the same.
They ate the egg custard together in the kitchen. Du Heng even praised Xiaoman for improving his culinary skills—the custard was perfectly soft and warm, not overcooked.
“I’ll be back before noon. Don’t stay on the mountain too long,” Du Heng said, carrying a slender bamboo basket for town. “Come back early so I can teach you how to make wontons.”
“Got it.”
Qin Xiaoman stood at the doorway, watching Du Heng take step after step away from the courtyard. He knew this time, he wouldn’t return soon. Yet hearing those words still made him feel secure.
He took a few steps forward, unwilling to let go, but the stone wall of the house stopped him.
He could only watch that refined figure fade into the distance.
In the end, he didn’t speak.
Qin Xiaoman wandered back into the house, feeling the emptiness more than ever. It reminded him of the time after his father passed away, when the guests left and he was alone with the walls.
He had thought he had grown, that darkness and loneliness wouldn’t trouble him anymore. But now, even the daytime seemed desolate.
He walked into the room Du Heng had stayed in for over two months. Everything was clean, the bedding folded neatly.
The window was open, sunlight falling on the cupboard.
Qin Xiaoman stepped forward and opened a drawer.
Seeing it empty, he involuntarily exhaled.
He had always known Du Heng kept his money in this drawer, trusting that Xiaoman would never take or even peek at it. And he hadn’t.
Now, Du Heng hadn’t taken anything—just the money he had saved himself.
Qin Xiaoman felt dazed, as if the last shred of hope had vanished.
He left the room, pulling the door closed behind him, already planning to buy a lock in town to secure it.
“Brother Man, where are you off to?”
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. Where’s the one who came to the house? I heard he can walk now—why leave you alone? Shouldn’t he be helping?”
Qin Xiaoman hoisted his sickle and backpack, heading up the mountain. The snow had mostly melted over the past two sunny days, and villagers were out preparing the fields for spring planting.
He ran into Zhao Qi at the foot of the mountain but avoided mentioning Du Heng. “I had a fever the past two days. I’m fine now, just came to check the mountain.”
“Your health’s fine? How did that kid care for you? How did you end up catching a cold?”
Qin Xiaoman was irritated. “Enough! How about you let it be? My mother told you everything. Now you’re free to wander, so leave it.”
“Still, I don’t approve—you know my mother’s temper…”
Qin Xiaoman waved impatiently at Zhao Qi’s nagging tone. “Let’s go. Come on.”
“Xiaoman!”
Zhao Qi tried to follow but was stopped by a woman behind him. “Qi, where are you going? Don’t follow! You’re too kind, talking to everyone. Some of these people aren’t decent. Even if you go to see a widow, don’t let them lead you astray.”
Qin Xiaoman ignored the scolding, hurrying up the mountain path. Even the sharp-tongued Zhao’s mother looked surprised—usually, he would argue back.
She pulled her son aside. “See? Always sharp-tongued, but now caught speechless. Keep your distance from Qin Xiaoman. If you get too close again, it’ll ruin the match with the Zheng family. Being shameless is one thing—but messing up that marriage? Not acceptable.”
Zhao Qi worriedly watched Xiaoman disappear but didn’t dare talk back, staying silent to protest in his own way.
The mountain was much colder than the village, and pockets of snow remained.
Entering the forest, snow fell from branches, pattering continuously like rain.
Xiaoman, wearing a straw hat, looked at the branches broken under the snow, scattered on the ground.
He should have grabbed his sickle and cleared them, preparing to dry them as firewood for summer.
But standing under the trees, he felt drained, unable to move.
Even when he tried to muster energy, it wouldn’t come.
The more he forced himself not to think about certain things, the more persistently they entered his mind.
Du Heng had likely already reached the county, and perhaps even met his uncle. By now, he was probably riding in the merchant caravan, heading toward the wealthy, bustling Huizhou he had only ever heard about.
Would he pursue studies and take the imperial examinations, or manage a shop?
Zhuzi had mentioned that Du Heng’s handwriting was beautiful and that his New Year prints were popular. Qin Xiaoman knew he was skilled with his hands and could cook well. Whatever path he took, he would surely succeed.
For this reason, Xiaoman had willingly let him go, actively helping him leave.
He was surprised at himself—having always been possessive by nature, determined to claim what he wanted, he would normally do everything to hold onto someone. Yet when he learned that Du Heng’s family had come for him, he instinctively helped him leave.
For the first time, it wasn’t about possession.
Thinking of this, Qin Xiaoman felt a strange comfort, and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly.
But then he imagined this wonderful Du Heng marrying into a merchant family, or perhaps the scholarly, high-ranking family of some gentry.
Whoever it was, the thought made it hard for him to breathe.
It was strange—when he had first learned that the Zhao family would not take him, he had been angry, determined to fight, even willing to quarrel with Zhao Qi’s mother.
Now, with Du Heng gone, he felt no anger or resentment.
He was simply… completely, utterly heartbroken.
He was still young and didn’t know why he felt this way.
In the end, he could only conclude that it was because he might never see Du Heng again, while Zhao Qi remained in the village, always around.
With nothing to do, Qin Xiaoman spent some time in the mountains, gazing at the towering trees, then, feeling cold and empty-handed, he began to head back.
The mountain paths were slippery. One foot slipped into the mud, and he stumbled, sliding down onto the slick, snow-washed stone, tumbling twice before landing in a shallow ditch.
Facing the ground, he felt a sharp pain in his knee, but that hurt was nothing compared to the ache in his heart.
Perhaps finding an outlet for his grief, Qin Xiaoman stayed prone and suddenly began to cry aloud.
“Xia… Xiaoman…”
Du Heng, who had gone up the mountain after him, spotted a familiar straw hat at a bend in the path. It looked like one from their home. Fearful that something had happened, he ran up the slope.
Seeing Qin Xiaoman lying there and crying so desperately, Du Heng’s hands trembled.
With branches and stones everywhere, a fall could have been dangerous, but his knees were only smeared with mud. Relief washed over him, yet he didn’t let go of Xiaoman’s hand as he carefully lifted him.
Hearing the familiar voice, Qin Xiaoman thought he was imagining it. Only when Du Heng truly held him did he realize he was really there.
He quickly stilled his sobs, looking at Du Heng in disbelief. “How… how are you here?”
“I saw you hadn’t returned, so I came to find you,” Du Heng said, brushing the mud from the cat’s face with his sleeve. “Didn’t I tell you to come back early?”
Ignoring his own messy state, Qin Xiaoman fixed his gaze on Du Heng. “You… didn’t you leave?”
“I did, but I should come back.”
“I mean… you went with your uncle to Huizhou.”
Du Heng froze, furrowing his brow. “How did you know my uncle came?”
Qin Xiaoman hesitated. “The day he came to the village looking for you, I happened to see him.”
Du Heng understood at once. That day someone had indeed come, but he never expected Xiaoman to have seen them. He had assumed he was leaving, which explained Xiaoman’s odd behavior these past few days—he’d been hiding something in his heart.
Du Heng spoke gently: “Do you want me to leave?”