“This banquet and all the food for it cost over two thousand coins. If it weren’t for Second Uncle giving the pork, it would’ve cost another thousand at least.”
After returning the tables, benches, and chairs, the couple sat down to tally the accounts.
The banquet expenses were entirely Qin Xiaoman’s. Compared to Du Heng’s spending, it was nothing.
Du Heng had bought the ox and the wedding garments, spending over ten taels on major items. There wasn’t much money left. Originally, they had planned to pool all their funds together for living expenses, but Qin Xiaoman didn’t insist.
“That money was given to you by your uncle. Keep it for yourself. You don’t need to reach for mine for every little thing.”
Qin Xiaoman knew his own temperament could be too blunt; if he controlled the money too tightly, Du Heng might feel uncomfortable.
Now, in the flush of newlywed excitement, everything seemed perfect. But Qin Xiaoman feared that once the heat of the new marriage faded, Du Heng might feel constrained and unhappy, possibly even leaving.
They often said merchants valued profit over attachment. The hardest to keep were businessmen—not like farmers, tied to the land, who could hardly leave even if they wanted.
“All right then.”
Du Heng didn’t argue over this matter.
After settling accounts, they tallied the gifts received at the banquet.
For village households, gifts usually consisted of poultry: chickens and ducks, sometimes strips of meat, cured meat, or eggs. Cash was rare.
This time, they received only sixty wen in cash.
They had eight chickens and ducks, each weighing two to three jin, and three or four one-jin meat strips. There were also 120 chicken, duck, and goose eggs.
Nearby relatives sent rice, flour, oil, lamps, and salt—small, scattered gifts.
Qin Xiaoman roughly calculated that these items were worth over a thousand coins. That meant roughly half of the banquet expenses were covered; the rest was entirely his own money.
He wasn’t upset. He had expected this when planning the banquet.
Du Heng found it fascinating. He put the chickens and ducks in their yard. These free-range, pastured animals would be delicious once grown and perfect for festival meals.
Overall, the banquet concluded perfectly. Both felt a sense of accomplishment.
After the wedding, life settled into calm. Marriage itself didn’t feel much different from before, except Qin Xiaoman no longer needed an excuse to have Du Heng sleep in the same room—he would simply invite him in.
Though a major event had passed, there was no rest. It was already February, and with warmer weather approaching, March would bring sowing. They still needed to plow the fields.
Spring passed quickly. Idling for even a moment could affect the autumn harvest—this was the busy season that determined the year’s crop.
Even with new marriage excitement still fresh, both rose early. One prepared breakfast, while the other fed the livestock, tidying the household before dawn.
Qin Xiaoman slung the plow over his shoulder, leaving the easier task of leading the ox to Du Heng.
With the ox ready, he had been looking forward to plowing the fields.
“Our household has thirty acres of land and twenty acres of paddy fields. Last year I only planted ten acres of the fertile fields; the remaining forty acres were largely left idle, some even fallow. I’ve already plowed that ten acres, and this year I’ll turn over the thinner fields.”
Qin Xiaoman asked, “How much do you think we can plow?”
Du Heng led the sturdy yellow ox. “By human labor alone, even if we work nonstop all day, we’d manage only one or two acres. But with the ox, we can do two to three acres a day. If we keep at it, all the land will be ready in time for sowing.”
Having the ox this year, Qin Xiaoman thought of plowing every bit of land they had—otherwise, it would be a waste of the ox.
Even so, plowing was hard work. Qin Xiaoman didn’t mind working day and night, but he worried that Du Heng might overexert himself.
“We’ll do as much as we can; at least we’ll plow more than last year.”
Cheerfully, the two led the ox into the field, planning to turn over all the soil so they could sow rice later. Qin Xiaoman wasn’t sure what else to plant beyond the usual crops, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to plow the land anyway.
Du Heng put the yoke on the ox. He had only seen people drive oxen for plowing before; this was his first time trying it himself. In theory, he understood it, but not in practice.
Seeing the strong ox, he rolled up his pant legs, feeling eager—but a splash of icy water from the field hit his face.
“What are you doing?”
Qin Xiaoman, standing in the field, saw Du Heng’s bent posture and rolled-up pants. He dropped the plow and quickly pulled the pant legs back down, covering Du Heng’s fair, well-shaped calves.
“If you don’t roll them down, your pants will get wet.”
“It’s only early spring, the snow just melted. The field water is deep and freezing, the mud will chill your feet. You’re too delicate for this.”
Du Heng bent down to roll them up again. “I’m not that fragile.”
Qin Xiaoman blocked him. “Your leg was broken before. The bone has healed, but not to its original strength. If it soaks in cold water, it’ll hurt.”
“That little patch by the field belongs to us too. If we don’t plow it, who will?”
Du Heng stood at the edge of the field, eyes slightly narrowed, pinching Qin Xiaoman’s cheek. “Fine, I’ll listen to you.”
Qin Xiaoman climbed out of the water and handed Du Heng a small sickle. “This half-acre hasn’t been plowed for two years. The weeds are everywhere. You’ll need to cut them before turning the soil.”
“I know,” Du Heng replied, taking the sickle.
Watching him start to cut, Qin Xiaoman grinned, showing his teeth. “If it gets too tiring, rest. Don’t overdo it, or you’ll hurt your back.”
Du Heng coughed softly. He hadn’t even strained his back yet—he was careful enough to protect himself.
With the sharp iron plow and the ox pulling in front, Qin Xiaoman pushed from behind. The plow bit into the mud; the strong ox dragged it effortlessly, turning over the dry soil and quickly muddying the paddy water.
Qin Xiaoman had the strength. Previously, without the ox, he had only his own hands. Unlike other households with two or more laborers using plows and harrows, he had to dig the soil with a hoe as if it were hard earth. Now, it was much easier.
He whipped the ox along, moving swiftly.
Du Heng, meanwhile, squatted to cut the weeds. The winter frost had killed many wild grass roots. Even though the wormwood had died, it still stood in the soil, thick as his finger.
After cutting the half-acre of weeds, he piled them together—dry roots could even be used later for kindling.
This small section of land, left unplanted, wasn’t wasted. Du Heng crouched, cutting deep-rooted old grass. The sound of the hoe scraping the sandy soil was sharp and grating. The soil was thin and loose, with many small stones.
He had been to the fertile fields at home, where the soil was soft, rich, and deep, with a thick humus layer. This field, drained of water by deep-rooted weeds, was very different.
“Why didn’t you rent out all this unused land before?”
“I had considered renting it, but it wasn’t that simple.”
“Most of the rented land in the village is controlled by landlords. Ordinary households risk trouble if they rent land themselves. People jealous of you might gossip to the landlord, and you could get on the landlord’s bad side. I know your reputation wasn’t great before—renting it out would only invite trouble.”
“In that case, it’s better to earn a little less. At least it avoids risks and keeps things safe.”
Du Heng’s brow twitched. Having wealth can bring trouble to the innocent; he realized Qin Xiaoman had been cautious, keeping the land safe all this time.
“Here, husband, have some flatbread.”
Du Heng put down his hoe and looked up to see Qin Xiaoman already standing with flatbreads in hand. They hadn’t realized they’d been working for over an hour.
He felt a bit sweaty under his vest; hard labor made him genuinely hungry. Even with a decent breakfast, his stomach was empty.
The two sat side by side on the high earth embankment, legs dangling, eating the bread and sipping water. The air carried the scent of fresh grass and wet soil—somehow comforting.
After labor, even simple bread tasted as satisfying as meat.
Du Heng ate slowly, observing the now-muddy field. The ox flicked its tail and nibbled on the fresh grass growing on the edges.
“Half the field is plowed already,” Qin Xiaoman said cheerfully, chewing his bread. “This ox is strong. We’re fast. At this rate, we can finish all our fields in five days.”
Noticing the sweat on Qin Xiaoman’s forehead, Du Heng patted his head and offered him the remaining half of his flatbread.
“I’ve had enough. You eat it.”
“I can’t eat much. I’ll have it while it’s still warm. In an hour, I’ll go back to cook.”
Du Heng tore off a large piece and brought it to Qin Xiaoman’s mouth.
Qin Xiaoman smiled, eyes sparkling, and opened wide to take the bread.
He lowered his eyes, happily munching on the bread, when suddenly he grabbed Du Heng’s hand. “Ah! Your palms have blisters!”
Du Heng looked down at his outstretched hands. The skin around his fingers was rubbed raw from the hoe handle, red and sore as if it might bleed, though thankfully it hadn’t broken.
Qin Xiaoman swallowed two mouthfuls of bread, then took both of Du Heng’s long hands in his, blowing on them gently. His heart ached with worry. “I told you, your hands aren’t made for hard labor, and yet you insist on doing it yourself.”
Du Heng felt the warmth from Qin Xiaoman’s breath and laughed softly at the little head in front of him. “They’ll be fine once they get calloused.”
He tugged at Qin Xiaoman’s hand. “Aren’t your palms tough because they’ve calloused from work?”
“That’s different. I’ve been doing chores since I was little. You can’t compare it to what your hands have just gone through.” Qin Xiaoman furrowed his brow, adopting a thoughtful, mature look. “No, you really shouldn’t come out to work in the fields anymore.”
He tilted his head and looked at Du Heng. “Why don’t you continue studying for the exams instead?”
Du Heng watched his bright eyes and flicked his forehead playfully. “Buying books and writing supplies costs a lot, and when it’s time for exams, I won’t have time to tend the fields. Even though I’m slower at work than you, if there’s only one of us working, we can’t manage everything.”
“The wedding cost some money, but we still have nearly twenty taels of silver at home. That’ll be enough for your studies if needed.”
Du Heng had indeed considered continuing his studies. He hadn’t abandoned the idea completely, but he knew from experience how costly schooling could be. The imperial exams required years of preparation, and even talented scholars needed family support. For ordinary families, sustaining a student for years could easily drain them.
He wanted Xiaoman to live well but didn’t want to leave him alone to toil in the fields while he studied.
“Let’s put this off for a couple of years. I’ll study when I have spare time. For now, let’s plow more fields and save up some money. When the household is stable, you can go to the city to study without worry.”
Qin Xiaoman fell silent for a moment. In the village, some students had exhausted their families’ resources after years of study without results. They returned home to farm, yet still carried an air of aloofness, unwilling to take administrative jobs in the city. Their families often struggled.
Of course, some students succeeded. The second son of a local landlord had studied in the city, married the daughter of a wealthy family, and now lived comfortably in town.
After years of observing this, Qin Xiaoman knew a good foundation was essential. His own father had been a scholar; he understood the expenses. To support Du Heng properly, he needed resources and peace of mind, including sending him to study in the city. Money would last a while but not indefinitely—and having cash on hand was crucial for emergencies, like when Du Heng’s leg was injured.
Du Heng had thought things through carefully.
“Keep this in mind,” Qin Xiaoman said. “Now that we have an ox, I’ll plow more fields and plant more grain. Once our household prospers, I’ll send you to the city to study.”
Du Heng nodded softly. “Mm.”
This was a wife who considered everything for him.
Du Heng clasped Qin Xiaoman’s hand and kissed the back of it.
“Don’t push yourself too hard. You’re always so diligent at manual work; with your nature, it would be easy for others to take advantage.”
“Our land won’t tend itself,” Qin Xiaoman replied.
“I don’t care. You’re not allowed to overexert yourself. Later, I’ll check your hands.”
“All right, all right.”
Seeing Du Heng agree, Qin Xiaoman jumped down from the embankment, ready to return to the field. From a distance, the sound of firecrackers erupted. Down the village’s main road came a lively procession.
At the front, a waist sash with a big red flower glimmered, flanked by two gongs, while at the back, a small, decorated sedan chair was carried.
Without introduction, they knew it was a wedding.
“Someone from our village?” Du Heng asked.
“Today’s Zhao family wedding.”
Qin Xiaoman craned his neck to glimpse the bride in the sedan chair. Everyone was curious to see the newlyweds.
“The Zhao family invited familiar villagers, but not me. Zhao’s wife must have feared I’d show up and make a fuss.”
“They really like to show off,” Du Heng remarked. “They didn’t send anyone when we got married either.”
“My second uncle invited them, but they didn’t come.”
“It looks lively, though. I hear the bride is from a wealthy family in another village. Zhao’s wife boasted about it all over our village, and now the wedding’s finally happening.”
Du Heng held Qin Xiaoman’s hand, brushing off the mud on his back. He didn’t say anything, but the warmth of his hand made Qin Xiaoman’s heart feel cozy.
“Seeing childhood sweethearts marry, does it sting a little?” Du Heng teased.
“You’re joking with me, aren’t you!” Qin Xiaoman glared. “Even if Zhao’s daughter didn’t like me, I could’ve pushed my way into the Zhao household back then.”
Du Heng thought of Qin Xiaoman like the stubborn hair sticking up on his head—resilient and unyielding, yet soft at heart.
“I’m just glad you didn’t push your way into the Zhao family.”
Qin Xiaoman laughed. “That’s all past. I haven’t thought about it. Now I just want to plow our fields properly and sow the seeds. By autumn, we’ll have a bountiful harvest—and then I’ll support your studies.”
Du Heng nodded. “We’ll definitely have a great harvest.”
As the weather warmed, the villagers turned their focus to the land. After the Zhao family wedding, no one else was reported to be holding a celebration. The fields, however, became busier, with more eyes catching the sight of people turning over the soil.
Du Heng followed Qin Xiaoman in the fields for several days, rising early and returning late, swinging the hoe constantly, his face to the yellow soil, back to the sky. Only then did he truly understand how exhausting plowing could be.
Qin Xiaoman, accustomed to farm labor, found it easier than ever this year with the ox to help. Even though there was more land to till than in previous years, he worked with greater ease—and with the added motivation of saving money to send Du Heng to study, his energy never waned.
Du Heng felt relieved they had bought the ox; otherwise, the two of them alone could never have managed so much work. While the household’s food needs were small, their labor wasn’t as strong as other families, and it was a shame to leave so much land idle.
He noticed that villagers without oxen still started work at dawn. Young and old, men and women, the whole family was out in the fields. Using plows and harrows without animal assistance required full human strength, and even the toughest men would blister their shoulders after a few hours. Two strong laborers could barely match the output of one ox—and only if they worked tirelessly.
As Qin Xiaoman pushed the plow single-handedly through the muddy rice paddies, moving with ease, villagers couldn’t help but notice. Even the men taking a short break stole glances at the Qin family’s fields.
“Having an ox really makes a difference. The soil turns over deeply and easily.”
“The fertile fields are manageable, but the thin soil is hard to dig. After an hour, even a strong man’s shoulders would blister.”
Several men stood on the embankment, half-squinting in the warm spring sunlight, watching Qin Xiaoman’s ox.
“It’s not like we didn’t manage before without oxen. Plenty of families get by just fine.”
Meanwhile, Mrs. Zhao carried a harrow, followed by a healthy, well-formed young woman.
“Mrs. Zhao brought her daughter-in-law to work in the fields?”
Mrs. Zhao’s face beamed with pride. “Yes, indeed.”
Villagers nearby turned to watch, smiling as the energetic pair strode from the main road toward the hills. The Zhao family owned several fertile plots by the perennial streams in the mountains. Every spring they cultivated these fields meticulously, earning the envy of the village almost as much as Qin Xiaoman’s ox did.
“That Zhao Qi is lucky. Look at that woman’s figure… wow…”
“Even the city girls don’t compare.”
Every family wished for an ox, and Mrs. Zhao’s proud remarks about how easy the work was merely comforted her own lack of one. The men, however, weren’t paying attention to that; their eyes lingered on the new faces, joking crudely among themselves.
“The men talk all sorts of nonsense out in the fields in broad daylight.”
Qin Xiaoman, hearing the women scold and laugh, glanced curiously. Though he didn’t see the front, he noticed the ample back of the young woman. Such a figure could only be raised in a well-off household, which explained Mrs. Zhao’s pride.
He glanced at Du Heng swinging his hoe nearby, then turned his attention back to the fields, not stooping to the men’s crude remarks. Qin Xiaoman secretly chuckled.
“That Zhao girl is quite something. She looks healthy and capable of bearing children. Zhao’s family has few men; I hear they spent four to five thousand in wedding gifts to bring her in. Looks like she’ll help keep the Zhao lineage going strong.”
“The gifts were hefty, but the banquet couldn’t compare to yours, Xiaoman.”
“Only four dishes of meat? One chicken stretched over three pots of soup? The tables were mostly vegetables—not enough to eat.”
“They prepared twelve tables of food for thirteen guest tables, squeezing people in by adding benches.”
“Even though the Zhao family is one of the better households, they’re stingy. Xiaoman, your feast had six dishes of meat per table, all abundant. I hear the leftover meat was even shared with those helping.”
Qin Xiaoman had long stopped caring about such comparisons. A good feast only reflected the money spent—it wasn’t for the neighbors’ praise. His joy came from marrying Du Heng, not impressing anyone else.
Still, his curiosity lingered over Mrs. Zhao’s promising appearance. Recently, he had a small worry in his heart, but busy as he was turning over the fields, he couldn’t dwell on it entirely.
While listening to the village chatter, his unease grew slightly. He discreetly rolled up his sleeve and looked at his wrist.
The strikingly red birthmark there unsettled him.
Since birth, Qin Xiaoman had a vivid red mole on his body, the marker distinguishing a “ge’er” (special male child) from an ordinary boy. As children grew, their bones and facial features made gender obvious, but newborns were hard to differentiate—the birthmark was the only indicator.
His father had once told him that the mark would disappear after marriage. Qin Xiaoman had thought it curious, imagining that the mark could sense marriage and vanish on its own. Later, observing his father and uncle, he suspected the mark wasn’t mystical—it required the couple to sleep together.
Yet now, after marrying Du Heng and doing everything “by the book,” the mark remained. He could not understand what was wrong.
One thing he knew: if the birthmark persisted, it meant they could not have children.
He felt uneasy, unsure whether he had some hidden issue, and didn’t know who to ask.