Qin Xiong was quite satisfied with this visit. He didn’t say much to Du Heng, delivered the goods, and left without even sitting down.
Du Heng stuck an old spatula into the pig feed pot. Seeing that the sweet potatoes at the bottom had softened, he knew the feed was ready, so he put out the fire.
Looking outside, the fog had cleared a bit. He had intended to take a walk, but as soon as he stepped onto the muddy path, he regretted it. The rain had softened the dirt road, and many people had passed through, leaving it a slippery mess.
After a couple of steps, he was already thinking of going back.
Just as he turned around, he heard the voices of two children from the other end of the lane:
“Qin Xiaoman is so annoying. Instead of digging up the bamboo shoots properly, he climbs the trees and picks all the good chestnuts. At this time of year, there isn’t much left, but he still gets all the good stuff.”
“In this rain, isn’t he afraid of climbing so high and falling?”
“Forget it, forget it. These are just public mountain chestnut trees. If we can pick them, so can he. We can’t argue with him face-to-face anyway.”
The boy still couldn’t get over it: “No kid in our village is as overbearing as him. Serves Zhao’s family right for not taking him. They’ll never find a match.”
“I heard he got a live-in son-in-law. This morning, I overheard Madam Qin talking with my mom.”
“Really? Someone actually took a liking to him?”
“What liking? I heard he’s a beggar, a cripple. He came to our village and they kept him.”
The two boys, only eleven or twelve years old, were speaking animatedly. Looking up, they saw Du Heng standing at the gate of the Qin household.
Seeing the stranger’s handsome face and well-built figure, they froze for a moment.
Passing by Du Heng, the boys instinctively zipped their mouths and quickened their pace. After passing the Qin house, they couldn’t help but look back once more. Seeing Du Heng still at the gate watching them, they hurriedly ran off together.
Du Heng frowned. He didn’t blame Qin Xiaoman for being overbearing—if he had been mild-tempered, who knows how he might have been bullied in the village.
He sighed lightly, thinking Qin Xiaoman should be returning soon, and turned back toward the kitchen.
In the afternoon, the rain stopped. People gradually began coming down the mountain.
Qin Xiaoman was one of them. He took off his straw raincoat and put it in his basket, and removed his straw hat.
Although it hadn’t rained in the afternoon, the mountain trees were still dripping. His clothes, having been covered by the raincoat most of the day, were partially wet.
Working, he hadn’t felt cold, but once out in the wind with wet spots, it was chilly. He, however, was already used to it.
Picking chestnuts had taken some time, and he returned home late. Thinking of the remaining chores—feeding the pigs and cooking—he quickened his pace.
Although chores were many, coming home was no longer just him. At least it felt livelier. Thinking this gave him comfort, and his steps became more energized.
“I’m home!”
Qin Xiaoman shouted as he reached the courtyard gate. Almost immediately, he heard the door opening.
He smiled to himself and hurried inside, finding Du Heng standing at the doorway.
“What’s that smell?” Qin Xiaoman sniffed as he stepped into the courtyard. “Did Second Aunt generously send over some cooked meat?”
Du Heng smiled, looking at Qin Xiaoman’s slightly wet hair. He reached out for the basket on his back: “No, Second Uncle brought the meat this afternoon.”
“How does it smell so good then?”
Before Du Heng could answer, Qin Xiaoman had already set down the basket and rushed into the kitchen. Du Heng limped after him.
“You… you cooked the food?!”
Sniffing the aroma, Qin Xiaoman lifted the lid to see a steaming plate of stir-fried pork with pickled vegetables, a pot of hot white rice, and radishes in the warm vegetable water.
A fragrant, steaming, complete meal!
Qin Xiaoman was too shocked for words. Not only that, in another pot, the pig feed was already cooked—everything he had planned to do after coming home had already been done by Du Heng.
Du Heng cleared his throat. Cooking the meal himself should mean he was no longer “living off others,” right? “See if it suits your taste.”
A hot meal at home was already enough. Who cared if it suited his taste?
Qin Xiaoman’s heart swelled with both excitement and delight. He didn’t even know what to say, continuously wiping the corner of his clothes with his palms.
“Your clothes are all wet. Take a hot shower first before eating, or you might catch a cold.”
Seeing how happy Qin Xiaoman was, Du Heng, unsure what else to do, began scooping hot water into the bucket.
Qin Xiaoman snatched the gourd ladle: “I’ll do it! I’ll do it!”
He saw Du Heng carrying the bucket lightly into the washroom. Thinking about the incident where he fainted, Qin Xiaoman blushed slightly and didn’t help him carry the bucket further.
Outside, under the eaves, Du Heng took Qin Xiaoman’s raincoat from the basket, shook it out, and hung it on the wall. Inside the basket were half a basket of chestnuts.
The mountain chestnuts were small, and at this time of year, the spiny husks had already split, revealing reddish-brown nuts, each plump and clearly sorted once already.
Du Heng suddenly remembered seeing Zhao Qi yesterday bringing chestnuts. When talking to Qin Xiaoman, he had casually mentioned it was chestnut season.
He seemed to realize something, tightening his grip on the chestnuts and looking toward the washroom.
“When digging bamboo shoots, I saw some good chestnuts and picked a few. That tree had plenty,” Qin Xiaoman said as he came out to get his clothes and noticed Du Heng looking at the chestnuts. “In the end, I barely got two bamboo shoots but brought back quite a few chestnuts.”
“Not enough to sell in the city anyway. Just eat them.”
Du Heng looked at Qin Xiaoman, a feeling he couldn’t quite put into words swelling in his chest.
“I’m going to get some clothes and take a bath.”
Watching Qin Xiaoman head inside, Du Heng moved the basket aside.
While Qin Xiaoman was bathing, Du Heng put on gloves and used tongs to shell the chestnuts. The nuts themselves were delicious, but the husks were prickly; careless handling could poke the skin. Fortunately, most of them had already split open, making them easier to peel.
From half a basket of chestnuts, he got a small bowl’s worth. He brought it inside, tidied up the discarded husks, and piled them in a corner of the courtyard. Once dried by the wind, they could be used as firewood.
In farming households, nothing goes to waste—every stitch, every wild vegetable, every rice husk has its use. Life is always carefully planned and frugal.
Du Heng had served as a village official for three years and understood this thoroughly.
A few winter bamboo shoots remained, three or four in varying sizes. With their husks, they weighed four to five pounds. Du Heng carefully trimmed the roots without damaging the outer leaves. Properly stored, they would keep for some time.
After finishing with the basket, Qin Xiaoman emerged from the bath.
He was wearing only his wrinkled underclothes and was drying his hair with a cloth. Seeing Du Heng shaking out the basket, he set the cloth aside.
“You finished everything?”
“Mm.”
Qin Xiaoman furrowed his brows. “You know how to do everything?”
Du Heng smiled. “With hands, how could I not? I didn’t just study books before.”
“Are we still eating dinner in the kitchen?”
Qin Xiaoman nodded. “Yeah, and it’s a good way to dry my hair too.”
The two of them went into the kitchen, dragged two benches together, and set the rice and dishes on top.
They added two bowls of rice, one each.
Qin Xiaoman eagerly picked up a chopstick of evenly sliced pork and put it in his mouth. The stir-fried salted vegetables with lean pork had just the right amount of oil and seasoning. He squinted in pleasure.
“You really weren’t a cook before?”
It wasn’t just that the food was good—it truly tasted like the dishes his father used to take him to in town. The knife work was excellent too.
“My mother was a cook. She taught me a little as she went along.”
His mother had run a restaurant; calling her a cook wasn’t an exaggeration. She had originally intended for him to inherit the family business after graduation, but he chose a different path.
Du Heng looked at Qin Xiaoman, hair still damp, cheeks puffed as he chewed. Seeing him so much younger than himself, a sudden wave of affection rose in his chest.
“If you can still eat, I’ll cook from now on.”
Qin Xiaoman looked up at him directly. “You really want to?”
Du Heng held his chopsticks. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Men rarely enter the kitchen. People outside will gossip if they see it.”
Du Heng took a bite. He didn’t care about what others thought. Cooking doesn’t make a man less of a man. Most restaurant chefs in town are men. Claims that men cooking are shameful usually come from men themselves, just to excuse avoiding chores. He was using and contributing; there was value in that.
“I don’t care about that.”
Qin Xiaoman was pleasantly surprised. Feeling clever, he quickly added two chopsticks of food to Du Heng’s bowl.
“Then you’ll cook from now on. You’re way better at it than me.”
“But…” Even in his excitement, Qin Xiaoman remained careful. “We still have to be mindful. A rural household isn’t like a merchant’s home.”
Their family was comfortable enough to have three meals a day. In other homes, people sometimes only had two meals, with soup plentiful but rice scarce, and stir-fries bland. Even if a family could get by without going hungry, they couldn’t afford meat every day.
Even with his Second Uncle’s skill as a butcher and two strong sons, meat only appeared once every few days. Luxury meals every day weren’t a thing.
Du Heng nodded. “Got it. I’ll be careful with portions.”
He had already taken stock of the house while cleaning earlier. After cooking one meal, he knew exactly what the household was like and what they’d been through.
Qin Xiaoman thought Du Heng had no pride in masculinity, making him extremely easy to get along with—easier than any other man he had met. His appetite grew accordingly, and he finished three bowls that night.
Afterward, Du Heng washed the dishes while Qin Xiaoman fed the livestock.
Once chores were done, Qin Xiaoman wanted to wash his clothes from bathing, but his hands itched and throbbed, making it impossible to focus. He sat by the stove, pinching the thorns stuck in his fingers, but the small spikes wouldn’t come out, even as his fingers turned red.
He’d been pricked earlier when climbing the chestnut trees without gloves.
Du Heng, meanwhile, was preparing the chestnuts for roasting the next day. Seeing Qin Xiaoman scratching his hands like a little monkey, he tilted his head and went inside for a moment.