Inside, Du Heng pulled out an embroidery needle. He had seen villagers use these on the sunny plains to pick tiny thorns embedded in flesh.
“Where did it get you? I’ll pick it out.”
He examined Qin Xiaoman’s hands, yellowed from years of labor, palms covered in more calluses than his own.
On the backs of his hands and fingers were tiny black dots—thorns, some fresh, some embedded so long they’d grown into the flesh.
“You can get them out?”
Qin Xiaoman looked at the silver embroidery needle. He wasn’t afraid of pain, just incredulous at how meticulous Du Heng was being.
“Hands used to writing are steady enough. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Du Heng hadn’t done this before, but he couldn’t leave the thorns lodged in the fingers—they were itchy, painful, and could easily get infected if left too long.
Qin Xiaoman nodded and handed his hand over to Du Heng, trusting him completely.
Du Heng felt the warmth and roughness of the fingers—an unfamiliar touch, entirely different from brushing one hand against the other. His ears flushed red, and he quickly buried his head, staring at the fine thorns in his hand to mask his fluster.
“Yikes!”
Qin Xiaoman instinctively pulled his fingers back. Du Heng looked up, awkwardly meeting his gaze. “Sorry, I’ll be gentle.”
“You’re hot.”
“Huh?”
“Your face is like a monkey’s butt.”
Du Heng cleared his throat. “Well… I guess I am a bit warm after eating.”
Qin Xiaoman rolled his eyes, rubbed his fingers, but eventually returned his hand.
Du Heng took a deep breath, steadied himself, and grasped the silver needle firmly. He first pierced the skin lightly, then carefully extracted each thorn.
The thorns weren’t deep—just enough to break the skin—so there was no bleeding.
Qin Xiaoman lowered his gaze, watching the person handling his hand with the precision of a master woodcarver.
He pursed his lips. With someone this handsome, their future children would definitely be good-looking. That meant no worries about finding a suitable spouse. Such beauty couldn’t be wasted; they had to have several children…
Though Qin Xiaoman remained still, Du Heng held his breath, removing several thorns one by one. Only when he felt no further pain did he finally relax.
“All done. Any more?”
“Three would be best.”
“Ah!?”
Qin Xiaoman snapped back to reality. “Oh… okay, that’s enough.”
He rubbed his hands as if washing them, the irritation and prickles gone, and smiled. Finally, there was no more discomfort. “You’re really kind!”
Du Heng smiled, packing away the needle, thinking how easy it was to please this child. “All done?”
“Of course.” Qin Xiaoman cheerfully practiced his polite words. “Thank you, my husband!”
Du Heng cleared his throat, turning his face away, lowering his voice. “Don’t call me that.”
Frowning, Qin Xiaoman said, “What do you mean, don’t call it that? If I don’t call you husband, should I call you… cripple?”
Du Heng didn’t respond to the sudden outburst and stood up quickly. “I’ll go reset the needles.”
Qin Xiaoman jumped up and snatched the embroidered needle from his hand. “Who asked you to go?”
Hearing him hum, Du Heng sighed helplessly as Qin Xiaoman stomped into the main room, not emerging for a while.
He guessed Qin Xiaoman was throwing a tantrum, and went on with his work, tossing the treated chestnuts into the pot to cook. Once boiled, they’d be fragrant, soft, and sweet after roasting again tomorrow.
He tidied the kitchen, brought a fire pan to warm his room, and prepared water to soak his feet. Seeing Qin Xiaoman hadn’t come out yet, he called, “Xiaoman, want to soak your feet?”
Though already bathed, a nighttime soak would be warmer.
No reply. Du Heng suspected he was still sulking.
He got up to check. This kid had quite a temper. Knocking gently on the half-closed door, still no answer: “If you don’t speak, I’ll come in.”
He limped inside and saw Qin Xiaoman asleep, face down on the bed without covering, feet dangling over the edge.
Shaking his head, Du Heng carefully removed Qin Xiaoman’s shoes and moved him onto the bed. The day’s climb and a full stomach had made him easily fall asleep.
He tucked the blanket around the sulking child, smoothing the corners. As he bent to adjust the side blanket, Qin Xiaoman groggily opened his eyes and glanced at the man bent over him.
“Daddy, my feet are cold…”
Du Heng froze, looking at him through the blanket, eyes narrowed to a slit.
“Your feet…”
Listening to the sleepy words, Du Heng lightly patted him through the blanket. “I’ll warm them soon. Sleep now.”
Seems like he understood. Qin Xiaoman mumbled and shifted slightly. “Give my husband one too.”
Du Heng’s brows twitched. He opened his mouth but said nothing, instead tucking the blanket tighter and heading to the kitchen for the hot water.
After soaking the feet and bringing in a fire pan for warmth, he closed the windows and the door. By then, the foot soak water was lukewarm from all the fuss.
He washed himself quickly, noticing his injured foot wasn’t the usual curve. A hard bump protruded near the ankle, painful to touch—like a bone out of place.
He wondered if it could heal. Modern medicine would ease his worries, but in this era, treatment was uncertain.
Better than being a cripple, he hoped it would heal. Not just for appearances—walking and daily life would be too difficult otherwise.
He soaked his foot, feeling some relief. Memories of begging and hardship resurfaced, and he sighed.
The next morning, Du Heng rose early.
The rain had stopped, but winter mornings were late to brighten, with the world still shrouded in misty gray.
Qin Xiaoman had already left.
Farmers were used to rising early; even in summer heat, they were out before dawn, returning only when the sun was up for breakfast. Late risers risked sunburn.
Not finding Qin Xiaoman in the house, Du Heng went to the kitchen.
The leftover pickled vegetables and shredded meat hadn’t been finished, so he mixed some dough for noodles, boiled water, and waited for Qin Xiaoman’s return to cook.
But dawn passed and Qin Xiaoman still hadn’t returned. Du Heng heard the animals stir, fed the poultry, and considered preparing pig food—but there was no fodder left.
It seemed Qin Xiaoman had gone out early to cut grass.
Du Heng could only wait for him to return.
Looking for something to do, his foot kicked a wooden basin. Glancing down, he saw it filled with the clothes Qin Xiaoman had changed out of yesterday.
Du Heng paused, staring at the soaking garments mixed with soapberries. …I can’t really be expected to wash his clothes too…
Everyone washes their own clothes!
Still, if he didn’t wash them, what would it imply…? Du Heng stepped back a few paces, considering.
Washing clothes was such a mundane task, after all; he’d done it himself plenty of times.
He cleared his throat. Winter clothes didn’t dry easily. If he didn’t wash them now, while the sky was clear, they might not be ready in time. Besides, there was nothing unusual about an older person helping a younger one with their laundry.
Du Heng fetched a bucket of hot water, sat before the basin, and began scrubbing.
Qin Xiaoman had climbed the hill in the rain yesterday; his clothes were soaked and dirty, worn from constant labor, with two patched spots already.
Du Heng scrubbed for a long while, removing the stains and moss. He wrung out the clothes and tossed them into the bucket. Just as he was about to wash the pants, he noticed a pair of white underwear floating in the water.
“….”
Du Heng’s eyes widened. Quick as a flash, he fished the underwear out, his fingers trembling. His face flushed hot.
He averted his gaze and shoved the underwear into the bucket, intending to deal with it quickly, but the dirty water still worried him. With a sigh, he fetched another bucket of hot water and soaked the underwear separately.
Closing his eyes, he scrubbed, unsure whether the heat of the steam or his own embarrassment made his face burn.
When Qin Xiaoman returned, carrying a massive basket of pig grass, Du Heng was busy roasting chestnuts in the kitchen.
The basket was three times Qin Xiaoman’s size; the overstuffed grass bent him almost double.
“I’m back!”
Du Heng hurried out from the stove area. “Why are you carrying so much?”
Setting down the basket, Qin Xiaoman rubbed his shoulders proudly. “I went up the hill yesterday on a side path and found lots of wild grass the pigs could eat. Got an early start today to bring it back.”
“There’s almost nothing left in the fields for pig feed. If we don’t gather wild grass, we won’t have enough this winter.”
Du Heng said, “Many households slaughter pigs around New Year. If we don’t have enough feed, we can just slaughter one too.”
Qin Xiaoman chuckled. “You think only of slaughtering, huh? Even if we slaughter this grown pig, we still have to buy piglets to keep raising them.”
Just then, a drop of water fell on Qin Xiaoman’s forehead. Wiping it, he looked up and noticed his clothes from last night hanging on the line.
“You washed my clothes?”
“Yeah. They’d gotten smelly from soaking, and I had hot water, so I washed them.”
Qin Xiaoman laughed. “You’re really considerate!”
Du Heng didn’t mind the word being used on him. He watched the cheerful youth rub his belly and head toward the kitchen. “What do you want for breakfast? Did you heat up last night’s shredded meat? I want some too!”
“Xiaoman.” Du Heng called him back.
Qin Xiaoman turned. “Yes?”
Du Heng hesitated, then pointed at the drying underwear. “From now on, wash this yourself.”
Qin Xiaoman furrowed his brows, about to argue—he had washed most things already; one small piece of clothing shouldn’t matter. But he noticed the meaning behind Du Heng’s words, smiled, and softened his tone. “Alright, I’ll wash it.”
“Quick, you’re hungry—let’s eat!”
“Mm…”
Qin Xiaoman looked at Du Heng as he held his wrist.
“What is it?”
Du Heng, thinking that Qin Xiaoman’s father had passed away early and he might not have been taught some things, said: “From now on, don’t soak dirty clothes. Wash them in hot water while bathing, and dry them in the sun.”
“…Why?”
“Just do as I say.”
Qin Xiaoman frowned, then pursed his lips and smiled again.
Just a few days, and he was already learning the assertive ways of a young man.
He followed closely behind Du Heng, grinning. “Alright, I’ll listen to you.”