Chapter 5

The paper and ink Song Sheng brought when he left were all bought with money; although they were the cheapest options, it still cost a considerable amount.

Sūn shì and Lǐ shì also felt sympathy — nearly all the family’s savings had been spent on their younger brother‑in‑law.

But when they saw Lu Qing returning with a basket of eggs in his arms, their faces immediately lit up with smiles.

A single sheet of paper and a few drops of ink had been exchanged for a whole basket of eggs — that was truly worthwhile.

Lǐ shì counted the eggs in the basket: there were more than ten, enough to eat for several days.

By evening, as the sun slipped behind the clouds, the Song family’s farmers returned from the ridges of the fields.

Since there had been more eggs at home these days, and the laborers had worked hard, Lǐ shì boiled one egg for each person.

In farming households, evenings had little entertainment to pass the time. After eating dinner early, everyone simply rested.

Song Sheng followed the village custom, lying down to rest early. Though the hour was still early, he wanted to read and review his lessons, but once it grew dark, reading required lighting candles.

Candles were not cheap. Even the red candles used at his wedding had been borrowed from another household.

Red candles were expensive, and ordinary families would not buy them except for weddings. In the village, whenever someone married, they borrowed two candles and returned the favor with a few eggs or a piece of tofu.

For ordinary lighting, families used wax oil, with a twisted hemp thread as the wick.

But wax oil was also costly, so villagers rarely spent money on it. Because the original person had needed to read at night, Grandma Zhang Xinghua had specially bought some for him.

Still, these had to be used sparingly. Song Sheng thought it better to rise earlier in the morning and read more while daylight lasted.

Song Sheng turned over and tucked the corners of the quilt, otherwise the wind would seep in and it wouldn’t be warm at night. It was only the tenth month now, but when the twelfth month came, wouldn’t it be even colder?

He had just learned today that no one here grew cotton, so no one used cotton quilts.

According to his second sister‑in‑law, cotton was expensive, and since no one in this area knew how to grow it, only wealthy families could afford to buy a few jin of cotton to make quilts.

Song Sheng thought to himself that he not only had to study hard for the imperial examinations, but also needed to find a way to earn money. He couldn’t let the whole family suffer along with him.

His thoughts were complicated, but matters had to be handled one by one. He couldn’t rush, so he decided to stop thinking for now.

At that moment, he remembered what those gē ér in the village had said during the day. Worried Lu Qing might still feel uneasy, he spoke to comfort him: “Don’t take to heart what those people said today. No matter what reputation you had in the past, I don’t mind.”

Lu Qing had already stopped caring about those remarks. He could see that his husband hadn’t despised him even after hearing them, so nothing else mattered.

He hadn’t expected his husband to be so kind, even comforting him at night.

Lu Qing shifted his body. He had been lying flat, but wanted to turn to his side. As he moved, he accidentally touched Song Sheng’s lower abdomen, and his cheeks grew warm. He whispered: “Mm, I know. Today… thank you, husband.”

Song Sheng didn’t notice his small movement. His body was too lacking in exercise. Just walking around the village and covering more ground today had left him exhausted and drowsy.

Seeing him unmoving, Lu Qing thought he was asleep. He shrank back a little, then quietly leaned closer into his husband’s arms. When Song Sheng didn’t react, he grew bolder, gently holding one of his hands and rubbing his face against it.

With eyes closed, half‑asleep, Song Sheng only felt something restless in his arms. He pressed the head against his chest and muttered in a muffled, sleepy voice: “Don’t move, go to sleep.”

Lu Qing’s face burned hot, blushing crimson. Even after Song Sheng had fallen asleep, he himself had no sleepiness at all.

He lifted his eyes to look at Song Sheng beside him, thinking about the day’s events. A shy smile curved his lips, and then he carefully propped up his upper body with his arm, gently pressed a secret kiss on Song Sheng’s lips, and only then drifted into sleep.

Lu Qing’s reputation as a “little jinx” had long spread throughout West Village. Because of this, he had remained unmarried in the women’s quarters. Adding to that, the mole at the corner of his brow was faint, which people said meant poor fertility. So even at nearly seventeen years old, no marriage had been arranged for him.

Zhang Xinghua knew something of this matter. When it was decided that Song Sheng would marry Lu Qing, she had hesitated, but in the end it was the original Song Sheng who insisted.

There were two reasons. First, the original Song Sheng was obsessed with appearances. Among the candidates the matchmaker suggested, he secretly inquired and found Lu Qing to be the most handsome. Since he had no intention of having children, the faint mole at the brow didn’t matter.

Second, Lu Qing’s dowry was larger than that of other gē ér. To be frank, the original Song Sheng was selfish — he looked down on gē ér yet coveted their dowry, lacking the virtue and integrity expected of a scholar.

On the third day after the wedding came the day when the new husband returned to his family.

In the original story, Song Sheng didn’t even accompany Lu Qing back home, instead making an excuse to visit a classmate.

But now, with a different soul in his body, Song Sheng was determined to accompany Lu Qing.

That morning, Zhang Xinghua prepared the items needed for the return visit.

The candied fruits bought for the wedding and the peanuts fried at home still remained. Zhang Xinghua wrapped a large package in oiled paper, to be given as snacks for the children at Lu Qing’s family.

The most important gifts for the return visit were wine and meat.

In Songjia Village, it was tradition to bring wine and meat when returning to the bride’s family.

The wine was leftover from the wedding day — two jars remained. The meat was gone, and the Song family was poor, with meat being expensive. Still, Zhang Xinghua took a few silver coins from her own purse and bought pork from the butcher in the neighboring village.

With wine and meat prepared, she added a basket of eggs. Though she hadn’t bought sugar candy, with the peanuts and candied fruits already packed, the gifts for the return visit were considered generous.

It must be said, although the family was poor, Zhang Xinghua was a kind and considerate person. She prepared all the things needed for the return visit, mainly because she feared her grandson would be laughed at if he went back empty‑handed.

West Village was large, formed by merging several nearby villages. Lu Qing’s maternal family lived there. His father, Lu Xun, had first married into another village, but after his husband died, he remarried back into West Village. When his second husband also died, the in‑laws accused him of being a jinx who harmed husbands, and drove him and his son out.

It was Lu Qing’s grandmother, Madam Jiang, who took them back. Since then, they had lived with her in West Village. After that incident, Lu Xun lost all desire to remarry, choosing instead to stay with his family and live quietly.

This return visit was to the Lu family in West Village.

Madam Jiang’s health was poor. In earlier years, she had suffered greatly from hunger and cold, which damaged her body. She had two sons and one gē ér, Lu Xun.

The eldest son, Lu Da, married Madam Zhou and had three sons. The eldest was already married, the second was courting, and the youngest was only five.

The second son, Lu Er, was already past thirty but still unmarried, which worried Madam Jiang deeply. No matter what she said, he refused to marry. When she pressed him, he declared he would go to the mountains to become a Daoist priest, which nearly made her collapse in anger. In the end, she gave up — with the eldest son to care for her in old age, she let Lu Er do as he pleased.

Lu Qing vaguely remembered his father mentioning that his younger uncle had once cherished someone in his youth, which explained why he never married. But after so many years, that girl must have long since married and had children. The past was gone; only moving forward offered a path.

Although Lu Xun was a gē ér, he was Madam Jiang’s youngest child, born when she was already old. Of her three children, he was the one she loved most. Later, when his marriages ended in tragedy, Madam Jiang wept daily, her hair turning white far too soon.

—

By the end of October, it was already late autumn. Songjia Village, located in the north, began to feel cool breezes once the tenth month arrived.

On the day of the return visit, the wind was mild. Fallen leaves scattered across the ground, and half the branches on the roadside trees were already bare, while the remaining leaves swayed quietly in the breeze.

Song Sheng wore a long robe with cloth lapels, his hair tied with a strip of blue cloth. With his handsome features, he looked every bit the scholar, dignified and enviable.

This outfit had been arranged by Zhang Xinghua. Though the clothes were old and washed to the point of fading, they were still Song Sheng’s best.

Zhang Xinghua cared about appearances. Since Song Sheng was good‑looking, if he went to his in‑laws dressed poorly, they would surely look down on him.

Seeing her grandson dressed up, Zhang Xinghua’s brows lifted with joy. Whatever else might be said, she believed few in Songjia Village could compare to her grandson’s looks.

Song Sheng walked with Lu Qing toward West Village. Because he was eager to return home, Lu Qing’s steps were unconsciously lighter and quicker.

A few days earlier, Zhang Xinghua had gone to West Village by ox cart. This time, since they weren’t in a hurry, they walked slowly.

Lu Qing carried a basket on his back, stuffed full, while Song Sheng only had a basket of eggs hanging from his arm. The rest of the items were in Lu Qing’s basket.

This embarrassed Song Sheng. He had wanted to carry the basket himself, but his body was too weak. After only a few steps, he was panting and slowing down.

At that rate, they would not reach West Village before lunch.

Helpless, Song Sheng gave the basket to Lu Qing. Though Lu Qing looked thin and was a head shorter, he carried it with ease, walking without delay.

As they walked, Lu Qing said: “Husband, leave these heavy tasks to me in the future. Don’t tire yourself out.”

Song Sheng sighed inwardly. He knew he would have to start exercising from now on.

On the way, they passed through two small villages, and beyond that lay West Village. West Village was relatively large. In earlier times, on every even‑numbered day of the month, farming families who needed to trade would set up stalls. As time went on, people stopped caring about odd or even days — whenever they had goods to sell, they simply brought them out. Gradually, this grew into a marketplace.

Lu Qing’s grandmother’s home was on the outer edge of West Village. They didn’t need to go through the crowded market; taking the small path along the mountain outside was closer.