The water in the iron pot boiled fiercely, sending waves of scorching heat toward them. Jicheng motioned for Chunfu, who stood nearby, to step back, afraid the splashing water might scald her when he dropped the dumplings in.
Chunfu grinned, revealing a row of teeth. She had been woken up early to change clothes and have her hair styled. Her sister-in-law had yanked at her hair as if trying to pull every strand out. By the time she was finally done, the rich aroma of fried pastries wafted into her nose, making her mouth water. It seemed her sister-in-law considered her an outsider now, unwilling to even let her have a proper last meal. The moment the dumplings hit the boiling water, her stomach growled loudly.
Jicheng turned to wash his hands in a wooden basin, then glanced outside. Raindrops had gathered in the uneven ground, forming a small puddle where ripples spread with each new drop. He had no idea when the rain would stop, but the sight brought him joy—the fresh green of the trees, the earthy scent in the air, washing away the stifling heat. In the village, it was said that rain or snow on a wedding day was a blessing, a sign that the groom’s family would prosper. Whether or not that held true, it was still an auspicious omen that others envied.
Unable to resist, Jicheng turned back to look at the little girl staring hungrily at the pot, her lips smacking. His dark eyes softened with tenderness. He walked over, took her hand, and sat her down at the small dining table. The firewood burned strong today, and the dumplings bobbed in the rolling broth—they should be done. Still, he fished one out with a ladle, split it open with chopsticks, and picked out a bit of minced meat to offer her. “Try this. Is it cooked?”
This was the first time a man had ever fed her. Chunfu lowered her lashes, hiding her shyness. In the nearly month she had been here, she hadn’t tasted much meat, let alone anything truly delicious. Now, she felt like she was eating the best thing in the world. She swallowed, then looked up at him with bright, shining eyes, her voice soft and sweet as she patted her belly. “Good. Hungry.”
Jicheng took a small bite himself. The vegetables inside the dumplings cooked easily, but the meat was trickier. Once satisfied, he scooped the dumplings into a delicate, elegant new bowl—his sister-in-law had told him that adding a person to the household meant adding new tableware, and he had spotted this one in town at first glance.
He sat across from her, mixing a dipping sauce of vinegar and chili flakes before sliding it her way. Noticing her odd expression, he frowned. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell? Why are your eyes red?”
Chunfu had been about to dig in happily, but when she saw the broken-cornered bowl in front of him, filled with dumplings that had split open in the boil, her heart ached. Meanwhile, hers were perfectly intact, surely the tastiest of the batch.
She didn’t understand. Why was he so good to her? Didn’t he feel any regret or sadness for himself? Others mocked him for being with a fool—someone who couldn’t help him and instead required his care. Yet here he was, willingly giving her the best while looking genuinely happy. If anyone was the fool, it was him.
They said a person’s character could be seen in the smallest details. Precisely because she wasn’t a fool, she couldn’t accept his kindness without guilt. Happiness and heartache tangled inside her, trapping her in an endless loop of emotions, scrambling her clever little heart.
She pushed her bowl toward him, stubbornly insisting they share.
Jicheng had noticed her glancing at his bowl several times. Warmth spread through his chest, and he reached out to stroke her hair. “What a good wife. You’re hungry—eat more. It’d be a shame to waste these.” But when she simply sat there, unmoving, glaring at him until he gave in, he chuckled and finally picked up his chopsticks.
After the meal, Jicheng cleaned the kitchen and soaked their clothes in water, scrubbing them by hand. Chunfu sat on the kang, swinging her legs as she watched him bustle about. His tall, sturdy frame carried an air of masculinity, making his domestic chores seem a little awkward.
He strung up a straw rope in the room, wringing out the clothes before hanging them to dry. He liked things neat—leaving wet clothes lying around was unsightly and bothered him. But once his tasks were done, he wasn’t sure what to do next. Chunfu’s innocent eyes followed him until they were left staring at each other in silence.
Jicheng didn’t know what other couples did on their wedding day. After some thought, he led Chunfu to sit by the door, watching the rain and sipping tea. The leaves were the cheapest kind, yet still not inexpensive. While the wealthy enjoyed the rain as a refined pastime, for them, it was simply a moment of quiet peace.
Chunfu’s gaze never left him—watching as he lifted the teacup, occasionally turning to say a word or two. They didn’t feel like husband and wife, but more like an adult tending to a young child. Though their wedding lacked grandeur, it filled her with hope for the days ahead.
That night, there was no wedding consummation. Chunfu’s eyes, clear as a tranquil pond, held no trace of desire. He fetched her wash water, then climbed onto the kang to arrange the bedding. His broad shoulders, hunched slightly as he worked, gave her a strange sense of comfort, like the presence of a parent. She almost laughed—other couples would be lost in each other’s embrace beneath warm silken curtains, yet here they were, acting like an old married pair. She wanted to ask him: Did he marry a wife or adopt a daughter?
Jicheng waited until she had washed and settled in before stepping out to clean himself with the leftover warm water. Returning, he blew out the oil lamp, plunging the room into darkness. A finger’s width of space separated them. Chunfu, still awake, turned to study his faint outline in the dark and sighed inwardly. How could someone be so dense?
His steady breathing soon filled the room. Within moments, he was… asleep. Chunfu tossed and turned, only drifting off near midnight when the rain finally stopped. He was a good man, yes—but utterly clueless about romance!
Meanwhile, Jiliang and Qiaoyun arrived home drenched from the rain. Jipeng sat under the eaves, sighing as he watched the downpour. The sight of his son and daughter-in-law’s disheveled state told him their mission had failed. His face darkened further, and he slapped his thigh in frustration. “Jicheng refused?” He still wanted to hear the answer directly.
“He brought up the written agreement from back then. Even the village head couldn’t do anything about it.”
Jipeng sneered. “Words mean nothing without proof. Jicheng can’t even read—he’d mistake any scrap of paper for the real thing. We need to see it with our own eyes. Otherwise, he’ll have to cough it up one way or another.”
Jiliang had studied for two years and knew basic characters. Jicheng had always been sharp—how could they possibly trick him into handing over the agreement and the two pieces of jewelry? Jiliang couldn’t think of a way.
Jipeng frowned, deep in thought, as if wrestling with himself. Finally, he spoke. “Losing face is better than losing a life. Skip the fields these next few days—keep an eye on Jicheng’s place. If he’s not home, go in and search. Find the agreement if you can. If not, just take the jewelry.”
Jiliang balked. “Dad, entering someone’s home uninvited is theft. Let’s think of another way. We’ll get the money somehow.”
Jipeng’s eyes flashed with anger. “You can wait, but can your brother? Are you afraid we’ll favor him over you once he’s back? After raising you, haven’t I taught you not to be jealous or resentful? Jikun is your real brother now. The sooner we get that money to those thugs, the sooner we bring him home safe.”
Jiliang feared his father deeply. Though Jipeng doted on him, he also wielded a heavy hand when disciplining him, leaving him bruised and battered. Not daring to refuse, he quickly agreed.
Jipeng waved him off impatiently. “Your mother left food for you. Go eat.”
Only when they were in bed that night did Qiaoyun dare to ask, “Jiliang, what’s going on? Why did Dad suddenly send us to confront your brother? And who is Jikun? I don’t want you doing something shameful. Why doesn’t Dad go himself?”
Jiliang sighed, the sound of rain outside only adding to his unease. “Jicheng is my real brother. Jikun… he’s my cousin—Dad’s real son. Of Dad’s generation, there were three brothers. The eldest drowned at ten. The second uncle… Dad was over a decade older than the youngest and married early. When I was just old enough to understand, the conscription orders came. Jikun couldn’t avoid it and went off to war. Years passed with no word. None of the men from that draft returned—everyone assumed they were dead. Mom’s health was ruined, so she couldn’t have more children. That’s when Dad decided to adopt a son for his old age. Now, his real son is coming home. Even if he’s a troublemaker, they’re overjoyed. Watch your tongue from now on—don’t say things you shouldn’t.”
Jiliang barely slept that night. He already felt his place in the family slipping. No matter how filial he was, he’d never compare to a blood son. Jikun’s return had upended his life. And now, he was supposed to steal from Jicheng to save Jikun? Did he even want to? If no one found out, fine—but what if they did?
His father had sent him precisely because, even if caught, he was still the third uncle’s son. No one could say much. Beside him, Qiaoyun’s soft snores filled the room, but sleep eluded him.
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