Chunfu often went up the mountain with Jicheng and had almost memorized which directions held the best finds. With someone clearing the path ahead and ensuring her safety, even the most treacherous trails felt sweet and manageable.
Jicheng thought she had come again to pick mushrooms, though their home was already stocked with plenty of dried ones. She seemed happy just looking at them, never mentioning what she planned to do, leaving him puzzled about what was going on in that little head of hers. This time, however, she passed by without stopping to gather any. Instead, she went straight to a patch of raspberries and picked half a basketful. She intended to make jam—though lacking the other ingredients listed in recipes, she could only prepare the simplest version. Still, in a place where even sugar was a luxury, jam would surely be a rare treat.
She planned to go to town with Jicheng the next day. The young lady of the Jin family had a refined palate, and if Chunfu could bring a variety of homemade snacks to impress her, she might just open a new path for herself.
Jicheng couldn’t fathom why she was so delighted by these berries. But then again, she was only fourteen. Though many girls in the village married at that age, her sudden clarity about life while retaining a childlike innocence was probably normal.
Chunfu considered that their sugar supply was limited, so she decided to use only part of the raspberries for jam. The rest could be eaten fresh or added to porridge. This was a cost-free opportunity to earn money, and she wasn’t about to let it slip. So absorbed in her excitement, she momentarily forgot the pain in her face. A sudden movement tugged at her wound, and she winced, turning teary-eyed to Jicheng with a pitiful whimper.
Jicheng unhooked the water flask from his waist and handed it to her to moisten her dry lips. “No mushrooms today?” he asked softly. “They looked pretty good.”
He bent down with exaggerated seriousness, pretending to inspect the ground, making Chunfu laugh. She picked a few before straightening up. Jicheng wanted to catch some fish—ever since Chunfu recovered from her illness, her cooking had improved remarkably. Seeing her nod, he strode toward the nearby river. Meanwhile, Chunfu mused that if her little business venture took off, she might have to neglect her own tastes for a while. Poverty forced people to push forward. She couldn’t bear the thought of Jicheng, even in his sixties or seventies, still toiling to support a large family.
Jicheng soon returned with a fish, wiping water from his forehead. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned to Chunfu. “Soup again? Even though it’s hot, I’d really like something spicy.”
Since Chunfu had started cooking, he’d developed quite the appetite, willingly stepping aside from his role as the main cook to assist her. Watching her wield the spatula, he finally understood the luxury of waiting for a meal like ordinary men did. She had an uncanny sense for heat and seasoning—even the simplest dishes tasted far better when she made them.
Jicheng carried everything on his back, leaving Chunfu empty-handed. On the way down, she gathered wildflowers, bundling them into a vibrant bouquet that brightened her mood.
Time flew on the mountain. Before they knew it, the sun had dipped westward. The path was quiet, devoid of people—until they reached their doorstep. There stood a woman in a peach-red dress, her thick braid hanging to her hips. She peered inside restlessly, her delicate willow-leaf brows furrowed. Her face was as lovely as a spring peach blossom, but her agitation made her seem as if she were about to burst into flames.
Spotting Jicheng and the young girl approaching from afar, her anger flared. She stormed forward and demanded, “Jicheng, you’re married?”
Jicheng had no recollection of this striking woman. Glancing at Chunfu, he replied tersely, “Yes. What are you doing at my door? I don’t know you.”
Chunfu paid no mind and moved to enter the courtyard, but the woman—once seemingly elegant—suddenly grabbed Jicheng’s arm, her voice sharp with anguish. “You promised to wait for me! It hasn’t even been that long, and you’ve already betrayed me for someone else. Jicheng, I didn’t care about your circumstances—I came back to marry you! And this is how you repay me? People must think I’m shameless, abandoning a wealthy man’s concubine position just to chase after you. You’re despicable!”
From the murky depths of Jicheng’s memory, the image of a frail girl surfaced. His lips parted with effort. “Axiu… you?”
Chunfu didn’t need further explanation—Jicheng’s reaction said it all. Her earlier joy dissipated like smoke. She took the keys and basket from him and went inside without a word. Her swollen face was expressionless as she mechanically washed the raspberries, prepped the ingredients, and started the fire.
Glancing up, she saw them still standing outside—Jicheng guilt-ridden, Axiu tearful and pitifully beautiful, carrying herself like a lady of status. Chunfu didn’t want to watch. While gathering firewood, she scraped her hand on a jagged piece of wood, adding insult to injury. She smirked bitterly. She wasn’t unreasonable—she didn’t mind him talking to other women. But knowing they had a past made her stomach churn.
She set a pot of water to boil, stirring the raspberries constantly before adding rock sugar. Without the proper ingredients listed in recipes, she dared not experiment, fearing she’d ruin the flavor. Even if the berries were free, sugar wasn’t cheap. Half an hour later, the jam thickened. She ladled it into small clay jars, sealing them while hot. In this heat, spoilage was a risk—she didn’t make much.
By the time she started kneading dough for buns, Jicheng finally entered. Silent and grim, he cleaned the fish, gutting and scaling it before washing and placing it on the chopping board. Seeing Chunfu rise to fetch vegetables, he quickly stopped her, forcing a smile. “Let me. You rest. I’ll prep everything—you just cook.”
Chunfu watched him leave before sitting back down to play with the dog. In a few months, it’d be big enough to eat solid food. It had grown plump lately, gnawing at hems whenever someone passed. Jicheng worked swiftly—soon, the greens were washed, and seasonings were ready. He stood awkwardly before her. “Everything’s prepped. I…”
Chunfu didn’t let him explain. She washed her hands and began making buns. The vegetable filling was sprinkled with sesame seeds, mixed with salt and fragrant oil, then drizzled with chili oil—the sizzle releasing an irresistible aroma. She stuffed some with greens, others with raspberry jam, and set them to steam. While they cooked, she fried the fish. Unable to eat spicy food due to her injury, she loaded it with extra chilies, the broth turning fiery enough to make Jicheng cough uncontrollably. But he stayed, knowing she was upset.
Chunfu covered her mouth with a cloth as she stir-fried, while Jicheng endured the fumes. By the time the sauce thickened, the worst had passed. The fish was plated, and soon, the buns were ready. She couldn’t be bothered to make soup, so she poured herself a bowl of water and sat down to eat.
Jicheng fretted over her face. “Should I make you something lighter? This might be hard to eat.”
She shook her head. “No need. Eat. Don’t mind me.” She pinched the jam-filled buns smaller, tearing off a corner. The sweetness of the raspberries melded with the cornmeal, far better than she’d expected.
Her mind drifted to the town’s pastry shop, its meager selection. She’d experiment with more treats later—anything for Miss Jin had to be refined. Lost in thought, she missed Jicheng’s repeated attempts to speak. When she refused to even look at him, he gave up. Never before had he felt so helpless. He was used to her clever, lively self—this temper was new, leaving him at a loss.
The fish was unbearably spicy. Sweating profusely, he resolved to explain everything that night. Back then, he’d thought Axiu was just toying with him—he hadn’t taken her seriously. Who’d have thought…? If Chunfu weren’t so… he wouldn’t be racking his brain now. He cursed himself inwardly. He preferred Chunfu as she was—someone who discussed things with him and cooked delicious meals. Axiu’s aggressive, spoiled demeanor made him grateful he hadn’t believed her back then. Chunfu’s quiet moments were gentle and soothing—he cherished her deeply.
From dusk, Jicheng sought chances to talk. But Chunfu busied herself in the kitchen, hauling out oil jars. When he tried to help, she shooed him away. Frustrated, he wondered how her mood could shift faster than the weather. Yet her icy demeanor kept him from forcing an explanation—he couldn’t bear to upset her further.
Midnight arrived before he got his chance. As she applied medicine to her face, he took the jar from behind, only for her to snatch it back. He sighed. “We were fine this morning. At least let me explain. Don’t shut me out like this.”
Chunfu glared, finishing her treatment. The cool relief on her skin did little to soothe her temper. She was petty, and the ugly scar on her face made it worse. Never had she imagined their first conflict would stem from something like this.
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