Chapter 9:

The sound of Jicheng’s slightly hurried breathing and heartbeat lingered in the air, while raindrops pattered against the lush leaves of the trees.

“You shouldn’t take their words to heart. Let’s go home. I should’ve brought an umbrella.”

The rain showed no sign of letting up, and the figures of those people were still visible in the distance, their shoulders already soaked. A gust of wind blew, sending a chill through the exposed skin, raising goosebumps. Yet, the warmth radiating from him, like a furnace, soothed her heart, making her feel cozy and comforted.

She treasured Jicheng’s gentleness and patience toward her. Raising her slightly oversized sleeve to shield his head from the rain—though it did little to help—was the only thing she could do. He glanced back at her, his gaze landing on the rain-drenched red fabric. A deep, pleasant chuckle resonated through the downpour.

The quiet intimacy between them grew thicker, and he was delighted by her thoughtfulness. Suddenly, an abrupt voice shattered their peaceful moment: “Jicheng, Jiliang and his wife took the village head to the Zhangs’ place. They didn’t find you, so they sent me to fetch you.”

Jicheng frowned. “Brother Erhu, do you know what this is about?”

The burly man named Erhu shook his head, wiping rainwater from his face and raising his voice. “No idea, but you’d better hurry. Your sister-in-law is making a huge scene, dragging your ancestors into it.”

Chunfu pouted in displeasure. Just when the Zhangs had finally settled down after the wedding, the Jis had to stir up trouble again. It seemed no one wanted them to have peace. She tugged lightly at his hair and said softly, “Don’t go.”

Jicheng chuckled and reassured her, “It’s fine. Let’s go see what’s happening. If they’re making a fuss now, ignoring them won’t solve anything. Better to settle it once and for all.”

Hearing this, Chunfu tightened her arms around his neck and murmured, “Mm.” The sound was quickly swallowed by the wind and rain, as if it had never existed.

The village was full of petty disputes, and feuds between relatives were common. Chunfu had only heard that Jicheng had a younger brother who was adopted by their uncle, and the two families had had no contact for years. What were they up to now? This man, Jicheng, truly tugged at her heartstrings.

No sooner had they stepped inside than a sturdy young woman rushed over, pointing at Jicheng. “Big brother, you can’t bully us like this! Even though Jiliang was adopted out, shouldn’t he still have a share of the family’s belongings? You’re being unfair! Mom left behind a pair of valuable earrings and a jade bracelet, and you didn’t even mention them—are you trying to keep them for yourself?”

Jicheng looked at Jiliang, who stood beside the village head, avoiding his gaze. He laughed dryly. “What nonsense is this? Back then, according to Aunt’s wishes, Jiliang’s adoption meant he was no longer part of our family. Why stir trouble now? Even if there were such things, they wouldn’t belong to you. The village head was there when this was settled—he knows the truth. Why are you letting them make a scene?”

The village head, an elderly man with graying hair, had indeed witnessed the matter. But rules were rigid, while people were flexible. Jicheng’s uncle had brought him wine and meat, subtly asking for his support. Times were hard, and as the village head, he had little authority. Other village heads enjoyed fine food, while his family hadn’t tasted meat in months. Tempted by the gifts, he had agreed.

“That may be true, but Jiliang is still your blood brother. Your parents passed suddenly—maybe they didn’t have time to settle everything. In the past, family heirlooms were always divided equally among siblings. These things are meant to be keepsakes. Jicheng, you can’t hog everything. Even if Jiliang is now your uncle’s son, he’s still your brother. Giving him a share isn’t the same as giving it to an outsider.”

Chunfu knew that old items could fetch a decent price. Jiliang’s family wasn’t nostalgic for the deceased—they just wanted money.

“Those who eat others’ food soften their words; those who take others’ gifts shorten their hands. I don’t know what the village head got from them, but the agreement was written in black and white. If you won’t take my word for it, at least acknowledge the written proof.”

Seeing the village head’s expression darken, Jicheng felt a surge of satisfaction. These people had underestimated him, thinking an illiterate man wouldn’t keep such an important document. How laughable.

“Big brother, how can you say that? The village head meant well, trying to prevent a rift between us. If word gets out that you’re hoarding our parents’ belongings, wouldn’t it be a joke? Unless… you’ve already sold them? I heard from the pawnshop owner that century-old items are worth a fortune.”

Chunfu found these people utterly repulsive, projecting their greed onto others while disguising their ugliness with righteous words.

Zhang Chunmu caught the implication in Jiliang’s words and saw an opportunity. “Since the village head witnessed the agreement, Jicheng’s affairs have nothing to do with Jiliang. Besides, the whole village knows Jicheng alone buried his parents. Even if there were valuables, Jiliang has no right to them.”

Jicheng had no patience for further argument. He had only returned out of respect for the village head. Today was his and Chunfu’s wedding day, and there was much to do at home. “This ends here. The agreement bears my parents’, uncle’s, aunt’s, and the village head’s seals. Even if this goes to the magistrate, I won’t be at fault. It’s getting late—we’re leaving.”

Before his mother’s passing, she had made him promise to keep the items safe and never sell them. To him, they were just objects. Yet his well-off uncle suddenly coveted them—something must have happened. But nothing in the village stayed hidden for long. He’d find out soon enough.

Soaked and uncomfortable, Jicheng and Chunfu didn’t linger. He carried her on his back and strode into the rain. “Hold on, Chunfu. We’ll be home soon. I’ll make ginger tea to keep you from falling ill.”

Pressed against his broad back, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, she sensed his hidden sorrow. Yet he smiled gently, soothing her. She longed to tell him, *You can share all your pain with me. We’re the closest people in the world—I understand your heart, even your suffering.* But the words stuck in her throat. It was too sudden. They had time.

The path from one end of the village to the other was long, and the storm slowed their steps. Yet it also reminded them that hardship was the price of a better life.

Chunmu and his wife hadn’t prepared a dowry for Chunfu, so she had brought only herself to Jicheng’s home. The Ji family’s courtyard was spacious, with a vegetable patch on the west side, now lush from the rain. An empty chicken coop stood at the front, looking desolate since the chickens had been given to the Zhangs.

After his parents’ passing, Jicheng had moved into the main house, using the east room for storage. Both the house and yard were neat and tidy. Red couplets flanked the door, announcing the joyous occasion.

Unlike the elaborate ceremonies Chunfu had seen in books or on TV, here, bringing the bride home was enough to make them family. Still, she knew most grooms visited the bride’s family beforehand for a meal. Jicheng, aware of his unwelcome status, had waited until the auspicious hour. This handsome, considerate man, unwilling to burden others, was treated so poorly—it pained her deeply.

He fetched dry clothes for her to change into, brought warm water and a towel for her to wash her face, and only tended to himself once she was settled. Without hesitation, he stripped off his soaked outer garment, revealing his muscular torso. Chunfu averted her gaze, her cheeks burning.

“I’ll make ginger tea. You can sit or look around.”

After he left, the sound of raindrops dripping from the eaves filled the quiet room. Two sets of new bedding lay folded on the kang, slightly worn from long storage.

Near the wall stood rarely used items, neatly arranged. Her discarded clothes were gone—he must have taken them to wash. A flush of embarrassment warmed her. Why did it already feel like they’d lived together for years? Simple, yet warm.

Jicheng soon returned with ginger tea. “Let it cool, then drink it.”

Her eyes wandered, landing on a book peeking out from a pile of odds and ends. Curious, she pointed.

Following her gaze, Jicheng chuckled. “That’s from Shopkeeper Jin. Since I can’t read, it’s wasted on me.”

Chunfu pulled it out. Books were rare in the countryside, and with nothing else to do, she might as well flip through it. The characters were traditional, harder to read, but she could manage. She squinted at the title—

*Spring Palace Illustrations…?!*

Jicheng, seeing her stunned expression, took the book back. “Neither of us can read it. We’ll save it for Zhang Yan later.”

Flipping through absentmindedly, his eyes widened at the images. *Shopkeeper Jin, what were you thinking?* Though no expert, he recognized the entwined figures. He snapped the book shut and forced a laugh. “Hungry? I made filling earlier—let’s have dumplings.”

For the wedding, he’d splurged on flour and meat, mixing them with vegetables, salt, sesame oil, and sesame paste. The filling smelled delicious.

Chunfu noted his flushed face and evasive eyes, amused. Feigning innocence, she said, “Show me. I want to see.”

He hid the book behind his back, his voice soft, sending ripples through her heart. “Be good. Let’s eat first.”

She lunged for it, but the height difference was insurmountable. He raised it high, his other arm wrapping around her slender waist. Her sweet scent filled his nose, stirring something primal. Meeting her clear, childlike eyes, he felt a pang of guilt.

This girl—still so young and frail—deserved gentleness, not roughness. He’d wait until she was healthier. After years of solitude, having someone to share his days with was enough.

Chunfu pouted. “Mean.”

His resolve wavered. Tossing the book out of reach, he led her out. He didn’t know how other couples celebrated weddings, but he knew one thing—he’d cherish her wholeheartedly. Though poor, though she deserved better, he’d make it up to her.

“Once the rain stops, I’ll take you to town for new clothes. Stay home these few days, alright?” He hadn’t planned well. The Zhangs had barely let her marry presentably—who’d provide her wardrobe? Soon, he’d work for Shopkeeper Jin and buy her whatever she liked.

Warmth filled her as she followed him to the kitchen. The dough was ready. He sat her down and deftly rolled it out, shaping perfect wrappers. His long fingers, dusted with flour, bore the marks of labor. His profile was strong and handsome, exuding masculinity—heart-stopping yet heartbreaking. Born into wealth, he’d have been every woman’s dream: handsome, well-off, and tender. That such a rare man in modern times had fallen into her lap—she was lucky indeed.

“You won’t leave? You’ll stay with me?”

He turned. “I’m here. Tomorrow, we’ll visit my parents’ graves—let them rest easy.” To others, she was a simpleton, but to him, she was lively, sweet, and utterly captivating.

“Want to learn how to wrap dumplings?”

She shook her head. She wouldn’t reveal herself—not yet. Though he’d be her closest companion, she wouldn’t startle him. Let him spoil her silliness. She wondered how long his patience would last.

He laughed but didn’t press her, working faster to feed her sooner.

While they enjoyed their peace, the Zhangs were still in turmoil. Humiliated before half the village, the village head seethed. Jiliang’s wife, oblivious, pestered him about the “treasures,” earning a glare.

Chunmu’s mind raced. He hadn’t expected Jicheng to be so shrewd. If those items were sold, the money could last them ages. Even a fraction would ease their struggles. Zhang Tong was old enough for school—early education meant early success. Their years of hardship might finally end. If Jicheng wouldn’t budge, Chunfu would have to retrieve the items during her homecoming.

“Stay for dinner, Village Head, Brother Ji. We’ve hired the best cook—the food won’t disappoint.”

The meal was modest—one meat dish, three vegetable—but flavorful enough to satisfy. Qiaoyun wanted to stay, but Jiliang tugged her away. “No need. We’ll head back.”

The village head couldn’t leave. As the authority, he couldn’t lose face at a wedding. Forcing a smile, he said, “I only wanted harmony. Brothers supporting each other is good. Jicheng was foolish to refuse.”

The crowd murmured agreement, and the yard buzzed again.

Chunmu’s yard couldn’t hold everyone, so they spilled into Cenniu’s sheltered space. Aunt Luo fumed but couldn’t refuse. Jicheng’s meddling had dragged the Cens into the Liansheng mess—they wouldn’t forget.