Jicheng felt that naming their child was a joyful and bonding experience between him and his wife, and he didn’t want the child’s name to fall into rigid conventions. Resting his hand on Chunfu’s shoulder, he said, “We’ve already decided on the formal name—Jinian—and the nickname Niannian.”
Muhong had brought many fine gifts, watching as the servants arranged them before frowning and saying, “How can the child bear someone else’s surname when they’re to be entered into the family registry? Mother won’t be pleased either. You should reconsider.”
Jicheng replied seriously, “Most of the time, the child will live with us in Dongpo Village. I think the name is elegant and suits them well. If the Mu family insists, we can follow your suggestion for the registry—just a single entry. Who’s going to flip through those pages anyway?”
Muhong finally understood—his younger brother had no intention of returning to the capital even after the child’s birth. He chuckled wryly, “You know Mother has been waiting for your family to come back since the New Year. If there’s no movement soon, she might come herself.”
The child was fast asleep, tiny hands twitching slightly. Jicheng glanced over, his face filled with tenderness. “Chunfu hasn’t even finished her postpartum recovery yet. I can’t leave now. Besides, there’s so much to do in the mountains—everything’s piling up. It’s just not possible.”
The mountains were abundant with harvestable goods, and letting them go to waste would be a shame. Liansheng, who had been searching for work in town without success, now helped manage the mountain, earning a steady income. Combined with his wife’s embroidery earnings, the family had saved a considerable sum. Many villagers had asked to help, but Jicheng declined—he and Chunfu had their own plans. Some even approached him directly, but no amount of persuasion could sway him.
Soon, the weather would be ideal for drying and curing fish. Chunfu had reminded him earlier to catch more, and he had already scouted a sizable lake upstream. There’d be no shortage this year. By November, the wood ears and silver ears would also be ready for harvest, especially the latter, which was highly sought after. The courtyard was already filled with drying mountain goods, and Chunfu often said just looking at it all made her happy.
Muhong sat nearby and remarked, “I’ve never had much interest in the family business. Being an official outside is far more freeing—no one to answer to. The Mu family’s legacy now rests on you. As Mother says, if I ever want a promotion or transfer, I’ll need your financial backing. You’ll have to tough it out—my future depends on you.”
Though spoken lightly, Jicheng sensed the gravity behind the words, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. Chunfu understood too. What had started as a simple wish for their children’s well-being had now entangled them in far more than they’d anticipated.
Muhong didn’t stay long. After he left, Chunfu, seeing Jicheng’s conflicted expression, reassured him, “It’s fine. The family affairs aren’t too burdensome—we can entrust them to reliable people. If you can’t let go, the child and I can go with you anytime.”
Jicheng sat down, pulling her into his arms as they gazed at their child. “I know. But everything here is just starting to thrive. You built this—you’d miss it more than I would. I regret my earlier soft-heartedness. Leaving this peaceful life behind wasn’t worth it.”
Chunfu, her plump finger tapping his forehead, laughed. “What kind of talk is that? No matter what, she’s your mother. We don’t blame you.” Since her pregnancy, Chunfu had grown rounder, her face fuller. She’d mentioned it once, but Jicheng had said it made her look prosperous, so she never brought it up again, silently resolving to slim down after weaning. Men might claim they don’t care about appearances, but their eyes always lingered elsewhere—she didn’t want Jicheng looking at other women.
In the days that followed, neither mentioned the capital again. They busied themselves with their spirited, often fussy child, their lives full and content. Zhang Tong, after finishing school and chores, would often come to play with Jinian, saying silly yet endearing things that made Chunfu think of Zhang Yan—another year older, out there somewhere. Was he doing well? Had he suffered? Jinian was a bright child, her big round eyes darting everywhere at four months old, especially lighting up at Zhang Tong, tiny fists waving as she giggled.
Chunfu did household chores while the baby slept. Cured fish and silver ears were this year’s main income sources. Though Jin Liuer managed the pastry shop, it was becoming overwhelming—with the shopkeeper unwell and another store to oversee, it was a struggle.
Life seemed to be improving, yet unexpected challenges kept arising, tightening her heart with worry. Though she spoke lightly to Jicheng, inside she was tense. The hard-earned path they’d carved out was too precious to abandon. Business wasn’t about determination alone but steady, sustained effort. The enduring establishments were always the time-tested ones. She was torn but didn’t want to interfere with Jicheng’s decisions. What she didn’t realize was that everything she valued weighed just as heavily on him. He couldn’t stand idly by.
The winter was bitterly cold. Chunfu bundled up early, and Jicheng kept the kang stove blazing, warmth flooding the room whenever they entered. Anyuning no longer carried the refined air of a noblewoman. Her plain clothes couldn’t mask her grace, though she’d grown thin and weary, likely from hardship. With a polite smile and a crisp voice, she said, “Brother, sister-in-law, I came to see you. Zhou Jing borrowed money from you for the orchard. This year’s harvest was good, and the income is steady. I didn’t want to delay repayment, so I brought silver notes—safer for travel.”
Chunfu’s heart ached for her. Zhou Jing was gone, and she’d clearly suffered. A once-cultivated lady now seemed so worldly. As Jicheng handed her water and she played with Jinian, Chunfu couldn’t help saying, “Don’t be stubborn. If the Pei family sincerely wants you as their daughter-in-law, accept. You’re still young—this life isn’t easy to endure alone. Young Master Pei doesn’t seem like a bad man.”
Anyuning covered her mouth, laughing. “Sister-in-law, do you think I’ve become vulgar? Everyone changes. Being a decorative vase of a lady is easy, but when trouble comes, what use is that? I won’t live under someone’s thumb again. The Pei family might be a good match, but Pei Qian isn’t Zhou Jing—he wouldn’t devote himself to me like Zhou Jing did. I keep making choices I regret. If I hadn’t overthought things back then, if I’d just stayed with him, even in poverty, it’d be better than never seeing him again. I sent people to search again—no bones were found for miles. Maybe he fell somewhere else. I feel he’s still alive. I’ll wait for him, no matter how long.”
Women’s devotion ran deep, their stubbornness unshakable. Seeing further talk was pointless, Chunfu shifted to lighter topics about Jinian, filling the room with laughter. They kept Anyuning for lunch, watching her carriage depart before Chunfu sighed. “I was foolish. She blames herself for what happened to Zhou Jing. I’d probably be just as stubborn. But as an outsider, it’s clear—how can she endure this alone? Her father and stepmother still harass her. She needs support to make life bearable.”
Jicheng sighed. “I never realized she was as unyielding as Zhou Jing. It took him three years to win her heart. What a shame.”
On the bumpy ride back, Anyuning felt every jolt. Only upon reaching the orchard did she relax. Raised in luxury, she’d never imagined life could be so hard. Using her savings, she hired a skilled gardener and two reliable guards through a friend. Life among the trees was peaceful. If only her mother and brother were still alive—how lovely it would be to settle here with them.
But reality rarely matched dreams. A voice in her heart often urged her to compromise. In her weakest moments, she nearly gave in. So long without hope or trace—how much longer could she cling to faith? Yet she refused to surrender. A faint but firm conviction told her he was alive. With patience, she’d wait for his return.
Over the past year, Xique had been her rock—cooking, cleaning, never complaining, though she sometimes scolded Anyuning for her foolishness before breaking into tears, threatening, “If you dare make my lady wait too long, I’ll hunt you down to the ends of the earth!”
Anyuning found it amusing yet touching. It was enough to have someone like family by her side. Between managing accounts, she wrote letters she’d never send—pouring out her joys, sorrows, and fears, hoping somehow he’d sense her longing. She wrote his name over and over, like a distant call, willing him to hear.
Time flew, year after year. The orchard thrived, but her health waned from exhaustion. Still, he never returned. Eventually, she could no longer write. Lying in bed, weakened, she thought—perhaps it was time to let go.
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