“Ah—if you had married into an ordinary family, your life would be much better than it is now.”
Li Cuimei, who had been weeping, suddenly froze. “What—what do you mean by that?”
Lin Dalang gently rubbed his wife’s cracked and withered hands, his voice full of tenderness. “You were once the treasure of your parents, waited on hand and foot by maids and servants. Though not as privileged as an official’s daughter, you were far above the average peasant girl. You were exceptionally talented—your poetry and calligraphy surpassed even those of scholarly men, and your embroidery was unmatched. Yet after marrying me, the maids were dismissed, and you, a sheltered woman who had never worked in the fields, had to toil day after day, braving wind and rain. I truly shouldn’t have ignored my grandparents’ advice and insisted on marrying you, subjecting you to such hardship.”
Li Cuimei stopped crying and slowly sat up. Lin Dalang quickly placed a pillow behind her back and fell silent, reaching out to caress her gaunt, dark face. Her facial bones were prominent, her cheeks sunken from lack of flesh, her cheekbones sharp, and her skin parched. Deep wrinkles surrounded her eyes, and her once lustrous black curls had turned ashen and brittle, making her look at least twenty years older than him—even though she was a year younger. This was the talented woman he had once pursued relentlessly, the one he had sworn before her parents to cherish like a jewel. Yet over the years, he had left her to wither at home, aging her prematurely at just thirty-five.
Back then, when she first married him, her skin had been smooth and radiant. Though not conventionally beautiful, she had a healthy glow. Her parents were open-minded and cheerful, and their children inherited their optimistic nature. Li Cuimei had always been cheerful, her greatest joys being embroidery and calligraphy. The fish she embroidered seemed ready to swim away if placed in water, and her flowers looked so real one could almost smell their fragrance. Her calligraphy was bold and elegant, putting his own business scribbles to shame.
Now, there was no trace of that woman left. Her face was etched with sorrow, her hands rough and calloused, covered in hangnails. It had likely been years since she last held an embroidery needle, let alone composed poetry. Even if she had the time, she surely lacked the heart for it.
Li Cuimei turned her head away and spoke coldly, “Your words today are as sweet as honey. Is this your way of bringing up Dong Panyu? Shilang says the two of you already have a child on the way. Is it true? I may be ugly, but I won’t share my husband. If you want to take her in, give me a letter of divorce. I won’t burden you or cling to you. With your looks surpassing even Pan An, marrying an unattractive woman like me was always a mismatch. Better to end it sooner rather than later.”
Lin Dalang chuckled, unfazed. “If I took Panyu in, wouldn’t Guicheng kill me?”
Li Cuimei frowned. “What does Guicheng have to do with this?”
“Come closer,” Lin Dalang whispered mysteriously.
As Li Cuimei leaned in, he unexpectedly licked her earlobe—thick and fleshy, like the Buddha’s, his favorite feature. Startled and embarrassed, Li Cuimei glared at him, too conscious of their aunt possibly outside to make a scene.
Knowing better than to push his luck, Lin Dalang straightened up and said seriously, “Dong Panyu is already pregnant, and Guicheng is the father.”
Li Cuimei was stunned. “Is this true? How do you know?”
“Guicheng confessed it himself,” Lin Dalang said, pouring her a cup of water. “Last month, when I returned to the shop, the owner said a batch of fabric had been negotiated and asked me and Guicheng to inspect it. Before we could leave, Panyu showed up and spoke privately with Guicheng. Afterward, Guicheng asked me to find someone else. We’ve worked together for years—where would I find a replacement on such short notice? I refused, so he admitted the truth: Panyu was two months pregnant with his child.”
Taking the cup from her, Lin Dalang continued, “An illicit affair and an out-of-wedlock pregnancy would ruin Panyu’s reputation. So I arranged for a matchmaker, checked their compatibility, and registered their marriage with the authorities, marrying her off to Guicheng.”
Li Cuimei gasped. “How could you decide this? Panyu may be an orphan, but she has relatives. Your mother sent her to you, not Guicheng. If she blames you for this, how will you explain yourself?”
“It’s not complicated. Panyu and I are distantly related—beyond the five degrees of mourning. She could’ve decided for herself. I just provided witnesses. Besides, Guicheng is over thirty and finally has a wife and child. How could I play the villain and tear them apart?”
“Well, it’s for the best. Guicheng has followed you since childhood, and you’ve done him a kindness. His contract was returned long ago, so Panyu marrying him isn’t beneath her.”
“I never treated him as a servant. When I gave him his freedom, he refused, saying he’d follow me for life. If I hadn’t warned him my father would sell all the servants, he’d still be here. Stubborn fool—sometimes I’m so annoyed I want to send him far away.”
“Mother! Wu’er is back! Wu’er ran two extra laps today—he was amazing!”
The couple’s conversation was interrupted as Lin Wu burst in excitedly. Spotting his father by the bedroom door, he skidded to a halt before rushing over. “Father! You’re back! Wu’er missed you! Mother and Sister missed you too! And so did Brother!”
Lin Dalang laughed heartily at his son’s enthusiasm. “You little charmer! You might’ve missed me, but how do you know your mother and sister did? Would your brother tell you? And your sister can’t even speak—how do you know she missed me?”
The boy replied matter-of-factly, “Because you’re our father! Of course we all missed you!”
Ignoring the boy’s sweaty state, Lin Dalang scooped him up and kissed his flushed cheek. “Well said! Because I’m your father, you all missed me—and I missed you too, Wu’er.”
“Enough of this missing business,” interrupted Aunt Tong, carrying Lin Fang, while Li Cuihong followed with a tray of food. Setting it on the bedside table, Aunt Tong instructed Lin Wu, “Your father rode through the night and hasn’t eaten. Go wash up, then join your mother in keeping him company.”
Before she finished, Lin Wu had already dashed out.
Li Cuihong arranged the dishes and said, “Elder Brother and Third Sister, please eat. I’ll check on Wu’er—if left alone, he’ll just wet his face and call it washing, then complain later.”
Lin Dalang offered, “Let me go.”
“No need. You’ve had a long journey—spend time with Third Sister. When Wen’er returns from school, you can play with the boys.”
Li Cuihong had disliked Lin Dalang since his courtship days, and her prejudice remained strong. Recognizing her cold tone, Lin Dalang said nothing as she left to tend to Lin Wu.
After the meal, Lin Dalang changed into a blue robe and picked up the sleeping Lin Fang, announcing he’d visit his in-laws. Aunt Tong prepared spare diapers and clothes, but he waved her off—it wasn’t far, and his in-laws surely had everything they needed.
Returning to Shengcheng the previous night, he’d learned from the shop assistant that his brother-in-law, Li Ziyang, had come by with news of Li Cuimei’s critical illness. Handing the account books to Guicheng, Lin Dalang had ridden back immediately, with no time for gifts. Now that his wife seemed fine, he couldn’t arrive empty-handed—so he brought his daughter. Her survival was the best gift he could offer. Besides, what couldn’t his in-laws afford? A few diapers were the least of their concerns.
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