Chapter 8

Li Shi was widely respected as a fantastic mother-in-law, the kind of woman who’d have every village around singing her praises. Both of her daughters-in-law always made sure to emphasize just how great she was.

The family dynamic was solid; Li Shi had a smooth, easy-going relationship with both of them. Even her grandchildren adored her—so much so that they’d gravitate toward her, spending more time with her than with their busy parents, who were often caught up in their own worlds.

Fang Shi, her daughter-in-law, was blunt and unapologetically outspoken. She didn’t bother with drama and always said what was on her mind. Li Shi appreciated Fang Shi’s straightforwardness, particularly because it gave her confidence that this woman could handle herself with calm composure and avoid stirring up unnecessary conflicts. Fang Shi was the kind of person you didn’t have to worry about.

Zhang Shi, on the other hand, was quieter, reserved, and not one for too much chatter, but she was still a good person in Li Shi’s eyes.

Fang Shi wasn’t one to air grievances in public, though. She kept any complaints strictly within the family, and even when something pissed her off, she didn’t wear it on her face in public. Oh, sure, she might roll her eyes when she thought no one was watching, but she knew how to keep her cool.

For instance, when the drama with Old Third Song came up, Fang Shi wasn’t about to throw a fit like Li Shi jokingly suggested. No, Fang Shi wasn’t the type to create a scene. She’d just laugh it off and move on.

As for Song Dingxiang, she received everything with a calm, subtle smile. Fate had placed her in this family, and while she felt a twinge of pity for the original owner who couldn’t see past all the drama and turmoil, she felt blessed. It felt like this was her moment. She knew the heavens must’ve recognized how hard her past life had been, how she had never known true love or support.

But this life?

This one was different. She had parents who were alive, siblings by her side, grandparents who doted on her—what more could she ask for?

Who cared about the Third or Second Granduncle, anyway?

Forget them.

After a satisfying meal, Song Dingxiang headed to the bathroom with her younger sisters. She changed into a new outfit and wrapped herself in a thick, red veil as night began to fall. The veil was so dense that it blocked her view of anything beyond her hands, leaving her with only the sensation of holding the big, bulging bag filled with jujubes, peanuts, dried longans, and lotus seeds—all from the south. The bag itself was a piece of art, embroidered with a pair of playful mandarin ducks in the water, the intricate handiwork of Jin Qiao’er.

It was a life of contrasts: moments of quiet reflection mixed with little bursts of joy—and it all felt like destiny’s gift to her.

The noise grew louder as it closed in, and the table in the room was suddenly cleared away. The young girls spilled out of the room, giggling and chattering like a bunch of mischievous birds. Then, a solid, no-nonsense woman stood at the door, blocking the way. She demanded a red envelope from the groom before he could cross the threshold into the bridal chamber.

If not... well, the deal was simple: persuade her, and the door would open.

Zhou Tiezhu, caught off guard and flustered, was a mess. He bowed clumsily, almost tripping over his own feet, pleading desperately as the crowd snickered and chuckled. His awkwardness was enough to make everyone burst into laughter, and it only made the situation worse.

Song Dingxiang couldn’t help but smirk. It was hard not to—Zhou was a boy, barely seventeen, so green it practically oozed from him. In the new world they lived in, he'd still be a child in school, and yet here he was, trying to step into adult responsibilities, ready to take on a family. The irony was, in her new life, she was just fourteen. She couldn’t let some poor, confused seventeen-year-old boy take on anything that could get them both in trouble.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of bumbling, Zhou Tiezhu managed to enter the room. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, his feet, or where to put his embarrassed gaze. His face had gone bright red, a sheen of moisture in his eyes like he might start crying, though he probably wouldn’t admit it. If Song Dingxiang saw him right now, she might compare him to a helpless puppy, trembling from the weight of everything on his shoulders.

"Lift the veil!" The crowd cheered, egging him on.

Zhou Tiezhu’s hands shook as he reached up to pull the veil off her face. But the fabric slid right off his fingers, mocking him, and the entire room burst out laughing. He fumbled, trying again. The second attempt worked, but only just, revealing Song Dingxiang’s face—a mix of embarrassment and amusement, her eyes wide and bright like they were in on a private joke, lips curved into a soft smile. She clutched her purse with both hands, clearly trying to hide the hint of laughter bubbling up inside her.

Zhou Tiezhu couldn’t look at her without feeling his heart race and his breath catch. He swallowed hard, his nervous gaze darting away, and in a desperate move, he turned to usher the crowd out, slamming the door behind them.

He scratched at his head in frustration, disheveling his perfectly styled hair. He was still just a kid—he felt like a deer caught in the headlights.

"You're still young... I promised our parents..." he muttered, his voice barely audible, but not quiet enough to escape the eager ears outside.

The laughter from beyond the door only made his cheeks burn deeper.

Song Dingxiang held her purse so tightly it looked like it might snap in her hands, biting back her laughter. There was something endearing, almost sweet, about the way he tried so hard to be responsible—he was doing his best.

She nodded, giving him a shy, knowing smile.

Ignoring the chaotic noise outside, Zhou Tiezhu remained stiff and resolute, refusing to so much as glance at the girl lounging on the kang bed. His eyes darted around the room in discomfort, and then, with a quiet exhale, he bent down. Using his foot, he began to push the scattered peanut shells across the floor, shoving them toward the door with a kind of mechanical efficiency, as if trying to sweep away the tension that lingered in the air.

Once he’d completed his impromptu task, he stood there like a man at a crossroads, frozen and unsure of his next move. His eyes flickered to the girl on the bed again, but he quickly looked away. She was something else entirely, and the room suddenly felt much smaller than it should have.

Song Dingxiang, ever so calm, broke the silence with a gentle smile and a casual suggestion. "Well, if you want to freshen up, there's hot water outside," she said, her voice smooth and controlled, like she was speaking to someone she could read with perfect clarity.

Zhou Tiezhu sniffed his sleeves, catching the sharp scent of alcohol. He didn’t drink much himself—didn’t really care for it—but the smoke and grease from others always clung to him, leaving him with that unmistakable stench. "Right," he muttered, rolling up his sleeves as if to rid himself of it.

At that very moment, the door slammed open with a violent burst of laughter and clamor. A group of onlookers had been eavesdropping, clearly waiting for some sort of spectacle to unfold. Enraged, Zhou Tiezhu lost his temper and bellowed, "Get out! All of you!"

Without hesitation, he grabbed each person by the collar and threw them out, one by one, his movements swift and forceful. "Go do something useful!" he barked, glaring at those who remained. "This isn’t a show for your amusement!"

From outside came the raucous sounds of laughter, as if they found his outburst highly entertaining. Song Dingxiang, unimpressed, rubbed her forehead in exasperation, muttering to herself, "What a simpleton."

Zhou Tiezhu, unable to expel everyone, retreated back into the house and slammed the door shut. The sounds of water bubbling on the stove filled the room, the warmth from the kang keeping the place cozy. A large wooden basin, once used for laundry, now served as the perfect makeshift tub for a bath.

The quiet sounds of water splashing drifted in from the window as Song Dingxiang nonchalantly picked a jujube from the kang bed, enjoying its sweetness in silence. Her purse, a small but precious collection of treats, rested on the surface, alongside the peanuts and jujubes that dotted the scene. The indulgence was a quiet luxury, something that would take years to fully manifest in its true form, but for now, it was a small solace.

She took another jujube, savoring the rich flavor as she reflected on the small comforts of the moment. The room, now still and serene, seemed to settle around her as she idly began to tidy the bed, as though trying to impose order on everything else that was far from it.

She shoved the jujubes and peanuts into the winnowing basket with a practiced flick of her wrist, setting it down on the sleek water-willow wood cabinet. The kang bed, worn from use, got a swift once-over, and she pulled out fresh clothes, draping them carefully on the under-kang hanger—ready for the trip back to her parents’ place in two days. No point in washing them now; they wouldn’t dry in time, and she knew better than to waste the effort.

Unlike those farmers who didn’t bother with candles, the sight of rich, red butter candles burning all night was nothing but a far-off fantasy. Instead, the oil lamp on the cabinet flickered, its feeble light doing little to pierce the growing darkness in the room.

Song Dingxiang couldn’t help but crave the electric brilliance she once had. With a heavy sigh, she reached instinctively for the switch that wasn’t there, the room plunging into a deeper darkness, a sharp reminder of how far she’d fallen from the comforts of the modern world she once knew.

When the water outside finally stopped, she turned to Zhou Tiezhu and spoke, sharp and direct, “Soak your outer clothes for tomorrow’s wash. Zhou ge, you hungry?”

Zhou Tiezhu, already in his inner clothes, was in the middle of shrugging off his cotton-padded robe. At her words, his stomach gave a little growl, the sound making him wince in mild embarrassment. As a groom, he had barely managed to sit down and eat—what with all the chaos and bustle around the wedding. The feast had been laid out before him, but he hadn’t tasted more than a bite or two of the tempting fish and meat.

“Kind of hungry,” he admitted, rubbing his stomach sheepishly.

Song Dingxiang wasn’t hungry herself, but she knew the young couple might feel awkward about not eating a proper meal. She opened the cupboard, revealing the snacks her mother had prepared. “Mom’s got snacks ready. After you’re done washing, you can come in and grab something,” she offered.

“Okay,” Zhou Tiezhu murmured, shrugging off his robe, dipping it in the water basin, and entering the room with his head down, cotton robe draped over his arm.

Song Dingxiang turned to him, her tone firm and matter-of-fact. “Bring the table over. Is there still hot water in the pot? Let’s make some tea…” She wasn’t asking; she was giving orders. He would follow, and he knew it.

Zhou Tiezhu, constantly being pushed and directed in every direction, had no choice but to obey. He fetched the table and set about preparing the tea water with an almost robotic precision. Then, as if he were nothing more than a servant, he trudged off to the kitchen to fetch more water, stoking the fire in the stove to heat it up.

After what seemed like hours of running around, he finally washed his hands and sank onto the kang bed, sitting on the very edge, his feet still encased in his shoes, hesitant to take them off. On the table, there was a box of snacks—nothing fancy, just almond pastries and walnut cakes.

Now, the almond pastries? They were supposedly high-end, crafted from white flour, sugar, and eggs—ingredients that most rural families couldn't afford. But the Song family, with their wealth, could indulge in such treats now and then. Yet, for Song Dingxiang, these pastries were a joke. She wasn't impressed. She'd been spoiled as a child, fed only the softest, most luxurious cakes, bought by her siblings, cakes that practically melted in your mouth.

Compared to those cloud-soft delights, these almond pastries were tough, dry, and sickeningly sweet. There was no charm to them.

But the walnut cakes? Now those were something. Crispy, fragrant, and just the right balance of crunch and flavor—every bite was a revelation.

She pushed the box toward Zhou Tiezhu, her voice flat yet laced with a kind of pity. "Zhou ge, eat. You probably didn’t get a proper meal today."

He nodded and, with the care of someone who had never experienced a proper meal, nibbled on an almond pastry, holding it like it might break. He was so cautious, trying to catch every stray crumb. Song Dingxiang couldn’t help but watch him with a mix of pity and... affection? No, it wasn’t affection, it was more like a sad, resigned pity.

This boy, so young, had fallen from the high life to the depths of hardship. Where once he had enjoyed a comfortable, indulgent life, now even a simple piece of meat was a luxury. Seventeen was supposed to be the time when a boy grew strong, built muscles and stamina, but with such poor nutrition, he had only grown tall and impossibly thin, his cheeks hollow and barely filled with a trace of flesh.

She forced him to eat more, half a box of pastries, her hands gently pushing the box closer, until he weakly waved his hands, begging her to stop. He couldn’t eat anymore, his face turning pale from the effort. Only then did she relent.

"Go to sleep," she ordered with a decisive tone, shoving the box back into the Kang cabinet. Without a second thought, she motioned for Zhou Tiezhu to put down the Kang table. "You know the saying—early to bed, early to rise. If you don't, my mother will come knocking on that door, and you won’t want that."

Zhou Tiezhu, who had finally gotten his complexion back to normal, felt a flush spread across his face again, clearly embarrassed by her words.

"Sleep..." he mumbled, his voice faltering as he avoided her gaze.

"You're on your side, I'm on mine," she continued with a sultry, confident smirk, "I’m sleeping at the top of the Kang—it's warmer up there." Song Dingxiang pulled blankets and quilts from the cabinet with a nonchalant grace, clearly prepared for the cold.

She’d always been sensitive to the cold, her hands and feet often like ice when the weather turned chilly. A warm spot to sleep was always her preference, and she made no secret of it.

Zhou Tiezhu scrambled to help, spreading the blankets and quilts as quickly as he could. In his haste, he accidentally knocked the oil lamp off the ground cabinet, blowing it out in the process. His attention, however, never wavered from Song Dingxiang. Only when he saw his little wife settle into the bed did he blow out the oil lamp on the Kang cabinet too, the room now plunged into a thick darkness.

In the quiet, the only sounds that could be heard were the soft, steady breaths of the two of them.

"Zhou ge..." Song Dingxiang’s voice broke the silence, low and thoughtful. After a moment’s hesitation, she added, "Do you want to learn how to read?" Her words hung in the air, laced with curiosity and something more, but her tone was sharp, almost daring him to respond.

———Author's Note: Hunger made me lose my mind, seeing them eat pastries, I was so hungry I couldn't bear it!