The wooden door creaked as it opened, letting in the faint scent of burning incense. Shen Qingzhu stepped inside and gestured to the man still standing outside.

Receiving the signal, Zhou Song followed him in.

The room wasn’t large and contained only the essentials. Opposite the door, against the wall, sat a table with two memorial tablets on it, with an incense burner and offerings in front.

Zhou Song approached, his gaze falling on the tablets. Shen Qingzhu had taught him well over time, and he could recognize the characters inscribed on them.

The tablet for Father Shen Yiheng.

The tablet for Mother Chu Jin.

There were no elaborate titles—just a few simple words.

Zhou Song instinctively turned to look at Shen Qingzhu, who was lighting incense and bowing toward the tablets. Zhou Song quickly followed, lighting his own incense stick and bowing to insert it into the incense burner.

They both knelt silently on the cushion before the altar, bowing three times without a word.

After rising, Shen Qingzhu looked at the tablets for a moment before turning to Zhou Song. “I carved these tablets myself when I came to the village.”

Zhou Song pressed his lips together, unsure of what to say. He couldn’t imagine what Shen Qingzhu must have felt while carving his parents’ names onto the tablets, each stroke likely filled with pain. He didn’t dare to dwell on it; the thought alone hurt his heart.

Shen Qingzhu didn’t expect him to respond, and he returned his gaze to the tablets. “Father, Mother, you wouldn’t believe it, but I’m married now. This man next to me, the one who looks a bit dazed, is my husband…”

He chuckled softly, adding, “He’s a bit foolish. He’s liked me for a long time, but he’s too shy to say much. Still, he’s reliable, and I don’t think he’ll ever change. You can rest assured.”

Zhou Song, who had been listening intently, immediately turned to the tablets and spoke with sincerity, “I, Zhou Song, vow to cherish and love Shen Qingzhu for a lifetime. My heart for him will never waver.”

Hearing this, Shen Qingzhu turned to him with a smile. “If my father were still alive, he wouldn’t trust a word you say. He’d watch how you act day-to-day and might even challenge you to a fight to see if you’re truly capable of protecting me.”

Zhou Song was momentarily speechless. He had never heard of a father-in-law who would fight his son-in-law.

Seeing his expression, Shen Qingzhu couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s wrong? Are you scared?”

“No,” Zhou Song quickly shook his head. “Your father must have been… quite a hero.”

“Of course,” Shen Qingzhu’s smile faded, his tone softening. “He was a great general who protected the people.”

Zhou Song was stunned, feeling a wave of shock. A general?

Shen Qingzhu looked up at the tablets, his gaze dark. “Unfortunately, he didn’t die on the battlefield but fell to the schemes and conspiracies of the court. The person he served betrayed him.”

Zhou Song looked at him in astonishment, unsure of what to say. Such matters were beyond his understanding as a common villager, and he didn’t even know where to begin to offer comfort.

Shen Qingzhu glanced back at him, a faint smile on his lips. “They accused my father of embezzling military funds—a massive amount, they said. The evidence was irrefutable, and he had no defense.”

Zhou Song hated seeing him smile like this, with eyes that seemed to hold unshed tears. His heart ached, yet words failed him. For the first time, he despised his own inability to find the right words, his hand clenching and unclenching before he finally wrapped his arms around Shen Qingzhu’s shoulders, pulling him into an embrace.

Shen Qingzhu didn’t resist, leaning into him but still gazing at the two tablets on the table. “The general’s estate was confiscated, my father executed, and my mother… she struck her head at the execution platform, sacrificing herself to save me and my sister. Thanks to Lord Wen’s help, my sister was exiled to a desolate place, while I was expelled from the capital, forbidden to return…”

He had been separated from his loved ones, enduring the pain of losing them to death.

Zhou Song’s hold tightened as he gazed down at Kun Ze, who seemed calm, speaking as if recounting someone else’s story. Yet his eyes betrayed a deep sorrow.

Zhou Song lifted a hand to cover Shen Qingzhu’s eyes. “Enough… don’t say anymore…”

His voice trembled, and he pressed his lips to Shen Qingzhu’s forehead. “No more.”

Shen Qingzhu fell silent, allowing Zhou Song to shield his eyes and hold him tightly.

After a long moment, he raised a hand to gently pull Zhou Song’s hand down, looking up at him with a faint smile. “I haven’t cried, so why are you?”

Only then did Zhou Song realize his own blurred vision, a tear slipping down his cheek. Shen Qingzhu’s slender fingers brushed it away, his gaze soft and playful. “I always say you’re foolish, and you really are.”

Zhou Song cupped his face, pressing his thumb to the corner of Shen Qingzhu’s eye before leaning in to kiss his eyelid gently. “My dear husband, I’ve said it before—if you don’t want to smile, you don’t have to.”

After a pause, Shen Qingzhu’s lips relaxed from their smile, and he lowered his head, resting against Zhou Song’s chest. His eyelashes trembled slightly, and he said no more.

Zhou Song held him, gently rubbing his shoulders, pressing his cheek against Kun Ze’s hair, cradling him with all the tenderness he could muster, trying to soothe the sorrow in Shen Qingzhu’s heart.

Shen Qingzhu was a proud person, rarely allowing himself moments of vulnerability. But this time, leaning into his husband’s embrace, he didn’t want to move.

He wanted Zhou Song to stay with him, here, in this quiet moment, letting silence bring a rare sense of peace.

Zhou Song was more than willing. Having lost his own parents, he understood Kun Ze’s pain. He was grateful to be here for him rather than letting him bear this grief alone.

They stayed there for a long time. Wu Lanshu never came to knock on the door, whether because she was preoccupied with cooking or out of respect, they didn’t know.

When they finally came out, she was standing at the kitchen door with a smile. “Hungry? The food’s ready and kept warm on the stove.”

She didn’t ask any questions, and Zhou Song and Shen Qingzhu didn’t say anything. They just exchanged smiles and went into the kitchen to help bring out the dishes.

—

On New Year’s Eve, Zhou Song woke up early, before dawn. Not wanting to disturb Shen Qingzhu in the cold morning, he slipped out, washed up, and tidied up the courtyard. As the sky brightened, he mixed up some paste to hang the Spring Festival couplets.

Shen Qingzhu had written the couplets himself with beautiful handwriting, and Zhou Song was careful as he put them up, not wanting to mess up the work.

It was amusing—when he’d gone to deliver the couplets to Lin Erzhu’s house, an aunt visiting from next door had seen them. Hearing that his husband could write Spring Festival couplets, she’d requested a set as well. The news spread, and by yesterday afternoon, many families had come by asking for their own couplets. No one came empty-handed either; they brought various food items as a gesture of gratitude.

Not wanting to turn down their neighbors, Shen Qingzhu had spent the entire afternoon in his study, happily writing couplets amidst the lively hustle of village folks.

Finishing the couplets for the doorway, Zhou Song entered the courtyard just in time to see Shen Qingzhu emerge from the house wrapped in a thick cloak, his hair still unbound.

Zhou Song quickly approached him. “It’s still early. Why didn’t you sleep a bit longer?”

Shen Qingzhu pulled his cloak tighter, smiling. “I’ve slept enough. I opened my eyes and didn’t see you, so I came out to check. Let me help put up the couplets once I wash up.”

Seeing his enthusiasm, Zhou Song refrained from saying anything about the cold. Instead, he simply said, “Alright, there’s hot water in the kitchen. I’ll get some for you.”

“You keep working; I’ll get it myself,” Shen Qingzhu said, stopping him as he headed to the kitchen.

Zhou Song didn’t insist but followed him to the kitchen to hang the couplets on the door.

By the time Shen Qingzhu had finished washing up, Zhou Song had already put up the couplets for the storage room and bathhouse, leaving only those for the study, main room, and hall.

Working together, with one hanging the couplets and the other passing them over, they quickly finished. The red decorations on the windows brought a festive cheer to the place.

After a simple breakfast, they spent the rest of the morning organizing the rooms, tidying things they hadn’t had time to after their wedding.

With New Year’s Eve here, a fresh start awaited. Hopefully, everything would settle, and joy would be all that remained.

In the afternoon, Lin Erzhu came over early, calling out from the door about how Aunt Wu had already arrived and wondering why the two young people were taking so long.

At that moment, they were packing some food to bring along, mostly meats and other treats.

Seeing what they were carrying, Lin Erzhu teased, “Only bringing this much? What will you have left for New Year’s visits?”

Zhou Song glanced at him. “Why do you care? None of it’s for you anyway.”

“Hey,” Lin Erzhu feigned offense, “aren’t you my brother? Brother, Shen Qingzhu, do something about him!”

Shen Qingzhu just chuckled, “No worries. If Zhou Song won’t give you anything, I will.”

Feeling triumphant, Lin Erzhu raised his chin at Zhou Song, only for Zhou Song to toss the bag into his hands. “Then carry it yourself.”

“Gladly!” Lin Erzhu grinned, happily carrying the items as he led the way out.

Every New Year’s Eve, Zhou Song usually spent it with the Lin family. At first, it had been just Aunt Qian with him and Lin Erzhu, then Liu Fang joined, and now, three new people had been added to the mix.

Aunt Qian loved the lively atmosphere, setting out dried fruits and snacks for everyone in the main room, leaving the children to play while she and Wu Lanshu worked on preparing the New Year’s feast.

Since there was a lot to cook, Zhou Song dragged Lin Erzhu to help in the kitchen, leaving Shen Qingzhu in the main room to help Liu Fang look after the kids.

Xiaobao had grown a little in recent days, his features more defined and resembling Lin Erzhu’s, though his delicate mouth resembled Liu Fang’s, making him look quite charming.

Shen Qingzhu reached out to play with him, and the little guy responded with a bright smile, adorable as ever.

He grinned. “Have you chosen a name?”

Liu Fang adjusted Xiaobao’s blanket and nodded, “Yes, Erzhu took it seriously and named him Lin Anyue, hoping he’ll live a life full of peace and happiness.”

“It’s a good name.” Shen Qingzhu gently brushed the baby’s cheek with his knuckle.

Liu Fang laughed, “All thanks to you teaching us to read. Otherwise, with Erzhu’s old thinking, he’d have gone with the belief that a lowly name is lucky, and we’d end up calling him something like Goudan.”

Shen Qingzhu chuckled, gently patting the baby who unknowingly had “dodged a bullet.”

In the kitchen, crouched by the stove peeling vegetables, Lin Erzhu suddenly sneezed. He sniffled, wondering if he’d caught a cold.

Zhou Song, tending the fire, glanced at him. “If you’re sick, take medicine. Don’t pass it on to Xiaobao.”

“I’m fine, just an itchy nose,” Lin Erzhu replied, sure that he was healthy.

Placing the peeled vegetables in a basin, he grabbed another to continue, saying, “Hey, Zhou Song, I heard from the village that Wang Cuixiang might be divorcing Zhou Xiaofu.”

Zhou Song continued to add firewood without reacting, but Aunt Qian, who was chopping meat, looked surprised. “Divorcing? Then she must be heartbroken. After all, they lost the child…”

Wang Cuixiang had always been soft-hearted, enduring years of mistreatment from Zhou Xiaofu’s family. But after losing her child, it seemed she had finally given up on him.

Wu Lanshu, busy helping, thought that leaving such a family might be a relief, though she kept quiet out of consideration for Zhou Song.

Zhou Song also stayed silent, though he felt that the Zhou family would likely make things difficult for Wang Cuixiang. Even if they didn’t want her as a wife anymore, they’d probably still make her work for the family and wouldn’t want to lose face.

Sure enough, as if reading his thoughts, Lin Erzhu spoke again, “I heard the Zhou family doesn’t want her to divorce. They said even if they’re not living together, it’ll be through a repudiation letter.”

“They’re trying to ruin her reputation,” Aunt Qian frowned.

“Exactly. But this time, Wang Cuixiang isn’t giving in. She even went to the village chief yesterday, which is why everyone knows about it,” Lin Erzhu sighed, feeling that the Zhou family’s New Year wouldn’t be a peaceful one.

He looked up at Zhou Song. “Be careful when you visit family, and don’t let them drag you into it.”

“They wouldn’t dare.” Zhou Song wasn’t worried. The Zhou family was known for bullying the weak but feared the strong. He held leverage over them, so they’d be more concerned about him causing trouble.

Seeing his confidence, Lin Erzhu said no more, knowing that Zhou Song had things under control.