Zhao’er picked up the towel and sat back down on the edge of the kang. She unwrapped the cloth from her hair and began drying it.

Her hair was thick, black, and long enough to reach her waist. She gathered it over one shoulder, tilting her head slightly to let it hang down, then began combing it slowly, stroke by stroke.

She wore a lilac-patterned padded jacket and loose dark-purple trousers. To keep her wet hair from soaking her clothes, she had to straighten her back and tilt her head at an angle—just a small, unconscious adjustment. But to Xue Tingrang, it was enough to make his heart race uncontrollably.

There was nothing deliberate about it—it was simply that this pose showed off every line of her figure. Her full chest, shapely hips, and slender waist were all on display. He had never seen anything like it before, and an unfamiliar heat rose sharply within him.

Yet it wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. A vivid image flashed in his mind: their wedding night.

In that dreamlike memory, he hadn’t liked her—but had taken for granted that she would be his wife.

It was a belief rooted deep in him: she was supposed to be his.

But those feelings had been buried under his stubborn pride and ignorance. Especially after he went to study at the academy, when his classmates teased him for having a “country wife,” he’d felt only shame.

Yet deep down, he had liked her. That wedding night, he’d been rough with her.

He hadn’t really known what he was doing, and it was her first time too. It hurt him to hurt her, and yet he couldn’t stop. She’d cried so hard, sobbing and sniffling in front of him for the first time. He’d discovered then how much he liked seeing her like that—helpless, yielding to him.

Back then, he only came home once every ten days. Every time he returned, she was terrified and tried to hide, but she still had to give in and let him do as he pleased. He’d pretended not to care while caring deeply.

Thinking about it now, he realized what an utter bastard he’d been.

Lost in these chaotic thoughts, he suddenly blurted out, “Let me help you dry it.”

Zhao’er turned her head in surprise, blinking at him. She reflexively refused: “It’s fine, I can do it myself.” These days, thanks to his corrections, she’d finally stopped calling herself “big sister” when talking to him.

But before she could finish, Xue Tingrang had already snatched the towel from her and gently pulled her to turn around. Left with no choice, she sat stiffly and let him dry her hair.

To be fair, he was still half a head shorter than she was, so he had to half-kneel on the kang to reach. They were so close. Zhao’er seemed completely unaware, but Xue Tingrang felt his blood rushing wildly.

Her hair was thick, black, and silky-smooth—like the finest satin. He was clumsy at first and tugged too hard several times, making her inhale sharply in pain. Only then did he slow down and soften his touch.

Seeing him straining to reach her, Zhao’er felt a bit bad. “Maybe I should just lie down like this?”

As she spoke, she tried it out—lying facedown on the kang. It really did make things easier for both of them. She didn’t realize that from behind, this new position was even more tempting—especially for a teenage boy full of restless energy.

Xue Tingrang immediately regretted agreeing to help. It felt like torture, and he had to force himself to stay calm and not let his eyes wander.

“Why don’t you just sit up again?”

But she didn’t answer.

When he looked over, he realized she’d actually fallen asleep.

She seemed truly exhausted and slept soundly. She was lying face-down on a folded quilt, her thick black hair spilling down past her waist. With her face pressed into the bedding, her features were slightly squished, but her lips were adorably pouty.

Her freshly washed face still glowed with residual moisture, her cheeks smooth and youthful, full of life. Her pink lips were dewy and inviting.

Something inside him roared for attention, and before he knew it, he was leaning closer. Their faces drew nearer and nearer, until he could see and smell that faint, sweet scent on her skin.

Suddenly she stirred. He jerked back at once, trying to look casual, even mumbling softly about how she could just fall asleep like that—though his heart was pounding as he watched for any reaction.

Luckily, she only shifted a little and didn’t wake up. He let out a silent sigh of relief.

But that wave of reckless desire faded. He looked at her a few more times, then pulled over a thin quilt to cover her and quietly went back to drying her damp hair.

Yuqing Village itself had been founded back during the wars of the previous dynasty, when a group of refugees fled here and settled down.

At first it hadn’t even been called Yuqing Village—it was known as Zheng Family Hamlet, and nearly everyone there had the surname Zheng. But there weren’t many of them, only about a dozen households. Over the years, things changed. During a famine one year, the authorities resettled another group of refugees here—the ancestors of the Xue family.

While the Zhengs remained the older lineage, the Xue clan grew sizable as well. At first the Zhengs dominated village affairs, but over time the two families came to stand toe to toe.

The Great Chang dynasty operated under a system of local elders. Every hundred households formed a “li,” headed by a jiazhang, commonly called the lizheng (village head). There were also several maosu—the village elders.

Within Yuqing Village’s jurisdiction, everything—from settling disputes and guiding morals to encouraging farming and passing on government orders, even collecting taxes and organizing corvée labor—was jointly managed by the lizheng and the elders.

The lizheng’s authority was considerable. Anyone who could hold the position was always someone respected and of great standing in the community.

This system basically meant that local people governed local affairs.

There was even a common saying about it: Imperial power does not reach below the county; below the county it’s the clans. Clans govern themselves, self-rule relies on ethics, and ethics produce the local gentry. That was exactly how things worked.

Over the years, the Xue and Zheng families had maintained a surface-level harmony while quietly competing for influence in the village. The heart of the struggle was control over local authority.

Previously, the Xue clan had fallen behind. But when one of them passed the imperial exam to become a licentiate, the family’s fortunes turned around. They even produced several village elders in succession. Still, the position of lizheng remained firmly in Zheng hands.

At present, Yuqing Village had one lizheng and four village elders. Three of those elders were Xues, leaving it at three to two in their favor on paper. But with a Zheng in the lizheng role, the Xues still couldn’t claim the upper hand.

The Xue clan head was convinced that if the family produced another licentiate, they’d finally surpass the Zhengs completely. So when he heard the rumors spreading like wildfire these past few days, he immediately exploded.

Old Master Xue was still working in the fields when he was summoned to the clan head’s house.

Seeing the clan head’s face dark as the bottom of a pot, Old Master Xue was completely at a loss. “Brother Hai, what’s going on?” By seniority, the clan head was technically Old Master Xue’s older cousin.

“You’re really asking me what’s going on? Don’t tell me you haven’t heard what people are saying!”

Old Master Xue genuinely hadn’t heard.

Seeing this, the clan head’s face grew even darker as he explained the gist of it.

Apparently, no one knew exactly when it started, but gossip about the Xue family had begun circulating everywhere.

It all started when someone saw the second household’s only son, Xue Gouzi, crying in front of his father’s grave.

No one knew exactly what he’d been saying, but for a boy that age to sob his grievances there suggested he’d clearly been mistreated at home. Then someone familiar with the family’s affairs let it slip that Old Xue’s eldest was planning to send his own son to study in town but had completely excluded his nephew.

Everyone in the village remembered how Old Xue’s second brother had died—it hadn’t been a secret. Many people had been there at his deathbed and had seen him clutching Xue Qingsong’s hand, making him promise to take good care of his son.

After leaving the Xue house that day, plenty of people had gossiped in private. They all said it was pitiful—Xue’s second brother had died leaving behind a sickly widow and a young child. No wonder he hadn’t been able to close his eyes in peace until that promise was made.

Now, with these new rumors spreading, people were recalling that deathbed scene in detail. The older villagers shook their heads and sighed about how hard it was to trust anyone. They’d say things like: You think you can leave your wife and son in your brother’s care, but who really treats your child like their own?

And inevitably, people began talking about how Xue Tingrang had actually been treated in the Xue household over these past few years, with the village women gossiping in hushed but cutting tones.

Take Xue Gouzi from the second household, for example. Though he didn’t show up much in public, every time someone saw him, he was wearing old, worn clothes. But Xue Juncai from the main household? No one had ever seen him wear anything but new outfits.

Even stories from the private school began trickling out—mostly through the careless mouths of children. It was said that Xue Juncai had all the paper, ink, brushes, and inkstones he could need, and more books than any other student. Meanwhile, Xue Gouzi had been seen more than once writing directly on the desk with water because he couldn’t afford paper.

Favoritism—everyone favors their own children, and most people can accept that. But when a man carries the deathbed promise of his own younger brother, and still treats his nephew so unequally, well, that kind of partiality leaves a bad taste in people’s mouths.

“You’re not young anymore,” the clan head snapped. “Can’t even keep the younger generation in line? Favoring your eldest son is one thing, but letting it blow up like this? Now what are we supposed to do?”

Old Master Xue flushed red with shame. He knew this wasn’t a small matter—one wrong move, and the family’s reputation would be ruined.

He could handle losing his own reputation, but his eldest son’s couldn’t afford the blow. If word spread that he had mistreated his late brother’s orphan, that reputation would stick for life. Forget passing the imperial exam—he might not even be able to keep studying at all.

“Brother Hai…” He looked at the clan head helplessly, clearly at a loss.

“There’s only one way to quiet the gossip,” the clan head said firmly. “Send both boys to the academy. That way, no one can say anything.”

Old Master Xue’s face turned even redder. He rubbed his rough hands together and said awkwardly, “Brother Hai, you know our family’s situation. We’ve spent everything just to put the eldest through school. It’s not that we don’t want to send both—it’s that we simply can’t afford it.”

At this, the clan head frowned deeply.

He knew full well how much it cost to send Xue Qingshan to Qinghe Academy back then. That school bled families dry, and no one dared complain—after all, there were plenty of others lining up to pay. Just one year cost no less than twenty taels of silver, and Qingshan had studied there for five years.

The clan head had considered helping out a little if they came up short, but now he said nothing. Qingshan was one thing—but Juncai was still young, and no one knew what kind of scholar he’d grow up to be. Besides, he had two grandsons of his own in school. Every family was feeling the pinch.

Old Master Xue hesitated, then asked timidly, “What if… what if we just didn’t send either of them?”

The clan head sneered. “Then you’d be proving everyone right—that your family mistreats an orphaned nephew. If you want to protect your eldest’s reputation and your grandson’s future, then either send both, or send only the one from the second household.”

Old Master Xue walked out of the clan head’s house in a daze, completely numb.

His hands trembled as he fumbled around his waist, finally fishing out his tobacco pipe. He didn’t go anywhere—just squatted down beneath a tree by the road, lit the pipe, and smoked an entire bowl of dry tobacco without stopping once.

Only when the smoke was gone did he finally stand up again.

He walked home with slow, heavy steps. Along the way, people occasionally greeted him.

On any other day, Old Master Xue would’ve felt proud—after all, not just anyone gets greeted like that. But today, he couldn’t shake the feeling that while people smiled to his face, they were secretly laughing behind his back.

He forced himself to keep walking, pretending nothing was wrong. Just then, another familiar face came walking toward him. The man smiled and said, “Back from the fields already today?”

That was the last straw.

He couldn’t hold it in anymore. He grabbed the man and pulled him aside under a tree.

“Old Zhou,” he said, “tell me honestly—what’s everyone saying about our family behind our backs?”

Old Zhou was a dark-skinned man with a reddish complexion, shorter than Old Master Xue and a little hunched. At the question, he instinctively gave him a long look before sighing, “I thought you knew. So you didn’t?”

“Know what? How the hell would I know!” The first sentence came through clenched teeth. The second was more of a bitter laugh.

Having lived most of his life, Old Zhou understood exactly how his old friend must be feeling. But knowing what to say? That was the hard part. In the end, he just offered a few measured words: “Don’t take it too hard. People in this village are just idle and love to gossip. But I won’t lie to you—what your family did… well, it wasn’t right.”

Wasn’t right?

That was putting it mildly, and only because of their long friendship. Who knew what people were saying behind his back? The clan head had only said “ugly rumors” were going around—but hadn’t told him exactly what.

Old Master Xue pressed further. “What are they saying, exactly? Just tell me.”

Old Zhou sighed again and finally gave in. Since the topic was already on the table, there was no point holding back.

“I’ll be blunt—how could you, as the father, let something like this happen? Don’t forget how your second son died. Doing things this way… it’s no wonder people are pointing fingers behind your back.”

Old Master Xue turned pale. He murmured, “It wasn’t my eldest’s fault. It was me and the old woman who decided on it…”

Old Zhou looked at him out of the corner of his eye, but held back from saying anything more cutting. If he spoke his mind now, it might ruin their friendship for good.

“Well, you better figure something out,” he said instead. “Anyway, I should get going. If you feel like it tonight, come over—I’ll drink a few with you.”

Old Master Xue shook his head. “No… I’ve got things to do at home.”

After Old Zhou left, Old Master Xue stood there for a moment, then slowly headed home.

As soon as he stepped into the courtyard, Xue Qingshan called out, “Dad, what did Great-Uncle want with you?”

Old Master Xue glanced at his son but didn’t say a word. He just walked straight into the main room.

Xue Qingshan was left scratching his head, confused. He wanted to ask his third brother what was going on, but just then Mrs. Zhou’s voice came from the kitchen, calling them to eat. Everyone came out for dinner, and the question went unasked.

During the meal, Old Master Xue’s face was dark and grim the whole time.

Ever since Xue Tingrang had recovered enough to get out of bed, he no longer ate alone in his own room but joined everyone at the main table. The atmosphere tonight was tense. Even Maodan, who usually loved to fuss and play at the table, didn’t dare make a sound.

After dinner, Mrs. Zhou and Xue Taoer began clearing the dishes and headed off to wash them.

The others were about to leave as well when Old Master Xue called them back.

“Qingshan, you and your wife stay here. I have something to say to you. Gouzi, you stay too. Everyone else can go back to your rooms.”

=^_^=