Chapter 3  

Xue Feifeng found walking with a crutch troublesome, so he employed a bit of light body technique. Just then, a hand reached out, brushing against his clothes like a kitten scratching playfully.  

He stopped, his expression darkening. The other person, caught off guard by the crutch, suddenly bumped into him. Had Xue Feifeng truly been lame, the impact would have sent him tumbling to the ground.  

He shot Shen Qingran a displeased glance. Given the latter’s past behavior, he couldn’t help but suspect Shen Qingran was secretly rummaging through his pockets—looking for money.  

Shen Qingran, unable to be of much help and worried about Xue Feifeng stumbling on the uneven mountain path, hovered around him like an adult shielding a toddling child. However, since he was shorter than Xue Feifeng, the gesture looked utterly ridiculous. His hands flitted about—now touching an arm, now brushing a waist—as if taking liberties.  

When Xue Feifeng glared at him, Shen Qingran didn’t feel particularly threatened. In his past life, his eldest brother had thrived in the military district, and Shen Qingran had often been scolded for his slouching posture, making stern glares a common occurrence.  

But then it suddenly struck him—he was currently a “woman”! His cheeks flushed red, and he hastily waved his hands, signaling that he hadn’t meant to take liberties.  

Xue Feifeng watched his flustered denial with indifference, only taking the bundle from Shen Qingran’s shoulder to carry it himself.  

Shen Qingran felt the weight lift from his shoulders and blinked in confusion. Why did Xue Feifeng’s back look so intimidating? And what about that pile of chicken bones at home—what was he supposed to do about them?!  

When Xue Feifeng first arrived at Li Family Village, he had instructed Chang Bai to buy a flock of roosters and hens and plant rows of radishes and greens around the house to maintain the appearance of an ordinary person. Supplies like grain and oil were also fully stocked.  

Now, he stared at the chaotic state of the vegetable patch in the courtyard, deep in thought. The small holes everywhere—had Shen Qingran dug up even the thumb-sized seedlings to eat?  

Hadn’t he left enough money and rice?  

Shen Qingran trailed behind him with his head lowered. After climbing the mountain and walking such a long distance, the tender soles of his feet had long since developed blisters, which had then been rubbed raw by the rough shoes—an excruciating sensation.  

But that wasn’t the most pressing issue. Shen Qingran gave the vegetable patch an innocent glance before guiltily looking away. He pointed at the patch, then at himself, shaking his head vigorously.  

Not my doing!  

A sudden idea struck him. Frantically, he gestured that a wild boar had come five nights ago. Sign language was difficult, so he grabbed Xue Feifeng’s hand, uncurled his fingers, and carefully wrote four characters in his palm: “Eaten by wild boar.”  

His fingers, which had never done manual labor, were soft and smooth, their rounded tips brushing against Xue Feifeng’s calloused palm—like tender willow fronds grazing the rugged stones of a battlefield.  

Xue Feifeng withdrew his hand uncomfortably, his face cold as he strode into the house. The explanation was absurd, but he wasn’t entirely surprised.  

That was, until he was met with a towering pile of chicken bones. Thousands of ants swarmed around the table, forming dozens of transport lines—a dense, crawling mass.  

No wonder the house was so eerily quiet. Aside from Shen Qingran, the only living being left, everything else had apparently been eaten.  

Just moments ago, he had thought that after nine days alone, Shen Qingran might have learned some self-sufficiency. Now, the only fitting description was “incorrigible.”  

Shen Qingran: *You might not believe me, but even though the chickens ended up in my stomach, I swear I didn’t eat them.*  

Under Xue Feifeng’s sharp gaze, Shen Qingran—who had delayed cleaning up the mess for a day because it was too disgusting—quickly grabbed a dustpan from the corner and began sweeping up the chicken bones, nearly gagging from the stench.

Xue Feifeng noticed the clothes on Shen Qingran and realized his room had been rummaged through. Compared to Shen Qingran’s sudden and uncharacteristic attentiveness, it wouldn’t be surprising if he had done something rude.  

Surprisingly, although the room had been disturbed, it wasn’t as messy as the outside. Everything was still in its place—except for an extra sleeping mat on the floor.  

“Have you been sleeping here these past few days?” Xue Feifeng asked, his tone unreadable.  

Shen Qingran studied his expression before cautiously nodding. The original owner’s room wasn’t just messy—it reeked of a foul stench and dead rats. Shen Qingran suspected the original owner might have even urinated under the bed, too lazy to walk to the outhouse.  

How could anyone live like this?  

Shen Qingran, who only stayed in five-star hotels in his past life, was even less willing to clean it up.  

“Go back to your own room tonight,” Xue Feifeng said, already closing the door. The fact that Shen Qingran hadn’t messed up his room or slept in his bed had slightly improved his impression. Thinking this, Xue Feifeng scoffed—when had his standards dropped so low? If a soldier in his army had been this slovenly, Xue Feifeng would have beaten him until he crawled on the ground.  

Shen Qingran hurriedly grabbed the door, clasping his hands together with teary eyes, silently pleading. Now he regretted being mute—his silver tongue had no chance to shine.  

With the wound on his forehead, Shen Qingran looked especially pitiful. But Xue Feifeng remained unmoved, the door slowly closing without giving him any leeway.  

*Might as well sleep in the chicken coop tonight!*  

*What’s the point of life if I can’t sleep in Xue Feifeng’s room?!*  

Wait—Shen Qingran rephrased—*What’s the point of life if I can’t sleep in Xue Feifeng’s room?!*  

*Did I not flatter him enough? Did he not see my sincerity?*  

*Maybe I should cook for him? He must be hungry after traveling all this way.* Shen Qingran wasted no time. Over the past two days, he had burned through most of their rice while learning to cook, leaving only two small handfuls. Not daring to attempt anything complicated, he settled for a simple porridge—though even lighting the fire took him two tries.  

Perhaps Heaven took pity on him. Tears streamed down Shen Qingran’s face as he gazed at the freshly cooked white porridge. No ash had fallen into it, it wasn’t yellow from an unwashed pot, and it hadn’t burned beyond recognition!  

He swallowed hard, suddenly craving a taste. How long had it been since he’d had a proper meal?  

*Maybe I should secretly save a little for myself?* But the image of Xue Feifeng’s tall frame flashed in his mind. *Forget it—better to let him eat his fill first.*  

He looked down at his grimy hands and scolded himself: *So biased from the start! No wonder the food I made for myself was inedible!*  

*Knock, knock, knock…* Shen Qingran rapped on the door.  

Xue Feifeng paused in polishing his sword, pretending not to hear.  

Shen Qingran persisted.  

Xue Feifeng took a deep breath, set the sword aside, and reached for a pair of crutches before opening the door—maintaining the appearance of a disabled man.  

“What is it?”  

Shen Qingran held out the porridge—*Time for lunch.*  

“I’m not hungry. You eat it.”  

Shen Qingran immediately ducked inside. Since Xue Feifeng was currently “disabled” and immobile, he could only watch helplessly as Shen Qingran slipped in.  

Xue Feifeng had never known Shen Qingran to be this stubborn, refusing to leave unless he ate. He sighed—he almost preferred the days when Shen Qingran would just demand money upfront. At least then, he’d only see him once a day at most.  

“Thanks.” Xue Feifeng reluctantly sat on the stool, and chopsticks were promptly placed in his hand.  

Shen Qingran watched with a doting expression as Xue Feifeng prepared to eat. His lips curled into a smile—only for it to freeze when Xue Feifeng suddenly set the chopsticks back down.  

*Huh?*

Why did he stand up? Where is he going?

Seeing Xue Feifeng stop in front of a wall cabinet, Shen Qingran panicked. That cabinet originally contained some pickled vegetables and cured meat, but the original owner had despised the pickles as unpalatable and thrown them away, while the cured meat had been taken by his so-called friends.

No!

The revolution wasn’t yet complete—how could he let Xue Feifeng find out he’d lost these things too?

Slippery as an eel, Shen Qingran darted in front of the cabinet, blocking Xue Feifeng’s hand with a smile and shaking his head.

Too much cured food causes cancer! Trust me!

Shen Qingran screamed inwardly while pulling Xue Feifeng’s hand away, gesturing, “It got moldy from the rain the other day, so I threw it out.”

He cautiously studied Xue Feifeng’s expression, only to see a flicker of understanding in his eyes.

Having told such a clumsy lie, Shen Qingran’s cheeks burned crimson. He scratched his head awkwardly, accidentally nudging the cabinet door open with his elbow—causing two marriage certificates to tumble out. These had been used during their wedding, but neither cared much for formalities, so they’d been haphazardly stuffed away.

Picking them up, Shen Qingran examined them. Though his ability to recognize vegetables was lacking, his basic literacy was intact.

Li Feng: Year of Jihai.  

Shen Qingran: Year of Wuxu.  

Meaning Li Feng was now twenty-two, while Shen Qingran was twenty-three.

But in his past life, he’d already been twenty-seven. Shen Qingran’s gaze flickered. The man before him had enlisted at seventeen to defend their homeland, returned with two crippled legs… and was still a younger brother!

The kind of younger brother who’d been in elementary school when he was in high school!

Poor kid—crippled in war, then bullied by his wife at home. Ugh. I’ll take good care of him.

Xue Feifeng had no idea why Shen Qingran’s expression had suddenly turned strange—almost… affectionate. Shaking off this absurd and unsettling thought, he wondered if Shen Qingran suspected him.

Twenty-two was Li Feng’s age. Xue Feifeng was twenty-six, which made this seem like an attempt to appear younger.

The two locked eyes, their thoughts worlds apart.

Xue Feifeng and Shen Qingran stood so close their chests nearly touched. Suddenly realizing this, Shen Qingran stiffened like a chick under a hawk’s predatory gaze, pressing himself flat against the cabinet.

Would Xue Feifeng notice he had no chest?!

Shen Qingran’s lips parted slightly, overcome by a peculiar panic.

Xue Feifeng, who had always kept his distance from women, didn’t think beyond that. Something felt off, but his instincts as a born warrior limited his train of thought. Subconsciously, he deemed further inquiry improper and reined himself in, turning away.

……

Shen Qingran trailed behind him back to the room, watching as Xue Feifeng elegantly scooped a spoonful of plain congee. His face brimmed with tender affection—Eat well to heal, little brother. Big brother can only make you plain congee.

Suddenly possessed by theatrics, Shen Qingran’s stomach betrayed him with an audible growl.

In the absence of clucking chickens or noisy neighbors, the sound was especially jarring.

His stomach had a mind of its own!

Young Master Shen was stunned—so a hungry stomach really could growl!

If yesterday had been about recovering from the original owner’s rich feasts, today was genuine hunger.

Xue Feifeng’s expression turned odd. “You haven’t eaten?”

Sheepishly, Shen Qingran nodded and gestured, “You first.”

Xue Feifeng seemed to recall something. Leaning on his crutches, he made his way to the small kitchen. The firewood by the stove was sparse, revealing bare yellow earth beneath. The ceramic rice jar lay open, completely empty.

Xue Feifeng’s gaze shifted from the jar to Shen Qingran’s stomach… He could believe the chickens were gone—Shen Qingran was picky, probably only eating the legs and breasts.

But the rice… Only a glutton could finish it all.

Shen Qingran felt utterly ashamed and even wanted to explain that many people had shared the meal together.  

However, in ancient times, people would never believe that a woman could simply gather a group of men to eat and drink without anything improper happening. With her husband away for days, Shen Qingran had hosted so many people day and night—no fool would believe they hadn’t done anything.  

Considering that Shen Qingran had left the last half-bowl of rice for him, Xue Feifeng fished out a small piece of silver from his belt. “Forget it. Go to Aunt Zhang’s and exchange this for some rice, flour, and eggs.”  

Shen Qingran didn’t take it. Her round, glistening eyes welled up with two teardrops, like a wasteful wife shedding remorseful tears after squandering the family fortune.  

She had imagined a thousand—no, ten thousand—ways Xue Feifeng might explode in anger upon his return, yet none of them happened. Her living conditions had plummeted from heaven to hell, and after two days of hunger in an unfamiliar place, Xue Feifeng’s words—though not exactly caring—gave her a deep sense of comfort, the feeling that she wasn’t alone.  

*Wuwuwu, Xue Feifeng is so good… He didn’t write a letter of divorce and even gave me food…* But seriously, who the heck is Aunt Zhang? Could he be a little clearer? She was so hungry she could cry.