Chapter 6  

Shen Qingran tried eighteen different positions before finally managing to wheel the “wheelchair lord” back home. By the last stretch, he was utterly exhausted and gave in, dragging the wheelchair the rest of the way.  

Should’ve just dragged it from the start.  

Shen Qingran was furious at his own stubbornness.  

Lost in thought, he didn’t watch his footing—*splat*—and face-planted right onto the wheelchair seat.  

In that split second, a chilling gust swept over his head, followed by a massive impact like a meteor crashing down. The force flipped the wheelchair backward, pinning Shen Qingran underneath like an overturned turtle.  

What the hell just happened???  

Clutching his waist, Shen Qingran struggled to his feet, certain he’d bruised his back. Heart aching, he righted the wheelchair—only to find a corner of the backrest chipped. Brand new, and already damaged.  

Devastating… Wait. Shen Qingran turned, eyes locking onto the dust kicked up by a fallen sword scabbard. Belatedly, his guard shot up: *An assassin?*  

Who’d bother targeting *him*?  

What about Xue Feifeng?  

Dropping the wheelchair, Shen Qingran snatched the scabbard as a makeshift weapon and stormed into the house, ready for a fight.  

Their eyes met—both stunned.  

Seeing Xue Feifeng unharmed, Shen Qingran tossed the scabbard aside, confusion flickering across his face. For a moment, he thought he’d glimpsed murderous intent in Xue Feifeng’s eyes, but it vanished with a blink.  

When Shen Qingran burst in, Xue Feifeng had assumed he’d miraculously survived the attack and was now coming to finish him off. His grip on the sword trembled with barely contained fury. Yet, the moment he laid eyes on Shen Qingran, his resolve crumbled.  

Dizzy and wracked with stomach pain, he could only watch, rigid and disoriented, as Shen Qingran approached—sword still clenched in hand, gaze wary.  

Was this the so-called “one day as husband, a hundred days of grace”?  

Xue Feifeng scoffed inwardly. He thought of Li Feng, whom he’d once known in the barracks, and closed his eyes, attributing his hesitation to an unwillingness to harm his own wife. On the battlefield, life-and-death bonds made brothers of comrades, regardless of rank.  

But when he opened his eyes again, Shen Qingran was gripping his hand, writing anxiously: *”Robbers?”*  

The worry on his face seemed genuine.  

Lips pale, Xue Feifeng stared fixedly at Shen Qingran, testing the waters with a reckless lie: “I’ve been poisoned.”  

Shen Qingran’s eyes widened. His lips parted soundlessly before he scrawled hurriedly in Xue Feifeng’s palm: *”Fetch a doctor.”*  

In his panic, he forgot he had no idea where to find one. He stumbled toward the door—only for a rough, sweat-dampened hand to seize his wrist and yank him back.  

“There’s no doctor in the village.”  

Pulled against the edge of the table, Shen Qingran’s hand remained trapped in Xue Feifeng’s grip. The words made his nose sting with helpless frustration.  

*Then what do we do?*  

Glancing down at their joined hands, a wave of sorrow hit him. The scene felt eerily like a deathbed confession—was Xue Feifeng dying?  

Noticing Shen Qingran on the verge of tears, Xue Feifeng clarified, “I brought detoxification medicine back last time.” Even as he spoke, though unsure how he’d been poisoned, he’d already absolved Shen Qingran of blame.  

The tears dried instantly. Shen Qingran pulled his hand free, exasperated. *Couldn’t you have led with that?*  

The sudden emptiness in Xue Feifeng’s palm felt like losing something precious. Suppressing the odd pang, he added, “My apologies. The poison clouded my judgment. I thought an intruder had broken in. I didn’t mean to… attack you.”

Xue Feifeng felt a pang of fear—had Shen Qingran not dodged in time… Although the sword scabbard wouldn’t have been fatal, it would have caused severe internal injuries.  

“Sorry,” he repeated, “It won’t happen again.”  

Shen Qingran recalled the unstoppable force of that scabbard, stunned by Xue Feifeng’s martial prowess. How could a cripple achieve such a feat? This was no ordinary cripple—this was a peerless martial artist who just happened to be disabled!  

His mind immediately flashed to the humiliation of being pinned down by Cai Shi and those two brothers from the fields. If the villagers knew how formidable Xue Feifeng was, would they still dare to bully him?  

Shen Qingran’s eyes lit up, eager to tattle. But the moment he grabbed Xue Feifeng’s hand, he suddenly felt childish—like a grade-schooler. He was a grown man, not Xue Feifeng’s real wife, and acting so petty seemed spineless.  

He held back, gazing at Xue Feifeng with admiration before finally writing with restraint, “If someone bullies me, will you help me?”  

“Yes,” Xue Feifeng answered immediately. “Who bullied you?”  

Shen Qingran shook his head, satisfied just knowing the answer. At least now, if someone provoked him, he could fight back without worrying they’d turn on the frail Xue Feifeng.  

After his brief elation, he remembered to ask—how had Xue Feifeng been poisoned?  

Xue Feifeng shook his head. “I don’t know.”  

Apart from the meals Shen Qingran prepared, he hadn’t eaten anything else. They had been together the whole time, and since Shen Qingran was unharmed, other possibilities were ruled out. That was why he had been so suspicious of the plate of bottle gourd.  

Xue Feifeng’s expression darkened, and Shen Qingran felt a pang of sympathy. Poor man—disabled and now poisoned.  

Luckily, he had bought a gift to cheer him up.  

He went outside to fetch the wheelchair, completely forgetting about the scabbard incident.  

Come try out the wheelchair he bought!  

Xue Feifeng froze at the sight of it. He had never used one before and never expected Shen Qingran to care about his injured leg.  

Not only had Shen Qingran not asked for money, but he had spent his own to buy him a wheelchair?!  

Xue Feifeng was genuinely shocked. His gaze traveled upward—a chunk was missing from the backrest, clearly struck by the scabbard. His heart clenched again. If that had hit Shen Qingran… Here the man was, buying him a wheelchair, while he had nearly taken his life over baseless suspicions.  

Xue Feifeng pressed his lips together, his eyes dark with turmoil—regret and frustration flickering through them. When he looked at Shen Qingran again, even he had to admit he felt a newfound sense of concern.  

Shen Qingran’s wrists, pushing the wheelchair, were fair and delicate—unmarked by summer rice-cutting or winter’s icy water. Utterly pampered.  

Xue Feifeng’s gaze sharpened, suddenly recalling the image of Cai Shi gripping Shen Qingran’s hands until they turned red. A belated surge of anger rose in him, though he couldn’t quite explain why.  

After a moment, he noticed something else—Shen Qingran’s two bracelets were missing.  

He reached out, tugging Shen Qingran’s sleeve up to check, but they weren’t there.  

“Where are the bracelets?”  

They had been part of Shen Qingran’s dowry. The Shen family couldn’t afford gold, so they had crafted a pair of silver bracelets instead. Delicate and elegant on Shen Qingran’s slender wrists, they lent him an air of refined grace.  

Shen Qingran pulled his hand back, hiding his poverty. He didn’t want Xue Feifeng to feel guilty, so he lied—said he’d lost them while washing his hands by the river.  

What kind of man wore bracelets anyway? He hadn’t wanted them in the first place.

Xue Feifeng noticed Shen Qingran’s hands nervously rubbing against the worn edges of the wheelchair and understood. An unprecedented surge of emotion welled up within him—when given a peach, return with a jade. Since Shen Qingran had sold his bracelet for him today, it was only natural that he should do his utmost to plan for Shen Qingran’s future.

He couldn’t let Shen Qingran waste his life tied to him. Given his own sensitive status, the slightest misstep could bring fatal consequences. Once things outside settled down, if Shen Qingran was willing, he should find him a good family to marry into—royalty or nobility, whichever he preferred.

Though he thought this way, Xue Feifeng felt an inexplicable irritation, as if the idea of finding Shen Qingran a match was somehow distressing.

He pondered this strange feeling carefully before finally realizing the truth.

All those so-called princes, marquises, and generals out there were nothing but incompetent mediocrities, drowning in wives and concubines—none of them were suitable matches.

This matter couldn’t be rushed.

Xue Feifeng felt somewhat comforted by this thought.

Shen Qingran helped Xue Feifeng settle into the wheelchair and even pushed him around the house a few times. It rode smoothly without much jostling—quite serviceable.

If Chang Ming were to see this, he’d surely be astonished—was this really the same stubborn general who had adamantly refused crutches or a wheelchair?

…

As evening approached, Shen Qingran stood in the kitchen. The dishes from lunch remained unwashed, and half a plate of bitter bottle gourd still sat uneaten.

It was a wonder Xue Feifeng had managed to eat half of it without batting an eye.

There wasn’t a second person in the world who could be so supportive.

Chef Shen’s culinary skills had met their Waterloo—previously burnt and unpalatable, today they had outdone themselves by conjuring an entirely new dimension of bitterness.

What to cook for dinner?

Maybe just serve this plate again… Shen Qingran silently chastised his conscience while resigning himself to the fact that his cooking would always be at this level.

Just then, Aunt Zhang came by on some business. Shen Qingran stood there, holding the plate of bottle gourd with a troubled expression, itching to ask her where he’d gone wrong.

But Aunt Zhang couldn’t read.

As if reading his mind, Xue Feifeng spoke up for him, “Qingran wants to ask why this gourd tastes bitter.”

Hearing the teasing tone in Xue Feifeng’s voice, Shen Qingran flushed and glared at him.

Aunt Zhang’s expression changed abruptly. “Did you eat it? Bitter gourd is poisonous! Too much can kill you!”

Gourd, or bottle gourd, came in two varieties—sweet and bitter. The bitter kind was toxic, while the sweet was delicious.

Aunt Zhang repeated her question several times, but the couple only exchanged bewildered looks, clearly unaware they’d been flirting with death. Seeing the unpeeled gourd still on the plate, she muttered a few prayers. “Of all the luck, you had to pick the bitter one… It’s my fault too—I should’ve warned you. I thought everyone knew not to eat it.”

Shen Qingran was mortified. He’d assumed his cooking had reached new heights of awfulness… but it turned out he’d actually been poisoning Xue Feifeng.

He shuffled behind Xue Feifeng and began massaging his shoulders obsequiously—I didn’t mean to.

Xue Feifeng reached up, paused, then gently pushed Shen Qingran’s hands away. “I don’t blame you. There’s no need to feel guilty.”

The two of them were truly unbearable to watch—even Aunt Zhang and her husband hadn’t been this affectionate in their newlywed days. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “I came to bring you some eggs—these are fertilized and can hatch chicks. I noticed you’ve eaten all your chickens, so you’ll need to raise a few more for the New Year sacrifices.”

Aunt Zhang could’ve waited until the chicks hatched before giving them over, but she reconsidered—Shen Qingran couldn’t go through life knowing nothing. Now that he was newly married, it was time he learned these skills.

Thus, Shen Qingran was forced to attend a lesson on “The Incubation and Rearing of Chicks”—how to maintain warmth, how to identify dead eggs, how to keep the chicks warm after hatching… Shen Qingran’s head spun with information.

Dazed, he wondered, wasn’t this the female lead’s skill? Why did he have to learn it too? Wasn’t his goal simply to wait for the female lead and then volunteer to be her accountant? As a top finance graduate from a prestigious university, working with his brain suited him better.

Aunt Zhang spoke rapidly with a slight regional accent, making it hard for Shen Qingran to retain the details. Helpless, he turned to Xue Feifeng with pleading eyes, his downturned gaze pitiful enough to move anyone.

Xue Feifeng accepted the plea for help. “Ahem, Aunt Zhang, just tell me instead.”

Aunt Zhang glanced at his lame leg. “Better let Qingran learn.”

Xue Feifeng could only shrug helplessly at Shen Qingran.

Shen Qingran steeled himself and continued listening: “…”

So many terms he didn’t understand—had he become illiterate?

Finally, after Shen Qingran’s repeated nods, Aunt Zhang left behind sixteen fertilized eggs, her mission accomplished, though not without great effort.

“If you don’t want to, then…” Xue Feifeng started to say—if he didn’t want to do it, they could just wait for Chang Ming to return and have him buy a sturdy rooster, ready to be slaughtered and stewed.

No, I’ll incubate them!

Shen Qingran shook his head, his gaze resolute. Unaware of Xue Feifeng’s financial situation, he knew the previous chickens had all been eaten by him. With Xue Feifeng’s bones taking a hundred days to heal, how could he go without chicken soup?

But it was also true that he hadn’t really learned how to do it.

All he remembered was that the incubation temperature should be close to body heat, and the eggs would hatch in about twenty-one days. As for how to control the temperature… Shen Qingran pouted. So difficult.

He stared at Xue Feifeng and his wheelchair, then had a brilliant idea.

Body heat… Xue Feifeng sat around all day anyway.

Idle hands were the devil’s workshop… Rather than letting that warmth go to waste, why not put it to good use? Scientific and eco-friendly.

With mischief in his eyes, Shen Qingran patted Xue Feifeng’s thigh—excellent, the young man radiated heat like a furnace—then placed a pouch of eggs on his lap.

“What are you doing?” Xue Feifeng had a bad feeling.

Shen Qingran grabbed his hand and wrote, “You incubate them.”

Seeing Xue Feifeng’s thunderstruck expression, Shen Qingran curled his lip. Weren’t you the one who told Aunt Zhang you’d handle it earlier?

“That’s not what I meant…” Xue Feifeng struggled to explain.

Shen Qingran crouched before him, looking up with a silent promise: “Just sit here. I’ll handle everything else from now on.”

The utterly clueless Shen Qingran made a bold claim.

Xue Feifeng had never imagined that a mighty general would one day be reduced to hatching eggs.

Suddenly, he didn’t like this wheelchair so much anymore.