Chapter 22: Wei Zhao’s Dismissiveness

Night had fallen when Yu Tingwan returned to the old house. After hastily preparing a simple meal and washing up, she lay down on her bed. Despite her exhaustion, sleep eluded her. Pressing her lips together, she turned to look at the cotton shoes beside her.

They were well-stuffed with cotton and meticulously stitched—clearly made for warmth. Though Hui Niang was frugal in daily life, she spared no expense for her children.

As if possessed, Yu Tingwan sat up and tried them on, walking a few steps around the room. They were warm, comfortable, and fit perfectly.

The next day brought rare brilliant sunshine, its warmth seeming capable of melting away the winter’s chill. Villagers rushed about excitedly, saying the road to town would soon reopen. But Yu Tingwan knew better. By evening, the bitter wind would grow fiercer, bringing a deluge of sleet followed by heavy rain. Mountain climbing would soon become impossible.

This thought troubled her. After careful consideration, she took out the money she’d earned from Old Man Qian the previous day.

The Wei family’s gate stood half-open.

In the courtyard, Wei Zhao reclined in a wicker chair, sunbathing with closed eyes and an indifferent expression. Hui Niang sat nearby, weaving a basket.

Standing at the doorway, Yu Tingwan awkwardly addressed Hui Niang as she approached: “I can’t finish these wild fruits, so I brought some for you, Aunt.”

It was clearly a pretense—wild fruits could barely stave off hunger, and she clearly didn’t have enough to eat herself. Hui Niang noticed the fruits were plump and freshly washed, obviously selected with care.

“These aren’t worth much,” Yu Tingwan continued, biting her lip. “If I find better ones later, I’ll bring them to you. I won’t take your shoes for nothing.”

Before Hui Niang could refuse, Yu Tingwan pressed the fruits into her arms. Seeing the girl’s determination and understanding her pride, Hui Niang stopped being polite.

Yu Tingwan then asked softly, “Could I buy some vegetables from you?”

The people of Xilin Village lived off farming, storing cabbage, sweet potatoes, and radishes in their cellars for the winter.

She held out a few coins. “Whatever you think is fair, Aunt.”

“How could I take your money?” Hui Niang pulled her inside. “Come in and talk.” She closed the gate, mindful of the village’s stray dogs that might disturb her son. “Wait here, I’ll get them.” Halfway to the cellar, she remembered the simmering medicine pot and hurried back to lower the heat.

Left alone, Yu Tingwan began examining the Wei family’s courtyard. Though not large, it was immaculately kept. Her gaze eventually settled on Wei Zhao.

He wore simple cotton garments, not formal attire. His eyes remained closed, occasionally broken by a soft cough. He appeared fragile and delicate, his features bearing the lingering marks of illness. Clearly not the man who had pressed against her, praising her fair complexion.

Yet his presence still made her uncomfortable.

She couldn’t understand it. What had she seen in Wei Shen back then? She could tell she hadn’t been forced—she had been genuinely satisfied with both the marriage arrangement and Wei Shen himself. Satisfied with what? His inability to carry burdens or lift a hand to help? Her scrutiny was unrestrained, completely unconcealed. After looking Wei Zhao up and down three times, she still couldn’t find an answer.

Suddenly, loud banging erupted at the gate.

Outside stood a hunched old woman, white-haired and sharp-tongued. “Wei Shouzhong! Did I raise you just to have you anger me?” she shrieked. “You’ve married a wife and forgotten your mother!” “Hand over the money! What’s the point of treating a sickly wretch? I’m doing this for your own good!”

The old woman’s fury grew as she thought of how the villagers criticized Wei Qintian for neglecting his brother. “What’s there to see about Wei Shen? Qintian’s wife is pregnant again—how can he come here and risk bad luck? Wei Shen should be taking the misfortune for Qintian!”

“Why didn’t he die out there? Why did he come back?” Her voice grew shriller. “The decision back then was mine to make—do you dare disagree? Don’t be ungrateful! Qintian is such a filial, sensible child, willing to be adopted by you—you should all be burning incense in thanks!”

Here we go again, Yu Tingwan thought, frowning.

This Old Madam Wei came to wail every day. Though Yu Tingwan hadn’t been home to hear it before, would she now have to endure this daily? Wei Shen still needed peace to recover.

As these thoughts crossed her mind, Wei Zhao moved. He lifted his eyelids slightly and slowly stood, revealing his surprisingly tall frame. He seemed unsteady, likely pulling at his wounds, but paid no attention to his discomfort or those around him as he reached for the bubbling medicinal pot.

Yu Tingwan’s words caught in her throat as she drew in a sharp breath. Wouldn’t that burn him terribly?

But Wei Zhao, his hands calloused from years of martial arts training, seemed completely insensitive to the heat as he walked toward the gate. Outside, Old Madam Wei was still cursing enthusiastically. The village’s end had few households, so no one responded to her howling. Just as she paused to catch her breath, the gate suddenly opened.

Before she could react, scalding medicinal soup splashed over her. A piercing scream rang out.

Yu Tingwan snapped from her daze. Though old, the woman was robust. If she went berserk and charged at Wei Shen, who could barely walk a few steps without swaying—wouldn’t he end up in a grave?

She dared not think further. Though shock still lingered in her eyes, her body reacted instinctively. She rushed forward, and as Old Madam Wei hunched over in pain, slammed the gate shut and bolted it, cutting off the woman’s pained howls and curses.

Leaning against the gate, Yu Tingwan could actually understand Wei Shen’s actions. When someone bullies you at your own doorstep, even a person made of clay would reach their breaking point. If she were Wei Shen, regardless of poor health—even if buried—she’d crawl from her grave to teach Old Madam Wei a lesson.

But she still couldn’t understand how he could have been so cruel to himself.

Her gaze slowly lowered.

“Your…” she asked hesitantly, “is your hand alright?”

Wei Zhao walked back weakly, casually tossed the medicine pot aside, and lay down again. The frustration of recent days seemed to have found an outlet. He’d endured that old woman for far too long, and now the gloom in his eyes had largely dispersed, replaced by a hint of satisfaction.

He had just closed his eyes when something seemed to occur to him, and he looked at Yu Tingwan. What had she asked just now? After a moment’s consideration, he was unusually willing to respond, though his voice was hoarse from disuse.

“Oh, don’t know her.”

Yu Tingwan was dumbfounded.

Old Madam Wei comes by every day cursing you to die, how could you not know who she is? She fell into confusion before quickly realizing—that wasn’t what she’d asked! How was he being more evasive than her? She’d asked about his hand, and he’d answered about the person outside.

Looking at his expression, she could see he was quite pleased with his answer.

Yu Tingwan: He never had any intention of giving a proper response from the start!