Chapter 132: Two Women, A Stark Contrast  

—【Then… then what do you want to eat?】  

—【I want to eat you.】  

As someone well-read, Jiang Rou had already envisioned such a response in her mind.  

Wasn’t this exactly how novels were written?  

But in reality, what Jiang Rou heard was a husky, magnetic voice, laced with thick desire and whispered low.  

“Wife, you are my wedding candy.”  

The moment Zhou Zhongshan’s words fell, Jiang Rou’s legs went weak.  

Compared to those greasy lines in novels, this old man’s response was far more moving.  

She liked this.  

As her response, Jiang Rou stood on tiptoe, lifted her chin, and took the initiative to kiss Zhou Zhongshan’s lips.  

Just as earlier, when she had fed him a piece of candy.  

Once again, Jiang Rou fed Zhou Zhongshan a candy.  

Only this time, she was the bright red candy ball.  

…  

Zhou Zhongshan tightened his arms, holding Jiang Rou as he pressed her onto the bed nearby.  

During this, a soft measuring tape, forgotten by its owner, remained trapped between their overlapping chests.  

Additionally, Zhou Zhongshan was simply too tall. In his excitement as he leaned forward, the top of his head bumped into the bedroom’s ceiling light.  

The light swayed, scattering shadows across the room.  

Their figures seemed to shift and sway along with it.  

…  

The next day.  

When Jiang Rou arrived at Song Qingqian’s home, she found that Song Qingqian looked utterly drained.  

Her face was slightly pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Her narrow, phoenix-shaped eyes seemed as though they could barely stay open.  

One look and it was obvious she hadn’t slept well the night before.  

She looked as if she had been up to something mischievous.  

In contrast, Jiang Rou’s face was glowing with health. She was full of energy, brimming with vitality—so much so that she could probably lift a large iron pot with one hand.  

The stark contrast between the two women was undeniable.  

Little did they know…  

Jiang Rou was actually the one who had been “up to something bad”—the one who had been tossed and turned all night.  

After stepping inside, she took a glance around Song Qingqian’s home. She didn’t notice any changes and saw no trace of He Donglai.  

Everything was clear now.  

Company Commander He hadn’t returned.  

Jiang Rou had been diligently playing matchmaker every day, but unfortunately, Company Commander He carried heavy responsibilities and had no time to come home.  

What a pity.  

By midday, Jiang Rou discreetly took out some spiritual spring water from her space, heated it up, and brewed tea before pouring a cup for Song Qingqian.  

Song Qingqian drank the hot tea in a daze, only slowly regaining her energy afterward.  

She began to focus and started teaching Jiang Rou how to use a sewing machine.  

The old-fashioned sewing machine wasn’t electric—it operated through manual mechanics.  

On the right side was a handwheel, which was connected by a leather belt to a foot pedal below.  

Jiang Rou sat in front of the sewing machine, her feet resting on the pedal. She could control the sewing speed based on how quickly she pressed down.  

Since she was just starting out, she kept the speed slow.  

The sewing needle and presser foot were on the left side of the machine.  

Jiang Rou pressed the fabric down with both hands, carefully guiding it forward, bit by bit.  

The sewing machine moved steadily forward.  

And so, the days passed, one after another.

In the blink of an eye, seven days had passed.  

During this time, Jiang Rou remained steadfast, following Song Qingqian every day to learn how to make clothes, while Song Qingqian continued learning how to cook from Jiang Rou.  

Jiang Rou was naturally skilled with her hands. Once she understood the mechanics of the sewing machine and grasped the sewing techniques, she quickly got the hang of it.  

However, when it came to certain areas that required hand-stitching, her stitches were still a bit crooked and uneven.  

But with more practice, that could easily be improved.  

Song Qingqian, on the other hand, did not pick up cooking as quickly as Jiang Rou learned to sew.  

For seven days, she had been slicing potatoes, yet her cuts were still uneven. Several times, she nearly cut her fingers.  

Jiang Rou only taught her simple, everyday dishes—quick stir-fries and cold appetizers.  

Even though Song Qingqian’s knife skills weren’t great, she had already managed to make simple meals with three dishes and one soup.  

She no longer had to eat steamed buns for every meal.  

But Song Qingqian’s changes didn’t stop there.  

In her courtyard, beside the elegant pebble pathway, a row of scallions had appeared in the flowerbed where pink roses were planted.  

After a week of growth, the scallions had already sprouted tender green shoots.  

Only Song Qingqian would think to plant scallions alongside roses.  

She found them fragrant, delicious, and aesthetically pleasing. A sprinkle of fresh scallions on her dishes always seemed to enhance her appetite.  

However, Jiang Rou told her that wild mountain scallions were even more aromatic and flavorful than the ones grown at home.  

Song Qingqian had never tasted wild mountain scallions, but the thought of them made her secretly yearn to try them.  

That afternoon, the weather was stuffy and hot.  

After lunch, Zhou Xiaohua grew drowsy.  

Song Qingqian liked the quiet and adorable little girl, so she offered up her bed, letting Zhou Xiaohua nap there.

She sat quietly beside the bed, lost in thought—or perhaps simply dazing off. The corners of her narrow eyes drooped slightly, casting shadows that concealed the light in her pupils.  

In her hand, she held a fan, gently waving it to cool Zhou Xiaohua.  

Zhou Xiaochuan, however, did not take a nap.  

He wandered over to the other side of the living room, the area connected to He Donglai’s bedroom.  

There, a bookshelf stood against the wall, filled with rows upon rows of neatly arranged books.  

Jiang Rou had glanced at them before—military theory research, missile and trajectory calculations, aerodynamics inferences…  

She recognized each individual character, but when put together, they made no sense to her at all.  

These complex and obscure writings were far too much for someone who simply cooked for a living.  

After skimming through them once, Jiang Rou had no desire to take a second look.  

She had no interest in confronting the vast intellectual gap between herself and a genius mind.  

Zhou Xiaochuan, on the other hand…  

He seemed genuinely interested in that bookshelf.  

Whenever Zhou Xiaohua wasn’t clinging to him to play games, Zhou Xiaochuan wasn’t particularly fond of playing at all. Instead, he preferred to help Jiang Rou with whatever tasks he could manage.  

At the end of the day, he was a child who had grown up in hardship.  

Even as an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes, Zhou Xiaochuan had followed his birth mother to the fields, working alongside her.  

He had long since grown accustomed to such a life.  

If he didn’t keep himself occupied, it felt as if his existence held no value—like he could be discarded at any moment.

He liked it when Jiang Rou occasionally called him—whether to start a fire, wash a dish, or fetch a small item…  

Every task he completed brought him joy.  

But right now, Jiang Rou was working on her sewing, and Zhou Xiaochuan couldn’t be of any help with that.  

So, the small boy stood in front of the bookshelf, tilting his head up, studying it carefully.  

Zhou Xiaochuan knew these were books, filled with dense rows of words—words he couldn’t recognize at all.  

A few days ago…  

In the neighboring courtyard, Da Huzi and Er Huzi had said that they could already write their own names.  

Zhao Dahu, Zhao Erhu.  

Da Huzi and Er Huzi had grabbed sticks and scribbled on the ground, their handwriting crooked and clumsy.  

It was ugly—not nice to look at in the slightest.  

The two even nearly got into a fight over who had written the character “虎” (tiger) correctly.  

At the time…  

Zhou Xiaochuan had stood to the side, watching them argue. The twisted, uneven characters on the ground were completely unfamiliar to him.  

Still, he had made an effort to look.  

Among the messy strokes, he noticed two horizontal lines.  

One. Two.  

So, when put together, that meant “二” (two)?  

He quietly committed it to memory.