Wu Lanshu hurriedly carried a bucket of water into the kitchen, not bothering to wipe the sweat beading on her forehead, and rushed into the house. They had only arrived yesterday, and in their haste, many things were still packed in boxes in the corners.

Only this room had been sorted out for living. Once inside, she closed the door behind her and cautiously approached the bed, meeting a pair of clear eyes. Relieved, she asked, “Young Master, are you feeling any better?”

Shen Qingzhu propped himself up in bed, supported by Wu Lanshu, and gently rubbed his forehead with his pale, almost translucent fingers, “Aunt Wu, how many times must I tell you? Given our current situation, stop calling me Young Master. Just call me Qingzhu.”

Wu Lanshu adjusted his disheveled clothes, nodding, “Are you still uncomfortable?”

“No harm,” Shen Qingzhu dropped his hand, his body feeling somewhat weak from his Rain Dew period, but still bearable.

Seeing his complexion was not too bad, Wu Lanshu felt somewhat reassured. However, something worried her, “We’re running low on Hidden Breath Pills, and I don’t know if they sell them in the nearby town. We need to stock up.”

Shen Qingzhu half-opened his eyes and looked at her, suggesting, “We could switch to herbal soups next time.”

“How could we!” Wu Lanshu’s face showed a flash of urgency. “Herbal soups are harmful if consumed frequently and you’re already so frail, you can’t withstand such treatment.”

Shen Qingzhu, seeing her distress, reached out to comfort her, “We still have some money, but we can’t be reckless. Hidden Breath Pills are expensive; a bottle costs dozens of silver pieces. If we continue like this, we’ll end up penniless.”

He spoke the truth, and Wu Lanshu couldn’t argue. She looked at him, her heart aching for the sickly figure before her, tears welling up, “If it weren’t for… you wouldn’t need to suffer like this.”

Shen Qingzhu smiled faintly, patting her hand, “Think of it this way, I’m lucky to be alive.”

Wu Lanshu wiped her eyes, smiling back though her heart ached more. She knew despite his talk of good fortune, he probably wished he had perished along with them. His will to live was merely not to disappoint their efforts.

“Enough, don’t dwell on those things,” Shen Qingzhu squeezed her hand and withdrew his, “I’ve survived this time, and the next Rain Dew period isn’t for another three months. We don’t need to worry for now. What we need to consider is how to continue living in this village.”

Wiping away her tears, Wu Lanshu nodded, “I understand. I met with the village chief this morning to ask for help finding some people to fix up this place. It’s really not fit for living as it is.”

Shen Qingzhu nodded, agreeing that this was the immediate priority.

“But…” Wu Lanshu hesitated, “We might need to stay somewhere else while the house is being fixed. The woman who cleaned our house offered us to stay with her family for a while. I checked—it’s just her, her husband, and their unmarried daughter at home. Their son works in town and rarely comes home. It would be convenient, but I don’t know if you’d be comfortable living with others…”

Hearing her concern, Shen Qingzhu gently shook his head, “You handle these matters. If others are willing to help, it’s good. I have no objections.”

“Alright, I’ll speak with them later.” Wu Lanshu felt relieved and continued, “I also followed your instructions and asked the village chief about land. He said there’s none available near the village at the moment, and if we want to buy, we must wait.”

Shen Qingzhu wasn’t surprised; for farmers, land was precious, and they wouldn’t sell unless absolutely necessary.

“No rush, just have the chief keep us informed if anything comes up.”

“Okay.” Wu Lanshu nodded, seeing fatigue on his face, she turned to pour him a cup of water from the clay jug and handed it to him.

Shen Qingzhu took a sip and tried to lighten the mood, “Don’t worry. If it comes to it, I’ll just marry someone in the village. That should make the Rain Dew periods more bearable.”

Normally, a match with a Qian Yuan¹ could stabilize a Kun Ze² better than just enduring alone. At worst, it wasn’t a bad solution.

Wu Lanshu took him seriously, her expression urgent, “Young Master, you can’t be so reckless. Marriage is not a trivial matter!”

Back in the capital, countless noble suitors had sought his hand, each a gem among men, and he hadn’t favored any. How could he now marry just any villager here?

Shen Qingzhu was more indifferent than she realized, “I was just joking, why the rush?”

Reassured, Wu Lanshu helped him lie down to rest again, then she left to tend to the horses.

As the door closed and silence fell, Shen Qingzhu opened his eyes, his peach blossom eyes reflecting deep thoughts. It wasn’t entirely a joke—living in the village with no connections and being a Kun Ze and a woman, issues were bound to arise. Finding a stable situation would be the best solution.

He chuckled self-deprecatingly, who would have thought the proud Master Qingzhu would end up in such a predicament?

—

Zhou Song had been passing by that house when fetching water these past few days, occasionally stopping to look from a distance.

He hadn’t seen that person again, perhaps due to illness. He had run into Aunt Wu a couple of times and learned they were starting to repair the house.

Sure enough, the next day he saw the work had begun in earnest, with skilled local masons busy at it. Relieved to see the house being fixed up, he felt better about the situation being safer now.

“Zhou Song!” Lin Erzhu spotted him returning with water, waved, and once close, remarked curiously, “You’re fetching water again? You’ve been using a lot these past few days.”

Zhou Song paused at the door, then nonchalantly continued, “Yeah, it’s hot.”

Lin Erzhu followed him inside, considering it made sense; sometimes it was so hot you’d want to bathe thrice a day, “Then how about we go swimming in the river tomorrow? Cool off properly.”

“What do you need?” Zhou Song didn’t commit to the plan, instead asking why he was sought after, as he entered the kitchen.

“Ah, it’s my mother. She told me to invite you for dinner tonight. She’s made it a command; if I don’t bring you back, I shouldn’t return either,” Lin Erzhu leaned against the kitchen door, joking, “I don’t even know who her real son is.”

He said this with a smile. His father had passed away early, and his mother had raised him alone. After Uncle Zhou and Aunt Zhou had moved from West Village and looked after their small family, it had meant a lot.

Now that both were gone, leaving Zhou Song alone, it was natural for them to look after him.

Not wanting to see him lonely, his mother often invited him over for a meal.

Having put it that way, Zhou Song couldn’t well refuse, “Alright, you go ahead, I’ll wash up and come over.”

“That won’t do,” Lin Erzhu didn’t budge, “I have to take you there myself.”

Zhou Song didn’t argue further, just finished pouring the water and went out to wash his face in the courtyard.

As the evening approached, the day was still bright but much cooler than at midday, the sun gentler now.

After washing up, feeling refreshed, he followed Lin Erzhu home.

From a distance, he could see smoke rising from his house, and as he entered the yard, he could hear the cooking noises from the kitchen.

The low table in the yard was already set with two dishes: a bowl of coarse flour steamed buns and a plate of scrambled eggs with wild greens.

“Mom, I brought him!” Lin Erzhu called out to the kitchen.

Soon, a plump, round-faced middle-aged woman, resembling Lin Erzhu, came out from the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron, smiling at the sight of them, “Zhou’s here, come sit down. If you’re hungry, start eating, I’ll have everything ready shortly.”

“Aunt Qian,” Zhou Song greeted, saying he wasn’t hungry, urging her not to rush.

The woman nodded, not fussing over him like a guest, and returned to her cooking.

“I could hear you yelling from inside,” a young woman came out from the house, pretty and neat, hand on her slightly large belly—Lin Erzhu’s wife, Liu Fang, who was five months pregnant.

Lin Erzhu hurried over to support her, grinning, “Heh, isn’t it because Zhou Song is here, I’m excited.”

Liu Fang playfully scolded him and then turned to greet Zhou Song, “Zhou Song, haven’t seen you in a while.”

Her pregnancy had been rough, often feeling nauseous; with the heat outside, they kept her indoors, so it had indeed been a long time.

“How are you feeling?” Zhou Song glanced at her belly.

“It’s better these days,” Lin Erzhu had picked some fruit from the mountains, which his mother pickled into sour fruits. When Liu Fang felt sick, eating one or two helped a lot.

Zhou Song nodded, not prying further to avoid impropriety.

“Come on, the food is ready!” Aunt Qian cheerfully brought out a clay pot of stewed radish with meat.

“Zhou Song is here, and my mom even makes meat dishes, usually it’s just wild greens for me,” Lin Erzhu commented jokingly, pretending to be bitter as he smelled the aroma.

“Stop complaining and go serve the chicken soup,” Aunt Qian glanced at him, directing him to work.

The chicken they were stewing was a wild one Zhou Song and Lin Erzhu had caught in the mountains days before. Liu Fang couldn’t stand the smell of meat then, so they had kept it in the backyard until now.

With her appetite returning and Zhou Song coming for dinner, it was a perfect occasion to cook it.

The meal was simple, typical of the countryside, where meat was a rarity. Today was quite a feast.

Lin Erzhu first served his wife a bowl of soup with chicken legs, then grabbed a bun and started eating heartily, praising how even the oil his mother used today made everything tastier, urging Zhou Song to eat quickly.

Aunt Qian watched her son with amusement, tapping his forehead, “You talk as if I starve you, but even those oil-free greens have kept you plump.”

Lin Erzhu looked at his dark hands, “Mom, I accept I’m plump, but not pale.”

His comment made everyone laugh, and Aunt Qian teased him, “That’s because you’re always darting outside. You used to be so pale as a kid, like a big white dumpling.”

Watching the two, a smile appeared in Zhou Song’s eyes as he bit into a bun.

Aunt Qian, done teasing her son, turned to Zhou Song, offering him a large serving of scrambled eggs, “Here, Zhou, eat more. I’ve noticed you’ve gotten thinner lately.”

“Thank you, Aunt,” Zhou Song accepted her kindness, eating the eggs.

“You, living alone, should take better care of yourself. Don’t give away everything good that comes your way. You think it’s to honor your father by supporting your grandmother, but who knows whose mouth it really feeds,” Aunt Qian always had more to say when she saw him.

Knowing she meant well, Zhou Song wasn’t upset by her nagging, “Alright, I understand, Aunt.”

They always thought Zhou Song was too naive, but he simply didn’t care; his own needs were few, and giving away things spared him trouble.

Aunt Qian didn’t believe his casual response, sighing, “What you need is a housekeeper, or a wife who wouldn’t let you just give things away.”

Normally, such comments wouldn’t stir him, but today, Zhou Song paused, a brief flicker in his gaze, recalling a face he had seen just once.

Maybe, if he really had someone to manage his affairs, he would actually enjoy it.

1. Qian Yuan – Alpha ↩︎
2. Kun Ze – Omega ↩︎