In the following days, just as Shen Qingzhu promised, he brought meals to Zhou Song daily. Even the craftsmen got familiar with him, playfully teasing Zhou Song about how he wasn’t even married yet and already doting on his partner so much—truly blessed. Zhou Song’s face would flush at the remarks, but deep inside, he was thrilled and couldn’t wait for the days to fly by so he could bring Shen Qingzhu home as soon as possible.

In this anticipation, the house was finally completed, and Zhou Song was thoroughly satisfied with the result. He promptly paid the remaining wages. Besides fixing up the interior, he’d also raised the courtyard wall higher; previously, it was just about a person’s height, but now he’d added an extra two feet. He figured this would make it harder for anyone to climb over, ensuring Shen Qingzhu’s safety if he was home alone while Zhou Song was in the mountains. Zhou Song was even toying with the idea of bringing home a dog to help guard the house.

Though the house was ready, the furniture would still take a couple of days. The shop’s craftsmen were skilled and had many orders, so they needed a bit more time. But they assured him it wouldn’t be long, and when ready, they’d deliver everything directly to the village, sparing him a lot of trouble.

The first priority now was to move his belongings from Aunt Qian’s place back into the new house. Over the years, he had accumulated quite a lot, and moving everything out back then had taken quite an effort. He had enlisted the help of a couple of friendly neighbors, and this time was no different. Shen Qingzhu came over too, but Zhou Song didn’t let him handle any of the heavy items; instead, he joined Wu Lanshu and Aunt Qian in carrying the lighter things.

As they moved things, Shen Qingzhu took the opportunity to stroll around the courtyard. That’s when he realized Zhou Song had specially built an additional room for him as a study and a bathhouse, and he’d even ordered a desk and shelves to go with it. Shen Qingzhu didn’t say anything at the time; he just looked at Zhou Song with a warm smile.

Within a couple of days, the furniture arrived, brought in on several carts. The procession entering the village was quite a sight, and since everyone knew it was for Zhou Song, they kindly pointed out the way. Once the delivery folks left, some villagers gathered, sighing in admiration over how Zhou Song had clearly put his heart into this—he must really cherish Shen Xiaolang. They’d even glimpsed a fancy bookshelf on one of the carts, which didn’t look cheap at all. These two were surely lucky and blessed; they all hoped their days together would be good ones.

With the furniture arranged in the house, everything was finally in place. Looking at his freshly organized home, Zhou Song felt that all the hard work over the past days had been well worth it.

In gratitude to the neighbors who had helped out, he specially bought some fruits and snacks to give to several families, expressing his appreciation. They waved off his thanks, saying he was too polite, and assured him that if he needed anything during his wedding preparations, they’d be there to help. They weren’t skilled, but they could definitely lend a hand.

With the house complete, it was time to fulfill his promise of teaching them to read and write. A few of them gathered to discuss it and decided to set aside an hour each day. After all, there were still chores to attend to, and they couldn’t ignore their household duties entirely.

Moreover, Liu Fang’s health didn’t allow her to sit for long periods, and Zhou Song was also reluctant to let Shen Qingzhu overexert himself. The idea was to teach them basic literacy so they could read; at their age, they weren’t aiming to produce grand essays or earn official titles.

Shen Qingzhu had brought plenty of paper and ink, intending for them to use it for practice. However, they all politely refused, saying they’d just use branches to write on the ground. As beginners, each piece of paper would cost several coins, and it felt like a waste to them.

Shen Qingzhu didn’t press them, thinking it might be less intimidating for them to practice freely on the ground. Still, he gave each of them a clean brush to practice holding and get a feel for the strokes since branches were stiff, and this would make it easier when they eventually used real brushes.

It was chilly outside, and sitting for too long in the cold would be uncomfortable, especially for someone like Shen Qingzhu, who wasn’t physically strong. Since he needed to inspect their writing in the courtyard, Aunt Qian thoughtfully set up a brazier under the eaves, where he could sit and watch them, getting up occasionally to check on them. Liu Fang, given her condition, was allowed to sit by the brazier and write using a piece of charcoal.

With the warmth of the brazier, Shen Qingzhu felt quite cozy as he watched Lin Erzhu proudly declare that his handwriting was the best, while Zhou Song ignored him, leaving Lin Erzhu fuming. Shen Qingzhu couldn’t help but smile at the scene.

“Qingzhu, how does mine look this time?” Liu Fang called out from beside him.

He looked over; they were currently practicing writing their own names. Liu Fang had filled the ground in front of her with her name, and the latest one was noticeably better than the rest. Shen Qingzhu praised her with a smile, “Very good, a lot of progress.”

Liu Fang beamed at the compliment, then wiped away the writing on the ground with a piece of cloth at her feet and started practicing again.

Seeing she was settled, Shen Qingzhu stood up. “I’m going to check on the others.”

Without looking up, Liu Fang acknowledged him, and he walked over to where Zhou Song and Lin Erzhu were practicing.

The moment he arrived, Zhou Song sensed his presence and turned to look at him.

Lin Erzhu greeted him as well. “Shen Xiaolang, you’re just in time. Come and judge whose handwriting looks better—mine or his?”

Shen Qingzhu glanced at their work on the ground and couldn’t help but chuckle. True to the saying “a person’s handwriting reflects their personality,” Lin Erzhu’s characters were all over the place; even with just three characters, they looked ready to fly apart. But individually, each character had its own rhythm and wasn’t half bad. Zhou Song’s writing, on the other hand, was as meticulous as he was. Every stroke was evenly spaced and consistent, lined up neatly in rows.

As beginners, encouragement was key to keeping them motivated, so Shen Qingzhu smiled as he brought over a cup of water. “They’re both good. Keep up the effort.”

Lin Erzhu, however, was not entirely satisfied with this verdict. In his view, his own handwriting was superior—more free-spirited and unrestrained, like the calligrapher in town who could whip out characters with a casual “swish swish.”

After looking at their writing, Shen Qingzhu was about to return to his spot under the eaves when someone lightly tugged on his sleeve. He turned to find Zhou Song.

Releasing his grip, Zhou Song asked, “Could you…teach me a few more characters?”

Raising a brow, Shen Qingzhu asked, “What, you haven’t even fully grasped your own name, and you’re eager to learn more?”

Zhou Song lowered his gaze, lips pursed, without saying a word.

Clearly, he was serious about learning. Shen Qingzhu chuckled softly; this eagerness was a good sign. “Alright then, what characters do you want to learn?”

Looking up, Zhou Song answered, “Shen Qingzhu.”

At first, Shen Qingzhu didn’t understand why he was calling his name, but seeing Zhou Song’s steady gaze, he soon realized. Something stirred in his heart, and after a moment, he took the branch from Zhou Song.

With a few graceful strokes, he wrote “Shen Qingzhu” beside “Zhou Song” on the ground. The characters flowed smoothly and elegantly, a fine example of formal script.

Zhou Song gazed at Shen Qingzhu’s characters, suddenly feeling that his own name was unworthy in comparison. His eyes lingered on those three characters, regretting that they weren’t written on paper so he could take them with him.

Returning the branch to Zhou Song, Shen Qingzhu gently patted his arm. “Practice well.”

As he left, Lin Erzhu sidled over and looked at the characters on the ground. Clicking his tongue, he muttered, “Maybe I should learn how to write my wife’s name too?”

Zhou Song, seeing his mischievous grin, placed a hand over his face and pushed him away. “Go practice your own writing.”

Lin Erzhu laughed, backing off.

Sitting back down, Shen Qingzhu noticed Liu Fang holding her belly with one hand while writing with a piece of charcoal, her posture somewhat uncomfortable. “If you’re tired, take a break. You’re different from the others; you should take care.”

“Alright.” Liu Fang didn’t push herself, leaning back in her chair. Her waist did feel a bit sore.

“Come on, I made some sweet potato tea. Try it and see if it’s sweet enough,” Aunt Qian said, bringing over two clay bowls and handing one to each of them. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Shen Qingzhu examined the bowl curiously. He’d had roasted sweet potatoes but hadn’t seen them prepared like this before. The sweet potato chunks had been boiled with water, resulting in a clear, lightly sweet taste—warm and comforting.

“How is it? Do you like it?” Aunt Qian asked.

Shen Qingzhu nodded, “Yes, it’s delicious.”

Aunt Qian smiled. “If you like it, I’ll make it for you again. These sweet potatoes are from our own field, so take some with you later. You can steam or boil them at home.”

“Thank you, Auntie.” Shen Qingzhu didn’t decline her kindness.

“You two,” Aunt Qian called out to the men still practicing their writing. “There’s sweet potato tea in the kitchen; help yourselves.”

Lin Erzhu answered immediately, dropping his stick. “Brother Song, don’t worry. I’ll get some for you.”

“That boy, always bouncing around like a monkey, even when he’s about to be a father,” Aunt Qian said with a shake of her head.

Shen Qingzhu found his lively nature quite endearing; every day, he seemed full of joy.

Zhou Song walked over and crouched beside Shen Qingzhu. “Are you cold?”

The temperature had dropped noticeably these past few days, and even Zhou Song, sturdy as he was, had started wearing thicker clothes. He worried that Shen Qingzhu, with his delicate health, might feel chilled after sitting outside for so long.

Glancing at the brazier next to him, Shen Qingzhu thought Zhou Song was being a bit overprotective. Instead of answering, he held out his hand. “Feel for yourself.”

Caught off guard by this straightforward response, Zhou Song hesitated, looking away in embarrassment. Aunt Qian and Liu Fang tactfully looked elsewhere, pretending not to see.

Finally, Zhou Song lightly grasped Shen Qingzhu’s fingertips, noting their warmth. Relieved, he released his hand.

Shen Qingzhu withdrew his hand, amused by Zhou Song’s red ears. How shy he was, getting all flustered just from holding hands—who was the Kun Ze here?

When Lin Erzhu returned with two bowls of sweet potato tea, he found everyone unusually quiet. “What’s with the silence?”

Aunt Qian rolled her eyes at him. “Not everyone talks as much as you.”

“Talking makes things lively! It’d be dull if everyone were like Brother Song,” Lin Erzhu said as he handed a bowl to Zhou Song. Sitting on the step, he took a sip, adding, “Just you watch—if he keeps this up, Shen Xiaolang might get bored of him.”

Zhou Song gave him a stern look, silencing him immediately.

Shen Qingzhu intervened, saying, “Today’s lesson was just to get you used to writing, so I only taught names. Starting tomorrow, though, it won’t be as easy.”

“Oh dear,” Lin Erzhu sighed dramatically, “who’d have thought, at my age, I’d end up in school again.”

“You should be grateful you even get to learn,” Aunt Qian scolded, tapping his head.

Used to these rebukes, Lin Erzhu rubbed his head, though he was secretly delighted. He knew that learning to read, even if only enough to read stories to his future child, would be a wonderful thing.

As they continued their chatter, Zhou Song leaned close to Shen Qingzhu and whispered, “I’ll work hard.”

Looking at him, Shen Qingzhu placed his hand gently on Zhou Song’s head and gave a light pat.

He didn’t say anything, but Zhou Song read the unspoken word in his gesture: “Good.”

Eventually, he managed to get Shen Qingzhu to write his name on a piece of paper, which he carefully tucked close to his heart.