The study that Zhou Song had arranged was simple. Against the wall stood two bookshelves, currently mostly empty, with just a few books scattered around—ones that Shen Qingzhu had previously instructed him to try reading. The desk was positioned by the window, where the light was best, and the Four Treasures of the Study—pen rack, inkstone, and paper—were all neatly arranged atop it.

As Shen Qingzhu walked over, he noticed a few sheets with Zhou Song’s handwriting. He flipped through them, seeing mostly the practice exercises he’d assigned him. But one sheet at the bottom caught his eye—it was filled with his own name.

To his surprise, the characters for his name were written quite well, mimicking his handwriting with remarkable accuracy. Though it still lacked some strength and structure, the progress was clear from the initial hesitant strokes to the near likeness by the end, showing a lot of dedication.

When Shen Qingzhu had tested Zhou Song’s calligraphy during the wedding, he had seen that his usual handwriting, though orderly, lacked control. The strokes varied, with some too thick and others too thin, clearly showing his inexperience with a brush. But his own name was written impressively.

As Zhou Song placed the box of books down by the bookshelf and turned, he noticed Shen Qingzhu standing at the desk, looking over the sheet with his name written repeatedly. His heart skipped a beat, and he hurried over, realizing exactly what Shen Qingzhu was looking at.

He reached out but hesitated, not daring to snatch it from Shen Qingzhu’s hand. Instead, he said, “It’s not very good. You don’t have to look at it.”

“Who says it’s bad?” Shen Qingzhu tilted his head, shaking the paper in his hand. “I actually think you wrote it quite well.”

Zhou Song looked down, unsure if Shen Qingzhu was just being kind or truly thought so. He had been practicing by copying Shen Qingzhu’s handwriting, feeling his own work still fell far short.

Shen Qingzhu leaned in, looking up at him with a serious expression. “Didn’t I tell you before? It took me years of practice to write like this. You’ve only just started. If you could match me right away, I’d feel a little ashamed.”

He reached out to hold Zhou Song’s face, using just enough pressure to make Zhou Song’s handsome face slightly distorted. “It’s alright if it’s not perfect; it’s only bad if you don’t try. Keep practicing every day, and you’ll be able to write beautifully.”

Zhou Song obediently nodded, letting him squish his face, “Alright, I’ll practice diligently.”

Satisfied, Shen Qingzhu let go of him and turned to arrange the papers he had just flipped through, stacking them neatly. He didn’t treat them as mere practice sheets, scattering them about, but placed them with care.

With the desk tidied up, the two of them worked together to sort through the books in the box, organizing them by category for easy access in the future.

Bundled up in his thick clothing, Shen Qingzhu began to feel warm after working for a while and reached to undo his cloak.

Zhou Song noticed and quickly stopped him. “It’s easy to catch a chill if you take it off when you’re warm. Keep it on for now. Why don’t you take a break? I’ll finish up the rest.”

“You sound just like Aunt Wu, always nagging me,” Shen Qingzhu said with a slight smile, though he still followed Zhou Song’s advice and left his cloak on. “Have you recognized the titles on all these books yet? Are you sure you can do it on your own?”

Zhou Song had no response, as there were still plenty of characters he didn’t know.

Shen Qingzhu didn’t tease him about it. “There aren’t many left; let’s finish up, then rest.”

At home, Shen Qingzhu had always enjoyed organizing his books, finding comfort in the routine. But today, his body wasn’t in the best condition, feeling fatigued from yesterday’s activities. Sensing a bit of soreness in his lower back, he leaned against Zhou Song before the man could start feeling guilty. “I’m tired. I don’t want to move. Carry me back to the room.”

Of course, Zhou Song couldn’t refuse. He bent down, scooped Shen Qingzhu up, and carried him back to their room.

The moment Shen Qingzhu hit the bed, drowsiness washed over him. He tugged on Zhou Song’s hand, giving it a gentle, comforting rub, and soon drifted off to sleep.

Zhou Song watched his sleeping face for a long time, his heart brimming with tenderness. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Shen Qingzhu’s forehead.

After tucking him in carefully to make sure there were no drafts, Zhou Song finally turned and left the room.

He hadn’t forgotten Shen Qingzhu’s request for hot pot. Braving the snow, he headed to the kitchen, pulling out the leftover ribs from yesterday. The cold weather had kept them fresh.

He filled a pot with water, grabbed the cleaver, and chopped the ribs into smaller pieces. After rinsing them, he brought the water to a boil, adding scallions and ginger, and blanched the ribs to remove any impurities.

Once the water was boiling, he put the ribs into a fresh pot of water to simmer. Then, he prepared the ingredients for the hot pot, taking advantage of the leftover ingredients from the wedding banquet. There was plenty of meat and vegetables, so nothing was lacking.

The villagers usually ate simple hot pot, with just plain water and a bit of seasoning, dipping in homegrown vegetables and, occasionally, a bit of meat if they could spare it. In winter, it was more about warmth than extravagance.

Although Zhou Song often hunted and had plenty of meat, he didn’t usually prepare such an elaborate meal. Normally, he’d just throw everything together in one bowl. But now, with Shen Qingzhu, he felt that even this wasn’t meticulous enough.

It was still early, and he didn’t know when Kun Ze would wake, so he prepared only the more tedious items, like the meat, and left the rest for later.

After washing his hands, Zhou Song stepped outside. The snow was still falling heavily, and in just a short time, the ground was already blanketed in white. He wasn’t sure when it would stop.

He had originally planned to return the borrowed tables and dishes in the afternoon, but if the snow kept falling, it would have to wait until tomorrow.

•

When Shen Qingzhu woke up, he heard a faint rustling in the room. Regaining his senses, he turned to look.

The tall figure of Zhou Song was crouched by the stove, carefully tending to it, his movements quiet as if not wanting to disturb him.

Shen Qingzhu shifted, lying on his side to watch Zhou Song’s broad back without interrupting.

After adding coal to the stove, Zhou Song put down the tongs and patted his hands, standing up to check on Kun Ze. To his surprise, he found himself looking into a pair of bright, almond-shaped eyes.

Zhou Song froze for a moment before stepping closer. “Did I wake you?”

Shen Qingzhu shook his head. “I’ve slept enough; I woke up on my own.”

Seeing the clear lack of sleepiness in Shen Qingzhu’s eyes, Zhou Song relaxed. “Do you want to get up? The soup is almost ready. You can eat as soon as you’re up.”

Shen Qingzhu nodded, stretching. Zhou Song quickly grabbed his outer clothes, helping him put them on to keep him from catching a chill as he left the warm blankets.

Following Zhou Song’s movements, Shen Qingzhu put on the layers and looked up. “Is it still snowing?”

“Mm,” Zhou Song replied. “It’s already quite thick. Best not to go outside today.”

Clearing the snow would have to wait until it stopped.

Curious about the snow-covered landscape, Shen Qingzhu slipped on his shoes, got out of bed, and went to the window, pushing it open a crack. Sure enough, everything was blanketed in white, and the snowfall showed no sign of slowing.

Zhou Song let him enjoy the view for a moment before closing the window, leaving just a small gap for ventilation. He then went to the stove, poured some hot water into a basin, and advised, “Wait for it to cool a bit before washing your face. I’ll finish up the rest of the ingredients, and we can eat in the main room. The stove in there is already lit.”

Shen Qingzhu agreed, letting him go about his work.

After freshening up, he went to the main room, where the aroma of food immediately hit him. Taking a deep breath, he sighed, “Smells amazing.”

Seeing him arrive, Zhou Song pulled out a chair for him. “I already put some things in the pot to cook. Tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you.”

In the small bubbling pot on the stove were meat and vegetables, the broth looking simple but smelling fragrant.

Shen Qingzhu picked up his chopsticks. “I can serve myself. You should eat too.”

Zhou Song, however, watched closely to make sure Shen Qingzhu didn’t burn himself, only relaxing when he was sure all was fine. He then placed a piece of rib into Shen Qingzhu’s bowl. “I simmered it until it’s tender. Try it.”

Shen Qingzhu didn’t refuse, blowing on it to cool it before taking a bite. The meat was tender and flavorful. “It’s delicious.”

Returning the gesture, he placed a piece in Zhou Song’s bowl, too.

Zhou Song happily ate, glancing at Shen Qingzhu from time to time. Seeing him enjoy the food, he was thrilled.

Many men in the village disliked cooking, seeing it as beneath them. But Zhou Song didn’t share this view, finding joy in cooking for someone he cared about, just as his father used to help his mother in the kitchen.

Eating hot pot together in a warm room while snow fell outside was blissful. By the end, even Shen Qingzhu, who often felt cold, was starting to sweat.

Zhou Song noticed his flushed cheeks and couldn’t resist reaching over to touch them—they were warm.

Shen Qingzhu, full and in high spirits, didn’t mind the small gesture.

After clearing out the pot, Zhou Song left the leftovers to be cooked later. They tidied up together, though Zhou Song didn’t want Shen Qingzhu to help at first. Shen Qingzhu insisted, so Zhou Song eventually relented, though he still refused to let him wash the pot.

Afterward, Zhou Song went to the back yard to feed the chickens and cows, considering that it wouldn’t be long until the New Year. Maybe it was time to place an order for a pig.

For years, he’d spent the holiday alone or occasionally with Lin Erzhu’s family, usually just buying some meat. But now, married, he wanted to make the holiday more festive.

Returning to the house, Zhou Song found Shen Qingzhu by the stove, reading. The light reflected off his lowered eyelashes, making him look gentle and content. Hearing Zhou Song, he looked up and smiled. “Come warm yourself by the fire.”

Zhou Song replied with a “hmm” and went to the cabinet, taking out a small wooden box. He sat beside Shen Qingzhu, offering the box. “For you.”

“What is it?” Shen Qingzhu put down his book, taking the surprisingly heavy box. He glanced curiously at Zhou Song, who nodded for him to open it.

Inside was a pile of silver ingots, glinting brightly. Shen Qingzhu paused, looking up in surprise.

Zhou Song met his gaze. “From now on, you’re in charge of the household, so these belong to you.”

Looking back at the silver, Shen Qingzhu saw there were eight ingots, each weighing about ten taels. Alongside them were small bits of loose silver and copper coins. Including the money spent on the wedding and house repairs, Zhou Song must have had well over a hundred taels initially.

This was a sizable fortune for a simple villager. Even the wealthier families in the village didn’t have more than twenty or thirty taels saved up.

Seeing his surprise, Zhou Song explained, “I often go into the mountains, so in addition to hunting game, I sometimes find rare medicinal herbs. Living alone, I didn’t spend much, so I managed to save all this.”

Hearing this, Shen Qingzhu remembered the ginseng Zhou Song had given him when he was sick. It had been aged, and selling it, even in town, could probably double the silver in this box. But such a rare find wouldn’t come easily, which was likely why Zhou Song had saved it.

Shen Qingzhu picked up one of the ingots, rolling it between his fingers, and smiled. “Is this really all of it? No hidden stash?”

Zhou Song straightened, vowing earnestly, “No, this is everything.”

After a moment, he seemed to remember something, hastily digging into his pocket to pull out a few copper coins. Placing them in the box, he nervously added, “I forgot these. I wasn’t hiding them, I swear.”

His sincerity made Shen Qingzhu chuckle, his eyes curving with laughter.

Zhou Song, misunderstanding the amusement, moved to explain further, but Shen Qingzhu didn’t wait, leaning in to kiss him. “Such a good listener deserves a reward.”

Still feeling the warmth of Shen Qingzhu’s lips, Zhou Song found himself speechless, his ears tinged red.

Shen Qingzhu laughed softly, turning his attention back to the silver. But just then, Zhou Song took hold of his hand, making him look up.

Zhou Song, red-eared and a bit hesitant, muttered, “That was… too quick…”

Feigning confusion, Shen Qingzhu tilted his head.

With a surge of courage, Zhou Song leaned in, capturing Shen Qingzhu’s lips in a deeper kiss, finally savoring the sweetness he’d been thinking about all day.

With a smile in his eyes, Shen Qingzhu lifted a hand, tugging Zhou Song closer by his collar as he closed his eyes and returned the kiss.