The next day, Shen Qingzhu indeed woke up late. When he opened his eyes, the room was quiet, and he was alone.

He moved slightly and found himself feeling alright—just a bit of soreness in his lower back, but nothing else uncomfortable. Last night, Zhou Song had only asked him for intimacy once, and he’d been gentle. Mostly, he was tired from their day in town and had fallen asleep almost immediately afterward, remembering nothing beyond that.

Noticing that he felt clean and refreshed, Shen Qingzhu knew that Zhou Song must have quietly warmed some water to wash him after he fell asleep, even dressing him in clean underclothes to keep him from catching cold.

As he lay there for a moment, stretching under the soft, thick quilt, he noticed neatly folded clothes by the bedside, with a small note on top.

He reached over to pick up the note, seeing Zhou Song’s rather childlike handwriting:

“Went out to chop firewood. Breakfast is in the pot. It’s cold today, so dress warmly.”

Reading the note, Shen Qingzhu could picture Zhou Song bent over the table, carefully writing each character. Smiling, he folded the note, set it on the small table beside the bed, and reached for his clothes.

When he stepped outside, he noticed the sky looked overcast, like snow was on the way. No wonder Zhou Song had said it was cold.

Tightening his collar, Shen Qingzhu headed to the kitchen. In the pot, there was a steamer with two boiled eggs and a dish of stir-fried vegetables, while below was a pot of simmering sweet potato porridge.

He had his breakfast at the small kitchen table, cleaned up afterward, and glanced at the door, but Zhou Song hadn’t come back yet.

Peeking outside, Shen Qingzhu remembered that they were low on firewood. If it started snowing, it might not stop for a while, so Zhou Song was likely gathering more to prepare.

He went to the study, intending to organize the red paper they’d bought yesterday and start writing the Spring Festival couplets for their home. They had bought plenty of paper, so he figured he’d write some for Aunt Wu and Aunt Qian as well.

Knowing Zhou Song would worry about him, he made sure to light the study’s furnace. If there was one thing he’d learned to do well, it was lighting a fire.

In the village, winter coal was usually of poor quality and came cheap. Of course, this was in comparison to what he used to have. For villagers, coal for the winter was a major expense, but it was essential in the bitter cold, even if it cost some silver.

Most families couldn’t afford to keep a stove burning all night like Zhou Song did. They only lit the one in the main room, where everyone gathered during the day, and at night used bed warmers and an extra blanket.

But Zhou Song’s family stored more coal than others, keeping it under an awning in the backyard covered with an oilcloth to keep it dry. When needed, they’d bring some around to the front of the house for easy access.

The poor-quality coal produced quite a bit of smoke at first. Shen Qingzhu coughed lightly, covering his mouth and waving the smoke away.

Indoor stoves like this had chimneys to vent the smoke through a gap in the window, so it wouldn’t fill the room. Still, for safety, they kept a small window cracked at night for ventilation.

Once the fire was going, Shen Qingzhu decided to fetch a pot of water to warm on the stove, so Zhou Song could have something hot to drink when he returned.

With everything ready, he retrieved the red paper from the cabinet. The sheets were pre-cut for the couplets.

He spread the paper, weighed it down with paperweights, and ground ink in the inkstone. Choosing a suitable brush, he began writing.

He had just finished the second couplet when he heard movement in the yard. Setting the brush down on the brush rest, he opened the door to see Zhou Song returning with a large load of firewood stacked so high it went over his head.

Zhou Song placed the firewood at the kitchen entrance and, turning, noticed Shen Qingzhu standing under the eaves. He used his sleeve to wipe his brow, then walked over. “Did you have breakfast?”

Shen Qingzhu nodded, pulling a handkerchief from his sleeve to wipe his brow. “Why’d you carry so much at once? Must have been tiring.”

“It’s fine. We’re running low on firewood, and if it snows, it’ll be harder to go up the mountain.” Zhou Song lowered his head slightly to make it easier for Shen Qingzhu to help.

When he’d woken that morning, Shen Qingzhu was still asleep. Zhou Song had made breakfast, returned the carriage to Aunt Wu’s, and then gone up the mountain with an axe and some rope. He hadn’t gone too far but had wanted to be quick, knowing that if it snowed, it might not stop for a while.

As Shen Qingzhu finished wiping his brow, Zhou Song asked a bit sheepishly, “Are you feeling alright?”

Shen Qingzhu looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “You were so gentle last night. I’m feeling fine. But what about you? Did you enjoy yourself?”

His straightforwardness flustered Zhou Song, making his ears flush as he struggled for a response.

Knock, knock, knock.

Amused, Shen Qingzhu was about to tease him a bit more when there was a knock at the gate. Regretfully, he released Zhou Song and motioned for him to answer it.

It turned out to be Lin Erzhu. He greeted them both, “Brother and sister-in-law.”

Shen Qingzhu nodded in return with a smile.

“I have something I need to discuss with you,” Lin Erzhu said, looking unusually serious.

Curious, they didn’t ask questions immediately. Since it was cold in the yard, they invited him into the study where the stove was burning.

Zhou Song poured each of them a cup of hot water and sat beside him. Thirsty from his trip, he blew on his cup and took a few sips before asking, “What brings you here?”

Lin Erzhu held his cup without drinking. When Zhou Song asked, he went straight to the point. “There was trouble at the Zhou family’s house yesterday.”

Zhou Song paused mid-sip, exchanging a look with Shen Qingzhu.

Without waiting for more questions, Lin Erzhu continued, “Wang Cuixiang was about a month pregnant but lost the child. They say Zhou Xiaofu lost his temper and pushed her, which caused it. We weren’t around yesterday, but word’s already spread all over the village.”

According to one of the older women, when the village doctor, Old Doctor Zheng, was called to the Zhou house, there was blood all over the courtyard. Many villagers saw it, and if it hadn’t been that serious, the Zhou family probably wouldn’t have even bothered calling a doctor.

At first, Hu Lan tried to insist that Wang Cuixiang had fallen on her own. But when Wang Cuixiang found out she’d lost the child, she cried out and demanded that Zhou Xiaofu give her back her baby, loud enough for everyone outside to hear.

The villagers knew what kind of person Hu Lan was, no matter how hard she tried to play the victim. Wang Cuixiang, on the other hand, was known for her gentle and kind nature. Between the two, it was obvious who people would believe.

Zhou Song and Shen Qingzhu were both surprised, especially Zhou Song. He knew that Wang Cuixiang had always been criticized by the Zhou family for her years of childlessness. Now that she’d finally conceived, the child was lost—by Zhou Xiaofu’s own hand.

“One of the nearby aunties told us about it. Even though you don’t see them often, they’re still family, so my mother thought it’d be best if you knew, in case they tried to involve you somehow,” Lin Erzhu explained. “Plus, with New Year’s visits coming up, it’s good to be prepared.”

As troublesome as Zhou Song’s family was, his father was still there, and Zhou Song still felt a responsibility to honor him, especially around the New Year. Visits couldn’t be avoided, but it was better to brace for potential unpleasantness.

Zhou Song wasn’t worried; they wouldn’t dare drag him into their mess now. But Wang Cuixiang was the only one in that household who had shown him any genuine kindness, so he felt a bit sad for her.

Lin Erzhu agreed, saying, “Wang Cuixiang’s probably the only decent one among them, and she’s taken quite a blow. They say she was so devastated when she found out the child couldn’t be saved that she tried to go after Zhou Xiaofu, and Old Doctor Zheng had to calm her down, afraid her actions would harm her even more…”

He clenched his jaw in frustration. “The Zhou family’s like a curse—whoever’s involved with them ends up unlucky.”

Then, realizing what he’d said, he quickly waved his hand. “Not you, of course, Brother Zhou.”

Zhou Song understood and dismissed it with a wave.

Listening to the story, Shen Qingzhu got a sense of the situation. Though he’d only had limited contact with the Zhou family, he knew enough to pity the poor woman.

Since he didn’t know her well, he didn’t comment further.

Lin Erzhu had come solely to share this news, and with nothing else to discuss, he soon took his leave.

Turning to Zhou Song, Shen Qingzhu saw a trace of sadness in his expression. “Are you feeling sorry for her?”

Zhou Song snapped back to attention, thinking Shen Qingzhu had misunderstood. “No, I just…”

Shen Qingzhu raised a finger to his lips, quieting him. “I know. I didn’t mean it that way.”

Zhou Song paused, then took his hand, gently running his thumb over Shen Qingzhu’s smooth skin. After a long silence, he spoke, “Whenever I see her, I can’t help but think of my mother. She also endured a hard life in the Zhou family. The only difference was that my father was there to protect her.”

But Wang Cuixiang had no one to depend on. Even her own family didn’t care much about her. With her meek personality, she didn’t even dare to defend herself, and life at the Zhou family was tough for her.

Shen Qingzhu stroked his hair. “Would you like to help her?”

Zhou Song shook his head. Helping her would only entangle him further with the Zhou family. He wasn’t one to put himself out for people who brought him trouble. He was willing to help if it was necessary, but he wouldn’t go looking for problems, especially if it meant involving Kun Ze in the Zhou family’s mess.

Seeing he was firm in his decision, Shen Qingzhu didn’t press further. In some ways, he was even colder than Zhou Song. If it wasn’t someone he cared about, he wouldn’t give it a second thought.

Taking Zhou Song’s hand, he pulled him up with a smile. “I was just writing the Spring Festival couplets. Want to give it a try?”

Zhou Song followed him to the desk but immediately waved his hands. “I’m no good at writing.”

“So what?” Shen Qingzhu didn’t mind at all. “We’ll hang it on the door. Only we’ll see it.”

Still hesitant, Zhou Song imagined his messy handwriting displayed next to Shen Qingzhu’s graceful script and felt his face grow hot.

With a smile, Shen Qingzhu picked up a diamond-shaped piece of red paper. “How about this? You can write the character ‘Fu’ for good fortune. We’ll stick it on the window. Just one character—no excuses.”

Having left Zhou Song no room to refuse, he watched as Shen Qingzhu demonstrated the character for him. Taking the brush, Zhou Song leaned in over the desk.

They shared the desk, writing in companionable silence, a warm and harmonious atmosphere settling between them.