Qin Zhan carried Liu Yu’er as he stepped onto the winding path leading deep into the mountains.
He walked steadily, but the person in his arms was as stiff as a block of wood. Even her subtle sobs were choked back fiercely into her throat, leaving only uncontrollable, small-animal-like tremors pulsing through her thin layers of clothing wave after wave.
She was too light, so light that Qin Zhan felt it wasn’t real, as if he were holding a handful of snow about to be blown away by the wind. His brow locked tight, and he instinctively pulled his arms in to hold her more securely.
Liu Yu’er buried her face deep into his hard leather vest, not daring to open her eyes.
Her nose was filled with a thick, heavy scent of blood, along with the scorching, highly oppressive heat belonging to this tall man himself. These smells mixed together, making her dizzy.
She missed her younger brother and wanted to go home, but she had to listen to her brother’s words. Tears welled up silently, quickly absorbed by the rough leather vest, leaving only cold dampness behind.
Not knowing how long they walked, the mountain trail grew steeper and steeper, and the surroundings grew quieter and quieter—so quiet that she could only hear the man’s steady, powerful footsteps and the mournful, strange howling of the wind scraping against bare branches, sounding as if some terrifying goblin were hidden within the deep forest.
Yu’er was terribly frightened, her body shaking even more violently. She couldn’t help it and secretly cracked her eyes open just a tiny, narrow slit.
What came into view was the man’s bulging, muscular neck and hard-lined jaw. Moving further upward, the scar on his brow bone looked particularly menacing under the reflection of the snow.
Terrified, Yu’er instantly closed her eyes again, holding her breath entirely for fear of drawing his attention.
Finally, Qin Zhan’s footsteps stopped.
Yu’er felt him slightly adjust the posture in which he was holding her, followed by a series of sounds as he moved a door latch.
Then, a wave of warmth—different from the biting cold wind outside, mixed with a richer scent of hearth smoke, pine wood, and an indescribable aura unique to a confined space—rushed toward her face.
She was carried into the house.
Qin Zhan carefully placed her on the kang (heated brick bed) and then let go of his hands.
Liu Yu’er sat stiffly at a complete loss, her head hung low, her gaze daring only to land on her tightly clenched hands with their whitened knuckles. The tight, peach-red old cotton jacket she wore outlined the trembling silhouette shaped by her fear.
She didn’t dare raise her head to see what the room looked like, nor did she dare look at where the man was or what he was doing.
Qin Zhan stood a few paces away from her, watching her curled-up, nearly huddled shape. The frown on his expressionless face tightened again. He turned, walked over to the stove, and the sound of pouring water was exceptionally clear in the quietness.
Yu’er’s heart jumped violently with the sound of the water.
Then, heavy footsteps drew closer. A large, calloused, and old-scarred hand with prominent knuckles, holding a large coarse porcelain bowl, was extended into her lowered field of vision. Inside the bowl was steaming hot sugar water.
“Drink,” the man’s voice rang out overhead, short, low, and devoid of emotion.
Extreme fear made her thoughts stall. She merely, out of instinct and with extreme slowness, reached out her cold, slightly trembling little hand. When her fingertips touched the rim of the bowl, she winced and shrank back from the heat. The water was very full; not daring to spill it, she held it with both hands, brought it to her lips, and sipped it in tiny, small gulps.
Watching her cautious appearance, Qin Zhan didn’t say anything. He turned and began pacing around the room, the sound of him rummaging for things echoing continuously. Every single noise made Yu’er’s shoulders tremble slightly.
Soon, he walked over holding something and placed it on the kang beside her.
It was a set of dusty, semi-worn cotton-padded clothes and trousers.
“Put them on,” his voice still lacked any ups and downs, yet carried an unquestionable certainty, “yours are too thin.”
Yu’er’s gaze fell upon those clothes, then she fleetingly glanced down at the “outfit” her stepmother had deliberately picked out for her.
Her face instantly turned ashen white, even her lips losing all color. She grabbed tightly onto the collar of her own clothes, her knuckles straining until they turned blue-green, and tears began to spin wildly in her eye sockets once more, though she bit her lower lip fiercely to keep them from falling.
Though she didn’t understand much of the ways of the world, she vaguely knew that a woman should not undress in front of a strange man. Her stepmother had cursed those unprincipled women, saying they deserved to die.
Watching her instantly pale face and violently shaking body, Qin Zhan froze for a moment, then caught on.
He swiftly turned around, facing the wall with his back to her. His voice seemed to soften by a fraction compared to his earlier blunt tone, though it remained brief: “Change them. I’m not looking.”
Having said that, he stood there bolt upright like a silent mountain crag, truly making no further movement.
With trembling hands, Liu Yu’er began to undo the cumbersome cloth-loop buttons.
Flustered and clumsy, she slipped into the gray cloth cotton-padded outfit. True to expectations, the clothes were very large, hanging emptily and loosely over her thin frame. The sleeves were a large section too long, and the trouser cuffs dragged on the ground. But the fabric was soft, and the cotton inside was thick, completely shutting out the chill.
Clumsily rolling up the overly long sleeves several folds, she spoke in a voice so tiny and delicate it was almost swallowed entirely by her throat: “A… alright…”
Only then did Qin Zhan turn back around. Seeing her wrapped inside oversized clothes that made her look even more petite and pitiful—her hair disheveled, her eyes red and swollen, resembling a little sparrow just drenched by a heavy rainstorm and brought back into a nest—his gaze paused for a moment. He didn’t say anything, but simply walked over to the edge of the kang, efficiently spreading out a thick animal-skin bedding mat, and pulled out a quilt that looked fluffy and warm.
“You sleep there.” He pointed to the prepared spot on the heated kang bed, which was the warmest and closest to the stove fire.
Then he pointed to the other side against the wall, where animal pelts were also laid out, though it looked much simpler: “I’ll sleep over there.”
Liu Yu’er stared at him in a daze, seemingly not understanding what he meant. Her voice was as soft as a mosquito’s hum: “I… I can just sleep in the cow shed.”
“My family doesn’t have a cow shed, and even if we did, you’d still sleep on the same kang as me, because you’re my wife now.”
“W-Wife?”
“That’s right. Could it be you’ve forgotten everything I said to you?”
Liu Yu’er tilted her little head: ???