At the Gu family’s residence, Shen Niannian and the others had already moved into the east chamber—the very quarters where Eldest Brother and his wife had once lived.
The room was spacious, bright, and to her great satisfaction. That evening, the two children had wanted to sleep with Gu Yanzhi. Tian Yuefang, knowing the newlyweds needed time alone, had taken the little ones aside.
“Niannian, let Huanhuan and Lele stay with me tonight! You two rest easy and get some sleep!”
With that, she smiled meaningfully and led the children away.
Soon, only the two of them remained in the room. A quiet, awkward hush settled over the space. Shen Niannian sat at the edge of the bed, cheeks flushing pink, while Gu Yanzhi sat stiffly beside the table. Under the warm glow of the lamp, he found himself utterly captivated by her—so much so he scarcely knew where to rest his gaze.
She was truly lovely: fair, smooth skin, a delicate oval face, willow-leaf eyebrows, and large, bright eyes that seemed to hold rippling spring water. When she blinked, it felt as though his very heart trembled in response. She had a finely sculpted nose and soft, rose-petal lips.
The more Gu Yanzhi looked, the warmer and more restless he felt. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.
Shen Niannian, feeling his gaze upon her, grew flustered and uneasy—especially now that they were entirely alone. Unbidden, her mind drifted back to the night before, to all that had begun and remained unfinished…
She remembered the strength of his waist, the way he’d leaned over her. She remembered the beads of sweat upon his forehead, and the tender restraint in his expression…
No more—she mustn’t think of that! If she kept going, she’d lose herself entirely. Her limbs felt weak, and her breath came shallow.
Gu Yanzhi was scarcely faring better. Abruptly, he stood up. Just as Shen Niannian’s heart raced, thinking he might come to her, he picked up a basin and turned toward the door.
“I’ll fetch you warm water to wash your feet. After such a long day, it’ll help you sleep more comfortably.”
He strode toward the kitchen. Shen Niannian let out a quiet breath, her heart lightening—though she couldn’t quite tell whether she felt relief or a faint, lingering disappointment. Beneath it all, a quiet spark of anticipation lingered.
She wanted a child—a child of her own. And thinking of Gu Yanzhi’s handsome features, she knew any child of theirs would surely be beautiful. The thought brought a soft, secret smile to her face.
Her gaze drifted to the two large earthen jars beneath the table, and her heart lifted further. She rose, walked over, and carefully lifted the jars one by one, setting them upon the table to examine them closely. She’d only glanced them over earlier; now, studying them carefully, her suspicion hardened into certainty.
These were works of Jun ware—one of the Five Great Kilns of the Song Dynasty. Jun ware was first fired in the Northern Song and reached its peak in the late Northern Song period. Though classified as part of the northern celadon tradition, it was distinguished by its unique kiln-transmutation glaze, which produced rich shades of turquoise streaked and blushed with rose and crimson. Jun ware relied on an opaque, milky glaze whose colouring agent was primarily copper. Copper-red glazes were extraordinarily sensitive to temperature and kiln atmosphere; the slightest deviation could ruin the intended hue—and yet, that very unpredictability gave rise to breathtaking, one-of-a-kind beauty. Hence the timeless saying: “Enter the kiln as one colour—emerge in a thousand hues.”
Beneath the glaze lay a network of fine, crackled lines. These fissures formed during drying or the early stages of firing, only to soften and flow together in the intense heat, creating a pattern known as “earthworms wriggling through mud”—a signature hallmark of authentic Jun ware.
Every detail of the jars before her spoke of late Northern Song Jun ware. Above all, those distinctive crackle patterns confirmed it: these were precious antiques. The very thought that they had held pickled cucumbers all this time made her ache with pity for such treasures.
Mind made up, she hurried to the kitchen. Gu Yanzhi turned to her, kettle in hand, looking surprised.
“Niannian? What brings you here? I told you—I’d bring the water. You should rest and sit quietly while I tend to things.”
She offered a gentle smile.
“I was thinking—tomorrow we visit my parents’ home. My father loves these salty, pickled things. I’d like to pack some cucumbers to bring him. I came to find a jar to put them in.”
Gu Yanzhi grinned—so his father-in-law shared his wife’s taste! Clearly, her fondness for pickles ran in the family. He made a quiet promise to himself: once he learned how to make them well, he’d always send jars to her father.
Shen Niannian, meanwhile, had no idea he was already planning endless jars of pickles for her family. She continued rummaging, while Gu Yanzhi considered the matter.
“If your father likes them that much—and we have two full jars—why not give him one entirely?”
Shen Niannian hesitated. She couldn’t very well tell him these were priceless antiques. She could only offer a clumsy, gentle excuse.
“I… I’ve grown rather fond of these two jars. I’d rather not use them for pickles anymore. I just… I love old things. They carry such a quiet sense of history.”
Gu Yanzhi nodded at once. If she liked them, then that was reason enough.
“Very well. If you prefer them empty, then empty they shall be. Come—let me escort you back.” He took her hand, supporting her back to their room. “Sit and wash your feet. I’ll empty them out and scrub them spotlessly clean.”
Shen Niannian had expected hesitation or questions. Instead, he accepted her word simply and gladly. Then it occurred to her—he had no idea of their true value. If he scrubbed too vigorously or slipped…
“No, no—let me do it!” She struggled to rise. “They need to be handled with great care…”
Gu Yanzhi laughed softly, stopping her with a light, gentle tap to her nose. His eyes curved warm and bright.
“Rest easy. If they mean this much to you, I shall treat them like the treasures they are. Have no fear—these hands carry rifles for a living. Steady as can be.”
He slipped off her shoes, guided her feet into the warm, fragrant water, and turned to tend to the jars. She watched him walk toward the kitchen, carrying them carefully, one in each hand. A warmth spread through her chest, and where his finger had touched her nose, her skin tingled. She rubbed it gently, unable to suppress the soft, overflowing smile that spread across her face.
How fortunate she was. How truly blessed, to have married Gu Yanzhi.
True to his word, he worked swiftly. By the time she finished washing and stepped out to empty the basin, he had already spooned all the pickled cucumbers into smaller containers and scrubbed both jars inside and out until they gleamed.
“Niannian—where would you like me to place them?”
She suppressed the sudden urge to tuck them safely away into her private space, and gestured toward their room.
“Let’s keep them here inside.” She feared the sun might crack them, or that someone might bump and break them. They were far too precious to risk.
Gu Yanzhi set them carefully in a quiet corner of the room to dry. Then he fetched fresh water and washed his own feet. Shen Niannian looked at the two jars, her heart swelling with delight. In a few days—once Gu Yanzhi returned to his post—she would store them both safely away.
They were treasures, after all.