Huo Jingye kicked open the wooden door of the bridal chamber with a single blow.
The door slammed heavily against the wall with a dull thud, sending a flurry of dust and shaking the cobwebs hanging from the corner. Holding Su Qingwan in his arms, he strode across the threshold.
Inside, the room was dim. A low-wattage incandescent bulb hung suspended in mid-air, coated in a layer of grime from years gone by. A few crooked, oversized red double-happiness characters were pasted on the wall, the paste around the edges still wet and stark white.
Jingye marched straight up to the bed.
It was an old-fashioned hardwood frame spread with a vibrant red sheet printed with large peonies. He had been spoiling for a fight, fully intending to dump the trouble-making woman right onto the mattress and shake her up a bit so she’d learn the Huo family wasn’t someone to be trifled with.
Yet, as he looked down, her face was as pale as translucent paper, the dried streak of blood at the corner of her lips stark against her skin.
His muscular arm froze in mid-air.
Finally, grinding his back molars, he bent down and gently laid her onto the bedding as carefully as if she were made of fragile glass.
The moment she touched the bed, Qingwan let out a soft moan, her slender brows knitting together in discomfort. Jingye pulled his hands back as if stung by a hornet, retreating two giant steps away. He put his hands on his hips, his broad chest heaving violently like an agitated leopard.
“Su Qingwan, let’s get one thing straight,” Jingye said, lowering his voice and trying his hardest to sound fierce. “Since you’ve stepped foot into the Huo family, you can drop all your little schemes! And don’t you dare go trying to kill yourself on my watch!”
He glared murderously at her delicate shoulders, sparks of anger dancing in his eyes.
“Everyone in the compound knows you’ve got your heart set on that educated youth with the surname Shen. But right now, you’re my officially recognized wife! If you ever dare make a scene in front of the neighbors again and embarrass me, I’ll break that pretty boy’s legs tomorrow!”
Having delivered his ultimatum, Jingye raised his chin, waiting for the woman to start throwing a tantrum. Judging by how the sharp-tongued wives in the compound usually behaved, this Su girl should be wailing to the heavens right now, cursing him as a bandit and a ruffian. He had even mentally mapped out how he was going to pin her down.
Instead, the woman on the bed was unnaturally quiet.
Leaning halfway against the stacked wedding quilts, Qingwan didn’t kick up a fuss. Instead, she obediently lowered her eyelashes. The yellow glow of the overhead bulb hit the side of her face, making her petite features look all the more pitiful.
She raised a hand and gently wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth with the back of her wrist. Then, she lifted a pair of tear-swelled eyes and looked straight at Jingye—devoid of disgust, devoid of fear.
There was only a grievance so heavy it was about to overflow.
“I know…”
When she spoke, her voice was thick with a nasal twang, soft and delicate enough to melt the heart.
“I know everyone in the compound looks down on me, thinking I’m not good enough for you.”
Qingwan clutched the edge of the red sheet, her knuckles turning pale.
“My sister-in-law beat me today, forcing me into this marriage. When I picked up that rope earlier… I genuinely didn’t want to live anymore.”
She sniffled, tears swirling in her eyes, stubbornly holding them back from falling. This quiet forbearance was a thousand times more arresting than any loud wailing.
The blazing fire inside Jingye’s chest was suddenly doused by a bucket of icy water, hissing out entirely.
“You…”
He opened his mouth, trying to fish for something tough to say.
But Qingwan cut him off, her voice dropping even lower.
“Yet just now, when you carried me and I heard your heartbeat going thump-thump-thump, I suddenly didn’t want to die anymore.”
That direct hit caught Jingye completely off guard.
He stared in shock, his street-fighter brain failing to process the turn of events. Qingwan lifted her damp eyes, her gaze drifting down past his broad shoulders.
“Huo Jingye, you’re even taller than I imagined.”
A trace of well-timed admiration laced her voice.
“The gossiping aunties in the compound always say you’re fierce, that you’re a hoodlum. But I think a real man should be like you—someone with backbone who can carry the weight of the world.”
As she spoke, Qingwan carefully observed his expression.
“You stood up to your dad’s leather belt to protect me just now, and you even shoved my sister-in-law aside. You’re nothing like those educated youths who huff and puff just from doing a little farm work, hiding behind women when trouble hits. They don’t have an ounce of manhood in them.”
Flattery. She had to lay it on thick.
Jingye stood frozen, his breathing stopping for half a beat. All his life, he had only ever heard labels like rebel, ruffian, and good-for-nothing. Never once had anyone used such a soft, sweet voice to praise his backbone, let alone claim he was better than those educated scholars!
That single line—you’re stronger than those educated youths—was like a match to dry tinder, instantly igniting his self-esteem. The tips of his ears turned a visible shade of red, the blush rapidly creeping down his thick neck.
He cleared his throat, his eyes darting everywhere, deliberately avoiding the woman on the bed.
“Cough… well…”
Jingye reached up to rake a hand through his unruly wolf-cut hair, his tone stiff, though completely stripped of its prior viciousness.
“Of course I’m stronger than that little white-faced Shen! What is he anyway? He isn’t even worthy of shining my shoes!”
Inwardly, Qingwan couldn’t help but chuckle. So this neighborhood bully was actually a tsundere softy at heart. A few well-placed strokes of the ego had completely spun him around.
“Mm, I believe you.”
Qingwan nodded, a weak smile pulling at the corners of her lips. She shifted slightly, trying to burrow deeper into the quilt.
The early spring nights in Jiangcheng still carried a biting chill. There was no coal stove in this bridal room, and the air smelled heavily of damp soot. The original owner had been wearing only a thin, red-patterned cotton tunic, and after breaking into a cold sweat during the courtyard commotion earlier, the fabric clung damply to her back, making her shiver all over.
“Achoo!”
Qingwan sneezed properly, pulling her shoulders into a tight ball.
Jingye’s heart, which had just settled down, shot right back up into his throat.
“What’s wrong? Did you catch a chill outside just now?”
He strode over to the bedside, his brows tying into a knot.
“Why are your hands so cold?”
Instinctively, he brushed his fingertips against hers, the ice-cold touch sending a jolt straight to his chest. Qingwan instinctively pulled her bare feet back a fraction, biting her lower lip and looking up at him with a pitiful expression.
“Husband… my feet are cold.”
That word—husband—was rolled out in twists and turns, dripping with sweetness. In this era, married couples usually called each other “the master of the house” or simply used first names. Who on earth had the nerve to drop such a clingy, brazen “husband”?
Jingye felt as though his brain had gone boom. His ears were filled with a loud ringing sound. His heart thudded like a drum, threatening to break right out of his throat.
His tough-guy face flared crimson, making him look precisely like a boiled Guan Yu.
“C-Cold? Then pull the quilt over you!”
He fumbled clumsily for the heavy red wedding quilt, haphazardly tossing it over her. His movements were so wild and sweeping he almost smothered her entirely.
With great difficulty, Qingwan poked her head back out from beneath the covers, breathing heavily as she looked up at him.
“The quilt won’t warm them up. The soles of my feet feel like they’re stepping on ice shards, they’re cramping.”
She pouted, a hint of tears creeping into her voice.
“Are you already annoyed with me? If you find me a burden, I’ll go back to the Su family right now and stop being an eyesore…”
With that, she kicked off the blanket and made a move to get out of bed.
“Who the hell said you’re a burden?!”
Panicking, Jingye reached out, clamped a hand onto her shoulder, and shoved her straight back under the covers.
Two things terrified him most in this world: his old man’s leather belt, and a woman shedding tears. Especially the woman right in front of him, who had just vomited blood and was as fragile as a block of bean curd—break her if he touched her too hard, break her if he left her alone.
“You stay right here and don’t you dare move!”
Jingye glared fiercely at her, then spun on his heel toward the corner of the room, snatching up a red enamel basin printed with peonies, followed by a bamboo-cased thermos.
Splash, splash. Half a basin of steaming hot water poured out, sending up a white cloud of steam that blurred his tall, straight silhouette.
Hiding beneath the quilt with only her big eyes exposed, Qingwan watched him quietly.
In her past life, Shen Wen—the man who used to yell at her and smash bowls at the drop of a hat—would complain that even pouring her a glass of water wasted his study time. Yet this rough-talking neighborhood bully, purely because she muttered that her feet were cold, didn’t hesitate for a second to fetch a washbasin.
Some people’s roughness was only on the surface. Their gentleness was buried deep in their bones, impossible to hide.
Carrying the enamel basin, Jingye strode back to the bedside. He dropped the basin onto the floor with a crisp clatter.
“Feet out!”
His tone remained stiff, as if he were interrogating a criminal.
Slowly, Qingwan slid her legs out from beneath the blankets. Her fair ankles and feet gleamed like porcelain under the dim light.
Squatting by the bed, Jingye stared at the pair of feet that were barely half the size of his own palm. The hands that were used to swinging bricks at people’s heads froze mid-air, completely at a loss for where to put themselves. The fierce momentum he usually used to pick street fights vanished into thin air.
He took a deep breath, carefully wrapping his large hand around her ankle.
The skin felt smooth, warm, and soft. Jingye felt as though he wasn’t holding a foot at all, but a piece of scorching mutton-fat jade. Forcing down the fluttering in his chest, he lowered her feet into the warm water.
The temperature was just right.
Qingwan let out a comfortable sigh, her toes curling playfully in the water.
Without missing a beat, they brushed right across the center of Jingye’s palm.
Jingye stiffened entirely, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Keeping his head down, he stared fixedly at the ripples in the basin while mechanically scrubbing the back of her foot with his calloused fingers.
As he scrubbed, a sudden thought hit him:
Wait a minute.
I’m supposed to be the top dog of the machinery factory compound! The street punks on the south side detour around me! Why am I squatting here, washing some woman’s feet?!
Jingye sank into a deep crisis of self-doubt.
He raised his head, trying to reclaim some dignity as the man of the house.
Only to lock eyes with Qingwan, whose eyes were curved into twin crescents.
“Husband, you’re so good to me.”
Her brows arched happily, her voice as sweet as melting malt candy from the supply depot.
The shred of fierceness Jingye had managed to scrape together instantly dissolved into nothingness. He willingly bowed his noble head and went right back to massaging the soles of her feet.
To hell with pride.
My wife’s feet are cold, so I’m washing them. What of it? It’s only natural!
While the atmosphere inside the bridal room grew warmer and filled with pink bubbles, right outside the window…
A dark figure was hunched low, pressing tightly against the window seam.
Mother-in-law Zhang Guifang had originally come to eavesdrop, hoping to catch the sound of that trouble-making Su girl getting beaten to a pulp. But the sight that met her eyes nearly triggered a fatal stroke.
Her precious little son—the one who would chase people down the street with an iron rod without blinking an eye—was currently squatting by the bed like a eunuch, washing that lazy good-for-nothing’s feet!
Trembling with rage, Guifang dug her fingernails deep into the rotting wood of the windowsill.
“Fine! Good for you, Su Qingwan, making a servant out of a Huo man!”
Guifang bit her lip, murder in her eyes. She whipped around, stomping off toward the main house with lethal intent.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll skin that little vixen alive!