Watching Lou Zhaoshui step down, Fu Ruyi let out a cheer, making no effort to hide her delight.
“Get a basket.” Fu Ruyi pointed to the large bamboo basket leaning crookedly against the wall in the corner of the courtyard.
Lou Zhaoshui stood still for a moment, then called out: “Beinu.”
He followed with a phrase in Xianbei.
Fu Ruyi watched as the golden-haired boy scurried in, grabbed the bamboo basket, and ran back out.
“Let’s go,” Lou Zhaoshui urged.
Fu Ruyi looked him up and down, then, with a thoughtful expression, stepped out the door first.
Lou Zhaoshui lagged two steps behind. He latched the fence gate—which served little purpose—and strolled toward Fu Ruyi with his hands tucked into his sleeves, while his gaze slanted toward the neighbor to the east.
The Wang family’s courtyard gate was tightly shut, the yard was silent, and it was impossible to tell whether anyone was home—but half a shoe peeked out from the gap beneath the door.
“The elm trees in your mulberry field haven’t grown big yet, have they? Let’s go to my family’s mulberry field instead.” Fu Ruyi got down to business.
Lou Zhaoshui withdrew his gaze and answered with a low, husky “Fine.”
Fu Ruyi’s heart melted, and her face immediately flushed red.
“Let’s—let’s go…” Her stammer made her blush even deeper. Her heart fluttering, she stole a glance at him, shuffled closer, and pressed her luck: “You can carry the basket for me.”
Lou Zhaoshui didn’t move.
“Don’t you want to annoy them?” Fu Ruyi said in a low voice. “If you carry the basket for me, we’ll look closer.”
Lou Zhaoshui wasn’t falling for it. He took a step ahead and tossed out a curt reply: “You coming along is enough.”
Fu Ruyi let out a huff and caught up to him.
Two adults and three children walked one after another through Pinghe Village. Wherever they passed, people digging in vegetable gardens, watering cattle by the roadside, and hanging clothes in courtyards all craned their necks to stare at them openly.
“Is that the Fu family’s girl?” A woman carrying a large bamboo basket of her own stopped in their path to strike up a conversation.
Fu Ruyi nodded. Noticing the dark green juice staining the woman’s hands, she asked, “Off to pick mulberry leaves?”
The woman nodded distractedly, her eyes fixed on Lou Zhaoshui’s face as she asked Fu Ruyi, “You two are…?”
“We’re going to pick elm seeds.”
“Oh, oh, elm seeds are good to eat this time of year.” But that wasn’t what she wanted to ask. She lowered her voice excitedly: “So the match between you and Wang Erlang is off?”
“It’s off.” Fu Ruyi’s gaze drifted to Lou Zhaoshui.
“Oh, oh, oh!” The woman caught on. Seeing Lou Zhaoshui curl the corner of his mouth, she laughed with the delight of a spectator.
“We’re off.” Fu Ruyi left those words behind and walked away with a swagger.
Once they were out of Pinghe Village, Fu Ruyi put some distance between herself and the silent beauty lagging a step behind, then moved closer to the child walking ahead. “Little Blondie, your name is Beinu? How old are you?”
“Eight.”
“How old is your sister? What’s her name? Does she speak Chinese?”
“Five. Her name is Que’er.”
“Lou Que.” Lou Zhaoshui added from behind.
Fu Ruyi understood instantly—Lou Zhaoshui’s eldest sister was widowed and raised her daughter with her natal family, so the girl took her mother’s surname.
“What surname was Lou changed from?” Fu Ruyi took the opportunity to fall back a few steps and strike up a conversation with the beauty.
“Helou,” Lou Zhaoshui answered.
“Helou Zhaoshui.” Fu Ruyi called him by that name.
Lou Zhaoshui lowered his head and laughed.
“No, our names were all given later, after we arrived in Luoyang, by an old Han official,” the golden-haired boy explained. He then rattled off a string of Xianbei words. “These are our real names.”
Fu Ruyi was so spellbound by his beauty that she heard none of it and praised him outright: “You’re really handsome when you smile.”
“I know.” Lou Zhaoshui remained utterly unmoved by the compliment.
“Auntie, we’re about to cross the bridge,” Fu Ying reminded her.
Fu Ruyi snapped back to attention. The pontoon bridge rested on the river’s surface, swaying with the current. Walking across it, the faint-hearted would find their legs trembling. She stepped forward, took the basket from the golden-haired boy’s hands, and said, “Give me the basket. You hold your sister’s hand and keep to the middle of the bridge—don’t fall into the river.”
The golden-haired boy let go of the basket without hesitation. Fu Ruyi slung a large bamboo basket over each arm and followed behind the three children.
Lou Zhaoshui lingered at the rear, his gaze fixed on her. She kept her head lowered, her eyes on the children, her arms holding the baskets tensed, hands thrust forward, ready to drop the baskets and grab anyone who fell at a moment’s notice.
People crossing from the south bank were dazzled by the striking golden hair, and one by one they noticed the exotic beauty with blond hair and blue eyes. Whispers and gasps rippled across the pontoon bridge in an unbroken wave.
Fu Ruyi turned back.
“You go on ahead.” Lou Zhaoshui entrusted the two children to her, then stopped and put distance between himself and the group, lest his face cause an accident.
“Don’t just stare at the beauty—watch your step, or you’ll end up in the river!” Fu Ruyi called out loudly, then added, “Make way, if you’re not crossing, let us pass first.”
It wasn’t until Fu Ruyi had led the three children safely onto the shore that Lou Zhaoshui finally crossed the bridge under the weight of countless stares.
“Did your uncle get mobbed every time he went out back in your hometown too?” Fu Ruyi probed the golden-haired boy for information. “Among your Xianbei people, are there many with blond hair and blue eyes?”
“Not too many, but not too few either.” The golden-haired boy tugged at a strand of his own hair. “Some places have more, some have fewer. Among those with Hu ancestry, blond hair, red hair, blue eyes, and green eyes are all pretty common.”
Fu Ruyi understood now—Lou Zhaoshui had Hu ancestry. As for some places having more and others fewer, that probably had to do with their way of life. The Xianbei were a nomadic people; during their herding and migrations, if they passed through Hu territory, they would settle alongside the Hu, and intermarriage between the two tribes would produce more Xianbei with blond hair and blue eyes.
“But my uncle is the best-looking of all.” The golden-haired boy stared at the figure drawing closer across the bridge, then said regretfully, “I didn’t get blue eyes.”
“I don’t have them either. Or blond hair,” Que’er said sulkily.
“You two both speak Chinese so well—how come the great beauty doesn’t?” Fu Ruyi seized the chance to ask while Lou Zhaoshui hadn’t yet arrived.
“Que’er and I were born in Pingcheng. There are lots of Han people in Pingcheng, so we learned to speak Chinese from a young age. Oh, it was my father who made us learn,” the golden-haired boy explained, and when he mentioned his father, he didn’t forget what he’d said before: “My father doesn’t have blond hair either, and neither does my second uncle.”
“My mother doesn’t either,” Que’er chimed in eagerly.
“So the great beauty is the best-looking one in your family?” Fu Ruyi interjected. “He must be doted on, right?”
A shadow fell over them. Fu Ruyi looked up—it was the great beauty.
Lou Zhaoshui’s probing gaze lingered on the suddenly silent group.
“You’re really only seventeen? I can hardly tell.” Fu Ruyi studied him. Her second nephew was also seventeen, but he was skinny, with spindly legs, thin arms, a rough face, yet his eyes were still childish. This man before her, however, had long, sturdy legs, full buttocks, a narrow waist and broad shoulders. His face was handsome without being pretty, beautiful without being bewitching. He was a man—a man who could haunt a woman’s dreams at night.
Lou Zhaoshui avoided her gaze and circled around behind her. He stacked the two baskets together and hung them over his long arm, saying with displeasure, “I’m going back.”
The two children immediately looked unhappy.
Fu Ruyi didn’t call him out on it. She pointed east and said, “Follow me, we’re almost there.”
Fu Ying took Que’er’s hand and hurried to catch up, while the golden-haired boy followed without hesitation.
Lou Zhaoshui trailed behind them.
The further east they went, the sparser the population became. Vegetation grew lush and dense. Reeds grew on the banks left exposed by the receding river, and right next to the reed marsh stretched green wheat fields. As the terrain rose, plowed farmland lay fallow, with a flock of chickens scratching in the soil.
Lou Zhaoshui let out a string of Xianbei words, and the golden-haired boy relayed: “Auntie, my uncle asks why these fields are left fallow and unplanted.”
“They were planted last year but not this year. It’s called crop rotation to restore fertility,” Fu Ruyi answered. She looked at Lou Zhaoshui and asked seriously, “How many mu of wheat did your family plant this year?”
“I don’t know.” Lou Zhaoshui was visibly agitated. “I don’t understand farming.”
He couldn’t drive an ox to plow, didn’t know the planting seasons for foxtail millet, wheat, broomcorn millet, or rice, and had no idea about the various vegetable seeds. And it wasn’t just him—his father, mother, older sister and sister-in-law were all equally clueless. After a year in the Central Plains, their family was still muddling through in chaos. Not only did they have to painstakingly learn Chinese, but they also had to spend every day learning farming and weaving from the Han people. All of them were overwhelmed, wishing they could move back north to herd livestock.
“You’ve only been here a year, so it’s normal not to understand. We Han people grow up around farming from childhood. Through constant exposure, we only become capable of farming independently by nearly twenty. I’m twenty-one this year, and after twenty years of learning agriculture, I can finally support myself by farming.” Fu Ruyi tried to comfort him with her own experience.
“Twenty years?” Lou Zhaoshui grew even more irritable. For the rest of the journey, he kept his handsome face stiff and refused to speak.
When they reached her family’s mulberry field, Fu Ruyi saw the trees full of elm seeds and had no time to spare for Lou Zhaoshui. She and Fu Ying led the golden-haired boy and Que’er up the elm trees, pulling at branches to pick the tenderest elm seeds from the tips.
When one basket was filled with elm seeds, Fu Ruyi noticed Lou Zhaoshui had disappeared. She called out twice, and the golden-haired boy and Que’er also craned their necks to call. A response came from afar.
By the time they had filled both baskets with elm seeds, Lou Zhaoshui had returned, holding a handful of mulberries tinged red among the green. He handed them to Fu Ruyi to share with the children.
The golden-haired boy grumbled that he was slacking off and not working. Lou Zhaoshui showed no trace of shame and instead asked Fu Ruyi how many years these trees needed to grow this big.
“Less than three years. After the Equal-Field Decree was implemented, the court divided the allotted land into open fields and mulberry fields. The mulberry fields were to be used for planting trees and hemp. That’s when elm, mulberry, jujube, and locust trees began to be planted.” Fu Ruyi picked up a mulberry and tossed it into her mouth, then said, “This is the first year the mulberry trees have borne fruit.”
Lou Zhaoshui thought back to the forest he hadn’t walked to the end of—the branches thick, the leaves lush, the shade like a canopy, its abundant vitality grounding in a way the pasture grass of the plains could never match. The restlessness in his heart subsided, and he said calmly, “The trees grow fast.”
“Yes.” Fu Ruyi bent down, scooped up a handful of yellow earth, and held it out to him. “This unremarkable yellow earth is truly miraculous. Plant any seed in her, and she will give you a return. Tend to her with sincerity, and she will never deceive you.”
Lou Zhaoshui looked at the yellow earth in her palm.
“Things born of heaven and nurtured by earth belong to no one by birth, but in this moment, she can belong to you.” Fu Ruyi flipped her hand over, and the yellow earth scattered and fell in a loose cascade.
Lou Zhaoshui, as if moved by some unseen force, reached out to catch it, the dust settling over his hand.
Fu Ruyi’s hand, which had been lowering, rose again. She quickly grasped his hand, rubbing and pressing, smearing the residual yellow earth from her palm onto his.
“Cherish your bond with her.” Fu Ruyi stared into those captivating eyes and said with a smile, “Tend to her with sincerity, and she won’t let you down.”