“You… are you going to kiss me? It hurts so much,” Shen Qingjun complained, hugging Zou Zhanyang. No need to check—her lips were definitely swollen.
Zou Zhanyang’s ears turned red, his eyes shining. “Kiss a little more, and it won’t hurt this time.”
Before she could answer, he leaned in again.
Perhaps men were naturally gifted in this area—compared to the first awkward encounter, this time felt much more comfortable. Shen Qingjun’s body gradually softened.
She didn’t know how long they kissed before Zou Zhanyang suddenly stopped. Shen Qingjun’s arms were still looped around his neck, waiting to continue, but he didn’t respond. Her half-lidded, sultry eyes looked up at him, full of confusion. Why had he stopped?
Zou Zhanyang’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his voice hoarse. “We can’t continue… only after the wedding…”
Shen Qingjun blinked. “But we already have the marriage certificate.”
“The… wedding hasn’t happened yet.”
Sweat dotted his forehead. Using every ounce of willpower, he shook the blanket, and Shen Qingjun peeked out like a little caterpillar, watching him.
“Zou Zhanyang, what are you doing?”
“Sleeping.”
Shen Qingjun raised an eyebrow, meaningfully. “You can actually sleep?”
“Sleeping,” he said through gritted teeth, trying to suppress his frustration.
Shen Qingjun went “oh,” obediently closing her eyes. Not that she was the one burning up with desire.
…
The next morning, sunlight slanted through the window. Shen Qingjun stretched and stepped out of the room, seeing Zou Zhanyang busy in the kitchen.
The man’s back was to her, wearing a military green vest, showing off muscular, corded arms. Broad, powerful shoulders, a thin apron tied around his waist, and a bubbling iron pot beside him. He seemed to sense her gaze and turned, revealing a sharp yet handsome face.
“Wash your hands, breakfast is ready.”
The aura of a husband was strong.
Even though she’d had several boyfriends in modern times—CEOs, doctors, esports players—not one combined raw masculinity and the vibe of a husband so subtly.
Shen Qingjun “oh”ed and turned, then couldn’t resist walking back over to him.
“Lower your head.”
Zou Zhanyang complied, confused.
Shen Qingjun grabbed his collar and pressed her lips to his with a smack. “Now that it’s sealed, it’s mine.”
She nodded in satisfaction, turning to leave, but hadn’t gone far before she fell into his solid chest. His large hand held her chin, lips pressing hers again, ramming into her mouth. Shen Qingjun’s legs went weak, the world around her disappearing.
“The… the pot’s still cooking,” she murmured.
Taking advantage of his brief distraction, Shen Qingjun slipped from his embrace to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and washed up. When she emerged, breakfast was laid out.
A plate of steamed rolls, a fried egg, white porridge, and a small plate of tossed salad.
Simple dishes, but it was clear Zou Zhanyang could cook—and cook well. The rolls were soft, the egg perfectly golden, and the salad was surprisingly delightful—balanced, tangy, and sweet.
Shen Qingjun wasn’t very hungry, finishing a bowl of porridge and half a roll.
“Full?”
She nodded. Seeing him eye her, she remembered his habit of devouring food, and offered him the remaining roll. But as soon as she moved, she felt her footing shift.
Zou Zhanyang’s long legs, previously dangling, had hooked onto the chair’s bar. With a pull, she was dragged toward him.
Before she could even scream, he leaned over. Mid-kiss, Shen Qingjun’s hands pressed against his chest, a silver thread of saliva connecting their mouths.
“Not eating breakfast?”
Zou Zhanyang mumbled with his mouth full, “Not eating… eating you.”
After their morning antics, Zou Zhanyang finally calmed down, holding Shen Qingjun and catching his breath. “Grandpa wants to see you. Come with me this afternoon, alright?”
Shen Qingjun, fiddling with his buttons, asked, “When will Xu Hanyang and Bai Yue be back?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Shen Qingjun thought for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, but I need to buy something first.”
Zou Zhanyang smiled. “Fine.”
…
They didn’t eat lunch at home. The jeep stopped at the state-run restaurant. Shen Qingjun got out first. A server approached eagerly. “Comrade, what would you like to eat today?”
“My wife, I want dumplings,” she said.
Zou Zhanyang squeezed past after parking, sitting between the server and Shen Qingjun.
After spending a couple of days together, Shen Qingjun roughly knew how big his appetite was. She nodded. “Then two plates of pork and shepherd’s purse dumplings, one plate of scallion tofu, and stir-fried pork slices.”
The server’s eyes drooped, scanning back and forth between them. So… they really had the marriage certificate?
During the meal, Zou Zhanyang seemed unrestrained, stuffing his mouth while calling her “wife” repeatedly, driving Shen Qingjun nearly mad.
“Eat properly.” She shoved a dumpling into his mouth, then two more to be safe.
With his mouth full, he caught a teasing glance at the gawking bystanders, smirking with pleasure.
After finishing, Shen Qingjun wanted no more of him there—she felt the entire restaurant was staring at them.
“Wife, time to buy things.”
She snapped her attention back, nodding and getting into the car. Suddenly she warned, “Don’t call me ‘wife.’”
“Why?” Zou Zhanyang asked, puzzled.
She cleared her throat. “Without the wedding, it’s not real. Call me by my name.”
Zou Zhanyang sulked. He looked like he wanted the wedding to happen immediately.
…
Shen Qingjun exited the herbal medicine store, carrying a bag.
Once in the car, Zou Zhanyang asked, “You sick?”
Shen Qingjun shook her head. “Bought some herbs to strengthen the body.”
His worried expression didn’t ease until she repeated that she was fine. Then he reluctantly said, “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Okay.”
She wasn’t refusing—her body was indeed a bit weak, but these were meant for the Shen family.
Everything prepared, now all they had to do was wait for Shen Hanyang and Bai Yue to return.
The car started, but they didn’t rush off. Shen Qingjun wanted to stop at the department store first.
Previously, she had time but no money, or money but no time. Now with both, she could finally buy new clothes. Heaven knew how torturous it was to wear the outdated, dowdy clothes of her predecessor.
She instructed Zou Zhanyang on what to buy, then headed upstairs to the clothing section. Having been there before, she moved quickly, skipping hesitation and immediately locating the items she had wanted to purchase.
“Let me see this one.”
“I’m buying this one too,” a woman said simultaneously.
Shen Qingjun looked at her. The woman wore a light-colored blouse, a skirt, styled hair, a watch on her wrist—everything neat and expensive.
Xu Jiani looked at Shen Qingjun, who wore a faded shirt and patched dark pants—clearly poor and simple—but her strikingly beautiful face added a kind of pure, unspoiled charm. Xu Jiani felt inexplicably inferior.
“This dress is the last one. Which of you wants it?” the saleswoman asked, conflicted.
The bright orange dress, usually unclaimed, suddenly attracted two buyers. Strange.
Xu Jiani glanced at Shen Qingjun’s radiant skin, pursed her lips. “Forget it, it’s not that pretty.”
Shen Qingjun looked at her. She wasn’t prettier or fairer than her, and yes, it wouldn’t suit her. She told the saleswoman, “I’ll take it.”
“Sure!”
Having finished most purchases, Shen Qingjun headed downstairs, bumping into Zou Zhanyang, who took the bag from her, walking side by side.
Suddenly, Shen Qingjun glanced back. The woman from upstairs stared at her with a complex expression. When Shen Qingjun met her gaze, she didn’t shy away but glared.
“What’s wrong?” Zou Zhanyang asked.
Shen Qingjun shook her head, thinking the woman was just being strange.
Driving past the Shen family’s house, Shen Qingjun suddenly remembered something. “I’ll go grab something from home.”
Seeing Zou Zhanyang about to get out, she said, “No need, I’ll be right back.”
She jumped out and ran inside. Soon, she emerged holding something wrapped in a cloth bag.
Zou Zhanyang opened it, surprised.
“Is this wine?”
Shen Qingjun chuckled. “Good wine. Grandpa should like it.”
It was Shen Hanyang’s treasured wine—rarely touched. Better in her hands than confiscated by the Revolutionary Committee.
She put it down and got back into the passenger seat, patting the dashboard. “Let’s go.”
…
The military housing compound had two sections: East and West. The East was mainly apartments and small courtyard houses, with a few two-story villas for regimental commanders.
The West was different—mostly standalone three-story villas, large and well-located, occupied by deputy division-level officers and above.
As the car drove into the West district, Shen Qingjun felt something was off. Wasn’t he from a family of three-generation poor farmers?
Could it be his grandfather wasn’t farming in the countryside, but serving as a steward for some senior officer?