News travels faster than the wind in the surrounding ten miles and villages.
By noon, the incident of Su Daqiang and his group having their legs broken by Su Jinxiu’s crippled husband had already evolved into seven or eight different versions.
Some said Su Jinxiu had raised a spirit fox that had become enlightened and could use sorcery. Some said the man she picked up was actually a notorious bandit who killed without blinking. The most outrageous version claimed Su Jinxiu was the reincarnation of a female demon who devoured human hearts, and Su Daqiang was simply scared out of his wits.
In short, in the villagers’ eyes, the Su family’s shabby courtyard had become as dangerous as a mass grave.
This was exactly why, when Su Jinxiu came back carrying bamboo poles, everyone she met on the road avoided her. Their eyes darted away as if what she carried wasn’t bamboo—but several corpses.
Su Jinxiu enjoyed the peace.
No interruptions meant no need to waste breath dealing with fake politeness.
Back in the courtyard, Old Li was already working on the roof.
The old man was mute but skilled. He worked for money and never talked more than necessary. That was exactly why Su Jinxiu hired him—tight-lipped, efficient, and never asked what he shouldn’t.
Huo Chen, meanwhile, looked like a supervisor.
Sitting in his wheelchair, he had chosen a very strategic position. From there, he could clearly see both the courtyard entrance and every movement on the roof. If Old Li made even the slightest suspicious move, the bamboo spike in his hand could pin him to the rafters instantly.
Su Jinxiu dumped the bamboo on the ground and panted heavily.
“I’m exhausted,” she said, slumping shamelessly on the doorstep and wiping sweat from her face. “This body is outrageously weak. I’m going to need some blood-tonifying medicine later.”
“Twenty poles,” Huo Chen said, glancing at the bamboo. “Not enough.”
“Enough already!” Su Jinxiu glared at him. “Even capitalists would cry if they heard you. First, eat. Only after eating will you have strength to build your defensive fortress.”
She carried the slab of white pork fat into the kitchen.
The “kitchen” was just a semi-open shed without a door, but that didn’t limit Su Jinxiu’s performance.
She washed the pot and lit the fire.
The pork fat was cut into mahjong-sized cubes and dropped into the hot iron pot. She first added a small bowl of water—this was the secret to rendering lard without darkening it and keeping it snow-white.
As the water evaporated, the pot began to sizzle.
The fat slowly rendered out under high heat. The originally white cubes shrank, turned yellow, and finally became golden cracklings floating in clear boiling oil.
That pure, overbearing aroma of meat exploded from the kitchen, crossing the courtyard wall and drifting across half the village with the wind.
In an era where people were lucky to eat meat once a year, this was practically a biochemical-level attack.
Old Li on the roof couldn’t help swallowing, almost missing his hammer strike.
Su Jinxiu reacted quickly, scooping out the cracklings with a strainer and sprinkling fine salt over them.
Crunch.
She tossed a piece into her mouth. Crispy, oily—an explosion of pleasure that felt like her soul was ascending.
“Husband, open your mouth.”
Su Jinxiu carried the bowl of cracklings over to Huo Chen and picked up the biggest piece to feed him.
Huo Chen looked at the glistening, dripping oil piece and frowned slightly. Too greasy.
“Don’t just stare,” Su Jinxiu said, and directly shoved it into his mouth. “High calorie, high protein. If you want your broken leg to heal faster, you need this to replenish your body.”
Forced to bite it, Huo Chen’s lips closed around it.
The oil burst in his mouth, mixed with salt and a smoky aroma.
It was… indeed fragrant.
That raw, direct satisfaction was more intense than any delicately prepared imperial dish he could remember.
“How is it? Not worse than your refined cuisine, right?” Su Jinxiu said, noticing his slightly moving throat. “This isn’t advertising—it’s a treasure recommendation for “After Losing His Memory, the Tyrant Thinks I Tricked Him into Being a Live-In Son-in-Law”: http://www.yyxswz.com/book/5518H.html”
Huo Chen swallowed without comment and only said:
“More.”
Su Jinxiu laughed. The tyrant was surprisingly easy to feed.
Just as the two of them shared this high-calorie meal, several heads peeked in from outside the courtyard gate.
It was Aunt Wang next door, along with Widow Liu, who loved gossip the most. The smell had completely overridden their fear of the “cursed house.”
“Oh my, Jinxiu, living quite well, aren’t you?” Widow Liu’s narrow eyes scanned the courtyard before landing on Huo Chen. “So that’s your husband? Quite handsome… pity he’s crippled.”
Huo Chen continued chewing the crackling without pausing, not even lifting his eyelids.
But the bamboo spike in his hand had already snapped silently in half.
Su Jinxiu sneered inwardly. She stuffed the bowl into Huo Chen’s arms, clapped her hands, and stood up.
“Aunt Liu, that’s an interesting thing to say,” she said with a smile. “So what if he’s crippled? Even a cripple is better than some people with all four limbs intact but rotten hearts.”
She folded her arms and blocked the doorway.
“So, ladies—are you here because your homes have no food left, and you’ve come sniffing around for a free meal?”
That question hit the point.
Everyone perked up their ears. A poor orphan girl who had suddenly found money to buy meat and repair her house—there had to be something suspicious behind it.
“This money…” Su Jinxiu dragged out her tone and leaned in mysteriously. “Was earned by my husband.”
Everyone’s gaze instantly turned to the man sitting in the wheelchair.
Earned? How could a cripple earn money?
“My husband may have inconvenient legs, but his skill with slinging stones to knock birds out of the sky is truly exceptional,” Su Jinxiu began to spout nonsense with a straight face. “Yesterday, we ran into a wild boar that had accidentally died in the mountains, and we also dug up a few old ginseng roots. That’s how we made a bit of silver. So we quickly repaired the house—otherwise, if my second uncle comes to rob us again, we won’t even have a place to shelter from the rain.”
Half of it was true, half of it was fabricated. She explained the money as lucky windfall, highlighted Su Daqiang’s wrongdoing to gain sympathy, and subtly showcased Huo Chen’s “strength” as a warning.
“So that’s how it is…” The crowd suddenly understood, and the bit of jealousy in their hearts eased somewhat. Finding windfalls like that was fate—nothing to envy.
“Since everyone is here, I also have something to say,” Su Jinxiu continued, her tone shifting. Her smile faded, and her eyes turned sharp. “From now on, this courtyard does not welcome uninvited guests. My husband is recovering and needs peace and quiet. If anyone dares to barge in like Su Daqiang did yesterday, don’t blame me for disregarding neighborly ties.”
She pointed at the bone-slicing knife Huo Chen was casually playing with.
The blade gleamed coldly in the sunlight.
Widow Liu shrank her neck and laughed awkwardly. “Right, right… we were just passing by, passing by.”
The crowd quickly dispersed.
Su Jinxiu turned back, ready to take credit, when she heard Huo Chen’s cool voice.
“Stone-slinging birds? Wild boar that died on its own? Your storytelling skills would be wasted outside a teahouse.”
“Life is like a play—all depends on acting,” Su Jinxiu said as she shut the door, cutting off the outside view. “Otherwise what, tell them the truth? That we stole Su Daqiang’s money? We’d be eating prison food in the county jail tomorrow.”
Huo Chen did not refute.
The woman’s survival wisdom was crude—but effective.
He glanced at the repaired roof, then at the empty bowl in his hand.
This kind of smoky, everyday life… unexpectedly made his constantly taut nerves loosen a little in a strange way.
“Is there more?” he asked.
“What?” she replied.
“Fried lard residue.”
Su Jinxiu: “……”