Even your birthday—he has never kept it in his mind.
Ever since she saw that portrait, Shen Mingyu had been harboring a secret concern, feeling uneasy and anxious at home for two days.
Yet in the days that followed, no news of Madam Qin arrived, and she gradually set her mind at ease—how could finding someone be that easy? White Cloud Village was very far away from her former maiden home; just the journey on foot took half a day. Thinking this, Shen Mingyu even intentionally pushed this distressing matter out of her mind.
Life in White Cloud Village continued to move forward peacefully and comfortably.
During this period, Pei Xiuwen was still working as an apprentice and helper at the grocery store in the county. As he saw more and learned more, he came up with a new plan.
Pei Xiuwen said that merchants earned money by seizing price differences and finding things that other people didn’t know about. Therefore, he discussed with a friend about getting into the business of transporting medicinal herbs—some medicinal herbs grew right on the back mountain of the village, and once everything was prepared later, they would discuss transportation methods with the ox-cart driver in the village. As Pei Xiuwen’s mind became more active and there were more things to prepare, he also grew busier.
As for Shen Mingyu, she still held her straw basket and smiled with curved eyes at him: “You go ahead, Pei Lang, I’ll wait for you at home.”
The horizon was still revealing the pale belly of a fish, and amid the curling cooking smoke from the chimneys, Pei Xiuwen, dressed in coarse gray robes and carrying a bundle, left the village.
When he returned at nightfall, Shen Mingyu was truly waiting.
She would usually grow drowsy from waiting and doze off on the reclining chair in the yard. Beside her hand were a bamboo-caged firefly lantern and the coir rain cape she was weaving for him.
Her handicraft was exquisite, resulting in work that was delicate and attractive. Pei Xiuwen would put down the white sesame cakes he had brought back, gently pick her up, and carry her toward the house.
Sometimes, when he returned early and arrived home before dusk, Shen Mingyu would have already prepared his meal and left it on the stove to keep warm. When he came back, the two of them would pull up small stools and eat together by the stone table in the courtyard.
The setting sun hung broad and low across half the sky. Shen Mingyu would pick food for him with a cheerful expression, wiping the sweat from his cheek.
Her head would bob up and down while Pei Xiuwen ate and listened to her talk.
Everything she spoke of was trivial neighborhood gossip, such as whose duck had been stolen or who had started a quarrel with the Zhou family again. Occasionally, she would grumble and complain a bit about the bad weather, the muddy roads that were difficult to walk on, and how even the grain she had laid out to dry had grown moldy.
The scorching midsummer of the seventh month soon arrived.
The weather grew hotter and hotter, the sunlight wrapping around people until they were drenched in sweat.
Shen Mingyu’s birthday fell on the very last day of the seventh month. Once this birthday passed, she would turn sixteen.
They say that when youth begins to blossom like peaches and plums, it is precisely the sweet age of twice-eight.
Sixteen was a vibrant, beautiful age; in this year, every household would look into prospective marriages for their daughters, all to find a good match. As for Shen Mingyu, who was already married, whenever she saw Sister Qiuxiang carrying little Hui-ge’er over, she couldn’t help wondering: would she and Pei Lang have a child in the future too?
She had seen how Tiesheng considered Qiuxiang and their child in everything he did. Tiesheng was a good father.
Pei Xiuwen had worked as an apprentice at the grocery store for three months. One day, he packed his belongings, bid farewell to the shopkeeper, and returned to the quiet little home in White Cloud Village.
According to his plan, he no longer needed to leave early and return late every day to help out at the shop. Lately, in the eyes of the villagers, the young scholar seemed to have returned to his old trade, heading into the mountains with a bamboo basket on his back.
The main difference, however, was that his interactions with Uncle Zhang were growing increasingly frequent. Uncle Zhang was the village’s ox-cart driver, and anyone in White Cloud Village wishing to go into town would ride his cart.
Although Pei Xiuwen had returned, he still wasn’t home very often. On her birthday, Shen Mingyu was the only one picking and washing vegetables, boiling a bowl of fragrant longevity noodles for herself.
“Mingyu, are you home?”
“I brought something for you!”
Hearing the young girl’s reply, He Qiuxiang pushed open the door and entered the yard, smiling as she lifted the cloth covering her bamboo basket. A wave of steaming noodle broth fragrance instantly hit the nose: “Today is your birthday. This is some fine meat-stuffed dumpling soup I made myself, come and satisfy your cravings.”
Sister Qiuxiang ladled some out, and Shen Mingyu took a bite—to her surprise, they were stuffed with meat filling.
She was astonished, but He Qiuxiang softly shushed her, looking left and right: “Keep it down, Tiesheng’s mother doesn’t know yet. I bought a few liang of meat with my own private savings…”
“Sister Qiuxiang…”
“Say no more, just eat it in peace. My dad is just like you, always wanting to save, but my mom would say, celebrating a birthday should feel like a celebration, what’s wrong with eating a little something good?”
In her sixteen years of life, this was the first time anyone had ever said such words to Shen Mingyu, telling her to treat herself well.
In the past, every year she would hide from her parents and secretly cook a bowl of longevity noodles for herself. Longevity noodles, after all, signified longevity and boundless blessings; she believed she would surely live to be very old.
She smiled happily at Sister Qiuxiang, holding the bowl of fine meat-stuffed dumplings and eating a large portion until not even the broth was left.
When she stroked her full stomach and laid down her bowl and chopsticks with a sense of satisfaction, Sister Qiuxiang looked around the courtyard with a puzzled expression: “Hey, where is your husband? Is he not back again?”
“Pei Lang has been too busy lately.”
Hearing this, He Qiuxiang looked rather displeased. “Busy to the point of not even showing his face at home, doesn’t he come back at all? Today is still your birthday, after all.”
“It’s fine, Sister Qiuxiang. I never used to celebrate birthdays in the past either. Besides, with the special soup dish you made and a bowl of noodles I just ate, I’m very happy with this birthday.”
Since she put it that way, He Qiuxiang could only sigh helplessly and gently pat her hand: “I’ve seen how well you treat him. But Mingyu, do you think he treats you well?”
“You wash and cook for him, making clothes until your eyes turn red from exhaustion—has he ever said thank you to you? Has he ever bought you anything? Even your birthday—he has never kept it in his mind.”
“Mingyu, listen to your sister: a woman shouldn’t be so foolishly straightforward. When it comes to a birthday, he should at least show some sincerity, right? My Tiesheng remembers every single one. Don’t be too good to a man, or you’ll make him conceited and forget himself.”
“Alright, I know.”
Shen Mingyu obediently agreed without saying much. After seeing Sister Qiuxiang off, dusk was already falling.
She secured the wooden door and looked out at the empty, desolate courtyard, her heart swaying like a reed in the wind.
After washing the dishes, tidying up the clothes, and finishing all her chores, she hugged her knees and curled up into a ball, sitting alone on the stone steps in a daze.
Looking at the vacant, bleak courtyard and the boundless sea of stars in the sky, she slowly reflected and realized that Pei Lang truly had never bought her anything.
Yet Pei Lang was indeed very tight on money.
Though occasionally he would give her some loose change, telling her to buy whatever the household lacked.
It was what the household lacked, not what she lacked.
The way Pei Lang treated her and the way Tiesheng treated Sister Qiuxiang were somewhat different. Sister Qiuxiang was the one Tiesheng loved, carried back in an eight-bearer bridal sedan chair, whereas she was the one who had sought out Pei Lang’s doorstep herself. Perhaps to Pei Lang, marrying an obedient and sensible wife was enough. She had also lived up to his expectations by playing the part of a good wife. But deep within her heart, why was she secretly yearning for something? Was she hoping that Pei Lang could also love her the way Tiesheng loved Sister Qiuxiang?
That night, Shen Mingyu lay on the bed to sleep.
The bamboo mat was cool and refreshing. Because the summer heat was dry, the doors and windows of the house weren’t tightly shut; instead, a narrow gap was left, allowing the evening draft to ripple the gauze curtains and bring a hint of coolness.
The summer night was noisy with the sounds of insects. Being a light sleeper, she stirred half-awake at the slightest toss and turn.
Rubbing her sleepy eyes, Shen Mingyu gazed out at the night scene—it was only the third watch.
Beside her ear was Pei Xiuwen’s light, steady breathing. He was fast asleep, though it was unclear what time he had returned.
Unable to sleep, Shen Mingyu kept her large, round eyes open and quietly stared at the man’s face just inches away.
In the dim moonlight, Pei Xiuwen’s facial contours appeared even sharper, his eyes and nose as handsome as if carved by heaven.
She suddenly recalled the couples she had seen, such as her parents: whenever her mother felt a fit of pique, she loved to hit people, while her drunkard father would just act shamelessly and laugh. Or take Tiesheng from next door, who called his wife “my wife” at every turn, massaged his wife’s shoulders, and could smoothly utter phrases like “My wife is so truly beautiful.” As for Pei Lang, he didn’t seem like that at all. Was it due to a detached temperament, or because he hadn’t met someone he truly loved?
Shen Mingyu couldn’t fall asleep and tossed and turned.
Forget it.
She had figured it out; it didn’t matter, none of this mattered.
Anyway, ever since she was little, she had always gotten through things this way. Her family didn’t value her, feeling that raising her was just losing money, so she was used to looking out for herself. Living a good life and saving more money—that was what mattered most!
The summer night was hot and dry; simply lying there caused a thin layer of sweat to bead across her back.
Feeling her throat parched, Shen Mingyu groped her way out of bed in the dark to pour some water. Right at that moment, her elbow brushed against a book on the table.
This was a very tattered book that had passed through who knew how many hands before reaching Pei Xiuwen. He cherished it greatly, always poring over it day and night, and the edges of the book’s cover had long since frayed and rolled up.
Yet beneath this very book, a faintly glowing object was pressed.
This is…
Shen Mingyu touched its outline, and her heart suddenly skipped a beat.
Holding it up with utmost care, she walked over to the window and, guided by the silver-gray moonlight, finally saw clearly—this turned out to be a red bracelet.
It was the very bracelet they had seen at the shop that day.
The red chalcedony had been mined from the highlands of Xifan, its jade-like stone delicate in texture as if carrying flowing light slowly drifting within. Because of its exorbitant price, taking an extra glance at it felt like a waste of heavenly treasures.
Shen Mingyu’s gaze trembled, and she quietly lowered her long eyelashes, feeling her palms burn with intense heat as if holding something too heavy to bear.
So he knew everything.
He had bought the bracelet in utter silence, remembered her birthday, yet hadn’t spoken a word of it. He had quietly tucked the bracelet beneath the book, hoping she would discover it when waking up at night.
Pei Xiuwen was truly a fool.
A fool who looked very smart, yet didn’t know how to use words.