“…Husband…”
Night had already fallen completely, with only a few scattered stars hanging overhead.
Jiang Liao had just returned from helping cook at the neighboring Li Family Village. His whole body carried the smell of firewood, and his legs felt as heavy as if they were tied with lead.
The village road was uneven, stones pressing painfully into the soles of his feet, but he couldn’t be bothered to watch where he was going. He simply trudged forward with his head down.
Passing the old locust tree at the village entrance, a few more steps ahead stood the Chen family’s house by the roadside.
The earthen house had paper pasted over its window lattice, and a dim yellow light seeped through the cracks.
Just as Jiang Liao brushed past the wall, a voice slipped into his ears.
Soft and gentle, like freshly steamed glutinous rice cake—sticky, clinging.
His steps froze in place.
“Ah…”
The sound grew even softer, tinged with a faint, trembling whimper.
But it didn’t sound like pain.
Rather, it was like the tip of a feather brushing lightly against the heart—neither heavy nor light.
It itched.
It tingled.
And stirred an indescribable restlessness.
Then came a man’s rough breathing, like a bellows being pulled—urgent and heavy.
Along with it, the creaking of the old kang bed, unable to bear the strain, rising and falling again and again, carried into the night wind.
Jiang Liao’s Adam’s apple bobbed sharply.
The Chen family’s daughter-in-law always wore that half-old blue cotton jacket.
Sometimes, when he caught a glimpse of her bending over, her neck would gleam pale and slender, her waist so thin it seemed it could snap with a single grasp.
Who would have thought she hid such a sweet, alluring voice?
Jiang Liao suddenly recalled the men he’d worked with at banquet feasts across the villages—after drinking a few cups of strong liquor, they would crowd together, spitting as they talked:
Women were like fully ripened fruit—only after weathering storms and soaking up their juices did they truly have flavor.
Those untouched young girls, green and unripe, had no appeal.
Back then, Jiang Liao had squatted nearby sharpening his knife, inwardly sneering at their crude vulgarity, thinking their minds were filled with nothing but such matters.
But now, hearing the woman’s cat-like moans from behind the wall, each trembling note slipping into his bones—
He suddenly felt those coarse words carried a strange kind of truth.
A sudden heat surged up from his lower abdomen, rushing violently to his head, his blood buzzing toward his ears.
The cool summer night breeze seemed to vanish, leaving him stifled.
He unconsciously pressed his legs together.
Damn.
Jiang Liao cursed inwardly.
He didn’t know whether he was cursing the pair inside for stirring up such desire, or his own uncooperative body.
Yet his feet seemed rooted to the ground, the sounds only making him burn hotter.
“Mm…”
Delicate, soft…
Sharp and broken, yet filled with an indescribable allure.
Then the man’s low growl became short and frantic, and the creaking of the kang bed grew rapid, like heavy rain pounding on a broken gong.
And then—
Everything stopped abruptly.
Like a blazing fire doused by a bucket of cold water, not even a spark remained.
The night returned to stillness, with only a few weak croaks of frogs by the distant pond.
Jiang Liao stood there, stunned, the unsatisfied heat frozen within him.
That’s it…?
That woman sounded utterly melted, soul-stirring—and Chen Wenqi only had this much ability?
Didn’t even finish the fire before lifting the pot lid—what a waste of good ingredients!
A surge of unrelieved frustration rose within him.
Jiang Liao clenched his jaw, the muscles along his cheeks tightening sharply. His Adam’s apple rolled again as he swallowed the heat.
After a long moment, he forced out two words through gritted teeth:
“Useless.”
He spat hard onto the ground.
Lifting his foot, he kicked a stone far down the road in irritation—it struck the Chen family’s earthen wall with a loud clang.
Then, without looking back, he strode into the deeper darkness.
Yet his retreating figure looked somewhat stiff and awkward.
Inside the house, the oil lamp had long been knocked out.
Lin Suier lay with her eyes open, staring at the dark ceiling, her husband’s gradually deepening snores echoing beside her.
The damp, sticky feeling on her body had yet to fade, and something seemed lodged in her chest, neither rising nor falling.
Just now, her husband had been the same as always—hurried, as if completing a task. Once he was satisfied, he turned over and fell sound asleep.
Lin Suier quietly raised her hand, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Her fingertips brushed her burning earlobe.
Even she had been startled by her own voice just now—so soft, so clinging.
That unfamiliar wave had pushed her, making her want to grasp onto something…
To wish the storm would be more complete, to swallow her whole.
But the wave had receded so quickly—
So fast that just as she had begun to reach for it, before her fingers could tighten, the ground beneath her feet was suddenly gone.
…Is this right?
How would she ever conceive another child like this?
Slowly, Lin Suier sat up and dressed in the dark.
The east room was quiet—her mother-in-law was probably already asleep.
During the day, her mother-in-law’s sharp, indirect scolding echoed again in her ears:
“A hen that can’t lay eggs—gave birth to a useless girl who can’t carry on the family. What a waste of food!”
She had been married into the family for four years. When she gave birth to Xiao Cao, her mother-in-law had already looked displeased, offering her hardly any kindness even during her confinement.
Now Xiao Cao was three years old, and her womb had shown no sign of life since.
It had become the greatest thorn in her mother-in-law’s heart.
Lin Suier got off the bed, slipped on her shoes, and, familiar with the way, pushed open the inner room door.
By the faint light filtering through the crack, she could see a small lump on the kang.
Her lips curved unconsciously as she walked softly to the bedside.
Xiao Cao was sleeping soundly, her little face flushed pink in her dreams. One small hand was loosely clenched beside her cheek, her lips slightly puckered, occasionally smacking as if tasting something delicious.
She had kicked off part of the blanket, revealing her round little belly under a red bellyband, rising and falling with her breathing.
The gloom in Lin Suier’s heart vanished instantly.
She reached out to pull the blanket up, covering her daughter’s belly, her heart softening completely.
Life was hard. Her mother-in-law was always displeased, and her husband devoted himself entirely to his studies.
But looking at Xiao Cao, Lin Suier felt that even within this bitterness, there was still a trace of sweetness.
Xiao Cao stirred, her eyes opening slightly as she murmured sleepily, “Mama…”
“Yes, Mama’s here,” Lin Suier whispered gently. “Sleep now, be good.”
Xiao Cao’s eyes closed again.
Hardship is fine, Lin Suier thought.
Her husband was a scholar. His mind should be devoted to proper pursuits. One day, he would pass the imperial exams and achieve something great.
For now, they just had to endure. Once he succeeded and became an official, life would improve.
But when would he pass…
Her husband’s snores drifted faintly from the other room, distant through the door.
Lin Suier kicked off her shoes, climbed onto the kang, and pulled Xiao Cao into her arms.