At dawn the next day, it was still pitch-dark outside, the window paper tinted a dim bluish gray.
Lin Suier quietly climbed down from the kang, careful not to make a sound.
Little Cao was curled into a tiny ball, her cheeks rosy as she slept soundly.
Her heart softened. Lin Suier bent down and kissed her daughter’s cheek, then slipped on her shoes, smoothed her hair, and silently made her way into the kitchen.
The kitchen was dark and cold. By habit, Lin Suier found the flint—click—and lit the oil lamp.
Rolling up her sleeves, she began to tend the fire, fetch water, and wash the rice.
There wasn’t much rice left at home. She only grabbed a small half-handful of coarse grains.
Adding most of a pot of water, the porridge would likely turn out thin enough to reflect a person’s face.
In the corner were several sweet potatoes dug up just yesterday. She picked three larger ones, planning to steam them beside the pot.
When her fingers brushed against the fourth, Lin Suier hesitated, then put it back.
Food was scarce—they had to be frugal.
Her mother-in-law was getting old, and her husband exhausted himself studying; neither of them could go without.
Little Cao was still growing, so she couldn’t be left hungry either.
As for herself… eating a little less didn’t matter. She was used to it.
With that thought, the faint bitterness in her heart was pressed down.
Working swiftly, she finished her tasks. Soon, gentle white steam began rising from the pot.
Lin Suier didn’t wake her mother-in-law or her husband.
Her mother-in-law would always sleep until the sun was high, and her husband stayed up late reading, so he couldn’t get up early.
She wiped her hands and went to check on Little Cao again. The little girl turned over, smacked her lips, and continued sleeping sweetly.
Only then did Lin Suier quietly close the door, lift the wooden buckets by the entrance, push open the creaking courtyard gate, and step out.
Morning in Apricot Blossom Village was shrouded in a thin mist.
Now and then, a rooster crowed from somewhere, its call carrying far into the distance.
Carrying the empty buckets, Lin Suier headed toward the old well at the village entrance.
She had just set down her shoulder pole and was about to bend down to hook the rope when a tall figure suddenly turned out from a side path, nearly colliding with her.
Startled, Lin Suier let out a soft cry and hurriedly stepped back half a pace. When she looked up, her heart skipped a beat.
It was Jiang Liao.
From the look of him, he was heading early to a neighboring village for work, a heavy cooking chest slung over his shoulder.
In the hazy morning light, the two of them came face to face and froze for a moment.
Lin Suier’s heart fluttered inexplicably. She quickly lowered her head and softly called, “Jiang… Brother Jiang.”
Her voice was as faint as a mosquito’s hum.
She recalled the rumors about him in the village: Jiang Liao was the most well-known traveling cook in the surrounding countryside. Whenever a family held weddings, funerals, or banquets, he was often invited to take charge of the kitchen.
He had once taken a wife, but she died of illness within two years, leaving him and his old father to live alone.
People said he was cold-tempered and taciturn, and when he put on a stern face, he looked quite fierce. With the reputation of “bringing misfortune to his wife,” he had never remarried.
Whenever she saw him from afar, she would lower her head and hurry past, never daring to look too long.
They had hardly ever spoken.
But today, Lin Suier felt his gaze on her like a blade, scraping against her scalp and making her whole body uneasy.
Jiang Liao was indeed looking at her.
The soft, sticky moans he had heard through the wall last night—like a kitten’s claws scratching at his heart—had kept him restless all night.
And the strange, unfinished feeling had left him agitated, unable to sleep.
He had scolded himself, thinking he must have gone too long without a woman, letting his imagination run wild at the slightest sound.
But now, in the dim light of dawn, this woman stood vividly before him.
Up close, he could see her watery eyes and rosy lips.
Her collar was slightly loose, a few strands of silky hair resting against her fair neck.
Lower down… her gentle curves rose and fell with her breathing.
Her slender waist was cinched by a cloth sash, accentuating the full, rounded curve of her hips…
A surge of heat exploded from his lower abdomen, fiercer than the night before, spreading through his entire body.
Jiang Liao swallowed unconsciously, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his gaze deepened and darkened.
Without realizing it, his eyes were like hooks, as if they could strip away the worn jacket she wore.
Lin Suier was no innocent girl—she had borne a child. How could she not understand such a look from a man?
The fire in his eyes was scorching.
Her face flushed instantly, red as if it might drip blood. Even her ears and neck burned, and she trembled, clutching the hem of her clothes.
Lowering her head further, Lin Suier wished she could shrink into the ground.
“Fetching water?”
Jiang Liao’s voice was rougher than usual, the two words thrown out stiffly.
He stepped forward slightly, his strong masculine presence enveloping her at once.
Startled, Lin Suier took a step back and nodded hurriedly, unable to say a word.
Jiang Liao said nothing more. He turned and strode to the well, bending down. With a slap, his rough hand firmly grasped the damp rope.
His arm flexed, muscles tightening and bulging, outlining powerful lines.
With just a few pulls, he hauled up a bucket of clear well water and poured it steadily into Lin Suier’s wooden bucket.
The sound of splashing water rang out clearly.
Lin Suier watched, a little dazed.
His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing sturdy, tanned forearms with defined muscles.
Veins stood out faintly on the back of his hand, full of strength.
For some reason, she suddenly thought of her husband’s hands.
They were a scholar’s hands—clean, with long fingers.
And the hands before her now were entirely different, as if they could easily toss a wok and command a kitchen.
And just as easily…
The thought sprang up like a ghostly flame, startling even herself. Her cheeks burned hotter, and her heart pounded wildly.
Lin Suier, have you lost your mind?! What are you thinking?!
How could you… compare another man to your husband?
And think such… shameless things!
Ashamed and flustered, she wished she could slap herself.
While she was distracted, both buckets had already been filled with clear water.
Jiang Liao straightened, picked up the shoulder pole, and handed it to her.
Still a little dazed, Lin Suier reached out.
The moment her fingers touched the pole, Jiang Liao’s rough fingertips seemed to brush the back of her hand.
She shuddered as if burned, nearly losing her grip, her shoulders shrinking instinctively.
“Th-thank you, Brother Jiang.”
Her voice trembled as she lowered her head almost to her chest, fumbling to hook the buckets onto the pole.
As she bent down, Jiang Liao’s gaze fell uncontrollably on the back of her neck.
That small patch of fair, delicate skin was dazzling, making his vision blur slightly.
That soft, sticky “Husband…” from last night echoed in his ears again.
A darker, more dangerous heat surged up, clogging his chest.
Chen Wenqi? That weak, useless scholar who couldn’t lift or carry anything?
He’s worthy of her?
An even more absurd, fiery thought crossed Jiang Liao’s mind:
If that voice last night had been calling his name—Jiang Liao…
Would it have sounded the same?
Lin Suier didn’t dare stay any longer, nor did she dare look at his expression.
As soon as the buckets were secured, she hoisted the pole onto her shoulders. Ignoring the sudden weight pressing down, she staggered slightly and hurried away as if fleeing.
Her heart pounded violently against her chest, louder than the creaking gate.
That burning gaze still clung to her back like a heated brand.
Only when she stumbled into her courtyard did it finally seem to break.
Leaning against the cool earthen wall, Lin Suier gasped for breath, her chest heaving.
The flush on her cheeks refused to fade, and her limbs still felt weak.
By the well, Jiang Liao remained standing there, staring at the courtyard gate for a long while, his expression deep and complicated.
He lifted a large hand and wiped his face hard—
as if trying to rub away the heat churning inside him.
But the lingering softness from that brief touch on the back of his hand only burned hotter.
Jiang Liao muttered a curse under his breath.
He really had been holding back too long…
Then, gritting his teeth, he adjusted the heavy strap of his cooking chest on his shoulder and strode off without looking back.