The doorway to the west room looked pitiful—just a few pieces of old, patched coarse cloth stitched together, the seams crooked and fraying. When Su Wanning lifted the curtain, her fingertips brushed against the stiff, dusty patches, rough and coarse.
The moment she stepped inside, she frowned. This didn’t look like a room to live in at all—it was clearly a storage space for miscellaneous items.
The large brick kang stretched from the east end to the west, but most of it was taken up by clutter. The main floor was so messy there was barely a place to set her feet, and Su Wanning had to tiptoe carefully.
Chen Xiulian letting her stay here seemed like a favor on the surface, but in reality, it was a subtle challenge: I’ve given you a place, now let’s see if you can take it back from your two sisters-in-law. The future mother-in-law’s cunning was not to be underestimated.
Su Wanning placed her satchel on the only clean spot on the kang. It thudded lightly, and as she was wondering where to start cleaning, the wooden door to the inner room suddenly creaked open.
A tall figure appeared, looking as if he had been woken by the noise outside. There was a faint impatience in his brow, but the moment he saw an unfamiliar figure in the room, that irritation froze, turning into cold indifference.
The man was truly tall—Su Wanning guessed at least 1.85 meters. He wore a worn, faded undershirt, the collar loose and fraying at the edges, yet even this ordinary garment couldn’t hide the muscles beneath—his chest was broad, defined, his arms exposed and hard as iron, radiating raw strength.
His face matched the body—strong, angular lines. High cheekbones, a straight nose, thin lips pressed tightly together. His skin was a healthy wheat color, with stubble on his jaw, rugged, not a trace of “handsome” in the conventional sense. But there was a sharp, wild energy about him, like a freshly unsheathed blade—other girls would likely feel their hearts skip a beat at the sight.
Su Wanning, however, remained calm, watching him silently. Their eyes met.
His gaze was cold—like a frozen northern lake, bottomless and still. There was no curiosity, no desire to ask questions, no trace of what a man might feel seeing his fiancée. Only exhaustion and distance, as if she were not a person but an intrusive piece of clutter.
He gave her a cursory glance and immediately looked away. Only then did Su Wanning notice his left leg moved slightly awkwardly, his steps uneven and a bit limping.
He walked past her, avoiding the scattered items on the floor, and headed straight to the water jar in the corner. The jar was half-old, with white limescale around the rim. He bent down, scooped a ladle of cold water, and drank with clear “gulp, gulp” sounds, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Throughout, he didn’t acknowledge her presence in the slightest.
After finishing, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and turned to return inside. Su Wanning instinctively stepped aside as he brushed past, noticing how he supported the doorframe with his hand, silent the entire way.
Standing in the west room, she stared at the gently swaying curtain, thinking: Lu Zhanxiao… this is the man my father always praised before he died? Cold and rigid, like a stone that won’t warm.
She replayed his movements in her mind. His left leg was clearly impaired, but she noticed something else—each step, from ankle to knee to hip, his muscles were tightly coiled, unnatural, as if fighting against something. This wasn’t ordinary limping; he was enduring pain, forcing himself to move.
And his eyes—cold and calm on the surface—but beneath that icy lake, Su Wanning discerned something else: an eagle with a broken wing, knowing it can never soar again. The injury to his leg was bad, but the wound in his heart might be worse.
A thought surged in her mind, unstoppable. Su Wanning stepped out of the west room and walked toward the main room.
The east room curtain was lifted, Chen Xiulian still stitching the shoe sole, needles flying “swish, swish,” but her gaze kept flicking toward Su Wanning, clearly alert to the movement. Su Wanning didn’t look at her, instead letting her eyes pass through the dim room, settling again on the closed door to the west room.
There was no response from inside—but Su Wanning knew he had heard her.
Her voice was clear and cold, each word deliberate and firm: “My name is Su Wanning.”
She paused, then spoke slowly, with certainty: “Your leg… perhaps I can heal it.”
This time, the silence was broken—a muffled thud came from the west room, as if something heavy had been knocked over.
In the east room, Chen Xiulian’s hand dropped the shoe sole with a “plop.” She stood abruptly, her voice trembling slightly: “Comrade Su… what are you talking about? Zhanxiao’s leg…”
She didn’t finish her sentence, but the meaning was clear—many doctors had failed to heal Lu Zhanxiao’s leg; how could she claim to fix it so easily? She froze, holding the needle and thread, staring at Su Wanning as if meeting this future daughter-in-law for the first time.
Su Wanning didn’t look at Chen Xiulian, keeping her eyes on the west room door, waiting. She knew that once the words left her lips, Lu Zhanxiao could not ignore them.
Sure enough, after a short while, the wooden door creaked open. Lu Zhanxiao stood at the doorway, still in the same faded undershirt, but his face was much darker, his eyes full of disbelief and a touch of the irritation of someone’s pain being touched.
He fixed his gaze on Su Wanning, his voice cold and accusatory: “What did you say?”
Su Wanning turned to meet his eyes, unflinching, repeating each word slowly and clearly: “I said… your leg… perhaps I can heal it.”