As night fell, the sky over Hongqi Farm was wrapped in a thin veil of twilight, and the air grew noticeably cooler. Dinner at the Lu household was finally served. The dim glow of the kerosene lamp flickered in the center of the square table, casting long, uneven shadows across the mottled earthen walls, almost making it hard to focus.
The atmosphere at the table was heavy; few words were spoken. The food was simple: a pot of stewed vegetables where the original colors were hard to distinguish, dotted with a few meager slices of meat; a plate of stir-fried shredded potatoes, looking limp and uninspiring; and a large bowl of thick cornmeal porridge, steaming and gloppy.
Su Wanning sat quietly next to Lu Zhanxiao, taking small bites of her rice. She wore a clean white shirt, one of the few decent clothes she had brought from Shanghai. In the dim, humble room, the white stood out sharply, like a pristine jade dropped into a pile of ashes.
The eldest son of the main house, six-year-old Lu Dabao, was at that mischievous age. He waved his chopsticks around like a little stick, fishing in the only dish with meat, trying to gather all the pieces into his bowl.
“Dabao! Eat properly!” Lu Guoqiang, the eldest brother, barked symbolically, but his eyes flicked toward his wife, Li Cuifen, clearly implying: hurry up and give the boy more.
Li Cuifen understood immediately, diving her chopsticks into the dish with even more enthusiasm, as if she wanted to scrape the bottom clean. Second sister-in-law Wang Qin wasn’t to be outdone, murmuring, “The child needs meat to grow,” and her chopsticks clashed repeatedly with Li Cuifen’s in a noisy clash.
For a moment, the table rang with the sounds of clashing chopsticks and kids smacking their lips—a chaotic, irritating racket.
Chen Xiulian sat with a stern expression, watching the mess unfold, brow furrowed in a tight knot, her chopsticks unmoving. These daughters-in-law were becoming increasingly unruly!
Su Wanning didn’t get involved in the little meat battle, quietly eating the coarse rice in her own bowl. She had seen enough petty family quarrels to not bother with them. Lu Zhanxiao didn’t touch the meat either; he simply picked up a piece of potato and gently placed it in Su Wanning’s bowl, a natural gesture that seemed to have been repeated a thousand times.
That small action made Li Cuifen’s eyes ache with resentment. Why should this delicate city girl, unable to lift a heavy load, receive the favoritism of her mother-in-law and now even the protection of the family’s most significant son?
Li Cuifen’s anger grew. Seeing the last piece of fatty meat about to be claimed by Wang Qin, she panicked and swung her chopsticks sharply. “Ah!”
She deliberately cried out, and the vegetable juice with oil droplets flew directly onto Su Wanning’s white shirt—one, two, three drops—leaving stark yellow-brown stains that stood out violently against the clean fabric.
The movement at the table stopped immediately. Every pair of eyes turned to Su Wanning’s shirt. Su Wanning paused, lowering her gaze to the stain on her chest. Her brows barely furrowed. The air grew unnaturally silent—even the children stopped fidgeting. The only sound was the faint “sss” of the kerosene lamp, wrapping the room in tense, awkward stillness.
“Oh dear, Future Third Brother’s wife, I’m really sorry!” Li Cuifen was the first to speak, her tone utterly devoid of apology, laced with exaggerated theatrics. “I’m just clumsy! And it’s Wang Qin’s fault too, fighting for the meat—otherwise, I wouldn’t have shaken!” She even threw Wang Qin under the bus.
Wang Qin rolled her eyes and ignored her.
Li Cuifen looked at Su Wanning, mouth feigning regret but eyes full of malicious glee. She cleared her throat and continued in a sarcastic sing-song: “But city folks are precious, huh? Their clothes are precious too. Not like us country folk—we wear rough cloth that gets dirty, wash it, and wear it again. Why treat it like treasure?”
Su Wanning slowly lifted her head, her gaze calm as it met Li Cuifen’s. She said nothing, simply staring quietly. Her eyes were pure, clean, almost like a doctor inspecting a wound—no emotion, no anger, yet the look alone made Li Cuifen’s heart flutter nervously, sending a chill down her spine.
Li Cuifen shifted uncomfortably, about to add another insult, when suddenly came a sharp “clap”—Chen Xiulian had slammed her chopsticks heavily onto the table. They bounced and rolled to the floor.
Chen Xiulian’s chest heaved violently, face tense, her eyes like a storm about to break. This Li Cuifen had become truly unrestrained—daring to bully her future daughter-in-law in front of her. This wasn’t just an insult to Su Wanning—it was an affront to her, the mother-in-law, and to her third son, Lu Zhanxiao.
“Li Cuifen, you—” Chen Xiulian started, but someone moved faster than her words.
All eyes at the table followed his chopsticks. The children of the main and second houses watched with wide eyes, swallowing nervously, even holding their breath.
Lu Zhanxiao calmly picked up the piece of meat, the oil glistening slightly, then smoothly placed it into Su Wanning’s bowl. Every motion was decisive, without hesitation.
The temperature at the table seemed to drop several degrees. The children instinctively went silent, afraid to breathe. His gaze landed on Li Cuifen, who had been about to speak, and he said in a low, steady voice, emotionless: “Trying to talk while eating?”
That simple sentence was like a stone thrown into a dead pond. No questioning, no shouting—yet it carried more weight than any roar.
Li Cuifen’s expression of smugness and provocation froze instantly. A chill ran up her spine, making her shiver. She opened her mouth, but it felt as if something was blocking her throat. Not a single word came out. Only then did she realize that this man, even with his injured leg, was the battlefield hero who made enemies fear him. The aura he exuded was impossible for a mere housewife to withstand.
Lu Guoqiang, the eldest brother, kicked Li Cuifen sharply under the table, his eyes warning: don’t push your luck! Li Cuifen’s face turned pale and green in waves, and she could only lower her head, poking at her rice with her chopsticks, no longer daring to speak.
Su Wanning looked at the greasy piece of meat in her bowl, then at the sharp-profiled side of the man beside her. Somewhere deep inside, she felt a faint warmth—not painful, not itching, just a gentle heat that slowly spread from her chest through her entire body, making even her fingertips feel warm.
Chen Xiulian, seated in the head spot, watched this scene. The anger that had been building in her eyes melted away, replaced with undisguised satisfaction—good boy, responsible! Protecting his future wife! She slowly bent down, picked up the chopsticks from the floor, wiped them on her sleeve, and resumed eating, scooping a bite of potato. Her tone returned to its usual calm: “Eat, everyone! The food’s getting cold.”
It was as if the tense confrontation from moments ago had been an illusion.
The rest of the dinner passed in this extreme quiet. No one fought over the meat, no one dared speak out, even the children obediently ate from their own bowls. Su Wanning split the piece of meat in half—one half for Lu Zhanxiao, the other for herself. The meat was a bit dry but carried an indescribable aroma.
Lu Zhanxiao stared at the meat in his bowl, hesitated for a moment, then slowly ate it, the corner of his mouth curling subtly. Chen Xiulian saw it all and felt even more satisfied—her son’s pace of eating picked up slightly.