Qin An’s movements paused for a moment.
She stood at the doorway, her hair a mess, her delicate feet bare on the ground.
The shoulder of her nightgown had slipped down loosely, revealing a small patch of fair, slender collarbone that glowed softly under the morning light.
Qin An’s gaze involuntarily lingered on that collarbone for half a second.
Then he quickly looked away.
His Adam’s apple bobbed.
He lowered his head and continued laying bricks, but his movements noticeably slowed.
Just moments ago, he had been swift and precise, but now he held a brick in his hand, unable to find the right spot for what felt like ages.
“…You’re up?”
“Go back inside and put your shoes on. The floor is cold.”
If she caught a cold, he’d have to take care of her—where would he find the time?
Cheng Xi snapped back to reality, her ears instantly burning.
Damn it.
She’d been caught staring at his abs just now.
She glanced down at her bare feet, her toes curling unconsciously, but she didn’t move.
“…Are you building a bathroom here?”
Qin An finally found the right spot for the brick in his hand, pressed it into place, and smoothed the cement with his trowel.
“Yeah.”
Just one word.
Cheng Xi waited.
Nothing more.
He didn’t even explain properly.
She furrowed her delicate brows.
This man—yesterday, he’d been cold-faced, saying “no” and “don’t expect special treatment,” and today he was squatting in the yard, building a bathroom for her.
What did that mean?
She pursed her lips, unable to hold back her question. “But yesterday, didn’t you say…”
Before she could finish, Qin An looked up at her and interrupted, “The division commander said it’s fine, and I noticed it wasn’t very sturdy. Better to fix it now than have it collapse and you cause a scene at the training ground.”
Cheng Xi was taken aback.
So… he’d asked the division commander? When? After she left the training ground yesterday? Or before dawn today?
A flood of questions rose to her lips, but before she could speak, Qin An tossed out another line: “There’s rice in the kitchen.”
Cheng Xi blinked.
Rice?
It had been almost three days since she’d last eaten rice. Back when she had it with every meal, it seemed ordinary, but now, just hearing the word “rice,” her stomach couldn’t help but rumble.
“Did you apply for it?”
Qin An saw the clear anticipation in her eyes, his throat loosening slightly before he looked away, his tone even more indifferent than before. “The logistics department had some extra. I just grabbed it. It wasn’t specifically for you.”
Then he turned back, picked up his trowel, scooped another lump of cement, and continued working in silence.
The light in Cheng Xi’s eyes dimmed for a moment before the corners of her lips curved upward.
Who cared if it was just a casual grab? She had rice now!
She turned and skipped happily toward the kitchen, her skirt fluttering as she moved, her eyes bright and exceptionally captivating.
Out of the corner of his eye, Qin An caught a glimpse of her bouncing figure—radiant and dazzling—and his heartbeat quickened unconsciously.
Then he frowned inwardly.
It’s just a bag of rice. Is it really worth getting so excited about?
He withdrew his gaze, scooped up another lump of cement, and slapped it heavily onto a brick.
Cheng Xi walked into the kitchen and immediately spotted a dusty cloth bag sitting on the stove.
She opened it and saw gleaming white rice, each grain plump and full—at least four or five pounds of it.
She reached in and grabbed a small handful, letting the cool grains slip through her fingers.
How familiar!
She hugged the rice bag to her chest as if it were a treasure, unable to suppress the smile on her lips.
But… how was she supposed to turn it into a meal?
She turned her head. The stove was brick-built, with a pile of chopped firewood, a stack of honeycomb briquettes, and a few sheets of scrap newspaper beside it.
In the corner sat an iron pot, its bottom black and gleaming.
In her previous life, when had she ever used something like this?
At home, everything was electric—rice cookers, induction stoves.
Even at the Cheng family's house, it had always been the auntie who cooked. She rarely even approached the stove, completely lacking hands-on experience.
Let Qin An do it?
He was busy building a wall in the yard, covered in gray cement dust. How could she trouble him again?
Forget it, she'd do it herself.
Even if she hadn't eaten pork, she'd at least seen pigs run, right?
She vaguely remembered seeing the auntie at the Cheng family start a fire. It was probably something like crumpling up newspaper, stuffing it in, adding thin kindling, striking a match, tossing it in, and the fire would catch.
It didn't look too hard.
She rolled up her sleeves, first grabbed a handful of rice and carefully rinsed it clean, put it in the pot with some water, then crumpled the newspaper into balls and stuffed them into the stove. She picked two thin pieces of kindling and loosely placed them on top.
Next, she picked up a box of red-tipped matches, pulled one out, and nervously struck it in her hand.
Scratch!
It didn't light.
She pulled out another.
Scratch!
Still didn't light.
Cheng Xi bit her lip and pulled out another, this time with more force.
With a sizzle, a small flame burst from the match head, wavered twice, and finally stabilized.
She quickly moved it toward the stove.
The newspaper caught fire, the flame licking at the edges and curling up.
Then it went out.
Cheng Xi: "…"
Alright then.
She pulled out another match.
This time, she tore the edges of the newspaper loose first, struck the match, and carefully brought it close.
The newspaper caught fire with a whoosh, the flames leaping high.
Cheng Xi crouched there, eyes bright, about to push the kindling in.
The match burned down to her fingers.
"Ouch!"
She flicked her hand, and the match head traced an arc, landing squarely in the pile of scrap newspaper beside her.
Whoosh.
That pile of scrap newspaper seemed to have been waiting for her—flames shot up half a foot high.
The nearby firewood and coal briquettes caught fire immediately.
Thick smoke billowed out, choking Cheng Xi until tears streamed down her face.
Panicked, she tried to stamp it out with her foot but pulled back from the heat.
She grabbed a rag to smother it, but after a few pats, the rag caught fire too. The flames were completely uncontrollable.
Cheng Xi crouched there, coughing from the smoke, tears smearing across her face.
No good, she had to call for help.
She turned and ran outside.
Qin An was squatting in front of the toilet, laying bricks, when he heard hurried, frantic footsteps behind him and turned around.
Cheng Xi stood in the doorway.
Her face was streaked with black soot, her hair dusted with paper ash, her eyes red, and she still clutched that worn-out box of matches in her hand.
She looked like a little calico cat fished out of a stove.
Qin An frowned.
"…What happened?"
"I—I wanted to cook porridge," Cheng Xi's voice was rushed and hoarse, her words stumbling, "I accidentally… accidentally made the fire too big. I couldn't put it out."
Qin An threw down his trowel, stood up, and ran toward the kitchen.
Next door.
Zhao Yinghua was hanging laundry in the yard when she heard Cheng Xi's words. Her eyes widened instantly.
A fire?
She threw down the wet clothes in her hands, leaned over the wall, and saw thick smoke billowing out of the kitchen door.
This wouldn't do!
Her house was right next door. If the fire spread, it would be disastrous!
Zhao Yinghua pushed open the door and ran into the alley.
A patrol of soldiers happened to be passing by the alley entrance.
"Comrade! Comrade!" Zhao Yinghua shouted as she ran, her voice loud enough to be heard halfway down the alley. "Quick, quick, quick! Battalion Commander Qin's house! His wife started a fire in the kitchen while cooking! Go put it out!"
The patrol soldiers immediately sprinted toward Qin An's house.
Zhao Yinghua's shout was heard not only by the patrol but also by the wives in the alley who were washing clothes, picking vegetables, or passing by with basins in hand.
"Battalion Commander Qin's house is on fire?"
"Let's go, let's go, let's check it out!"
Several wives dropped what they were doing and ran along.
One of them shook her head as she walked. "That capitalist's daughter can't even light a stove properly?"
"Exactly. She gags for half an hour just going to the toilet, and now she's set the kitchen on fire while cooking. What kind of goddess did Battalion Commander Qin marry?"
Zhao Yinghua followed behind the patrol soldiers, still chattering as she ran. "Didn't I say it all along? Can someone like her even manage a household?"
As she ran, her steps suddenly slowed.
Wait.
That's not enough people.
Her eyes darted around, and she stopped running altogether. Instead, she raised her voice and shouted toward both ends of the alley, "Quick, quick, quick! Everyone, go take a look! Battalion Commander Qin's house is on fire! His wife set the kitchen ablaze! Everyone, go help!"
In an instant, people emerged from all directions—carrying buckets, holding basins, even clutching children—all rushing toward Qin An's house.
Zhao Yinghua watched the swarming crowd, unable to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.