The prey in the basket made a rustling noise as it struggled, startling the person in the courtyard.
Zhong Yizhu looked up, still a little dazed.
“You’re back?”
Pei Mu nodded. His gaze lingered on what Zhong Yizhu was holding, but he said nothing. Zhong Yizhu glanced up at the sky and only then realized—it was already time to eat.
He jolted upright in alarm. He had completely lost track of time and hadn’t even made dinner.
Pei Mu had spent the whole afternoon working, yet returned to a cold stove and empty pots—Zhong Yizhu felt even more guilty. He hurried to set down what he was holding and head for the kitchen, but Pei Mu had already placed the basket from his shoulder aside and walked to the small table.
Zhong Yizhu looked up. Backlit by the fading light, Pei Mu’s eyes were as dark as ink.
“Did the Pei family give you trouble?”
Zhong Yizhu nodded, then quickly shook his head, realizing it sounded like he was complaining.
“They didn’t get the better of me.”
But Pei Mu seemed not to hear that part at all. A harsh edge gathered in his expression.
“If you’re upset, I’ll go beat them up. At worst I’ll pay a bit of silver. Why hold it in?”
Zhong Yizhu’s eyes widened. “I’m not angry!”
He was afraid Pei Mu would really go and hit someone again. Once or twice might be excusable, but the Pei family had raised him—filial duty still mattered. If this kept happening, what if the village punished him?
He spoke faster in his urgency:
“Pei Shui was almost crying from anger because of me—why would I still be mad? We just need to live our own lives well. People like them aren’t worth even a glance. At most… I just feel indignant on your behalf.”
Pei Mu studied his anxious face, confusion flickering in his eyes. Then he looked down at the table full of little “mud balls” and bent to pick one up.
“Then what are you doing?”
“Ah—don’t squeeze it!” Zhong Yizhu cried—but too late.
The incense pellet he had just shaped, not yet dried, was now indented with two careless dents.
Still, he knew Pei Mu hadn’t meant it, so he didn’t get angry. Instead, he explained patiently:
“These are incense pellets. I got so absorbed that I didn’t notice the time. But they haven’t dried yet—you can’t touch them, or they’ll lose their shape.”
Pei Mu fell silent, holding the “mud ball” he’d assumed it was. After a moment, Zhong Yizhu cautiously held out his hand.
“Give it back? I can fix it later. If you like them, I can sew you a sachet—you can carry it once they dry.”
Pei Mu looked at the pale, delicate palm before him—so different from his own rough, calloused hands.
How had he forgotten? The Zhong family had made their fortune through incense. Of course Zhong Yizhu wasn’t just idly playing with mud.
In the end, it was simply that Pei Mu had seen too little of the world.
“No need.”
He placed the damaged pellet back into Zhong Yizhu’s palm. His rough fingertips brushed against soft skin—a fleeting collision of two completely different worlds.
Incompatible. Out of place.
Without looking at him again, Pei Mu said,
“What happened with the Pei family dragged you into it. Since they dared cause trouble, they can bear the consequences. You don’t need to think about me—I don’t care. I want them to live poorly. Only then can I feel at ease.”
Before Zhong Yizhu could respond, Pei Mu turned and walked toward the kitchen.
“Keep working. I’ll make dinner.”
Zhong Yizhu stood there, still holding the incense pellet, not yet recovered from those words. Hearing that Pei Mu would cook, he hurried after him.
“I should do it instead—”
But Pei Mu had already picked up a clay basin to prepare the dough.
“I said I’ll cook. Go fix your incense.”
Back at the table, Zhong Yizhu repaired the damaged pellet and finished the rest. Soon, smoke rose from the kitchen chimney, and the scent of food drifted through the air.
He couldn’t help but glance toward the kitchen.
In everything he had seen growing up—whether in the prefectural city or in villages—men never stood over stoves. Cooking and washing dishes were women’s or ge’er’s work. That was simply how things were.
But Pei Mu was different from every man he had ever known.
By the time Zhong Yizhu finished, dinner was ready.
They ate in the courtyard. It was a simple bowl of noodles with greens—nothing impressive to look at, but when Zhong Yizhu tasted it, he was surprised.
It was… good.
As he ate, he kept glancing at Pei Mu. The earlier words still lingered in his mind, leaving a faint crease between his brows.
He knew he had no standing to persuade Pei Mu. Even hearing about his past from others felt overwhelming—no one had the right to tell him to let go.
But if he didn’t let go… how could he live well?
The past had already been bitter. Must the rest of his life be spent trapped in hatred too?
Pei Mu ate in silence, but he had long noticed those lingering glances.
Finally, he looked up and met Zhong Yizhu’s eyes.
“What do you want to say?”
Caught off guard, Zhong Yizhu froze. After swallowing his food, he blurted out:
“Did you make these noodles?”
Pei Mu’s eyelid twitched. “If not, did I conjure them?”
“Then… can you teach me?”
It was an obvious attempt to change the subject. Zhong Yizhu knew his cooking was terrible—his pancakes alone proved it. Flour was more expensive than rice; Pei Mu would never let him waste it.
Pei Mu looked at him for a moment… and, as expected, shook his head.
“If you want to eat them, just tell me. I’ll make them.”
Zhong Yizhu blinked, surprised. “…Oh.”
After dinner, Zhong Yizhu washed the dishes. There were only two bowls—he finished quickly.
The incense pellets had already been set aside to dry in the shade. He checked them again.
Properly dried, their fragrance would blend better and last longer. Some would even need to be sealed and aged for a richer scent.
If cracks appeared during drying, they would be considered defective—discarded or remade.
He rarely produced flawed incense. But climates differed—Liu Mountain Village wasn’t like Rongyang Prefecture. He had to watch carefully.
When he came out, Pei Mu had just finished dealing with the prey.
Glancing toward the storage room, Pei Mu asked,
“Are you planning to sell those?”
Zhong Yizhu hesitated.
“I… want to try. I’m just not sure if they’ll sell.”
Pei Mu frowned. “Did you just make them randomly?”
“Of course not!” Zhong Yizhu protested, unusually serious. “They’re based on proper formulas. I just adjusted the ingredients slightly—how could it be random?”
“Then why wouldn’t they sell? Incense from the prefecture sells well even in Songyun County.”
Zhong Yizhu’s expression dimmed.
“But I can’t use the Zhong family name…”
Pei Mu watched him quietly.
“Even without that name—does that mean you can’t sell incense?”
Zhong Yizhu pressed his lips together. He didn’t know how to explain his fear.
What if what everyone else said was true—that his incense wasn’t good?
Thinking of his father, of the Zhong family, his mood sank further.
Maybe he shouldn’t have made these at all.
“I’m tired,” he murmured, turning away—
—but Pei Mu grabbed his arm.
Seeing the stubborn sadness in his eyes, Pei Mu hesitated. Maybe he had been too blunt.
He didn’t know how to comfort people, so he spoke stiffly:
“I’m going to Songyun County in a few days. It’s much busier than the town. You can come with me and set up a stall.”
“No one there knows you. If you’re afraid they won’t sell, say I made them. I’m a rough man—I don’t care about losing face.”
Zhong Yizhu froze.
The words were blunt, the tone cold—but the meaning was unmistakable.
He hadn’t meant to cry.
But emotions didn’t listen.
Tears welled up anyway.
Pei Mu panicked slightly. “Hey—don’t cry.”
Zhong Yizhu sniffed, looking at him with watery eyes—somehow even more pitiful.
Pei Mu sighed. “…Fine. Cry.”
He didn’t have a handkerchief, so he awkwardly wiped Zhong Yizhu’s tears with his sleeve.
Zhong Yizhu cried silently, like a stubborn little deer. It didn’t last long—just a few breaths.
Looking at his reddened face, Pei Mu felt something he couldn’t quite name.
“Thank you… Pei Mu,” Zhong Yizhu said softly.
“No need.”
Pei Mu turned his gaze away, gripping the damp patch of his sleeve.
The very next day after the confrontation, Pei Mu went to the Pei household and dumped a bucket of blood mixed with animal innards over their front gate—in broad daylight.
The village was thrown into an uproar.
Madam Tian wailed loudly, but none of the Pei men dared come out. As Pei Shui helped clean the gate, his resentment shifted more and more toward Zhong Yizhu.
Because of this, Pei Mu told Zhong Yizhu to stay away from the village for a few days.
Aside from one visit to Chen Xiaorong, Zhong Yizhu stayed home.
Pei Mu, however, continued hunting as usual. This time, he went deeper into the mountains and planned to stay for several days.
It was the first time since their marriage that he’d been gone so long.
Even knowing it was normal, Zhong Yizhu couldn’t help worrying.
After two days of sewing sachets at home, unable to settle his mind, Zhong Yizhu finally went out.
On the way, someone called out—
“Zhu ge’er!”
It was Liu Mingtao, smiling brightly, with another young woman beside him.
“This is my cousin, Feng Xin,” Liu Mingtao said.
It turned out Feng Xin had fallen in love with a sachet Zhong Yizhu had given Liu Mingtao—and had searched everywhere in town without finding anything like it.
Now she had come looking for him.
“Do you have more of those incense pellets?” she asked eagerly.
Zhong Yizhu hesitated… then smiled.
“I made them myself.”
Both were stunned.
“I’ve just made a new batch,” he continued. “Would you like to take a look?”
“Yes!”
Not long after, they returned to Zhong Yizhu’s house.
Feng Xin examined the incense—and her eyes lit up.
When Zhong Yizhu quoted the price—twenty wen, discounted to fifteen—she was delighted.
Better than the shops. And cheaper, too.
“It’s thanks to you,” she told Liu Mingtao happily.
And just like that—
Before he had even set up a stall…
Zhong Yizhu had made his first sale.