Pei Mu returned to the village just as the sun was setting.
He had brought quite a lot of game today, but as luck would have it, the tavern he went to had customers who liked exactly what he had. They bought everything in one go, sparing him the trouble of going elsewhere.
With the now-empty bamboo basket in hand—inside it a small bundle—he stopped by the shallow stretch of the river. Taking out the damp clothes from the bundle, he crouched down and began washing them.
At this hour, every household was having dinner, and the riverside was deserted. The clothes he wore had only been changed before coming down the mountain. Though damp, they weren’t dirty. After a quick rinse, he was done in no time. By the time he headed back, dusk had only just begun to fall.
His home lay at the easternmost edge of the village, right at the foot of the mountain. Coming back from town meant crossing the entire village.
The village children were wild and free. A few restless boys, having finished dinner, were crouched by a courtyard wall catching crickets. Zhang Goudan had just caught a large one and was about to show it off when he suddenly spotted Pei Mu approaching.
The excited shout lodged in his throat.
Clutching the cricket, he hurriedly shoved his companions.
“Run, run! The bad omen is coming!”
Pei Mu hadn’t noticed them at first, but Zhang Goudan’s loud voice made it impossible not to.
He frowned and glanced over. His already displeased expression darkened further, scaring the children into shrieking as they scattered, sprinting home as if for their lives.
Soon, scolding voices rang out from nearby houses, mixed with a few indistinct curses.
Pei Mu withdrew his gaze indifferently and strode on, quickly leaving the noise behind.
His house stood some distance away from the other homes. As he passed one of the eastern households, a young man’s voice called out from inside.
Pei Mu stopped and looked through the fence at the man approaching.
“Brother Ping’an.”
Wang Ping’an stepped out and clapped him on the shoulder.
“You’re finally back! Why were you up in the mountains so many days this time?”
Wang Ping’an was the son of Hunter Wang, just under a year older than Pei Mu, and newly married last year. Unlike his father’s burly build, he was slightly shorter than Pei Mu, with regular features and a gentle face—clearly a kind-hearted man.
Only when he got closer did he notice Pei Mu’s expression.
“Who upset you this time? Was it the Pei family again—”
“No.” Pei Mu cut him off simply. “The weather’s been good lately. Plenty of game, so I stayed longer.”
“I see.” Wang Ping’an smiled when he saw the empty basket. “Sold everything already? Haven’t eaten yet, right? My husband made fish stew tonight—come have a drink with me.”
From inside the courtyard, Wang Ping’an’s husband, Chen Xiaorong, leaned out from the main room and waved.
“Come on in, Brother Pei. Dinner’s ready!”
This couple were practically the only people in the village Pei Mu could call acquaintances. Since they invited him sincerely, he didn’t stand on ceremony.
“You go ahead. I’ll change and come over.”
Only then did Wang Ping’an notice the dust and faint bloodstains on his clothes—clearly what he had worn while hunting.
Knowing Pei Mu’s habits, he chuckled. “No wonder you look so grim—forgot to bring spare clothes this time? Alright, go change. We’ll wait.”
Pei Mu returned home quickly. After changing into clean clothes, his mood visibly improved. He hung up the washed garments to dry, took out a jar of wine from the cupboard, and headed to the Wang household.
There were only three people at the table—Wang Ping’an, Chen Xiaorong, and Pei Mu.
Hunter Wang had passed away the previous year after encountering a wild bear in the mountains. With no children yet, the couple now lived quietly on their own.
At the table, it was mostly the couple talking—about daily life, mountain game, and bits of village gossip.
Wang Ping’an had a low tolerance for alcohol. After only a few drinks, his face turned red. Though he hadn’t become a hunter, he was endlessly fascinated by the creatures of the mountains.
After chatting for a while, he suddenly remembered something and tapped his bowl with his chopsticks.
“Oh right! You don’t know yet—the Zhong family has people back!”
Pei Mu looked up. “Which Zhong family?”
“There’s only one Zhong family in the village.” Wang Ping’an didn’t keep him in suspense and quickly recounted the recent events. Then he sighed.
“You tell me—Second Master Zhong was in the prime of his life. How could he just… be gone like that?”
Pei Mu paused, his hand holding the wine bowl going still.
Wang Ping’an drained his drink. The alcohol hit quickly, stirring up buried emotions.
“If only I had been more capable… If only I had gone up the mountain with my father that day…”
His eyes reddened as he muttered.
Pei Mu came back to himself but didn’t know how to comfort him. He simply set down his bowl and patted his shoulder.
Chen Xiaorong quickly took away Wang Ping’an’s bowl. “Why bring this up again…” he said, though tears came first.
After dinner, it was fully dark.
Wang Ping’an was drunk beyond recognition by the time Pei Mu left. Chen Xiaorong saw him out and insisted on giving him a jar of pickled vegetables.
Under the dim moonlight, Pei Mu stood quietly for a moment, gazing at the distant mountains before heading home.
His childhood memories were mostly blurred—after all, they were filled with endless beatings and scolding.
But one memory remained vivid.
A young man had once given him a piece of sweet osmanthus cake.
He was four then and had never tasted sweetness. The first bite felt like eating something divine. He only ate two bites before carefully hiding the rest—but it was discovered.
A pregnant woman accused him of stealing money to buy it, while a man cursed him viciously.
But he had rushed forward and stuffed the remaining cake into his mouth.
They beat him half to death and starved him for three days.
Yet from that moment on, he knew—he wasn’t born worthless. Eating something good wouldn’t kill him.
Because that cake… had been given to him.
Back in the present, Pei Mu entered his dark courtyard, placed the pickles in the kitchen, and fetched water to bathe.
This house had been built after he returned last year—three simple earthen rooms and a separate kitchen, enclosing a modest courtyard. The backyard was larger, meant for livestock, though it now stood empty.
The place felt cold. Lifeless.
After washing, he recalled Wang Ping’an’s story about the Zhong family and realized the boy he had saved earlier that day must be Zhong Yizhu.
So many twists of fate.
A favor repaid.
He had eaten Zhong Master’s cake once.
Now he had saved his son.
That settled things.
At dawn the next morning, Zhong Yizhu rose early.
He tied his hair loosely and entered the kitchen. After washing up, he became more alert and redid his hair properly.
He cooked porridge, ate a simple meal with pickles, and left the rest warm for his mother.
Seeing the water jar nearly empty, he picked up a bucket and headed to the river.
Though early for him, the village was already bustling—people heading to fields, mountains, or tending livestock.
As he passed through, villagers greeted him, and he responded politely, calling them aunties and uncles, looking every bit like someone determined to settle here.
At the river, he carefully filled his bucket. It was heavier than he expected, and he struggled slightly as he carried it back.
Unbeknownst to him, he passed by Li Siniu’s house.
From inside, Zhang Tieniu watched him intently, entranced.
His mother, Zhang Guihua, followed his gaze and immediately grew furious, hitting him with a winnowing basket.
“You useless thing! Didn’t I tell you to stay away from that Zhong boy?!”
“But Mother…” Zhang Tieniu protested, eyes still lingering.
“He’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen anyone like him—not even girls.”
Zhang Guihua dragged him inside, lowering her voice.
“I know you want to marry, and I’ve already asked the matchmaker. But don’t even think about him. He can’t even carry water—you want to marry someone to serve?”
But Zhang Tieniu refused to listen.
“I like him! He’ll learn…”
Then he added eagerly:
“Doesn’t the Zhong family have twenty mu of farmland now? If he marries in, he’ll bring dowry land. And once his sick mother passes… it’ll all be ours.”
Zhang Guihua hesitated.
Land… was far more real than reputation.
“…I’ll discuss it with your father,” she finally said.