When Zhong Yizhu returned to the old house, the aunts and uncles who had been chatting in the courtyard earlier had already left. Sun Yun-niang was tidying up the basket he had brought back.
“I’ll do it, Mother,” Zhong Yizhu hurried over to help.
“I’m almost done—don’t get your hands dirty,” Sun Yun-niang said, avoiding his hands. She poured out the few mushrooms from the basket and looked at him with a smile in her eyes.
“Earlier I saw the basket full and thought our Zhug-er was so capable, picking so many mushrooms. Turns out it was all just for show.”
Zhong Yizhu couldn’t handle teasing—his thin-skinned face flushed like rouge. He quickly changed the subject.
“Mother, did you eat the wild fruit I left on top? I saved it specially for you.”
Sun Yun-niang couldn’t help but laugh, warmth filling her heart. She stopped teasing him.
“I did. Our Zhug-er is getting more capable by the day. If I went into the mountains, I probably wouldn’t even find half a mushroom. These are enough for a meal—I’ll make soup for you later.”
Zhong Yizhu pulled over a small stool and sat beside her, watching her sort the mushrooms while telling her about Mingtao inviting him to the market the day after tomorrow.
“That’s good,” Sun Yun-niang nodded. “We should go buy supplies anyway. Didn’t you say you’d make sachets for Mingtao and Aunt Zhou? Tomorrow we’ll get fabric and thread, and also buy grain, oil, and pork. I’ll cook something good for you—you’ve gotten so thin.”
Have I? Zhong Yizhu touched his chin, unsure. There was no mirror at home now, so he couldn’t tell—but he could see clearly that his mother had grown much thinner from her illness.
After settling the plan to go to the market, Zhong Yizhu glanced at the teacups by the stove and sighed.
“Mother, I told you I don’t want to marry. Why go through all this trouble dealing with them?”
Sun Yun-niang placed the sorted mushrooms into a bowl, adding water to wash them carefully.
“What girl or young husband doesn’t marry?” she replied gently. “I’d love to keep you by my side forever, but in our current situation, if we took in a husband who turned out to be a wolf, I wouldn’t be able to control him. It’s better to find someone suitable for you. I don’t ask for much—just that he treats you well.”
Her voice grew softer, touched with sadness.
Her Zhug-er should never have had to endure such hardship. Village life was harsh—she knew that deeply now. She couldn’t bear to let him spend his life laboring in the fields and managing a household without even proper meals. Even in their fallen state, she still wanted to find him a decent marriage.
But time was running short.
After the new year, he would be nineteen—already considered late for a young husband to marry.
Sun Yun-niang explained her thoughts carefully:
“Many families are coming now because they see we have twenty mu of good farmland. Those we cannot consider. We’re new here and know nothing—by talking to people, I can learn more about them.”
“The best would be someone from the town or county. At least you wouldn’t have to work the fields. Once we settle down, I can look for a small shop in the county. Then we’ll be a better match.”
Listening to her gentle reasoning, Zhong Yizhu slowly calmed.
Every word she spoke was for his future.
How long had she been worrying about this?
“Mother…” His eyes reddened as he tugged at her sleeve, just like when he was a child.
If only he could return to those days.
Sun Yun-niang stroked his head softly.
“As long as I see you living well, I can close my eyes in peace.”
Market Day
On the day of the market, Zhong Yizhu woke early.
Liushan Village wasn’t far from the town—less than half an hour by ox cart—but people always left early.
They gathered at the village entrance to catch the shared cart.
Also riding were Zhang Guihua and Liu Feng, who pointedly ignored each other, sitting far apart. Once close, they had fallen out over competing intentions to marry Zhong Yizhu into their families.
When they saw Zhong Yizhu and his group, both suddenly became overly friendly, trying to get them to sit beside them.
Zhou Shaofen and Sun Yun-niang chatted calmly, ignoring the tension.
Meanwhile, Mingtao excitedly pulled Zhong Yizhu along, talking nonstop about things he wanted to buy—hair ornaments, wooden toys, and stories of the bustling city.
“Let’s go—!” the driver called.
Chuiliu Town
The town they arrived at was called Chuiliu Town—“Drooping Willows”—though no willows remained.
Despite its small size, the bi-monthly market was lively, filled with villagers, vendors, and goods.
They first went to a fabric shop.
Zhong Yizhu chose plain cotton instead of silk, picking a bolt of blue cloth.
But Sun Yun-niang stopped the shop assistant, cutting half blue and half bright green—slightly more expensive, but still nothing compared to what Zhong Yizhu used to spend casually.
Afterward, Mingtao excitedly dragged him to a stall filled with trinkets.
While Mingtao admired colorful ornaments, Zhong Yizhu examined incense pastes instead.
“What’s this?” Mingtao asked, pointing to small round pellets.
“Incense pills,” Zhong Yizhu explained. “They’re placed in sachets or wardrobes.”
But the scent was crude and harsh.
Back in the city, such things had been refined long ago.
The Incident
After buying a hair ribbon, Mingtao turned—
—and bumped into someone.
Zhong Yizhu quickly steadied him.
A strong smell of alcohol followed.
“Who dares bump into me?” the man snarled.
Mingtao faltered, his courage shrinking at the sight of the thug.
Before things escalated, Zhou Shaofen stepped in.
The man’s gaze, however, shifted—to Zhong Yizhu.
Cold.
Clinging.
Like a snake.
Then suddenly, he laughed drunkenly and left.
Though the danger passed, unease lingered in Zhong Yizhu’s chest.
Back Home
After buying supplies and confirming Sun Yun-niang’s health at the clinic, they returned early.
That night, Zhong Yizhu began sewing sachets.
Though his embroidery wasn’t perfect, he stitched carefully—heart and sincerity in every thread.
Dinner was the most abundant they had eaten since arriving in the village.
Even amid hardship, they were slowly rebuilding their lives.
Putting down roots.
The Storm
As they cleaned up, thunder suddenly cracked.
Rain poured down without warning.
By the time Zhong Yizhu returned to his room, the storm had swallowed everything.
The dim oil lamp flickered.
Loneliness pressed in.
He abandoned his sewing and went to bed.
But sleep was restless.
The rain seemed to seep into his dreams—
blurring reality and illusion.
Then—
a cold touch on his face.
He jolted awake.
Lightning flashed.
For a brief instant—
he saw a shadow standing beside his bed.