Yang’s father was still working at the brick kiln, and Han Lin had spent money to buy bricks. After waiting in line for two days, the bricks were finally delivered.
They spent a few more days patching up the old house. Han Lin even raised the courtyard wall a bit higher. At last, moving day arrived.
The Han family prepared the grain rations, moved the belongings into the old house, and Yang Dai busied herself alongside them, working nonstop from morning till night.
That evening, Han’s mother personally provided some grain and cooked a hearty meal to celebrate the move. Only after dinner did she reluctantly leave Han Lin’s house.
The main hall had three rooms.
One became the living room, another the couple’s bedroom, and the last was temporarily converted into a kitchen, with two stoves built inside for convenience.
On the very first morning after moving, Yang Dai encountered her first problem.
She couldn’t cook.
After staring at the two stoves for a while, she returned to the bedroom.
In the courtyard, Han Lin was holding a hoe, clearing the ground in preparation to plant the vegetable seeds Yang’s mother had given them a few days earlier.
Seeing Yang Dai hurrying back into the room, he followed her inside.
Yang Dai steadied her mood and looked at Han Lin, who was about to wash his hands. “We haven’t had breakfast yet.”
Her meaning was clear—she wanted Han Lin to handle the meal.
Han Lin said nothing. His expression once again carried that half-smile, as though she had just said the funniest thing in the world.
“I’ll provide the grain. You cook and wash the dishes. We divide the work.”
Just as he was about to refuse, Yang Dai quickly added, “The kitchen only has coarse grains. I know you’re not used to that. But I have rice and flour here, and even half a lamb.”
As she spoke, she took out the items. “How about it?”
When Han Lin’s expression didn’t change, Yang Dai added, “Even His Highness the Crown Prince can do something as difficult as growing vegetables. Cooking a small meal is surely nothing for you.”
Han Lin stared at her silently for a moment before lowering his gaze and nodding, tacitly agreeing to her bargain. Still, he couldn’t help feeling deflated.
The only reason he knew how to farm was that, years ago, when he led troops in war, they were trapped in a besieged city with supplies cut off. To survive, he had to take the lead in planting crops.
Later, when reinforcements arrived and victory was secured, he returned to the capital. His advisors even made a great show of spreading the story among the people—praising the Crown Prince as devoted to the people, a true role model for the heir apparent.
If Yang Dai had paid closer attention back then, she would have known why he could farm.
As for cooking, even in the besieged city, no matter how scarce food was, the Crown Prince would never be expected to enter the kitchen himself.
It was never his role.
But there was no point dwelling on that now. And as for Yang Dai’s instinctive avoidance of him, he had long been aware of it.
Watching Han Lin walk out with the food, Yang Dai finally relaxed a little.
Though her status no longer bound her, and she no longer feared offending the royal family, even daring to test Han Lin with small bouts of temper, still, whenever he gave her that half-smile or deliberately dragged out his words, her body would tense instinctively.
Seeing him carry the food into the kitchen and slowly light the firewood, she felt relief—but also concern.
Relief, because today’s meal seemed assured.
Concern, because the supplies she had taken out would only last half a month. Her storeroom was full of gold, silver, and jewels, but had very little food.
That storeroom was mainly for her dowry—everything from thread and cloth to furniture, jewelry, even a coffin prepared for her eventual death. The Duke’s household had made everything ready.
But no food.
For noble families, food had to be refined and fresh. Fruits, vegetables, and meats were delivered daily from the estate. Seasonal grains were sent to the Duke’s residence after harvest, stored in the great warehouse—not included with her dowry.
The only reason she had some food was because, before transmigrating, she and her maids had gone to a suburban temple to offer incense and enjoy the scenery.
Reluctant to end the outing, she had borrowed a bit of food from the main kitchen, planning to enjoy another picnic in the Duke’s gardens.
She never expected that whim to become her survival rations here.
Watching Han Lin’s clumsy attempts at washing and chopping vegetables, Yang Dai returned to the room, took a length of fabric from the storeroom, and prepared to sew new bedsheets.
Since they were now partners in daily life, and since most of the housework fell to Han Lin, she had to contribute in other ways.
“What is this?” Yang Dai looked at the blackened dish before her, her good mood vanishing.
“Stir-fried garlic shoots with eggs,” Han Lin said evenly, eating a bite with composure.
Yang Dai watched him. Though he kept a straight face, he didn’t actually swallow. She lowered her eyes to hide a suppressed smile.
“Eat this.” Han Lin placed two boiled eggs in front of her.
“Thank you.” Knowing when to yield, Yang Dai stopped complaining.
After the meal, seeing Han Lin idle, Yang Dai brought up the bedsheets.
“This cloth was specially sourced by my mother from Jinling. It’s rare, and I’ve kept it in my storeroom. Anyone who uses it will love it. Try it, and if you don’t like it, I have other fabrics.” She hesitated over his title, not daring to call his name directly.
“Just call me Han Lin. No need for anyone else to overhear.” He lowered his eyes, slowly eating the sorghum bun and the blackened garlic egg dish, as if it tasted fine.
“Han Lin.” Yang Dai tried the name, her tone reluctant.
“If you don’t want to say my name, don’t. You can call me ‘my love’ instead. Then you can introduce me everywhere as your beloved.”
Yang Dai drew a deep breath, resigned. “Han Lin, go wash the dishes.”
As expected, he was shameless. If emperors were chosen by thickness of skin, Han Lin would never have been deposed.
“Quite the temper, Miss Yang.”
Yang Dai smiled faintly, pretending not to hear.
“Comrade Han Lin, you’ve worked hard for this family.”
“You’ve always been a hero, once protecting the nation, now protecting our home.”
“We all remember your contributions.”
As she spoke, she stood and gave a proper old-style military salute.
Han Lin’s half-smile vanished. His gaze turned complicated for a brief moment, then quickly returned to normal.
He clicked his tongue, reluctantly tidying the table as he mocked, “Such a clever tongue. They say gentlemen argue with words, not fists. Seems our Comrade Yang Dai is a gentleman indeed.”
Yang Dai’s fake smile faltered for a moment before she forced it back. She lowered her eyes, muttering inwardly.
She might not be a gentleman, but Han Lin was certainly a petty man—petty, arrogant, shameless.
“What are you cursing me for?” Han Lin balanced the used dishes in one hand and tapped her head lightly with the other.
Yang Dai looked up, her dark eyes brimming with grievance. She blinked, and tears slipped down her cheeks. “I was just thinking the floor looks dirty. I wanted to sweep it.”
The crystalline tears fell, blooming into little flowers on the ground.
Han Lin froze, stunned that he had somehow made her cry. Flustered, he reached out to wipe her tears, but she dodged.
“Don’t cry. I’ll wash the dishes, wipe the table, sweep the floor. You didn’t sleep well—go rest.”
Yang Dai shook her head. “There’s too much to do. I can’t let you handle it all. I—”
“It’s not much. I can manage.” His tone grew sharper, but then, seeing her pitiful look, he softened again. “Leave the chores to me. You don’t have to do anything. Just stay by my side.”
“This life—like this—it’s my fault. But it’s only temporary. I won’t let you suffer with me. You’re my wife. It’s my responsibility to give you a good life.”
Han Lin had never spoken so gently, nor said such words to anyone else. His back even dampened with nervous sweat.
“Then I’ll keep you company.” Yang Dai nodded, dropping the argument.
She reached for the dishes, but he pulled them away.
Together, they went to the kitchen—Han Lin washing pots and bowls, Yang Dai sitting nearby, keeping him company.
Out of his sight, Yang Dai revealed a knowing smile.
The reason she had said all those things was because, these days, her own memories had fused more deeply with the body’s original ones.
Before, emotions had felt distant, muffled. Now that layer was gone.
And among those memories, the most striking were of the original’s romance with Lin Zhengyang.
The original had been good at saying just the right words in front of someone she liked.
Though Yang Dai sometimes found her words embarrassingly blunt, she couldn’t deny that, just with her tongue, the original had gotten Lin Zhengyang to correct many bad habits.
Yang Dai decided to try the same—better than doing nothing.
Han Lin and Lin Zhengyang were nothing alike in character, but they did share one thing—both were men.
And, surprisingly, it worked.
Watching Han Lin quietly doing chores, Yang Dai’s heart gave rise to an even bolder guess.