In the summer in Shu, the rain was relentless, drizzling for over ten days before finally clearing up on this day. As far as the eye could see, the mountains were lush and green, with misty waves stretching into the distance.
Three sturdy middle-aged women emerged from the mountains, each carrying a woven rattan basket filled with freshly picked wild mushrooms. The mushrooms were tender and moist, with dew still hanging from their stems.
They walked down the mountain path together and eventually stopped outside a farmhouse with bamboo walls and a thatched roof, knocking on the wooden gate.
“Lu Fang’s wife? Lu Fang’s wife, open up. We’ve come to see you.”
Lu Fang was the name of the master of the house. Seven days ago, he had gone hunting in the mountains and accidentally fallen to his death, leaving behind a young wife and a newborn baby just one month old.
Not long after the calls subsided, a soft, timid voice came from inside—”Coming.”
Silently, the door was pulled open a crack, revealing a pale, delicate face.
Xue Qingqing’s eyes were red, swollen like walnuts, and her voice was soft and faint as smoke: “Aunties, is there something you need from me?”
“We went up the mountain to pick mushrooms and got lucky—picked more than we needed. We brought some for you.”
The woman at the front said, her gaze hooking as she sized up the young widow from head to toe.
The young widow wore a snow-white mourning dress, her glossy black hair pinned behind her head, a small white cloth flower tucked at her temple. Her figure, as willowy as a weak branch, was cinched by a white cloth sash, revealing a waist so slender it seemed fit for a single hand, and a chest that was overly full.
Because of this dangerously alluring appearance, the women of Plum Blossom Village had never been fond of associating with Xue Qingqing, afraid their own husbands might be lured away by her. Their looks at her always carried thorns.
But now that she had lost her husband, things were different.
No matter how beautiful she was? She was still a pitiful soul.
Inside the door, Xue Qingqing glanced at the baskets and shook her head: “No need, aunties. Mushrooms shrink a lot once cooked. You should keep them for yourselves.”
“Why be so polite? We’re all family. Besides, you’re nursing a baby now. Stew them with an old hen and eat well to boost your milk.”
As the woman spoke, she shoved the basket from her arm into Xue Qingqing’s embrace.
Because of this, the door crack was pushed open wider, revealing the clean and tidy courtyard inside. The ground was covered in moss, a few chickens wandered about the yard, and a clothesline was propped under the eaves, hung with many freshly washed garments.
Xue Qingqing’s face turned pale. She instinctively turned her head to glance toward the house, then looked back and accepted the basket, her eyes flickering: “Thank you, aunties. I’ll return the basket this afternoon.”
With that, she closed the door.
The three women stood dumbfounded, looking at one another.
“What? What’s this about? The three of us came all the way out of kindness to bring mushrooms, and she won’t even offer us a cup of tea?”
“Exactly. At least she could invite us in to sit.”
“Forget it, forget it. No more warming up to someone who gives us the cold shoulder!”
The three women each spat toward the courtyard gate and left cursing under their breath.
Above their heads, bright sunlight leaped over the bamboo wall, taller than a person, and landed on the clothesline.
The clothesline hung steady, stretching from east to west, covered with cleanly washed baby diapers.
The only adult garment among them was a wide-sleeved white silk scholar’s robe. The robe was washed spotless but was extremely tattered, covered in countless holes of all sizes—some as if snagged by branches, others as if slashed by countless gravel stones. What a waste of fine silk.
Under the eaves, Xue Qingqing stepped one foot into the room but paused with the other on the threshold. Her pale fingers gripped the doorframe, tightening slightly.
She looked at the bamboo bed placed against the wall.
That bed had originally been made by her husband, meant for the child to sleep in when he grew older. Now, however, a strange man lay upon it.
The man wore plain white undergarments, his face as beautiful as jade, his black hair like ink, carrying an air of scholarly refinement—like a fallen scholar in distress.
Even gravely wounded, when he looked at people, his peach-blossom eyes always held a smile, gentle and approachable.
Beyond that, his voice was also very pleasant.
Just as now, he cradled the swaddled infant in his arms, gently rocking it, his words clear and mellow:
“Heaven is anxious, earth is anxious, my house has a crying child at night—”
“Father and mother recite it three times a day, and he’ll sleep soundly till the morning light.”
The fussing, crying baby gradually calmed under his soothing voice and fell peacefully asleep.
Sensing the figure at the door, the man lifted his gaze, his peach-blossom eyes curving into crescent moons, and spoke in a gentle tone: “Miss Xue, you’re here.”
Xue Qingqing nodded, suppressing her complicated feelings: “The aunties brought me some mushrooms. I’ll go wash them and cook them up in a bit.”
The man nodded: “Thank you for your trouble, Miss Xue.”
Xue Qingqing turned to head out the door, but after taking a step, she looked back and asked the man: “Young Master Shen, have you… remembered where your home is today?”
The man lowered his eyes in thought, then immediately pressed his hand to his brow, his brows knitting slightly, his handsome face appearing deeply pained.
Xue Qingqing quickly said: “If you can’t remember, then don’t force it. Your health matters most.”
The man nodded.
Xue Qingqing sighed inwardly, lifted her legs and walked toward the water vat in the courtyard. She scooped out a ladle of clear water into a wooden basin, dumped the mushrooms in, and began washing them carefully.
The water’s surface reflected Xue Qingqing’s dazed expression as her thoughts gradually drifted away.
A woman who had just lost her husband, yet there was a man hidden in her house—Xue Qingqing could hardly imagine what would happen if anyone found out in this feudal dynasty. Would she be thrown into a pig cage and drowned on the spot?
That’s right, Xue Qingqing wasn’t a true ancient person.
Before being reborn into this era, she had been an ordinary modern office worker, living a boring life that went back and forth between two points every day. Occasionally she’d have meals with family and friends or go on trips. Her life was plain yet warm, and she only waited to endure until retirement to begin her beautiful golden years.
Later, during a team-building hike, she slipped and fell. When she opened her eyes, she had transmigrated.
As a transmigrated woman at the bottom of the food chain, Xue Qingqing had neither a golden finger nor a system, not even a decent family background.
A household that couldn’t make ends meet, parents who favored sons over daughters, and a brother and sister-in-law blinded by greed—this was the script Xue Qingqing had been handed.
If things followed the normal course, all that awaited her was growing to marriageable age, being betrothed by her parents to the village chief’s simpleton son, or being sold by her brother and sister-in-law to the old wealthy man in town as a concubine.
But then she met Lu Fang.
In the bustling market, the two brushed past each other. The young man fell in love with her at first sight, asked around for her name, took out the fifteen taels of silver he had saved over many years, and personally went to her house to propose.
Her parents, dazzled by the money, let Lu Fang take her away that very day.
But Lu Fang wasn’t really a good match either.
An orphan with no parents, no money, no land, raised on the charity of the whole village, making his living entirely by hunting.
Xue Qingqing had thought this would be her life from then on.
But unexpectedly, married life wasn’t as bad as she had imagined.
Lu Fang was strong and skilled with a bow. Every day he could hunt wild chickens and rabbits to put meat on the table. Occasionally, when he caught something valuable, he’d sell it at the market, and with the money, he’d have new clothes made for her, buy her hairpins, and purchase rouge.
In two years of marriage, he had transformed Xue Qingqing from a sallow, skinny girl into a fair-skinned, radiant young wife.
Xue Qingqing even thought that if life could go on like this forever, even without cola or milk tea, without a phone or air conditioning, she could still make do.
But Lu Fang died.
Seven days ago, while hunting a wolf, he slipped and fell from the mountain. His chest was pierced by sharp rocks, and by the time he was found, the blood had already drained from his body.
Their child had just turned one month old.
Xue Qingqing was in a daze, keeping vigil over Lu Fang’s body for three days without sleep. On the fourth day, he was buried. She followed to her husband’s grave and sat there blankly for a whole day, until a cry from her child jolted her back to reality. She picked up the baby and stumbled down the mountain.
Shen Zhuo was who she met at that moment.
On the muddy mountain path, a man lay prostrate on the ground, his face covered in filth, his clothes so stained the color was unrecognizable. His entire left leg was soaked in blood. He lay motionless, devoid of any sign of life.
Xue Qingqing was badly frightened and opened her mouth to call for help. But just as she was about to make a sound, this dying man suddenly came to life, grabbing her ankle with a start, murmuring deliriously: “Don’t call for help… I’m a stranger here… the soldiers will take me…”
The man coughed twice, spat out a mouthful of blood, and pleaded in a hoarse, low voice: “Save me… I beg you…”
Perhaps because she had just lost her husband and was overwhelmed with grief, her head still foggy, facing this gravely wounded man of unknown origins, her first reaction wasn’t to flee but to think: if someone had passed by when Lu Fang was injured and saved him in time, would he not have died?
As if possessed, Xue Qingqing went home, led out the donkey, and under the cover of night, quietly brought the man back to her house.
The mushrooms were washed and, instead of being stewed with chicken, were simply boiled into a clear soup with a few vegetable leaves.
The day after Lu Fang’s accident, Xue Qingqing had used most of the family savings to buy a coffin. Now there wasn’t much money left, and the few hens she had were kept to lay eggs for selling.
Xue Qingqing filled a bowl of rice and carried it into the room, saying to the man: “Young Master Shen, time to eat.”
The house only had one small wooden table, and there was no furniture by the bed where meals could be placed. Xue Qingqing simply set the table in front of the bed. The man could reach it with an outstretched arm, and she didn’t need to find him another table—it was convenient for both of them.
Xue Qingqing had lost her appetite these past few days and couldn’t eat much. The soup in her bowl was also scant, barely enough to keep her alive.
The man looked at the pitifully small amount of soup in her bowl, picked up his own bowl, extended his arm, tilted his bowl against hers, and poured it over.
“Young Master Shen?” Xue Qingqing looked at this scene, her watery eyes full of surprise.
“I haven’t started eating yet, so the bowl is clean.” The man paused, a hint of solemnity appearing on his handsome face. “Eating so little—how can that be enough?”
Xue Qingqing said helplessly: “For me, it’s enough.”
The man: “It might be enough for you, but the child still needs to eat.”
Xue Qingqing: “My milk supply is plentiful.”
The words had barely left her mouth before Xue Qingqing realized what she had said. Her cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment, and she lowered her head, focusing intently on her mushroom soup without uttering another word.
The man also remained silent, and for a moment, the atmosphere was so still it felt almost strange.
When the meal was finally finished, Xue Qingqing felt she could not bear to stay a moment longer. She picked up the basket and said, “I’ll return this to Auntie. Keep an eye on the child for me—if anyone knocks on the door, pretend you didn’t hear it. Whatever you do, don’t answer.”
It wasn’t that she was being careless, but the man’s leg injury was severe—he could barely get out of bed, let alone steal the child and run off.
The man nodded, his smile gentle. “Miss Xue, rest assured. I understand.”
Xue Qingqing turned aside, glanced at her son sleeping soundly in the cradle, then bent down and pressed a soft kiss to his little cheek. “Little Tiger, sleep well. Mother will be right back.”
After bidding her son farewell, she looked up and casually reminded the man, “The mushroom soup won’t taste as good once it’s cold. Young Master Shen, drink it while it’s hot.”
Her figure was naturally full and curvaceous, and with her current posture, the collar of her garment hung slightly open, revealing a stretch of snowy-white neck and a hint of delicate, exquisite collarbone. Below that, hidden in the shadow of the fabric, lay her full, ample bosom, its subtle fragrance seeping through the seams of her clothing and drifting faintly into the air.
The man’s gaze, which had been casually resting on her, began to grow deeper, darker. Yet a smile still lingered on his lips as he gave a slight nod.
Xue Qingqing walked out and carefully closed the courtyard gate behind her before leaving with peace of mind.
Watching the crude wooden door shut tight, the tenderness in the man’s eyes gradually faded away.
He raised his hand, his jade-white, slender fingers spreading open to lightly lift the coarse ceramic soup bowl, then tilted it, pouring every last drop of the soup onto the ground.
In the Eastern Palace’s kitchen, there were dozens of chefs from all over the realm, cooking exclusively for him alone.
Such coarse, unpalatable fare—Pei Huaizhen had never once let it pass his lips in his entire life.