After the two finished their meal, they set off back to Plum Blossom Village, hurrying along the way, but still failed to make it home before dark.
Upon returning to the village, Xue Qingqing didn't bother releasing the man hidden in the cart first—she rushed straight to the neighbor auntie's house and scooped her son into her arms.
Little Tiger's voice was hoarse; one listen told her he'd been crying all day. Even back in his mother's embrace, he continued to sob without pause.
Xue Qingqing first felt her son's temperature. Not detecting any fever, she breathed a sigh of relief, then felt his belly. Finding it taut and round, she knew—he hadn't been burped after drinking milk and was suffering from gas.
She held the child upright against her chest and carried him all the way home, gently patting his back as she paced back and forth in the courtyard, until the boy let out several loud burps and his crying weakened. Only then did she feel completely at ease.
She settled the sleeping Little Tiger onto the bed and was about to roll her shoulders when she suddenly realized she seemed to have forgotten something.
"Young Master Shen!"
In the small courtyard, the moon was bright and the stars sparse, with insects chirping softly.
Pei Huaizhen sensed that Xue Qingqing had apparently forgotten about him. He lifted the animal hide covering him, sat up, and sighed at the star-filled sky. Bracing his arms on either side of the wooden cart, he engaged his muscles and pushed himself upright.
He first lowered his good leg off the cart, and once it touched the ground, he shifted his broken leg down as well.
Just as he was about to steady himself, a waft of fragrant scent rushed toward him, and a pair of fair, soft hands gripped his arm.
"Mind your wound—don't let it split open." Xue Qingqing had clearly run over; her eyes were tinged with red and her breath came in short, hurried gasps.
Pei Huaizhen deliberately let out a pained hiss, drawing in a sharp breath of cool air, yet gave Xue Qingqing a gentle smile. "It's fine. I can manage on my own."
Seeing him like this, Xue Qingqing felt even more guilty and distressed. She pressed her lips together tightly, unable to speak.
Pei Huaizhen asked, "How is the child?"
Xue Qingqing replied, "He had gas in his stomach. He just burped a few times and is already asleep now."
Pei Huaizhen nodded, seeming reassured. "That's good, then."
After helping him into the house and seating him, Xue Qingqing prepared to make dinner in the kitchen.
The apron hung on a wooden peg behind the door. As she stepped out, Xue Qingqing grabbed it on the way, tying it around her waist. Her slender white fingers wound the ties twice and deftly fastened a butterfly knot at the small of her back.
Pei Huaizhen fixed his gaze on that slim waist, his eyes following the butterfly knot as it swayed. The candlelight cast shadows, and as she moved, her waist swayed gracefully, like a weak willow dancing in the breeze.
Suddenly, he turned his head and swept a glance at the pitch-black ancestral tablet.
…
Because it was so late and Xue Qingqing was exhausted, she only boiled some rice porridge. Splurging a little, she also cooked two eggs, and with some pickled vegetables, that served as dinner for the two of them.
After eating, Xue Qingqing didn't even have the strength to clear the table. She washed up briefly, climbed onto the bed in her clothes, and curled up with her son to sleep, sinking into slumber in the blink of an eye.
In her dream, she returned to the day she married Lu Fang.
There were no thundering drums and gongs, no grand bridal sedan carried by eight men. The young man had torn a piece of red cloth to serve as a bridal veil and draped it over her head himself, clumsily promising her: "Miss Xiaoqing… I, I will treat you well for the rest of my life."
Xue Qingqing's face was hidden beneath the red veil, and she couldn't see what expression Lu Fang wore when he spoke, but she always remembered how scorching and warm his palm had been when he held her hand that day.
In her sleep, a faint smile appeared at the corner of Xue Qingqing's mouth.
Just then, urgent pounding on the door pierced through her dream, loudly reaching Xue Qingqing's ears.
"Bang bang bang!"
Xue Qingqing was still groggy with sleep and instinctively pushed at the pillow beside her. "Lu Lang, go answer the door—the guests have arrived—"
But her hand pushed against nothing.
Xue Qingqing opened her eyes and saw only the cold pillow.
Once fully awake, two streams of tears slid down from the corners of her eyes. But she couldn't afford to wallow in sorrow. She quickly wiped the tears away and called out warily, "Who is it?"
"It's me! The village chief!" Village Chief Liu Dabao answered her, his voice urgent.
Xue Qingqing instinctively glanced at her son. Seeing the little one still sleeping peacefully, she steadied herself and asked, "Uncle Liu, it's so late—what's the matter?"
Liu Dabao said, "The officials are here checking for refugees, going door to door. Yours is the last house left. Hurry and open up—once the officers finish their inspection, they'll be on their way."
Xue Qingqing was extremely reluctant and wanted very much to retort: even if the Jade Emperor himself came, there was no reason to barge into a widow's home in the middle of the night.
But she had always been mild-mannered by nature and never argued with anyone. Such words could only be thought in her heart, never spoken aloud.
"Mm, I'm coming." Xue Qingqing replied, then got off the bed, slipped on her shoes, and hurried to the outer room.
In the outer room, the man on the bamboo couch was sleeping soundly, breathing evenly, his expression serene. His handsome face was as refined as a painting, like a banished immortal.
Xue Qingqing didn't bother with anything else—she grabbed Pei Huaizhen's arm and shook him vigorously.
Pei Huaizhen opened his eyes and saw it was her. A trace of confusion surfaced in his hazy gaze. "Miss Xue?"
Xue Qingqing quickly made a shushing gesture at him, then pointed outside. She threw off the quilt and helped him up, intending to hide him in the inner room.
"The quilt." Pei Huaizhen spoke up.
In a household with only a widow and her child, a quilt lying openly on the bamboo couch was something anyone could see was suspicious.
Xue Qingqing realized this too and broke out in a cold sweat. She hurried over to grab the quilt.
Before she could bend down, the man stretched out his long arms, scooped up the thin quilt, and slung it over his shoulder.
He looked lean, but his shoulders were broad. A quilt that would take Xue Qingqing both arms to carry was nothing more than a small accessory on him.
"Hurry up and open the door! What's taking so long!" The bailiff's rough voice came through, accompanied by even louder pounding on the door. The flimsy wooden gate rattled and banged, as if it might fall apart at any moment.
Xue Qingqing panicked, afraid they would break the door down. She raised her voice in response: "Wait a moment! I'm getting dressed!"
Pei Huaizhen looked up and swept his gaze over her attire. Seeing that she was fully dressed, he averted his eyes and allowed his arm to be gripped by her soft, warm hands as she helped him into the inner room.
Xue Qingqing hid Pei Huaizhen under the bed, then deliberately arranged the thin quilt to look messy, letting half of it drape almost to the floor, just enough to cover the gap beneath the bed.
Once she finished, Xue Qingqing wasted no time. She ran into the courtyard, lifted the door bolt, and opened the gate.
Under the moonlight, the woman wore plain white mourning clothes, her black hair like clouds, her features delicate and lovely. A soft glow seemed to envelop her entire being, as if a narcissus flower had taken human form.
The two bailiffs outside stared, transfixed. Their earlier arrogance vanished faster than a dog snatching a meat bun.
It wasn't until Liu Dabao coughed that the two bailiffs snapped out of their daze. They strode into the courtyard with swaggering steps.
The small courtyard was quiet and peaceful at night. Chickens slept in their coop, a donkey dozed under its shelter. The only sounds were the rustling of insects and the occasional cry of a weary bird.
Liu Dabao walked ahead of the two bailiffs, holding up a lantern with eager attentiveness.
Xue Qingqing followed behind the two bailiffs, her eyes fixed on their footsteps, her mind racing to review every possible place where traces might remain.
The person was hidden, the quilt had been moved inside, and the clothes on the drying rack had been taken in yesterday… But why was she still uneasy? She felt like she was forgetting something.
"You eat alone, but use two pairs of chopsticks?"
The bailiff turned to look at Xue Qingqing, pointing at the dining table.
Xue Qingqing's face turned deathly pale in an instant. She stared blankly at the two bowls and two pairs of chopsticks on the wooden table.
She now deeply regretted her earlier laziness. She should have cleaned up right after eating!
Xue Qingqing's heart trembled uncontrollably as her mind began to race through all the possible scenarios she might face.
"Her husband fell off the mountain a while back. His seventh-day memorial just passed." Liu Dabao suddenly spoke up.
The two bailiffs were taken aback. They gave Xue Qingqing a meaningful look, and upon seeing her mourning clothes and the white flower at her temple, their suspicion lessened somewhat.
With her husband just dead, it was perfectly normal for a wife to set an extra pair of chopsticks at the table, missing him at every meal.
Besides, the young widow looked frail and gentle—she hardly seemed the type to dare hide a fugitive.
The two bailiffs circled the outer room twice, then made to enter the inner room.
Xue Qingqing's heart, which had just begun to relax, tightened again. She instinctively wanted to step forward and block them, but reason held her back. All she could do was plead softly: "The child just fell asleep. Please, officers, tread lightly."
The two men showed no restraint whatsoever. They strode into the inner room with bold, swaggering steps. Though they didn't exactly turn the place upside down, they examined everything in meticulous detail, stopping just short of prying up the floor tiles. What was supposed to be an official search had long since turned into something else—a voyeuristic inspection. After all, a room filled with a woman's fragrance wasn't somewhere you got to enter every day.
Xue Qingqing's initial panic gradually turned to anger, but she was helpless, with no recourse at all.
She could only turn her gaze to her son, looking at his chubby little face to remind herself to endure.
Just then, one of the bailiffs noticed the quilt dragging onto the floor and yanked it up in one motion.
The other bailiff crouched down and stuck his head under the bed to look.
Xue Qingqing stopped breathing.
In that moment, all sound in the world seemed to fade away, leaving only her heart pounding—thump, thump—deafening in her ears.
But the next moment, the bailiff's head emerged from under the bed almost immediately, as if there was no one there at all.
Xue Qingqing's palms were slick with sweat. She stared intently at the space under the bed, her heart filled with confusion, fear, and a sliver of relief at having escaped disaster.
After searching two more rounds and finding nothing unusual, the two bailiffs were finally led out by Liu Dabao.
"We'll be going now. You should get some rest early."
Liu Dabao said to Xue Qingqing, his gaze lingering on her face before sweeping down her body. A flash of greed crossed his aged eyes.
It was too dark for Xue Qingqing to notice his expression. She murmured an acknowledgment, politely bid him farewell, and closed the courtyard gate.
The moment the door bolt slid into place, Xue Qingqing turned and rushed into the room.
“Young Master Shen?”
She first checked under the bed, and only after seeing with her own eyes that it was empty did she search elsewhere, calling out in a hushed voice: “Young Master Shen? Where are you?”
The bedchamber was dim and lightless, with only moonlight streaming through the window—clear radiance like water, lingering faintly in the air.
Xue Qingqing was thoroughly puzzled. She was about to light a candle and search more carefully when she turned and abruptly collided with a dark figure.
She let out a startled cry, her legs instinctively going weak, her body stumbling backward of its own accord.
The dark figure reached out, his palm steadily catching the small of her back, steadying her tilting frame.
Xue Qingqing hadn't even seen his face—but catching the crisp scent of medicinal herbs, she knew it was the very Young Master Shen she had been searching for.
“Where were you hiding just now?”
The weight in Xue Qingqing's heart finally settled. She gasped for air in great heaves, looking like someone just waking from a nightmare.
She was completely unaware of how close she now stood to this man she had known for only a few days.
In the dimness, Pei Huaizhen's gaze was calm. He lifted his eyes to glance at the ceiling beam, and the hand wrapped around the woman's lower back slowly and gently released, as if it had never overstepped its bounds.
Only when Xue Qingqing had caught her breath and looked up to speak again—her forehead brushing lightly against Pei Huaizhen's chin—did she realize, and she stepped backward.
It was also at this moment that Xue Qingqing noticed that although this Young Master Shen was lean of frame, he was truly tall in stature. Standing before him, the slight shadow he cast completely enveloped her.
“The ceiling beam is that high—how did you get up there?” Xue Qingqing asked.
“A spring of the leg, and up I went.” Pei Huaizhen deflected the question.
Xue Qingqing was left speechless, sorely tempted to ask if he took her for a fool.
But the next instant, as if remembering something, she let out an exasperated “ah” and hurriedly bent down to examine his leg injury.
The originally clean trouser leg had once again seeped through with bright red blood, glaringly conspicuous.
Xue Qingqing's head ached. “The wound has reopened.”
Even as she spoke, she reached out to roll up his trouser leg, wanting to see how badly the wound had split.
Above her, in a place she couldn't see, Pei Huaizhen lowered his gaze, his eyes dark and deep as they studied her.
She must have been too nervous just now—a thin layer of sweat had broken out on the woman's skin. Strands of jet-black hair clung to her neck, the ends curling into little spirals that trailed down past her slightly parted collar, tracing the contours of full, soft curves.
White. Soft. Fragrant.
Pei Huaizhen's eyes darkened. His voice dropped low and husky as he parted his lips:
“I saw it.”
Xue Qingqing looked up at him, her warm, moist eyes blinking once. “Saw what?”