Early the next morning, Xue Qingqing caught a plump hen, intending to slaughter it and make soup.
Thanks to her lifelong habit of reading people's expressions, she had noticed from the delicate pastries and delicious dishes the day before—combined with the fact that Young Master Shen always ate little or nothing of her cooking these past days—that he wasn't accustomed to country fare.
She wanted to improve his meals.
Rummaging through the house, a pot of fresh chicken soup was the best she could offer.
Xue Qingqing's plan was sound. She would stew the chicken clear, then mash up some chive flower sauce to cut the richness of the meat—there was no way it could turn out badly.
But when it actually came time to do it, even the very first step—slaughtering the chicken—was difficult enough for her.
In the past, Lu Fang had always been the one to kill the chickens. Now it was her turn, and every single one of these birds was one she had raised from a tiny chick. She couldn't bear to kill any of them. After finally steeling her resolve and catching one, her hand holding the knife trembled faintly.
Pei Huaizhen stood under the eaves, watching the sorrow in the woman's eyes. He quietly stepped to her side and said in a gentle voice, "Miss Xue, let me do it."
Xue Qingqing looked up at his refined face and hesitated. "Can you, Young Master Shen?"
Pei Huaizhen smiled without a word. He raised his hand, his palm brushing lightly—barely touching—against the delicate skin of Xue Qingqing's hand as he took the knife handle from her.
A faint tingling spread from her skin, inexplicably making her heart flutter. Xue Qingqing instinctively let go and took a step back.
Pei Huaizhen noticed her small movement but made no comment. He focused on the knife, gripped the chicken's wings firmly, aimed the blade at its throat, and with a swift stroke, blood sprayed out.
The chicken fell to the ground, squawking and thrashing in its death throes.
Pei Huaizhen's hands were stained with blood, yet not a single extra expression crossed his face.
"Miss Xue, it's done."
The man's gentle voice sounded as he extended his hand, offering the blood-covered knife back to Xue Qingqing.
Xue Qingqing stood frozen in place, not reaching out to take it.
Pei Huaizhen smiled. "Miss Xue?"
Only then did she raise her hand and accept the knife soaked in blood, but she didn't hold onto it for even a moment—she threw it straight into the water basin, where the clear water was instantly dyed red with chicken blood.
"Young Master Shen… you weren't afraid at all?" Xue Qingqing swallowed hard.
"It's just killing a chicken." Pei Huaizhen flicked the blood droplets off his hand, his eyes tender. "What, did I scare you, Miss Xue?"
Xue Qingqing shook her head. "No, I'm not that timid. The water's been boiling for a while—let me go check if it's ready."
With that, Xue Qingqing hurried into the kitchen. The moment she stepped through the door, she pressed a hand to her chest and took deep, ragged breaths.
She had indeed been frightened.
Actually, if it had been any other man killing a chicken—her husband Lu Fang, for instance—she wouldn't have batted an eye. She would have thought nothing of it.
But with this Shen Zhuo, Xue Qingqing found it especially bloody.
Perhaps it was because when she first met him, he had been in a weak, near-death state. Or perhaps because he looked so clean and scholarly that she simply couldn't fathom how he could so swiftly bring the blade down on a living creature, how he could face so much blood without blinking.
Once she had calmed herself, Xue Qingqing walked to the stove, ladled the boiling water into a basin, and carried it outside.
She plunged the lifeless chicken into the hot water, carefully plucked its feathers, then fetched another basin of water to wash it clean before putting it into the pot to stew.
Before long, the aroma of chicken wafted from the pot, and a layer of glistening golden fat gradually rose to the surface of the broth.
She simmered it patiently for a full two hours before fishing the nearly fall-off-the-bone chicken out of the pot and sprinkling a small handful of coarse salt into the soup to season it.
"Young Master Shen, you were wounded so badly, and I never thought to nourish your body. My cooking isn't very good—I made a fool of myself the past few days. This meal today is my apology to you."
Steam rose from the table, the chicken soaking in the fragrant broth, its aroma tantalizing.
Pei Huaizhen's gaze drifted upward and settled on Xue Qingqing's face.
The woman had fair, delicate skin. After working in the steaming kitchen for a while, a lovely flush had spread across her cheeks. Her plain mourning clothes did nothing to diminish the beauty of her features.
Pei Huaizhen's eyes were calm as he observed her evasive gaze. He didn't rush to exchange pleasantries but waited at his leisure for her to continue.
Xue Qingqing faced him, but her eyes kept darting to her son sleeping soundly in the cradle. Her hands unconsciously twisted the hem of her apron as she hesitated, then said, "After you finish eating, I'll brew the medicine the physician prescribed yesterday. Drink it while it's hot and see if it has any effect."
A smile curved at the corner of Pei Huaizhen's lips.
Sure enough, that was her real purpose.
Nourishing his body—when it came down to it, she still wanted him to recover his memory quickly and then be on his way.
She was a clever one, knowing to use courtesy before force.
"Let's eat first, Miss Xue," Pei Huaizhen said softly.
Xue Qingqing started, then nodded, her expression slightly unnatural.
She filled his bowl to the brim with chicken and set it before him, while before herself she placed only a bowl of soup.
Pei Huaizhen picked up the bowl in front of him and, with a perfectly natural motion, reached out and swapped it with the one before Xue Qingqing.
“Young Master Shen…” Xue Qingqing frowned, about to protest.
Pei Huaizhen looked into her eyes and said softly, “If Miss Xue listens to me, then I will listen to Miss Xue.”
“Now, finish this bowl of meat.”
Xue Qingqing was left speechless, so she could only lift her chopsticks and take small bites of the chicken, chewing carefully.
He watched her eat the entire bowl of meat, then pressed her to finish a whole chicken leg as well, until tears welled up in Xue Qingqing's eyes from being so full before he finally relented.
As repayment, after the meal, the medicine for amnesia that Xue Qingqing had brought was drunk by Pei Huaizhen as well—not a single drop left.
Yet Xue Qingqing could not feel pleased.
The medicine was drunk, her goal achieved, but something felt off.
Young Master Shen was too agreeable, too compliant—so compliant that it felt like… he was luring her into a trap.
The thought startled Xue Qingqing, and her hands trembled as she gathered the dishes.
“What's wrong, Miss Xue?” Pei Huaizhen looked at her, his peach-blossom eyes brimming with concern and overflowing with tenderness.
A coarse rag was pinched between his pale, slender fingers, looking as fine as silk brocade, and even the motion of wiping the table became a pleasure to behold.
“Nothing,” Xue Qingqing hurriedly lowered her head, her long lashes veiling the panic in her eyes. “Young Master Shen needn't help with the cleaning. Leave it to me.”
“It's no trouble at all, Miss Xue needn't be polite.”
Pei Huaizhen spoke slowly, refined and courteous: “To be able to lighten Miss Xue's burden is my good fortune. Besides, a cripple like me can do nothing more than this. I hope you won't think less of me.”
Xue Qingqing was soft-hearted by nature. The walls she had built high in her heart suddenly sank a few notches lower at his words.
She thought of how he had ended up a stranger in a foreign land, badly wounded, with all memory lost, and could not help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man before her.
She raised her face and looked across at him, intending to offer a few words of comfort, but the first thing her gaze met was the man's smile—deep and full of meaning.
Xue Qingqing realized in an instant—he had already anticipated her comfort.
Like prey stepping into a trap, Xue Qingqing felt deeply uncomfortable at having her thoughts so thoroughly seen through. The words of consolation died in her throat, and she lowered her face, not wanting to look at this man again.
Half a month passed in the blink of an eye.
Pei Huaizhen's bones had healed steadily, and he could now walk without the aid of a cane, though his gait was inevitably unsteady. It would still take some time before he returned to a normal state.
During this half month, Xue Qingqing continued to change his dressings as usual, supervised him drinking the medicine to restore his memory, and prepared his two meals a day.
Xue Qingqing had never been fond of going out. After Lu Fang's death, walking through the village made her feel like every man was staring at her, so she went out even less.
During these days, the two were almost inseparable.
But at the same time, Xue Qingqing was deliberately distancing herself from Pei Huaizhen.
Not only did she speak less to him, but she even took her meals into the inner room to eat, no longer sharing them with him.
Of course, Pei Huaizhen noticed the woman's deliberate withdrawal.
But he paid it no mind, continuing to treat her as before, his warmth undiminished in the slightest.
One evening, the two returned from town with medicine.
Xue Qingqing drove the donkey, the wooden cart creaking behind her. From a distance, she saw a short, stout figure standing at the village entrance.
As she drew closer, she recognized who it was—none other than the village head, Liu Dabao.
Liu Dabao squinted his beady rat-like eyes, as if waiting for someone. When he spotted Xue Qingqing, his gaze fixed on her and did not move away.
Remembering that Liu Dabao had once helped her out when the officials barged in, Xue Qingqing greeted him politely: “Uncle Liu, waiting for someone?”
Liu Dabao gave an “ah” and let his shifty eyes sweep over Xue Qingqing's delicate, pretty face, asking with concern: “Why are you off to town again?”
Xue Qingqing: “We ran out of salt at home, so I went to town to trade for some.”
Liu Dabao said warmly: “That's nothing. If you're out of salt, just say the word, and I'll bring it to your door myself.”
Xue Qingqing declined: “I wouldn't want to trouble you.”
Liu Dabao slapped his chest and said magnanimously: “What trouble? We're all from the same village. You're a widow with a child and no one to help at home. As village head, it's only right that I look after you.”
Xue Qingqing made a few more excuses, thanked him, and used the coming darkness as an excuse to drive the cart away.
Once on the road, a young man's voice suddenly came from behind her: “Miss Xue, beware of that man.”
The two had barely spoken the entire trip, and Xue Qingqing had even forgotten there was a man hidden in her cart.
Startled by the sudden voice, she took a moment to recover before asking, “Why?”
Pei Huaizhen paused, then said: “His intentions toward you are not pure.”
Xue Qingqing was taken aback for a moment, then, realizing what he meant, denied it outright: "That's impossible. The village chief is already so old—his son is several years older than me. Besides, he's an official of sorts, quite respected in the village. Wouldn't he be laughed at for coveting a widow who just lost her husband?"
Pei Huaizhen did not argue with her, only said calmly, "Miss Xue, men understand men best."
Xue Qingqing shook her head, not taking it to heart, and focused solely on going home to hold her child.
Little Tiger's behavior improved with each passing day—this time he clearly cried much less, only letting out a few aggrieved whimpers when he saw Xue Qingqing.
By the time Xue Qingqing returned home carrying her son, it was already pitch dark. She was just worrying about what to make for dinner when she walked in to find the table laden with exquisite dishes, so refined she couldn't even name them.
Pei Huaizhen took Little Tiger from her arms and said, "I bought the food in town beforehand. Miss Xue must be tired from the journey—please sit down and eat first. I'll take care of the child."
Xue Qingqing was about to decline when Pei Huaizhen added, "If Miss Xue is unwilling to dine in the same room as me, I'll bring the dishes to you inside. Would that be acceptable?"
At these words, Xue Qingqing blushed and found it impossible to refuse.
She sat down and looked at the food, her gaze drawn to a plate of pastries closest to her.
The pastries were snow-white and soft—they were the very "white sugar cakes" she had tasted last time.
Involuntarily, Xue Qingqing's heart warmed.
After all these days of getting to know him, she felt that, setting aside his mysterious origins, this Young Master Shen was indeed the most considerate, attentive, and grateful person she had ever met.
Xue Qingqing ate one pastry, then a few bites of other dishes, before going to take Little Tiger so Pei Huaizhen could eat.
Pei Huaizhen had a knack for soothing children—by the time Xue Qingqing finished her meal, he had already lulled Little Tiger back to sleep.
Xue Qingqing bent down to place Little Tiger in the cradle, her expression softening as she looked at her son's sweet smile on his little face. She said quietly, "Young Master Shen, he seems to really like you."
Pei Huaizhen took a sip of the finely ground almond tea, lifted his eyelids, and let his gaze fall on that slender waist—so delicate it seemed one hand could encircle it. The sweetness on his tongue spread, clinging and soft.
"Is it only him who likes me?"
Pei Huaizhen's voice was gentle, laden with meaning—"Don't others like me too?"
Xue Qingqing froze, not quite understanding what he meant.
Others?
Besides her, who else was in this room?
The dim candlelight flickered softly, and Xue Qingqing suddenly understood, her heart trembling along with it.
Her body stiffened, only the back of her head acutely aware, tingling with a numbing sensation.
She knew—it was the man looking at her.
"Knock, knock, knock!"
In the silence, a knocking sound suddenly came from the door.
Xue Qingqing snapped back to reality, first breathing a sigh of relief as if pardoned from a sentence, but then, remembering the officials who had searched for refugees that night, her heart immediately tightened again.
She hastily hid the food on the table into a basket, and, disregarding the strange atmosphere between them, hurriedly grabbed Pei Huaizhen, dragged him out of the room without explanation, pushed him into the kitchen, and began moving firewood to pile it around him, concealing him completely.
"Miss Xue, I could actually hide on the beam again like last time," Pei Huaizhen said, somewhat disdainfully, feeling the dust flying from the firewood.
Xue Qingqing grabbed another armful of firewood and stacked it in front of him. The night was dark, and the kitchen was so pitch-black one couldn't see one's own hand, let alone a face.
She demanded in a trembling voice: "Do you want to keep your legs or not?"
Her voice was low, breathless, and the sweet, moist fragrance from the woman's lips and teeth softly sprayed across Pei Huaizhen's face.
Pei Huaizhen said nothing more. In the unseen darkness, enveloped by her scent, the image of that slender waist appeared before his eyes.
Thin, soft—as if one hand could wrap around it entirely.
His Adam's apple rolled slightly. In the dark, his words came out low and burning:
"I do."