Xue Qingqing fumbled around, making sure the firewood completely concealed the person, before walking to the door with the resolve of one facing certain death.
So nervous was she that the short distance from the kitchen to the door had her drenched in sweat.
When the door opened, it was indeed Liu Dabao's face that appeared.
But unlike last time, there were no government officers behind Liu Dabao this time—only him alone.
Xue Qingqing looked carefully behind Liu Dabao, confirming there was no one else. She felt relief first, then asked suspiciously, "Uncle Liu, it's so late. Is there something urgent?"
Liu Dabao grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth, and raised the vegetable basket in his hand: "My neighbor slaughtered a pig, and I had them set aside a fine cut of pork belly, specially brought it over for you."
Xue Qingqing lowered her eyes and indeed saw a slab of fatty pork lying in the basket.
She shook her head: "Thank you for your kindness, Uncle Liu, but this meat is too precious. I can't accept it. You should take it back home."
Liu Dabao clicked his tongue dismissively: "Ah, we're neighbors and folks from the same village—what's all this about precious or not? You just gave birth, and this is exactly the time to nourish your body. It'd be perfect for stewing a pot of meat soup."
Without waiting for her response, he squeezed through the gap in the door into the courtyard, his bulky frame pushing the door wide open.
Xue Qingqing furrowed her brows, the words to chase him away nearly reaching her lips.
"This meat's heavy—I'll put it inside the house for you." Liu Dabao, completely oblivious, strode forward with big steps, ready to barge right in.
Xue Qingqing quickly said, "The child just fell asleep. Going in would wake him up. Just give the meat to me directly."
Liu Dabao smacked his lips, looking none too pleased: "Fine, fine."
Xue Qingqing, eager for him to leave quickly, reached out her hand, grasping the handle of the vegetable basket to take the meat.
But Liu Dabao wouldn't let go.
He lowered his head, staring fixedly at the small, fair, soft hand gripping the basket, swallowing his saliva again and again.
Seeing that he wouldn't release his grip, Xue Qingqing assumed he'd changed his mind, and felt a wave of relief. She immediately began to let go.
A fierce glint flashed in Liu Dabao's eyes—like a dog watching a duck fly right out of its mouth—and he suddenly seized Xue Qingqing's wrist.
Xue Qingqing shuddered in fright. Recovering, she wrenched her hand free from Liu Dabao's grip with all her strength.
"Uncle Liu, what are you doing?" A ring of foul, sweaty residue clung to her wrist. Xue Qingqing felt intense disgust, stepped back several paces, and stared at Liu Dabao in shock.
Liu Dabao stepped forward, closing in on Xue Qingqing, his eyes locked onto her face as he swallowed and said, "Niece-in-law, what do you think of your Uncle Liu as a man?"
Xue Qingqing's eyes were full of wariness as she continued backing away: "Uncle Liu was chosen by the villagers as village head, so naturally you're honest and dependable."
Liu Dabao dropped all pretense: "Since you think so highly of your Uncle Liu as an honest and dependable man, why don't you just come be with your Uncle Liu from now on!"
Xue Qingqing's almond-shaped eyes flew wide open, and she demanded in shock, "Do you even know what you're saying?"
Liu Dabao said shamelessly, "Sure, I'm a bit older, but the older a man gets, the better he knows how to cherish a woman. As long as you're willing to be with me, I guarantee you'll never worry about food or drink again—you'll be dripping in gold and silver!"
Xue Qingqing's stomach churned violently, nearly making her vomit. Her words trembled with fury: "My husband's body is barely cold. As an elder, how do you have the face to say such things to me?"
Liu Dabao curled his lip: "The dead can't come back to life. You're not going to stay faithful to Lu Fang for the rest of your life, are you? Even for your livelihood, you'll have to find someone eventually. And if you're going to find someone, why not me?"
Xue Qingqing was rendered speechless by his shameless words, her face flushed crimson with rage.
Seeing her silent, Liu Dabao took it as a sign she was tempted, and gleefully painted a rosy picture: "Don't you worry—my old woman at home is in poor health, hasn't got two years left in her. The moment she's dead, I'll make you my proper wife!"
With that, he took a big stride forward, arms spread wide, ready to pounce on Xue Qingqing, puckering his lips impatiently: "Come here, my sweetheart, let me have a kiss!"
Xue Qingqing couldn't dodge in time, and summoning courage she didn't know she had, she raised her hand and slapped that lecherous old face squarely.
"Smack!"
The crisp sound echoed through the courtyard.
Liu Dabao yelped in pain, clutching his face as he cursed: "You refuse a toast only to drink a forfeit! A widow with a kid like you should be burning incense to thank the heavens that anyone wants you at all. You turn your nose up at the village head—what, are you waiting for the emperor himself?"
Xue Qingqing refused to waste another word on him. She ran to the door, yanked the half-closed courtyard gate wide open, and said coldly, "Get out of here, or I'll start screaming for help."
The moment Liu Dabao heard she'd call for help, he quickly changed his expression, putting on a fawning smile: "I was just joking with you, and you took it seriously. If you don't want the meat, I'll just take it back."
He picked up the vegetable basket and sauntered slowly toward the courtyard gate.
As Xue Qingqing brushed past Liu Dabao, he suddenly lowered his voice and said viciously, "I'll let you off today, but you can hide for a moment, not forever. There will come a time when I get my hands on you, and when that happens, you and I will have ourselves a good time!"
Xue Qingqing's face turned pale, her lips trembling uncontrollably. She swept her gaze across the room, grabbed a carrying pole leaning against the wall, and made to chase after Liu Dabao.
Liu Dabao quickly fled, turning his head to spit out a curse.
The pole Xue Qingqing swung hit nothing, hanging uselessly in the air.
Her eyes were red, and even though Liu Dabao had already disappeared from sight, she still stared with hostility at the pitch-black night outside the door.
Gradually, the hostility turned to confusion, then sorrow.
Xue Qingqing put the pole back in its place, carefully closed the door, and bolted it shut, as if nothing had happened, before returning to the room.
The candle had been blown out by the wind at some point, leaving the room dark and empty.
The little tiger lay in the cradle, sleeping soundly.
Xue Qingqing walked to the cradle, her body giving way uncontrollably as she sank down.
The floor was cold, and she sat there, reaching out a hand. Under the moonlight streaming in through the doorway, she gently stroked her son's sleeping face.
The little tiger, as if dreaming of something, grinned in his sleep, looking adorably silly.
Xue Qingqing smiled along with her son, as if all the gloom had been swept away in that moment.
But after the smile, tears poured from her eyes without warning, falling one after another like pearls from a broken string.
She felt nauseous, wanted to vomit, and her chest burned with pain, as if the signs of a blocked milk duct were returning.
Afraid of frightening the child, Xue Qingqing covered her mouth tightly to stifle her sobs, slowly curling up in the darkness and hugging herself.
All was silent; in the long night, it seemed she was the only one left.
Just then, a hand with well-defined knuckles appeared before her, holding a clean cloth handkerchief.
Xue Qingqing followed the hand and looked up.
Under the cold moonlight, the young man's brows were gentle, his features handsome and otherworldly, as if surrounded by a faint soft glow, like an immortal or a spirit.
Xue Qingqing's eyes were blurred with tears: "Young Master Shen?"
Pei Huaizhen chuckled softly: "So you remember I exist?"
Xue Qingqing quickly explained, "I'm sorry, I forgot—"
"Wipe your tears first."
The hand holding the handkerchief extended a little further.
Xue Qingqing held back her remaining tears, took the handkerchief, and said with a self-deprecating laugh, "You're right. The village chief does have improper intentions toward me."
Her throat was dry, her voice muffled, carrying the thick nasal quality of someone who had been crying, her words soft and sticky.
Pei Huaizhen nodded: "I heard everything."
Seeming embarrassed, Xue Qingqing tightened her grip on the handkerchief, lowered her head further, her slender neck bending, startlingly pale in the dimness. A stray strand of hair escaped from her bun, loosely veiling that patch of white.
Pei Huaizhen looked at that strand of hair, his fingertips inexplicably itching.
"I can help you," he suddenly spoke.
Xue Qingqing raised her head, eyes reddened, looking at him in confusion: "Help me… how?"
Pei Huaizhen pressed his lips together, lost in thought.
Kill him, flay him, or cut off his limbs and make him into a human jar.
He had ten thousand ways to make that man disappear from her sight, or simply vanish from this world.
But he quietly studied the delicate, easily frightened face of the woman before him, then paused: "I'll help you report him to the authorities."
"Huh?" Xue Qingqing was stunned, tears hanging on her lashes, looking uncharacteristically childlike.
Pei Huaizhen: "According to our dynasty's laws, one who forces himself on a widow shall be beaten one hundred strokes and imprisoned for three years."
Xue Qingqing looked at Pei Huaizhen seriously for a moment, then said, "I thought earlier that you didn't seem like an ordinary person, but now I think you do."
Pei Huaizhen grew curious: "Why?"
Xue Qingqing pointed at her head: "You're not very smart."
"The law is the law, but without silver to grease the wheels, the authorities won't bother with what's on the docket." She sighed.
They say growing up begins the first time you report something to the authorities—clearly, this Young Master Shen hadn't grown up yet.
Pei Huaizhen was silent for a moment, then nodded: "You're right. I didn't think it through."
Xue Qingqing comforted him: "Young Master Shen means well, I know that."
Having someone to talk to made Xue Qingqing feel much better, and her tears mostly stopped.
She looked up at Lu Fang's memorial tablet and murmured to herself, "If only my husband were still alive. If he were here, he definitely wouldn't let me suffer this kind of humiliation."
Pei Huaizhen's eyelid twitched.
He looked up, casting a cold, sharp glance at the memorial tablet.
Xue Qingqing didn't notice his subtle expression. She wiped away the last tear with the handkerchief and stood up, saying, "It's getting late. Young Master Shen should rest early."
She picked up the child and went into the inner room, the moonlight framing her back, making her look even more frail and helpless.
The room returned to silence, bathed in the cold moonlight, the view hazy as if through a thin mist.
After who knows how long, the sound of even, soft breathing came from the inner room.
Separated by only a curtain, just by listening, the warm fragrance of the woman seemed to drift through the curtain, lingering around his breath.
Pei Huaizhen walked out of the room and headed to the kitchen.
The kitchen was pitch black. He reached out in the darkness and picked up a cleaver.
The kitchen knife that had once been used to help Xue Qingqing slaughter a chicken.
Holding the knife, Pei Huaizhen walked out of the courtyard, his figure merging into the night.
Half an hour later, a pig-slaughtering scream erupted from the village head's house, startling several households awake.
Liu Dabao's son, Liu Gui, threw on his clothes and stepped outside, following the sound with his gaze. In a single glance, he saw his old father collapsed beside the latrine.
"Father, what's wrong?!"
Liu Gui rushed over and raised a lantern to take a look—he was nearly scared out of his wits.
There lay Liu Dabao, his face deathly pale, sprawled in a pool of blood. His entire body convulsed violently, his eyes bulged wide and protruding, and white foam bubbled from his mouth. His upper body was intact, but his trousers were bunched around his ankles.
And between his legs, that which was regarded as a man's virility was nowhere to be found—only a bloody, mangled mess remained.
…
"Arf! Arf!"
Under the moon, several stray dogs in the village crouched low, fighting and tearing at a piece of bloody, soft flesh, occasionally letting out low growls.
Beside the growling, water babbled softly—a stream wound around the village, shimmering silver in the moonlight.
Pei Huaizhen soaked his hands in the stream, meticulously washing away the traces of blood. Once he was certain they were clean, he rose and walked toward the small courtyard behind him.
Returning to the familiar place, Pei Huaizhen closed the door and stepped into the house.
Water droplets from his fingertips dripped steadily. He reached out to take the cloth handkerchief from his sleeve, but found nothing—only then did he remember that he had already given it to Xue Qingqing to wipe her tears, and it should be with her now.
He resumed his steps, and with fingers as clean as jade, he parted the cloth curtain and stepped naturally into the inner room.
On the couch, Xue Qingqing was already fast asleep. Beside her pillow, the cloth handkerchief lay neatly folded.
Pei Huaizhen picked up the handkerchief and wrapped it around his index and middle fingers.
The cloth was still slightly damp and cool—the woman's tears had not yet dried.
Pei Huaizhen paid it no mind, leisurely wiping away the water stains.
Without realizing it, his gaze drifted to Xue Qingqing's face.
She seemed to be dreaming of something—her delicate brows were tightly furrowed, a flustered flush spread across her cheeks, and her dark hair at her temples was in disarray.
Her lips parted and closed gently, as if murmuring words.
Pei Huaizhen gazed at her for a moment, then finally stepped closer, bent down, and tilted his ear to listen.
"It hurts… it hurts so much…"
The woman's murmurs, carried on warm breath, sprayed against Pei Huaizhen's ear, dampening his temple.
He turned his face to look at her brow, beaded with sweat, and asked in a low voice, "Where does it hurt?"
In her sleep, Xue Qingqing's hand trembled, then struggled upward to grope at her body, coming to rest on her abnormally full chest.
She cupped it, her fingertips sinking in, and began to gently knead.