At the rooster's crow, the sky was just beginning to lighten.
Mist condensed in the courtyard, the grass and trees lush and green, crystalline dew hanging from the eaves, dripping down along the thatch in thin silver threads, seemingly broken yet still connected.
Xue Qingqing woke from her dream, the cold sweat on her body already dried, the pain in her chest greatly eased.
Her thoughts were hazy, and she vaguely remembered that last night, she seemed to have dreamed of Lu Fang.
Lu Fang stood by the bed, very close to her, his breath against her lips as he asked, "Where does it hurt?"
She couldn't help but press and rub the hard lump in her chest, tears falling endlessly, her words slurred as she kept muttering nonsense.
He turned and left for a moment.
When he returned, he pressed a wet cloth into her hand.
Meaning she should apply a cold compress.
At the time, Xue Qingqing was in so much pain she wasn't fully conscious, and being in a dream, she should have been muddled without clear thoughts, but she truly found it amusing.
Two years as husband and wife, children already born, and he actually told her to apply the cold compress herself? Couldn't he just undo her clothes and apply it directly?
A man who was careless and rough in life, but after death, he'd become shy.
Outside the window, the sky gradually brightened, turning a pale duck-egg blue. A few birds flew over, chirping in the courtyard.
Xue Qingqing was immersed in an illusory dream, unable to snap back to reality for a long time, until Little Tiger also woke up and let out an "ah" at her. Only then did she come to her senses and gently pick up her son.
"Mother dreamed of your father last night."
Xue Qingqing's lips carried a smile, but her eyes were sorrowful: "Your father is truly heartless. It's been so long, and he only came back to see me this once."
Little Tiger wasn't about to share in her sadness. An infant's great matters in life were nothing but sleeping and eating. After waiting a moment and seeing no food coming, he started to whimper and was about to cry at full volume.
Xue Qingqing quickly pulled open her collar and cradled the little one horizontally in her arms.
It was strange—last night there had been a lump the size of an egg, but now feeding was effortless, the milk flowing without obstruction.
As if it had really been cold-compressed.
Xue Qingqing subconsciously looked at the cloth by her pillow.
The cloth was folded neatly, still in the position she'd left it last night.
She touched it. Dry.
So it really was just a dream.
Xue Qingqing smiled bitterly, feeling she must be going mad, actually hoping a dead man would crawl out of the earth to find her.
After feeding Little Tiger, Xue Qingqing composed herself, changed out of her milk-stained top into fresh clothes, left Little Tiger babbling on the bed, and took the clothes outside, preparing to wash them in the courtyard.
Passing through the main hall, Xue Qingqing deliberately lightened her footsteps, careful not to disturb the man on the bamboo couch, not even letting her gaze drift.
But once she stepped out of the main hall, Xue Qingqing froze on the spot.
Steam and moisture hung in the courtyard, and the clothesline was full of freshly washed garments, swaying gently in the breeze.
The refined and handsome man stood by the water vat, scooping water into a basin. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, a bulging vein running along his inner forearm down to his wrist, his cold, pale, slender fingers gripping a rough wooden ladle—a scene that was indescribably incongruous.
Pei Huaizhen heard her footsteps, looked up, and saw Xue Qingqing. His gaze immediately softened, and he said in a gentle voice, "Miss Xue, good morning."
"Young Master Shen, good morning." Xue Qingqing half-wondered if she was seeing things, and only after a pause did she say, "You washed all these clothes?"
Pei Huaizhen curved his lips, a smile dancing in his peach-blossom eyes, his tone somewhat helpless: "Is there a third adult in this courtyard besides me?"
"That's not what I meant… It's just that these chores should be done by me." Xue Qingqing's voice lowered a little. "Young Master Shen, after all, you are a guest."
After all, he was a man.
The baby's clothes were fine, but her own clothes—there was no way she would hand them over to a man she barely knew to wash. Take the one in her hand, for instance: it was covered in spots and stains, all milk marks. Even if she weren't a person of ancient times, even if she were still living in the modern era, she couldn't bear that. Just thinking about it was enough to make her want to slam her head into a wall.
Xue Qingqing's long lashes trembled slightly. She raised her eyes and secretly glanced at the clothes hanging on the bamboo pole.
She only saw two small garments that Little Tiger had changed out of, along with a set of men's underclothes. Nothing else.
Good. None of her clothes were there.
Xue Qingqing secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
"It seems Miss Xue still treats me as an outsider."
Pei Huaizhen took in every subtle expression of hers, let out a light scoff, and said in a wounded tone: "But I consider Miss Xue the most important person in my life."
Xue Qingqing's lashes fluttered.
Pei Huaizhen continued: "After all, the grace of saving a life is no different from being reborn."
Xue Qingqing's tense gaze relaxed again.
She let out a small sigh of relief: "Young Master Shen, you flatter me. Saving one life is better than building a seven-story pagoda. It's true that I saved you, but I was also accumulating merit for myself. When you recover your memories someday and return home, if you don't forget me, then this acquaintance won't have been in vain. Beyond that, I ask for nothing more."
The morning breeze slipped into the courtyard, passing through the hall, bringing a damp coolness that brushed against the face and sharpened the senses.
The playfulness in Pei Huaizhen's eyes subsided. He gazed steadily at Xue Qingqing, studying her.
He had seen her lose her composure many times. Last night, for instance.
Yet there were moments when she was composed, intelligent, watertight in her reasoning, and clear in her thinking.
She seemed nothing like a village woman.
For no discernible reason, a ripple of irritation stirred in Pei Huaizhen's heart.
His voice was gentle, melting like honey, each word rolling off his tongue with care: "Miss Xue, rest assured—so long as I live, I will never forget the days I have spent with you."
With that, he extended his arm slightly, his fingertips reaching toward her, full of goodwill: "Those clothes in your hands—would you like me to wash them?"
Xue Qingqing's grip on the garments tightened, and she quickly replied, "No need. It's just this one piece—I'll wash it myself. I wouldn't want to trouble Young Master Shen."
Pei Huaizhen's brows curved into a smile as he withdrew his hand. "Very well."
Clutching the clothes, Xue Qingqing turned and retreated into the inner room, her steps considerably quicker than when she had come out.
The two ate breakfast separately.
After finishing her meal in the inner room and coaxing Little Tiger back to sleep, Xue Qingqing thought to herself that her recurring clogged milk ducts couldn't go on like this, so she decided to pay a visit to the neighbor auntie's house next door and ask about which woman in the village was skilled at clearing blocked milk.
Passing through the main hall, she said to Pei Huaizhen, "If you'd keep an eye on things, Young Master Shen—I'm stepping out for a bit and will be right back."
Pei Huaizhen nodded. "Alright. I'll wait here at home with the child."
A flicker passed through Xue Qingqing's eyes.
She sensed something odd but couldn't quite put her finger on what.
No sooner had she left than Little Tiger's fussing sounds drifted from the inner room.
Pei Huaizhen rose and went inside.
A faint, sweet fragrance hung in the air. The bed was tidied and neat, the quilt cover washed to a faded white, and where patches had been mended, delicate little flowers were embroidered in fine threads of pale yellow.
Little Tiger's eyes were still closed, but he wasn't sleeping soundly, his small hands and feet flailing about restlessly.
Pei Huaizhen placed his hand on the infant and patted him gently. After just a couple of strokes, the little one settled down and drifted obediently into sleep.
He straightened up, about to leave.
But his fingertips brushed against something soft at the edge of the pillow.
Pei Huaizhen looked over and saw a woman's garment.
The very garment Xue Qingqing had wanted to wash that morning.
Its front was stained with dried white patches of milk.
Pei Huaizhen's memory drifted back to the night before.
The woman drenched in sweat, hair and clothes soaked through, pearl-white teeth biting down on red lips, long lashes clinging to tears, writhing in agony with nowhere to escape—beautiful enough to shake the soul.
She had wept in the darkness, pleading desperately: "I can't take it anymore… help me…"
The scorching image replayed before his eyes, and Pei Huaizhen's breath grew hot.
Suddenly, he felt a loathing for the man he was in this moment.
Not because of the filthy thoughts themselves.
But because if he had known those filthy thoughts would linger so long—long enough for him to stir at the sight of a mere shirt—then he might as well have gone along with it last night.
It would have saved him from washing clothes this morning, trying to cover up what was already plain.
Pei Huaizhen furrowed his brow, feeling as though he were showing signs of turning foolish. An inexplicable restlessness settled over his heart. He cast one final glance at that troublesome thin garment, then strode out of the inner room.
About the time it takes to burn a stick of incense, Xue Qingqing finally returned.
She came back later than she had promised, clearly having been waylaid by something, yet her mood was excellent—not only were her steps lighter, but there was even a liveliness in her brow, a far cry from the gloom she had carried when she left.
"Young Master Shen, guess what news I just heard?" She even initiated conversation with Pei Huaizhen.
Pei Huaizhen smiled at her, as gentle as ever. "What?"
Xue Qingqing rounded her bright, clear apricot eyes, lowered her voice, and said with an air of mystery, "I heard from the auntie that last night Liu Dabao took a fall in his own home and—"
She flushed, biting her lip just in time, and glossed over the rest: "Anyway, he's hurt badly. From now on, he's a cripple who can't even leave his house."
Pei Huaizhen played along, lowering his voice and letting out a soft "Oh my," then added, "That truly is satisfying news."
Xue Qingqing's eyes sparkled as she let out a relieved breath. "How wonderful. I'll never have to worry about him causing me trouble again. It seems heaven does have eyes after all—justice isn't blind, it's just a matter of time."
Pei Huaizhen nodded. "Perhaps someone has been helping you in secret. You never know."
Xue Qingqing paused at that, then it clicked. "That's true."
She lifted her gaze, her bright, glittering eyes fixed on the memorial tablet of her late husband, and said with heartfelt joy, "I know now—it must be my husband watching over me."
Pei Huaizhen fell silent.
"That must be why I dreamed of him yesterday—he came to see justice done for me."
Pei Huaizhen closed his eyes.
Xue Qingqing stared at her husband's memorial tablet, unable to look away for a long time, her eyes gradually reddening. "I knew it. Even if only a wisp of his soul remained, he would never be heartless enough to abandon me."
She wasn't a materialist—anyone who had experienced transmigration like she had would stop believing so firmly that there were no ghosts in this world. So she truly believed it was Lu Fang protecting her, watching over her.
"Today's a good day—worth celebrating." Xue Qingqing wiped away the tears spilling from the corners of her eyes and finally tore her gaze from the tablet, turning it to the man beside her. "Young Master Shen, can you handle spicy food?"
Pei Huaizhen opened his eyes, and in the blink of an eye, a hint of gloom had inexplicably crept into them.
"Anything goes—whatever Miss Xue prepares, I'll eat," he said with a smile.
Xue Qingqing replied, "Then I'll stir-fry some wild garlic with cured meat and steam some rice. These two dishes were my late husband's favorites—he could always put away three big bowls. I'm sure Young Master Shen will enjoy them too."
Pei Huaizhen let out a light "Heh," and said, "Indeed."
Xue Qingqing took a deep breath, trying to suppress her agitation. But as long as she remembered that Lu Fang still existed—that his very soul was right beside her at this moment—she couldn't stop herself from fumbling in a fluster, even forgetting the order of preparing ingredients. She had to remind herself aloud: "Right, the cured meat. First, cut off the cured meat and steam it… the knife. Get the knife to cut the meat…"
She took a step, intending to head toward the kitchen.
"Don't use the kitchen cleaver anymore."
The man's voice suddenly rang out from behind Xue Qingqing.
Startled by the unexpected sound, her hairs stood on end. After a moment to compose herself, she turned around and looked at "Young Master Shen's" fair, refined face, asking instinctively, "Why?"
Pei Huaizhen met her gaze and parted his lips: "Last night, it was with this very cleaver that I sliced off the village chief's manhood."
In an instant, the room fell into deathly silence.
Looking at Xue Qingqing's face, which had drained of all color in that moment, Pei Huaizhen's eyes were gentle, filled with remorse: "Forgive me, Miss Xue."
"Your late husband did not protect you."