Once the rotten thatch was stripped away, the broken tiles on top would also need to be removed and relaid. Sun Yushan had worked as a mason, but he had only ever been an apprentice.
He knew how to do the work, but he didn’t understand the finer details. He could clear the thatch and tiles from the roof, but he had no idea whether to lay the new tiles first or apply the mortar.
After standing on the roof scratching his head for a long while, Ye Jia called him down.
Though he was clueless, Ye Jia knew exactly what to do. Ancient rural architecture wasn’t much different from later styles; the basic steps were the same. The primary beam-and-column frame remained unchanged: wooden pillars supported the horizontal beams, which in turn held up shorter posts that supported the rafters.
These frames connected to one another, their vertical and horizontal intersections forming a sturdy structure.
Next, a thick layer of mud was spread over the roof deck. In the countryside, this was called “peach blossom slurry.” A finer layer was applied over the top before the tiles were laid.
Peach blossom slurry was a mortar made from quicklime, yellow clay, and water, mixed in a ratio of three parts clay to seven parts lime. The yellow clay could be dug from the mountain behind their house, but she didn’t know where to find quicklime.
As she muttered to herself, Sun Yushan overheard. “They sell it in town,” he said. “Fifteen wen a bag.”
“That’s great.”
Two bags would be enough to plaster the roof.
Ye Jia had considered going with him, but she quickly realized she would only slow him down. Instead, she gave him the money and sent him on his own.
Sun Yushan moved with a speed that rivaled a donkey cart, returning with the supplies in no time. Ye Jia crouched beside him and took a handful of the quicklime, rubbing it between her fingers. It was coarser than the lime from her own time, but it would work.
Sun Yushan tossed the two bags onto the ground and headed for the mountain to dig clay.
The young man was a tireless worker, efficient and thorough. Before long, he returned carrying two massive baskets of sticky yellow clay.
Ye Jia stared in astonishment. He looked so lean, yet his strength was immense. The two baskets must have weighed at least two hundred pounds. She grabbed a handful of the clay, crushing it in her palm. The texture was incredibly fine.
Glancing at the sky, she recalled the old farmers’ warnings about rain tomorrow.
“Mix the mortar to the right proportions,” she instructed Sun Yushan. “We need to get this roof repaired as quickly as possible.”
She left the rest of the work to him.
With the roof under repair, the courtyard was no place to prepare food. Dust would fly everywhere.
Madam Yu carried the basket of washed radishes to the back yard, planning to work there. But before she could even set it down, Ye Jia stopped her.
“Mother, we won’t be making them today. Let’s take a break tomorrow.”
They had been selling radish cakes for nearly two months. After accounting for the family’s food and miscellaneous expenses, the net profit came to twenty-three taels and six mace of silver. Madam Yu had strung the copper coins together with thin twine and hidden them beneath the bed in the west room.
She had initially offered the money to Ye Jia, since Ye Jia had earned it all. But Ye Jia had refused, telling her mother to keep it safe. Only then did Madam Yu tuck it away, her heart swelling with satisfaction.
Zhou Jingchen watched silently as Ye Jia directed Sun Yushan in mixing the mortar. His gaze returned to the woman in her dusty, drab clothes.
She wore no fine silks, no jeweled hairpins or jade pendants. Yet her bright eyes shone with a clear, vivid light. Perhaps it had been too long, and his memories were fading. Or perhaps he had been so consumed by his own fury in his past life that he had never truly noticed Lady Ye. He was beginning to realize she was a remarkable woman—nothing like the dull, selfish person he remembered.
Ye Jia felt his gaze and turned her head, meeting his eyes.
The man who had just been pelted with rotten grass had moved his stool to the fence, leaning against it as he sat. When their eyes met, he crinkled the corners of his eyes in a slight smile. Ye Jia’s heart gave a sudden thud. She stiffened, jerked her face away, and shoveled the mortar into a bucket before turning back toward the kitchen.
Since she’d hired help, Ye Jia wasn’t about to be stingy. At the market that morning, she’d bought two pounds of meat and a giant red perch.
The northwest wasn’t as barren as people thought. Meat and fish were plentiful. The rivers teemed with wild species—taimen, northern pike, bighead carp, naked schizothoracin, European perch, Sui fish, redfin culter, and Arctic grayling.
Libei County had its own rivers, rich with common carp, crucian carp, grass carp, and snakehead fish. Yet, the locals rarely ate fish, so these river delicacies seldom graced their tables.
Ye Jia, raised in the heart of the Jiangnan water towns, loved fish and knew how to cook it. She’d avoided making it at home because the Zhou family lacked the necessary seasonings, and the children made it a hassle. But for guests, she would prepare a proper fish dish.
She planned to braise the giant red perch. Her own preference was for the fresh, delicate taste of steaming, but the people of the North preferred bolder flavors and often found steamed fish too fishy.
Ye Jia carried the basin of fish to the well. As she took out her knife and looked at the fish, her brow furrowed. Madam Yu, holding Rui’er, came over and watched her in silence, afraid to speak.
After a long moment, Madam Yu seemed to notice Ye Jia’s distress.
“Jia-niang,” she asked softly, “do you not know how to kill them?”
Ye Jia’s expression froze. “Mother, do you?”
“…”
Madam Yu’s expression froze as well.
One was a former Princess Consort Jing, whose hands had never known a day’s hard labor. Three years of exile had worn down her pride, yet she was still fumbling through every basic task, learning them all haphazardly. The other was a top-tier engineering graduate who had spent twenty years studying by the light of a cold window; she could cook, but she wouldn’t dare kill a chicken.
They stared at the giant red perch thrashing in the wooden basin like a dragon in a pool. Neither knew where to begin.
Ye Jia frowned, thinking for a moment.
What’s the point of being so precious when I’ve fallen to this state? she wondered.
She decided to go inside and get the club. She didn’t dare kill the fish while it was alive, but she dared to smash it to death.
She gritted her teeth and stood up. Just as she was about to leave, a soft cough sounded behind her.
Ye Jia looked up in frustration. The man who had been sitting on the bench had already risen, leaning on his crutch as he walked over unhurriedly. Zhou Jingchen’s voice was as pleasant as ever, clear and calm.
“Give me the knife.”
Before she knew it, he was standing right in front of her.
Then he took Ye Jia’s hand—the one holding the cleaver—and deliberately, slowly, eased the knife from her grasp.
He crouched down, then raised his hand and delivered a single, precise strike. Blood sprayed. Yet, a faint, detached smile still played on his lips. The sunlight illuminated his face, casting dark shadows from his raven-black eyelashes onto his eyelids. His features were rare and strikingly handsome, his skin like jade, glowing with a translucent pallor.
This is what it means to have a smile like a spring breeze, she thought. Of course, it would be a lot more refreshing if it weren’t covered in blood.
Ye Jia stood there, numb, staring down at the severed head of the giant red perch. She had almost forgotten that she lived with a man who butchered fish like he was slicing a melon.
“How do I do this?” he asked, looking up. The spring light caught in his eyes, making them shine with a quiet, dazzling brilliance.
Ye Jia stared. …Fine. Since his hands are already bloody, he might as well finish the job.
She wasn’t actually that squeamish—it was just a fish. In her past life, she’d watched her mother lose her mind in the kitchen, frantically slamming a fish against the floor until blood splattered the walls and ceiling. This was nothing compared to that.
She crouched beside him and began to give him earnest instructions on how to remove the gills, gut the fish, and clean out the internal organs.
“You have to peel off the black membrane inside the belly,” she added, “or it’ll taste bitter and fishy.”
Zhou Jingchen nodded, cleaning the fish with a diligence that suggested he was a quick study. Ye Jia supervised the entire process, nodding in satisfaction.
She then brought the meat over and set it down beside him with a soft thud. “Since we’re at it, let’s just prepare everything. Husband, slice the meat.”
She held up her fingers to indicate the desired thickness.
Zhou Jingchen paused. “…”
He began cutting the meat with remarkable speed. The same cleaver Ye Jia had found so clumsy now moved in his hand with the same agility as his fingers.
Ye Jia focused her attention on the vegetables, chopping them quickly. Beside her, Rui’er crouched on the ground, tears streaming down her face from the pungent onions. Despite the stinging, the little girl refused to move, rubbing her eyes with her small, clenched fists.
“Auntie, is this going to be yummy?” she asked, her voice muffled by her efforts to keep her eyes open.
“Yes, it’ll be delicious,” Ye Jia said, unable to hide her smile. “Step back a bit, the onions are making your eyes sting.”
The child obediently scooted back but remained crouched on the ground, refusing to leave.
In just two months, Rui’er had transformed. Once a scrawny thing, no more substantial than a bundle of kindling, she had filled out considerably. Her skin had grown fair, and though her dull, yellowish hair took longer to recover, she had already blossomed into a clean, healthy-looking child—a little lucky charm.
Ultimately, no one in the Zhou family was ugly. Madam Yu had mentioned that Rui’er’s parents were exceptionally handsome, and perhaps only Yun’an’s future children would be able to compare. As she spoke, Madam Yu kept glancing sideways at Ye Jia, her meaning obvious to anyone with eyes.
Ye Jia feigned deafness and blindness, pretending not to notice.
Ridiculous, she thought. What did Zhou Jingchen’s children have to do with her?
Sun Yushan worked both quickly and efficiently. In a single morning, he had already finished half the roof. He’d be done by the afternoon, probably right after lunch.
Ye Jia prepared a feast: a large braised fish and, after a moment’s hesitation, two pounds of braised pork. She also made a plate of stir-fried Bai Song with vinegar, some radish balls, and several cold side dishes, filling the table.
Though the main course was mixed-grain rice, she steamed a pot of fluffy white flour buns. Ordinary families couldn’t afford white flour for every meal—it was too expensive. In fact, the high quality of her flour was partly why Ye Jia’s radish pancakes sold so well.
Sun Yushan jumped down from the roof, covered in mud. Ye Jia brought him some warm water to wash up, then set the table in the courtyard.
Country folk usually only saw meat on their tables during the New Year. Seeing the Zhou family treat him to both fish and pork, Sun Yushan felt a wave of gratitude.
After the first bite of meat, Sun Yushan couldn’t tear his eyes away from his bowl. It wasn’t just that he’d never eaten such a fine meal—even Zhou Jingchen raised an eyebrow in surprise at the fish. Ye Jia had prepared it Jiangnan-style, adding a touch of sugar to enhance the freshness.
The sweet-savory flavor was so irresistible that Rui’er kept asking for more. Even Madam Yu, who usually complained that fish tasted too fishy, took several extra bites.
Sun Yushan worked even harder that afternoon. When Ye Jia saw him gasping for breath, she hurried out to call him down for a break.
“Come rest and have some tea before you go back up,” she urged.
But the man only sat for a moment before returning to the roof. By nightfall, the Zhou family’s roof was finally finished.
Ye Jia stepped back to get a better view. The tiles were laid tight and even. Tomorrow, they wouldn’t have to worry about leaks.
That evening, Sun Yushan stayed for dinner, and Ye Jia paid him his wages. The roof was a two-day job for one man, but he had stubbornly finished it in a single day. Touched by his diligence, Ye Jia had already set aside a bowl of meat for him at noon, and now she offered it to him again as he prepared to leave.
“How can I accept this?” Sun Yushan asked, waving his hands in refusal. He had already received forty wen in wages and eaten two lavish meals; he felt he’d been paid more than enough. “The boss lady is too generous. I can’t take both the food and the money.”
Ye Jia wasn’t just being polite; she genuinely wanted Old Sun to have the meat. Call her soft-hearted if you must, but she couldn’t help feeling sorry for the scrawny old man. He was honest and sincere—the kind of person she was happy to help.
“Just take it,” she told Sun Yushan. “And tell your father not to come tomorrow. We aren’t making pancakes, so there will be no stall. He can check back the day after. If it rains, tell him to stay home and rest. He can come back once it clears up.”
Sun Yushan, a mix of gratitude and embarrassment, thanked her repeatedly before finally leaving.
Zhou Jingchen, who had been watching from the side, finally spoke. “Jia-niang, is that the Sun family from Hejia Bridge in Qian County?”
“Huh?” Ye Jia had no idea where Hejia Bridge in Qian County was. She blinked, uncertain. “I… suppose so.”
Zhou Jingchen stared at her for a moment. As his gaze lingered, a blush crept up her cheeks. He lowered his head, a smile playing on his lips.
Ye Jia’s blush wasn’t from romance—it was pure mortification. For some reason, talking to Zhou Jingchen always left her feeling intellectually outmatched. As she watched him lean on his cane and walk away with such unhurried grace, the feeling only intensified.
Forget it, Ye Jia thought. Why was she always trying to prove she was smarter than him? She had better things to think about.
With that thought, she turned and went back inside.
As luck would have it, her worries were soon justified. The weather had been fine that evening, but before dawn the next day, the rain began to fall.
The tile market closed on rainy days. Ye Jia slept until dawn, then rose and stared at the ceiling with a growing sense of dread. She wondered if the mud on the roof had dried completely the night before. Would all our hard work be for nothing?
She grabbed an umbrella and stepped outside. Fortunately, the tiles had been laid densely. Fearing they wouldn’t have enough, she had specifically added another five hundred tiles the day before, ensuring a tight fit. The rain struck the tiles and slid right off, never touching the mud beneath.
The family breathed a collective sigh of relief. They were glad Ye Jia-niang had been decisive enough to spend the extra money; otherwise, the roof would have been a wasted effort.
But the rain continued, falling intermittently for four days. With no business for four straight days, Madam Yu began to worry by the fifth. The family had spent their idle time washing radishes and preparing filling, accumulating three or four hundred cakes to sell in town.
Unfortunately, when they arrived at the market that day, two new pancake stalls had appeared at the entrance.
And as luck would have it, they were also selling radish cakes.