Night had deepened.
The last oil lamp in the courtyard had gone out, leaving only the cool moonlight, spilling over the earth like liquid silver, tracing vague outlines of the house and stacks of firewood.
Li Lanxiang gathered all the family’s dirty clothes into a large wooden basin, filled it with clean water, and sprinkled in some soapberry powder.
The well water was icy; her fingers quickly grew numb.
Yet there was a strange sense of calm in her heart.
These clothes, heavy with sweat, soil, and the scent of daily life, were the most immediate traces of the day. Washed and dried by morning, they would mark a fresh start.
When she finished, she rubbed her slightly reddened hands, lifted the heavy door curtain, and returned to her room.
Wang Dashan was already lying down, wrapped in his quilt, face turned inward, seemingly asleep.
A faint moonlight filtered through the window paper, barely illuminating the contours of the kang.
Li Lanxiang carefully removed her outer garments, wearing only her underclothes, and lifted a corner of her quilt to slip in.
The bedding smelled faintly of sun-warmed fabric, with a hint of Wang Dashan’s scent—a mix of soapberry and mountain air.
No sooner had she settled than the previously motionless man beside her shifted, turning toward her.
Under the moonlight, his eyes were open, their calm depth striking in the darkness.
Her heart skipped a beat.
For a long moment, they simply looked at each other in silence.
Li Lanxiang was the first to break it. She remembered the plans she had considered during the day and spoke softly:
“Um… Dashan, could you… sometime tomorrow… castrate our pig?”
Wang Dashan seemed taken aback, as if he hadn’t heard clearly—or hadn’t expected her to bring it up.
After a few seconds, he muttered:
“Why suddenly think of that?”
Li Lanxiang’s cheeks heated, but it was dark, so he couldn’t see.
Though she had lived as a solitary old woman in her past life, she had heard enough about country life.
In the original owner’s memory, villagers generally didn’t bother with this; pigs were raised and left to nature.
But she knew that an uncastrated boar would grow a large frame slowly, with tough, gamy meat.
If you wanted a pig to fatten quickly, for more meat and more income for the family, it was better to castrate it.
“I… I’ve heard people say,” she murmured, her voice low and tinged with barely noticeable embarrassment,
“this… helps the pig grow faster and meat to be thicker. Look at our pig—it eats a lot but doesn’t seem to gain weight…”
Wang Dashan didn’t reply immediately.
In the darkness, she could feel his gaze on her face, thoughtful and evaluating.
He was probably wondering why his wife suddenly knew about this. She had never mentioned it before.
After a long moment, he gave a low “hm,” a tacit acknowledgment.
Not a full answer, not a refusal, but Li Lanxiang knew he had noted it.
The topic concluded, silence returned to the room.
Li Lanxiang felt a bit awkward and was about to turn away, when Wang Dashan suddenly extended his arm.
Her body stiffened.
That arm, solid and undeniable, crossed the thin space between them and drew her shoulder close, bringing her toward him.
“D-Dashan…”
Her heart leapt. Her cheeks and ears instantly burned, even her neck felt hot.
Instinctively, she pressed her hands against his chest, voice trembling, pleading:
“I… I’m still not strong… my head still hurts… could you… give me a few days… please?”
Her mind spun with jumbled thoughts: the vague intimate images from the original owner’s memories, her own unfamiliarity with marital intimacy from her previous life.
Was this moving too fast?
She wasn’t ready…
Wang Dashan paused.
In the darkness, she couldn’t see his expression, only feel the rise and fall of his chest—perhaps a sigh?
Then his deep, calm voice sounded above her, tinged with a little helplessness, almost teasing:
“What are you thinking?”
He didn’t release her arm; instead, he adjusted his hold, letting her rest more comfortably against his shoulder. His other hand enclosed her slightly cold feet, pressing them with his warm ones.
“I’m just thinking… it’s cold, your body is weak, you might feel chilly. Holding you might help you sleep better.”
His tone was steady, matter-of-fact, as if stating the most natural thing in the world:
“Sleep.”
Li Lanxiang froze.
Her hands pressed against his chest slowly relaxed.
Cheeks against his firm, warm chest, she could clearly hear his strong, steady heartbeat—one thump, another.
His body heat flowed into hers, dispelling the autumn chill, gradually warming her previously cold feet.
So…
He simply wanted to keep her warm.
A wave of embarrassment flooded over her, almost overwhelming her.
She felt her earlier reaction had been utterly foolish!
She wanted to bury her face in the quilt.
But held in his embrace, she couldn’t move.
A man’s warmth was undeniable; the embrace—not soft, even slightly rigid—but steady and reliable.
That heartbeat sounded like a silent reassurance.
Her tense body slowly, painstakingly relaxed under his even breathing and warmth.
The clean scent from his breath, the steady rhythm at her ear—her panic, shame, and the taut string of tension since crossing over all seemed to melt quietly in this purely warming embrace.
In the darkness, she lifted her eyelashes just slightly, seeing only the strong line of his jaw.
This man, silent as a mountain yet precise as a needle…
Sleepiness rose like a gentle tide, eyelids growing heavy.
She no longer resisted the embrace, unconsciously pressing closer to the warmth, finding the most comfortable position.
In Wang Dashan’s reassuring presence and warmth, Li Lanxiang closed her eyes.
This time, sleep came without obstacle, faster and deeper than last night.
Even in her dreams, there was a sense of warmth—the lived, breathing comfort of daily life.