Her consciousness slowly rose from deep sleep.
The first thing she sensed was not the light, but her body.
A strange, unfamiliar feeling spread through her limbs.
It was not the pain of wounds, nor the soreness of exhaustion, but rather a…
A lazy, subtle aching warmth, mixed with an indescribable sense of looseness and comfort.
Certain places that had been touched and remembered still carried a faint sensation, different from usual.
Li Lanxiang suddenly opened her eyes.
Daylight was already bright, shining clearly through the paper window and illuminating the simple furnishings of the room.
The space beside her on the heated kang bed was already empty. Wang Dashan had gotten up at some point, and the quilt had been neatly folded.
She sat up, hugging the quilt, stunned for quite a while.
Last night… she seemed to have slept especially deeply, without even a dream.
But the feeling in her body now was too clear to ignore.
She lifted a corner of the quilt and glanced down at herself.
Her inner clothing was still neatly worn, but her body…
It seemed as if she had been wiped clean.
Fresh and comfortable, without any sweat—only the sense of being tidied up afterward.
Some hazy fragments from the darkness of last night suddenly rushed into her mind.
Heavy breathing. Scorching body heat. Strong, solid arms. Clumsy yet irresistible strength. And her own half-resisting, half-yielding response that eventually sank into unfamiliar indulgence…
Her face instantly flushed hot, even the tips of her ears burning.
Having lived seventy-five years in her previous life, plus thirty-five years in this one, Li Lanxiang…
For the very first time, she understood what it felt like to truly share the intimacy between husband and wife.
It was not frightening or unbearable as she had imagined.
Instead…
There was a kind of primal intimacy and fulfillment that struck straight at the heart. Even recalling it now made her heartbeat quicken, and the lazy warmth in her body seemed even more obvious.
She raised a hand to cover her burning cheeks. After a long while, she slowly lowered it.
But the corner of her lips curved upward ever so slightly, beyond her control.
It seemed… not bad at all.
After lingering on the kang for a little longer, she slowly got up and dressed.
With every movement, the unusual sensations in her body became more obvious, making her ears redden again.
While washing up, seeing the clear water in the copper basin reminded her that perhaps he had wiped her clean last night. The heat that had just faded from her face rose again.
After tidying herself up, she pushed open the door and stepped outside.
The autumn sunlight was just right, warmly filling the small courtyard.
Under the eaves, the two pig heads and eight pig’s feet they bought yesterday had already been cleaned thoroughly. The bristles on the pig heads had been burned black and scraped off, revealing pale pink skin. The pig’s feet had been chopped into pieces and neatly arranged in two large wooden basins, soaking in water.
The intestines and stomachs had likely already been washed and were hanging in the shade to drain.
Wang Dashan had not gone into the mountains today. He was crouching in a corner of the yard, sharpening several commonly used knives on a whetstone with a steady scrape, scrape.
Wang Tiezhu was splitting firewood, while Wang Shizhu crouched by the chicken coop, fiddling with something.
Hearing footsteps, Wang Dashan’s movements paused for a moment, though he didn’t immediately look up.
“Mother,” Wang Tiezhu called.
Wang Shizhu ran over with a grin.
“Mom, you’re up! Breakfast is warming in the pot. Dad made porridge, and there’s pickled vegetables!”
Li Lanxiang responded with a quiet “Mm,” walking somewhat stiffly toward the kitchen.
She could feel a gaze, heavy and steady, following her back.
She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
Inside the stove pot was thick white rice porridge kept warm, with a small dish of finely shredded pickled vegetables beside it.
Very simple, yet carrying the comforting warmth of everyday life.
She filled a bowl with porridge and ate slowly with the pickles. The porridge was cooked just right, the rice grains blossoming open, warm and soothing to the stomach.
As she ate, she suddenly felt something and raised her eyes slightly, looking through the open kitchen door toward the courtyard.
At some point, Wang Dashan had stopped sharpening his knives and was looking toward the kitchen.
His gaze was no longer as deep and probing as it had been the past few days. Instead, it carried a more complicated emotion that was hard to read.
Focus. Caution. And a trace of something else…
Something that had only appeared after last night—almost openly intense.
Their eyes met suddenly in the air.
Li Lanxiang’s heart skipped a beat, her fingers tightening slightly around the chopsticks.
But Wang Dashan’s eyes seemed almost scorched by the moment. He quickly looked away, lowering his gaze back to the knife in his hands, even somewhat flustered as he resumed sharpening with a few hurried scrape, scrape sounds.
The tips of his ears seemed…
A little red as well.
He had fled.
Realizing this, Li Lanxiang first froze, then an odd emotion rose within her—half amused, half shy.
So she wasn’t the only one feeling awkward.
This man who was usually silent like a mountain, yet last night…
He could feel embarrassed too.
She lowered her head and continued drinking her porridge, but the smile at the corner of her lips refused to fade, spreading all the way into her eyes.
Sunlight slanted in through the doorway, falling across her slightly flushed cheek and giving her an unusual softness.
In the courtyard, the sound of knife sharpening resumed, though it had lost its earlier rhythm and seemed somewhat uneven.
Even the sound of wood being chopped paused for a moment.
Only the oblivious Wang Shizhu continued happily teasing the hens, chattering away about something.
A simple breakfast stirred many ripples in Li Lanxiang’s heart, though she tried hard to maintain a calm expression.
The discomfort in her body remained, and the strange feeling in her heart even more so. Yet strangely, she didn’t dislike it.
Instead, there was a sense of calm, like dust settling after a storm.
He was her husband. She was his wife.
After last night, that understanding no longer felt like just a title—it had been branded into both body and soul, carrying warmth and touch.
After finishing her meal, she washed the bowls and chopsticks and stepped out of the kitchen.
Her gaze swept across the pig heads and feet waiting to be processed in the courtyard, then toward the man with his back to her—his posture straight yet somewhat stiff.
She took a deep breath.
Life still had to go on. Work still had to be done.
“Shizhu,”
she called, her voice softer than usual.
“Go bring out the old braising broth from yesterday, and make the stove fire burn stronger.”
“Got it!”
Wang Shizhu ran off at once.
Li Lanxiang walked to the wooden basin holding the pig heads and feet and began checking whether they had been cleaned properly.
She could feel it—the gaze behind her had quietly returned.
This time, she did not lift her head to meet it.