After the meal, Wang Shizhu eagerly took over cleaning the bowls and chopsticks.
Li Lanxiang didn’t insist on helping, merely giving a few instructions about feeding the chickens and pig—
Scatter a handful of leftover grains for the hens, mix the pig grass Shizhu had brought in during the day with bran for the pig trough.
Wang Dashan listened silently, and when she finished, he said:
“I’ve got it covered. You rest.”
The words were short, unadorned, yet they landed on Li Lanxiang’s still-drifting heart like a solid stone.
She glanced at him; in the dim light, his profile was sharp, flecked with traces of wind and frost that hadn’t yet been washed away.
She let out a barely audible “Mm,” held the doorframe, and slowly returned to her own room.
The room was darker than the main hall, the only light a faint glow filtering through the window paper.
Feeling her way, she reached the kang and sat down. Fatigue surged over her like a tide, mingling with the dull pain from her head wound and the discomfort of a soul newly settled into this body.
Her body still carried traces of the kitchen’s smoke and the faint scent of blood—
Even though Wang Dashan had changed out of his bloody clothes, the smell lingered at her nose.
The original owner had been tidy; in memory, she always used a damp cloth to wipe herself before bed whenever conditions allowed.
Li Lanxiang herself had the same habit in her past life.
She thought of fetching some water, but the dull pain at her temple worsened the moment she moved, and her limbs were stiff and weak.
This body, injured in vital energy yet forced to cook a meal, had already reached its limit.
So be it.
She sighed inwardly, removed the coarse outer jacket, leaving only the old inner garment, and slowly eased onto the kang, sinking into the bedding still warm from the day.
The quilt was rough homespun, stiff from washing, yet carried the dryness of sunlight and a trace of…
A unique scent belonging to Wang Dashan—sweat mingled with the aroma of the mountains.
She had just settled when she heard his low voice outside, apparently instructing Shizhu about something, then the soft click of the courtyard gate being latched, and his footsteps approaching her room.
Li Lanxiang’s heart lifted inexplicably.
The door curtain was lifted, and a tall shadow entered, bringing in a faint chill of night air.
He moved lightly, fumbled to remove his shoes and outer clothes, and rustled softly. Then, carrying the crisp, clean scent of someone freshly washed in cold water, he lay down beside her.
The kang wasn’t wide; the space between them was narrow.
Li Lanxiang’s body stiffened instantly.
In her previous life, for seventy-five years, he had left on their wedding night.
She had lived alone, quiet and untouched, never even holding a man’s hand.
In this life, the original owner had been married to Wang Dashan for over twenty years; sharing a bed would have been ordinary.
But for this newly arrived Li Lanxiang, the sudden presence of a fully grown, tangible male body beside her was overwhelming.
Her breathing softened involuntarily, every sense focused on the space next to her.
She could hear his even breathing, feel the warmth radiating from his body, even detect the faint lingering scent of soap and the unmistakable musk of the forest in his hair.
It was… unfamiliar, yet astonishingly intimate.
Wang Dashan seemed truly exhausted; shortly after lying down, his breathing grew long and deep, clearly asleep.
His posture relaxed, yet he still occupied significant space on the kang.
Li Lanxiang, however, kept her eyes wide, staring into the shadow above, completely awake.
Her mind raced between her past life of solitary lamplight and shadows, and fragments of the original owner’s memories with Wang Dashan—
Mostly mundane chores, occasional clumsy gestures like handing over a freshly carved wooden hairpin, or his silent figure tending medicine at the stove when she was sick.
Yet these images couldn’t immediately dispel the instinctive tension and awkwardness her body felt.
She repeated in her mind:
This is Wang Dashan, the original owner’s husband, the man of this house, your… husband.
You’ve been married over twenty years, with three children… sharing a bed is natural…
She understood the logic, but her body refused to obey.
She felt as if lying on pins, or bound by invisible ropes, unable to move, too afraid to even turn, fearful of waking the man beside her.
As she counted who-knows-how-many imaginary sheep, her mind slightly drifting, Wang Dashan, asleep, suddenly moved.
Unconsciously, in his dream, he rolled over, stretching out an arm, and instinctively pulled her into his embrace!
Li Lanxiang trembled violently, nearly letting out a scream.
The man’s arms were strong and warm, pressing against her waist through the thin inner garment.
His broad chest pressed against her back, his steady heartbeat thumping through her spine.
His chin brushed her hair unconsciously, and he mumbled sleepily:
“Wife…”
The low, muffled voice, thick with sleep, struck Li Lanxiang’s tense heart like a thunderclap.
Her body ignited from the point of contact, warmth spreading uncontrollably over her face, ears, and neck—
Blazing hot.
She could feel the calluses on his palms, the heat of his breath on her ear, the contours and warmth of every muscle.
Frozen like stone, she didn’t dare even curl her fingertips.
Her mind went blank, leaving only the immediate, searing sensations of her body.
Time seemed to stop.
She remained stiff, passively held in his embrace, nose full of his scent, ears filled with his steady breathing.
Once the initial shock and embarrassment passed, a more complex emotion quietly took root.
The embrace… was tight, even a little constricting, yet strangely… not unpleasant.
His warmth, so real, so intense, drove away the autumn night’s chill and seemed to…
Chase away the loneliness she had carried for over seventy years.
Her stiff body slowly relaxed in the unconscious, steady embrace.
The taut nerves, soothed by this tangible, life-filled hug, slowly eased.
The unfamiliar warmth became bearable, even…
A little sleep-inducing.
She thought she would stay awake like this until dawn.
But somehow, the steady heartbeat, the rhythmic breathing, and the enveloping, unfamiliar yet reassuring warmth acted like the most effective lullaby.
Her eyelids grew heavy, her consciousness blurred, the taut strings of tension finally loosened.
Curled in his arms, she felt like a weary bird finally finding its nest.
Before the last bit of awareness faded, she vaguely thought:
So… this is what it feels like to have a husband.