“That must be the husband that Changyu took in as a matrilocal son-in-law, right?”

“That’s right! I caught a glimpse of him on their wedding day. It’s been some time since, and he looks even more handsome now!”

“This live-in son-in-law and her former betrothed—the scholar—oh, that’ll be something to watch!”

The women of the neighborhood, upon seeing Xie Zheng and then Song Yan, couldn’t help but whisper among themselves.

Changning, too, saw her eldest sister. At once, she tugged at Xie Zheng’s sleeve and came running over in little hops. “A-jie!”

The two tufts of hair on her head bounced with her every step. Her round face was soft and white, and dressed in a thick cotton-padded jacket, she looked like a small snowball that had sprouted tiny limbs.

The ground was coated with a thin layer of ice, slippery and treacherous. Fan Changyu hurriedly said, “Slow down! Your brother-in-law’s leg is still injured—be careful not to slip!”

The words “brother-in-law” slipped from her lips, and even she felt a bit unnatural saying them.

She turned to look at Yan Zheng’s expression. His face was refined and gentle, and her form of address didn’t stir any reaction in him—it was as though he was used to being called that.

In truth, Changning did often call him brother-in-law; Fan Changyu simply wasn’t used to teaching her to say it.

Changning had already run up to Fan Changyu. Feeling a little guilty, she stuck out her tongue and wrapped her short, chubby arms around her sister’s leg, then looked at the Song mother and son across from them with a hint of hostility.

She had deliberately dragged her brother-in-law over. If those two bad people dared to bully her sister again, her brother-in-law could whack them both and cripple their legs with his crutch!

She just hadn’t told her sister about her brilliant plan!

Fan Changyu was completely unaware of her younger sister’s little schemes. She patted the top of Changning’s head and looked at Xie Zheng. “Your injury isn’t healed yet. It’s inconvenient for you to be out. You needn’t indulge Ning-niang’s mischief…”

Her tone was gentle and courteous, but to the bystanders, it looked like the tender concern of a wife for her husband.

Many of the onlookers shifted their gazes between Song Yan and Xie Zheng.

They thought, in terms of looks, Fan Changyu’s current husband was clearly the superior one. But in ability, it was still Song Yan who won out—after all, not everyone could pass the provincial examinations and become a juren [a scholar who passed the provincial-level exam].

Xie Zheng lowered his gaze, noting the faint redness still lingering in her eyes, and said only, “It’s nothing.”

His fine phoenix eyes narrowed slightly.

She had been crying?

For that former fiancé of hers?

So she truly hadn’t let go.

How admirable.

The northern wind howled, stirring the strands of hair that fell over his chest. He lazily lifted his gaze toward the man in the blue robe standing behind Fan Changyu.

His look was languid, yet the pressure it carried was immense.

The moment their eyes met, Song Yan felt as though he had been caught in the stare of a wild wolf. His body bristled involuntarily, and he instinctively averted his eyes, but the tightness in his chest did not ease—it was as if a prey had barely escaped the jaws of a beast and was still trembling in fear.

Xie Zheng didn’t bother wasting words on the mother and son. He spoke succinctly: “Repay the money.”

Not only the Song family pair but even the onlookers—and Fan Changyu herself—were momentarily stunned.

Xie Zheng greatly disliked repeating himself. Seeing the two remain silent, the handsome phoenix eyes darkened with impatience. “Your parents die, and now you think you can shirk your debt?”

Changning pressed her lips together nervously, yet her eyes shone with excitement as she stared at her brother-in-law’s crutch.

Was brother-in-law going to hit someone?

The Song mother and son, who had finally come back to their senses, were struck speechless when they heard the latter half of his words. Song Mother nearly fainted from rage on the spot.

The mouths of this Fan couple—one sharper than the other! She hadn’t even said anything yet, and the other side had already slapped a label of “debt-dodgers” on them!

Song Mother trembled so hard that two women had to support her to keep her standing. “When did my family ever say we wouldn’t repay it?”

She then turned and called, “Yan-ge’er, count out the silver for them!”

Even in those years when she had been destitute—when her husband died, and she had to kowtow in the street begging for a coffin—Song Mother had never felt such humiliation as she did now.

As soon as she spoke, she turned and walked out of the alley, as though she couldn’t bear to stay there a moment longer.

Dignity was just like that—when one didn’t have it, no amount of grinding could make a difference; but once it was gained, losing it again left a taste that was bitter beyond words.

Fan Changyu hadn’t expected that a few short sentences from him would infuriate Song Mother to such a degree. She looked at him in surprise.

He only gave her a cool glance.

From that look, Fan Changyu inexplicably read a trace of “you’re useless, I had to collect the debt for you” in his eyes, and she was left bewildered.

Back then, when her father had paid for the Song family’s coffin, it hadn’t just been the coffin itself—it also included the shroud and the funeral expenses. Altogether, it had been ten taels of silver.

Song Yan’s shuxiu¹Shuxiu (束脩) — a traditional term for a student’s token payment or offering to a teacher, originally a bundle of dried meat, later referring to tuition fees. at the village school was two taels a year. He had studied there for five years before passing the county-level examination. The county school tutors, knowing his family’s poverty, had later waived his fees. So her father had only ever advanced ten taels in tuition.

When Song Yan handed over two silver ingots to Fan Changyu, a slender, long-fingered hand reached out and received them on her behalf. Song Yan looked up—it was her matrilocal husband.

The man’s expression was cold. He said simply, “Settled.”

Yes. From now on, settled between them.

Song Yan looked at Fan Changyu, the corners of his mouth bitter.

But that man didn’t even give them the chance to exchange glances. After handing the two silver ingots to Fan Changyu, he slanted a look at Song Yan and said flatly to her, “Let’s go back.”

As a fellow man, Song Yan was certain—there was no hostility in that look, only disdain, the sort of disdain an old hen might show while guarding her chick.

And Fan Changyu, that “chick” under protection, hadn’t quite recovered her senses even after they returned home.

Once the main gate shut, the man’s eyebrows and eyes no longer bothered to conceal that scorn. “That kind of trash is what you can’t forget all this time—and even cried for?”

Fan Changyu recalled the lie she’d told and could hardly find words to defend herself. Breath short, she said, “When did I ever cry?”

Xie Zheng despised trouble, and naturally disliked meddling in others’ affairs. He had only stepped in because this woman had once saved him—he simply couldn’t bear to watch her continue being foolish over that sort of man.

Now, hearing her quibble, he couldn’t even be bothered to respond further.

Just then, their neighbor, Aunt Zhao, bustled over. “I heard that before leaving, that Song family still put on an act, pretending to hand over silver to you! Just trying to make a show for the neighbors, I tell you—those two are disgusting, such a performance! Why, on your wedding day, that boy even sent—”

She stopped halfway when she caught sight of Xie Zheng, instantly regretting her words. She covered her mouth and swallowed the rest of her sentence.

Xie Zheng said nothing. He merely swept Fan Changyu a glance with those sharp, frosty phoenix eyes—within them was a faint mockery, as though saying: Go on, keep trying to deny it.

Fan Changyu, aggrieved, could only stay silent.

She hadn’t expected that a single lie told in a moment of panic would become such a joke—one that this man would hold in contempt for so long.

It wasn’t until Xie Zheng had gone inside that Aunt Zhao finally turned to Fan Changyu with a guilty look. “My mouth really doesn’t have a door on it…”

Fan Changyu’s face looked a little tired. She only said, “It’s nothing.”

At most, she’d just been despised by that man again.

She invited Aunt Zhao to sit by the firepit to warm herself. Once seated, Aunt Zhao couldn’t help but say, “That Song family pulling another stunt like that today—just make sure it doesn’t affect the feelings between you and your husband.”

Fan Changyu thought to herself, Feelings? Between me and that sharp-tongued, unforgiving man? That would be a miracle.

She wanted to tell the truth, but since the property lawsuit was still unresolved, she didn’t want to stir up any unnecessary trouble. So she simply said, “It won’t.”

Aunt Zhao suddenly asked, “You’re still sleeping in the north room with Ning-niang at night?”

Fan Changyu hummed an acknowledgment, and Aunt Zhao’s brows immediately drew together. “Why not let Ning-niang sleep with me tonight instead?”

Realizing the implication behind those words, Fan Changyu nearly choked on her own saliva and hastily said there was no need.

Aunt Zhao gave her a half-scolding look. “You and your husband bowed to Heaven and Earth—you’re proper, wedded husband and wife. What are you so shy about?”

Fan Changyu pulled out her old excuse. “He’s still injured.”

Aunt Zhao widened her eyes. “Didn’t you read that booklet I gave you? There are plenty of ways around that…”

As she spoke, even Aunt Zhao began to feel embarrassed herself. She sighed instead. “I’m only worried for you. Your husband—he’s even more handsome than Song Yan, and he can read and write besides. He’s injured now and relies on you. If you don’t build affection between you while he’s still here, what will you do if he recovers and decides to leave? Even if you can’t keep him, at least have a child of your own. Otherwise, your elder uncle’s family will surely come make trouble again.”

Fan Changyu knew Aunt Zhao meant well, so she only murmured vaguely, “I understand.”

After Aunt Zhao left, she let out a weary sigh.

She couldn’t redeem her silver hairpin, had been disgusted once again by the Song mother and son, but at least she’d recovered the twenty taels her father had once lent them. Having such a large sum at home could be considered a good thing.

It was just that the way that man kept looking at her—with that ‘are you blind?’ expression—always left her breathless with irritation.

Fan Changyu stood up, intending to go to the kitchen, when she suddenly froze.

The booklet—Aunt Zhao’s booklet!

Before the wedding, she had been so busy and dizzy with preparations that when Aunt Zhao handed her that little book, she’d barely flipped through two pages before hurriedly closing it and stuffing it under the pillow in the bridal chamber.

So many days had passed—she had completely forgotten about it! She didn’t even know whether he had seen it.

Just the thought made her scalp prickle.

She quickly grabbed a fresh quilt cover, hugged it to her chest, and walked to the door of the south room to knock.

From inside came a clear, cold voice: “Come in.”

She pushed the door open. “The new year’s almost here, so I’m changing all the bedding to wash it.”

Everything in this room had only been arranged recently for the wedding—it didn’t need changing at all. Her excuse was flimsy at best.

But Xie Zheng was seated at a crooked, old wooden table, holding a brush between his fingers. Without even looking at her, he gave a faint nod.

Seeing that he seemed absorbed in his writing, Fan Changyu exhaled quietly, like a thief caught in the act. She quickly lifted the pillow to look for the booklet—but it was already gone.

Fan Changyu was momentarily stunned. She sneaked a glance at the man by the window; seeing that he appeared not to have noticed anything amiss, she hurried to strip off the bedding, searching through every layer.

But even after she lifted and shook out the mattress pad at the very bottom, and checked under the bed as well, the booklet was nowhere to be found. Her heart sank into despair.

Then, from behind her, came a cool, clear voice. “Need help?”

Fan Changyu’s entire back went rigid. Keeping her face stiff, she said, “No need. Just dusting off before making the bed.”

She tossed the sheets and quilt she’d taken off into the laundry basket, her expression blank as she spread out a freshly washed, half-worn sheet and quilt cover.

The quilt cover was made of two layers—the bottom of plain cotton, the top embroidered with a painted design. The cotton batting went between them, and the edges had to be stitched together by hand.

Because she was so nervous, Fan Changyu pricked her fingers several times with the needle while sewing, but she kept her face taut and silent.

Only after she left the room did Xie Zheng set down his brush. His gaze drifted to the booklet he had used to prop up one of the table’s uneven legs, and his fine brows knit faintly together.

This room was only a wall away from the main hall—naturally, he had heard everything that old woman said.

Was she… looking for this booklet?

Footnotes

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  Shuxiu (束脩) — a traditional term for a student’s token payment or offering to a teacher, originally a bundle of dried meat, later referring to tuition fees.