Chapter 22

The Gu family’s backyard held a small vegetable patch where gourds, mustard greens, and celery grew lush and green. Beside the garden lay a pond fed by fresh water that flowed into the village stream.

After buying tofu, Jiang Yun didn’t rest. He went to the vegetable patch to pick some mustard greens and gourds, then squatted by the pond to fetch water with a gourd ladle, preparing for the midday meal.

Near the wall at the backyard’s edge was a dog’s kennel—an area Jiang Yun dared not approach. The large black dog stood nearly half a man’s height, and in the night, its eyes glowed an eerie green like a wolf’s, sending chills down one’s spine. Feeding the dog was always Gu Chengwu’s task.

The vegetable patch lay to the west of the backyard, while the east side housed the outhouse and chicken coop. The domestic and wild chickens were kept separate, numbering about ten in total. Collecting eggs every morning was a must, lest a hen accidentally crush them.

While washing the vegetables, Jiang Yun gradually familiarized himself with every corner of the Gu household, unaware of Gu Chengwu’s return.

There was fresh fodder in the stable, but Gu Chengwu had tied up the horse without adding more feed. Glancing up, he caught sight of a small figure squatting by the pond—a slender frame draped in thin summer clothes, delicate wisps of hair brushing the forehead and bright eyes sparkling like stars in the night.

Before he could react, the man was already standing behind Jiang Yun.

The gourds and mustard greens in his basket felt heavy. As Jiang Yun struggled to rise, he turned and collided with a broad chest.

Startled, Jiang Yun stepped back, clutching his basket tightly. Gu Chengwu’s stern expression caused his breath to catch, and the lightheartedness from earlier while washing vegetables vanished, replaced by unease and tension.

He had little experience with Gu Chengwu; aside from their brief encounter the previous night, the last impression remained the fierce, cold glare Gu Chengwu cast when Jiang Yun had accidentally bumped into a pillar at the Jiang residence—a look etched in his memory.

Despite his earlier smile while washing vegetables, Gu Chengwu now looked at him as though confronting a wild monster. This caused a frown to crease Gu Chengwu’s brow, emotions he couldn’t quite articulate.

Both seemed to sense a mutual estrangement. Jiang Yun bit his lip, barely daring to breathe aloud.

As a husband, he knew he shouldn’t distance himself from his spouse, yet fear had caused a reflexive reaction. Only when Gu Chengwu’s displeasure became apparent did he realize he might have upset the man.

The Gu family was his sole lifeline. He wanted to speak and make amends but feared that stammering would only annoy Gu Chengwu further. Helplessly, he watched as Gu Chengwu seized the heavy basket and walked away.

Jiang Yun felt lost and paled. If it weren’t for Zhang Cuilan calling him from the kitchen, he might not have dared to enter the front yard.

Unaware of the tension between the two husbands, Zhang Cuilan busied herself by the stove, tending the fire with nimble hands. “Can you cook?” she asked.

“A little,” Jiang Yun replied cautiously, still shaken.

“Did Liu Guihua teach you?” she inquired casually.

“No, my mother taught me,” Jiang Yun shook his head. “Liu Guihua never taught me these things.”

Noticing that Jiang Yun addressed Liu Guihua by name without the usual “stepmother,” Zhang Cuilan guessed he must have suffered much under that cruel woman’s hand. This realization softened her gaze with pity.

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t know everything. No one is born knowing how to do things; you’ll learn gradually,” Zhang Cuilan said. After all, they had married a husband, not a servant, and she wasn’t particular about such formalities.

Her words eased much of Jiang Yun’s anxiety, and he began to feel a familial warmth toward Zhang Cuilan. Setting aside the earlier incident, the two cooperated to prepare the meal.

For lunch, they served all-tofu dishes. Scallion segments sizzled in the pan, releasing fragrant scallion oil, while the tofu was pan-fried to golden perfection on both sides, then sprinkled with soybean paste and fragrant pine nuts. Simple as it was, the dishes turned out surprisingly delicious. The leftover tofu, whether made into soup or cooked with Sichuan pepper, was equally flavorful.

Zhang Cuilan grew impressed with Jiang Yun’s cooking. She had expected mediocre skills but found them genuinely good.

“To me, your cooking rivals the town’s chefs,” she said, tasting the salty, spicy tofu that slid smoothly across her tongue, whetting her appetite.

Her praise was sincere.

No one had ever complimented Jiang Yun before, and his eyes flickered with shyness at her words.

Jiang Yun’s maternal grandfather had been a renowned chef in Ningping Prefecture. After his passing, the culinary skills passed to Jiang Yun’s mother, who then taught him. Though not perfect, he had learned well enough.

Three tofu dishes and a basket of gourds were set on the table. Zhang Cuilan served the rice, saying, “All set. Go call Wu, the boy, to eat.”

From the yard came the sound of chopping wood. From a distance, one saw wood chips scattered about, as if the strength behind the work had no outlet.

Puzzled, Zhang Cuilan called out, “Why are you chopping so much wood today? There’s enough for next year already.”

Gu Chengwu seemed not to hear, his brows furrowing slightly. His movements were sharp and clean, nearly splitting the chopping block.

As the axe came down, a flicker of blue water-colored fabric crossed the corner of his eye, momentarily breaking his focus. The blade struck the ground.

Jiang Yun’s heart skipped a beat—he must have disturbed Gu Chengwu’s work. This time, instead of freezing, he pressed his lips and stepped closer, speaking softly beside the man’s ear.

“Meal’s ready.”

Years of hunger had stunted Jiang Yun’s growth; he barely reached Gu Chengwu’s chest and always had to look up when speaking.

To Gu Chengwu, however, he saw only the timid yet clear gaze of his young husband. The small voice felt like a gentle spring breeze and fine rain, instantly dissolving the earlier tension.

Gu Chengwu nodded, dropped the axe, and they entered together.

The Gu family’s bamboo house had been hastily built years ago, lacking a formal main hall. Meals and visitors were usually handled in the courtyard.

“This can’t go on. We should find a mason soon and buy land to build a new house,” Zhang Cuilan said. Building a new home after marriage had long been their plan.

Most village homes were wooden, while better-off families built with mud bricks—either way, a modest shelter from the elements.

Gu Chengwu pondered briefly, eating without haste though quickly finishing a bowl of rice. Though fast, his manner was refined, pleasing to watch.

Jiang Yun, knowing little about such matters, remained silent and listened as Zhang Cuilan continued.

“Aunt Xu recently introduced me to a distant relative who’s a bricklayer by trade. She said if we hired them, they’d charge only fifty-five taels of silver out of goodwill—a good deal.”

More and more, families wanted to save money to build mud-brick houses, sturdier and more weather-resistant than wooden ones.

Yet Gu Chengwu held a different view. “If we decide to settle here, why not build a proper tiled roof house all at once?”

A tiled roof home was his original plan—stronger, more durable, and better at shielding from wind and cold. It would also be a legacy for future generations.

Zhang Cuilan hesitated. “That requires a lot of money. Tiled houses are mostly seen in town, costing at least a hundred taels.”

One hundred taels—a staggering sum that shattered Jiang Yun’s concept of money. Dropping food from his chopsticks, he marveled at the amount. The largest sum he’d ever seen was just a few dozen copper coins. How many copper coins equaled one hundred taels?

He had never seen a full ingot of silver; copper coins were the only currency he understood.

Knowing this was no small sum, Jiang Yun kept silent, eating slowly. Gu Chengwu had already finished three bowls, while Jiang Yun hadn’t yet half-finished his.

Seeing this, Gu Chengwu thought the young husband too frail and undernourished.

“Tiled roofs have many benefits. I have fifty taels now. With hunting and occasional town work, I can earn the rest. We must live well from now on,” he reasoned.

His words made sense, and Zhang Cuilan was someone who valued a stable life. Life would be long; it couldn’t be lived carelessly.

“In that case, your godmother’s thirty taels can cover the start. You save the other twenty to build the tiled house. I’ll ask Aunt Xu if she can get a discount for a tiled roof.”

Those thirty taels originally belonged to her late son, but now that she was Wu’s godmother, they were family—family speaks with one voice.

With housing plans settled, Gu Chengwu finished mixing the last of the sauce with his rice and ate two extra bowls.

After the meal, he said, “Tomorrow I’ll head up the mountain to check the traps I set.”

Hunters often stayed in the mountains for days or even a month.

Jiang Yun rarely saw Gu Chengwu and was cautious about speaking. Hearing this, his eating paused, and he watched Gu Chengwu with eager eyes.

Gu Chengwu hesitated under Jiang Yun’s gaze, nearly withdrawing the plan. But he was not impulsive and knew when to weigh things carefully.

Just then, Zhang Cuilan said, “It’s tough going alone. Why not take Yun’er with you? That way, someone can look out for you.”

“No need,” Gu Chengwu refused decisively.

Jiang Yun’s hopeful expression dimmed. Though afraid, he knew Gu Chengwu was not a bad man. Now that he was part of the Gu family, naturally he wanted to accompany and care for him.

Sensing the misunderstanding, Gu Chengwu explained briefly, “July in the mountains is full of snakes, insects, and rodents. It’s suffering out there. I’m used to the army camp life; I’ll return soon after hunting.”

His words were timely, and no one objected.

“Alright, when the weather’s better, Yun’er can go with you. Before you leave, godmother will prepare some cured meat for you to take. With some bread, it’ll last for a few meals.”

At this season, most food was hard to preserve except cured meat.

Besides cured meat, bread was easiest to make. Dough was kneaded into flatbreads and cooked directly on the pan—a method Zhang Cuilan favored.

Jiang Yun watched from the side, lips moving as he summoned courage in a small voice: “Mother, I want to try.”

After his performance at lunch, Zhang Cuilan trusted his skills. Wiping her hands on her apron, she cheerfully stepped aside. “Good! Make extra for Wu. Use whatever ingredients you like.”

Though saving for the house, life still needed to be good.

Jiang Yun’s bread-making differed from Zhang Cuilan’s. He let the dough rest for a quarter-hour, then filled it with prepared scallion and meat stuffing, brushed oil in the pan, and pan-fried slowly until the crust was golden and crispy, soft and savory inside.

Even before the stuffed bread was fully cooked, its aroma wafted through the yard. Zhang Cuilan, just finished eating, suddenly felt hungry again.

Jiang Yun busied himself in the kitchen, a sense of grounding welling in his heart. After frying the meat bread, he made some sweet-filled ones and steamed a few buns as well.

He carefully wrapped the warm breads in oiled paper, then placed them in cloth bags to avoid any falling out. The remaining package held cured meat and preserved vegetables—enough to last ten days.

Before dawn the next day, Gu Chengwu set out.

Jiang Yun rose even earlier but dared not speak. He placed the prepared provisions on the table, then hid by the door, peeking out with eyes quietly watching Gu Chengwu’s departure.

Gu Chengwu stood at the gate, casting a glance back. Understanding the unspoken message, he closed the door and left.