There were five wild mountain celery plants transplanted back, all growing well for now in the backyard vegetable patch. But when Yan Qi checked this morning, he found the sturdier one had wilted. He felt it was a pity, but didn’t hesitate—he dug it up, washed it, and took it into the kitchen.

He’d been pondering what to make for lunch. Huo Ling ate everything without fuss, which actually made it harder to decide.

Why not make celery dumplings as he’d mentioned before?

Down in the village, he’d likely mix celery with dried tofu for the filling. Stir-fried together, they weren’t bad, and as a vegetarian dumpling filling, they’d do just fine.

Up here on the mountain, however, getting to eat tofu or dried tofu wasn’t easy. Not only was tofu fragile, but in the heat, fresh soybean products spoiled quickly. Bringing them up meant they had to be eaten promptly, or they’d go to waste.

After searching inside and out twice, he found the basket holding the eggs and counted how many remained.

When they first came up the mountain, the basket held over thirty. Yan Qi would eat one at breakfast, and Huo Ling would take one with him. By the day they descended, the number would be just about right.

Still, a few remained for other dishes. Today, Yan Qi planned to use three for dumpling filling.

He first cracked the eggs into a bowl, then poured them into a pan to scramble. The golden yolks sizzled, filling the air with a savory aroma.

He then kneaded the dough and chopped the celery stalks finely. Seeing that Huo Ling wouldn’t be back for a while, Yan Qi washed his hands, fetched the sewing basket from the house, and sat in the courtyard to stitch the final circle on the pouch.

The red bean embroidery on the fabric looked lifelike. He had unpicked it several times before continuing, finishing the final stitches yesterday. Today, he could finally remove it from the embroidery hoop and sew it together.

While working on this piece, he had deliberately avoided Huo Ling. Now, thinking he could finally give it to him, his heart skipped a few beats.

 ━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

“What’s for dinner today?”

At noon, Huo Ling strode home swiftly, pulling two wild mountain celery stalks from his basket. “Saw them while passing by—figured I’d dig them up.”

“Dumplings.”

Yan Qi answered first, then took the celery and couldn’t help but remark, “These wild greens are so fresh.”

He lifted the celery, bringing it close to his nose. His eyes narrowed slightly as he inhaled. “Celery smells so good.”

“You like the smell?”

Huo Ling was already scooping water from the courtyard to wash his face. Seeing the ger’s actions, he chuckled. “Then why don’t we just plant some celery in the courtyard? Next time I go down the mountain, I’ll ask if any of the villagers have celery seeds left over from last year. If not, we’ll buy some at the market. I still haven’t managed to get those bitter vegetable seeds we talked about last time.”

“Sounds good. Growing more vegetables at home will save us from hauling them up from the valley. Now that I’m here often, I can handle watering and weeding.”

Growing vegetables wasn’t easy—it wasn’t as simple as cultivating grains. If pests struck, a day or two of neglect could mean the leaves were completely devoured.

Back when only Huo Ling lived on the mountain, there were bound to be oversights. He could only grow hardy, low-maintenance greens for a slapdash meal. But Yan Qi thought: with this much space, even planting a dozen varieties wouldn’t fill it. More options meant rotating dishes so they wouldn’t get boring.

He didn’t mind the hard work. These were all edible things. What they couldn’t eat fresh would be dried and stored for winter. They wouldn’t go hungry in any season.

He was someone who had known hunger. Even now, sometimes in his dreams, he’d relive the hardships of the famine road. That feeling of his stomach growling so fiercely he couldn’t even swallow his own saliva would jolt him awake.

“Is the dumpling dough ready? I’ll help you wrap them.”

Huo Ling gulped down a bowl of water, wiped the droplets from his face and hair, then stepped inside.

Seeing Yan Qi had already prepared a heaping bowl of dumpling filling, he rubbed his hands together happily. “Today’s a feast—feels like New Year’s already.”

“Try it and see if it’s seasoned right. I haven’t made filling in ages, so I’m not sure.”

Yan Qi handed him a pair of chopsticks. Huo Ling picked up a small amount, tasted it, and nodded. “Perfect for me—not too salty, not too bland.”

“That’s good.”

Yan Qi relaxed, then lifted the steamer cloth covering the dough. Seeing it had rested sufficiently, he washed and dried his hands before deftly cutting it into thumb-sized pieces.

Huo Ling grabbed a rolling pin and claimed the opposite corner of the cutting board to roll out wrappers.

This was the first time Yan Qi had watched Huo Ling roll dumpling wrappers. He worked swiftly and skillfully. Yan Qi picked one up and pinched it—thick in the center and thin around the edges. Such wrappers made filling easier and prevented tearing during cooking.

“You roll wrappers better than I do.”

He recalled how, back home during New Year dumpling-making, the menfolk would do nothing but drink and chat indoors, waiting for their wives, husbands, daughters, and sons to finish all the work and serve the meal.

Thus, making dumplings alongside Huo Ling felt novel to Yan Qi, especially as he quickly noticed their distinct techniques.

Huo Ling would pinch the center first, then pinch both ends toward the middle, creating two visible folds on the back.

Yan Qi, however, would pinch everything flat at first, then use both hands to hold the dumpling at the web of his fingers and squeeze it toward the center.

Placed side by side, their dumplings formed a striking contrast: one large and one small, one flat and one pot-bellied. This made them both laugh, each secretly thinking the other was prettier.

So they taught each other, fiddling about for a while, treating it like play. Before long, they had finished wrapping them all.

Knowing Huo Ling could eat, they made sixty dumplings this time—all thin-skinned with generous fillings, filling a full steamer basket.

Even so, Yan Qi still feared it wouldn’t be enough, as they were sparing with the flour and eggs.

Glancing up, he remembered the celery leaves he’d picked earlier. He scooped extra coarse flour and baked two celery flatbreads.

“Dinner’s ready!”

When the dumplings were done, Huo Ling carried them into the main room. Since there was a table there, they decided not to eat on the kang in the inner room—saving themselves a few extra steps.

Hearing dinner was ready, Dager crouched by the doorway waiting. Huo Ling broke off a few warmed vegetable buns for him.

Before Huo Ling could even stand up, Dager had already buried his head and started eating voraciously.

Huo Ling didn’t dip his dumplings in vinegar, popping them whole into his mouth. He’d never tried celery and egg filling before—this was his first time—and found it surprisingly delicious.

“When we get down the mountain, tell my sister-in-law to make some for her and Big Brother to try. We’ve got plenty of eggs at home; eating a few of these is cheaper than buying meat.”

Yan Qi also took a bite, splitting one dumpling in half. He was quite pleased with the flavor, too.

Truthfully, when tasting the filling alone, he’d found it a bit salty. Fortunately, once cooked and paired with the dough, it was just right. It seemed his skills hadn’t deteriorated.

The white flour dumplings were simply too fragrant. The ger chewed each one slowly and deliberately, reluctant to swallow, just like when he’d eaten plain steamed buns last time.

So much so that while there were three large plates on the table and Huo Ling had already finished one, the plate in front of him was still half full.

Meanwhile, Dager had long since devoured his meal like a whirlwind, even licking his bowl clean. Seeing the two still eating, he perched by the doorway, resting his chin on the threshold to peer inside.

Huo Ling picked through his plate and found one dumpling crushed at the bottom. He glanced at Yan Qi.

The ger understood his meaning and smiled faintly. “Give him one. Just a taste.”

The dumpling landed in the bowl, and Dager swallowed it whole in one gulp, though it was unclear if he’d truly tasted it.

“Just this one. There are no more.”

Dager understood Huo Ling’s words. He knew his master’s food wasn’t something he could beg for whenever he wanted. Getting a single bite was already a treat. After swallowing the dumpling whole, he no longer lingered by the door. Instead, he wandered off into the courtyard on his own.

Sitting back down, Huo Ling smiled faintly. “If my brother saw this, he’d scold me again for spoiling Dager too much.”

Country dogs ate whatever scraps they could find—scavenging leftovers, starving when there was nothing, or hunting mice when hunger drove them.

Across the entire village, Dager was likely the only dog ever to taste white flour dumplings.

“The mountains aren’t like the lowlands. Down there, thieves stealing chickens and dogs are rare. We rely on him to guard the house and chase away mountain beasts. A single bite is no big deal.”

He’d heard from Huo Ling that Dager had indeed charged at wild beasts encountered in the mountains.

A hunting dog’s loyalty is instinctive—it won’t retreat even when outmatched. Though it occasionally acted spoiled at home, it never faltered when duty called.

In Yan Qi’s heart, Dager had long been counted as part of this family. Huo Ling felt the same way—otherwise, why would he have insisted Yan Qi meet Dager during their matchmaking?

Truth be told, if Dager hadn’t taken a liking to Yan Qi back then, he probably wouldn’t have brought this husband home.

He believed that sometimes dogs judge people more accurately than people judge each other.

“While the sun’s out today, why not give Dager a bath? I won’t be heading into the mountains this afternoon.”

After finishing their dumplings, the two cleared the table and went together to the courtyard to inspect the mountain goods brought back that morning.

Besides the few varieties Yan Qi already recognized, there was an additional gray mushroom that felt somewhat hard to the touch, and it was quite large.

“What is this?”

He tapped it with his knuckles, the sound echoing like wood.

“A type of mushroom. We call it old ox liver around here. This one’s been growing for years, hardening into wood on the tree.”

“No wonder it feels like wood.”

Yan Qi held the large mushroom and asked Huo Ling, “Then this definitely can’t be eaten. Is it sold to herbal shops?”

Huo Ling replied, “Fresh old ox liver isn’t eaten either—it’s not tasty. Mostly, it’s dried and steeped in liquor. It has some medicinal properties, but more often it’s kept at home as a mosquito repellent.”

He broke off a piece and lit it beneath the stove.

Yan Qi watched as the old ox liver burned, releasing a bluish smoke and an indescribable scent that wasn’t unpleasant.

Huo Ling flicked it a few times to extinguish the scattered sparks, then casually tossed the dried liver into a cracked bowl and set it in the corner.

“When summer mosquitoes swarm, just light a piece like this. It’ll burn for two or three nights. Households with many livestock also use this to fumigate their pens. It’s a bit smaller than burning medicinal herbs, but it burns longer.”

Yan Qi ran his fingers over the cool, smooth surface of the old ox liver, and a thought occurred to him. He asked Huo Ling, “I’ve heard people say, ‘A hundred-year ginseng, a thousand-year lingzhi.’ Are there really thousand-year lingzhi mushrooms in the mountains?”

If they truly existed, they’d probably grow as big as a bathtub.

Huo Ling pondered for a moment before replying, “I don’t think so. The valuable medicinal lingzhi in the mountains are the red and purple varieties. If you don’t harvest them promptly after they sprout, they rot just like mushrooms in the field. How could they live a thousand years? They don’t even last until next year.”

As for old ox liver and other less valuable varieties, they can indeed grow for years. The first year they’re palm-sized, the second year they’re bowl-sized. The largest old ox liver Huo Ling he had ever seen was comparable to a big winter melon.

But one shouldn’t speak definitively. In the most remote, rarely visited parts of the mountains, there might still be undiscovered rare treasures and exotic plants.

Seeing Yan Qi still clutching the old ox liver, he added, “We have more back home down the mountain—more than we can use each year. As for what we need from the mountain, I can find more. You can take this one to Ming-ger.”

Yan Qi perked up at this. He knew Huo Ling’s dealings with the Lin family stemmed purely from his friendship with Xiao Mingming.

“I’ve gathered quite a few wild greens near my home these past days and was thinking of bringing some for Ming-ger too.”

Huo Ling detected Yan Qi’s subtle request for his approval. He understood clearly that the wild greens were Yan Qi’s own gathering, which was why he was asking. With something like old ox liver, if he hadn’t mentioned it, the ger would never have thought to ask if he could give it away.

“Bring them if you wish. There’s nothing in this household you can’t decide for yourself.”

Huo Ling looked at the ger, lifting the corners of his mouth. “Even I listen to you.”

Before Yan Qi could respond, Dager suddenly called out. Huo Ling chuckled. “Right, and there’s Dager too.”

The concept of “making decisions” felt distant to Yan Qi. Back home, even his mother held little authority. Above his stood his grandmother, and with his aunt also in the household, she could at most discipline her husband and children, hardly having a say in anything else.

After marrying into the Huo family, though Huo Ling did let him manage the finances, Yan Qi’s first instinct when facing any matter was still to seek the opinion of the men of the household.

Now, prompted by this remark and Dager’s eager bark, he brightened. “Then… I’ll divide it. Half for you and Sister-in-law to eat, and half for the Lin family.”

Dager’s call also reminded Huo Ling and Yan Qi that they needed to bathe him before sunset.

Without delay, Yan Qi grabbed a handful of soapberries, and the two of them herded the dog straight into the water.

Ignoring Dager’s “woof woof” protests, they firmly held him down in the water, scrubbing him clean from head to toe.