Yan Qi followed Huo Ling into the stove room and only then realized that the central room in the main house was the stove room, flanked by two bedrooms on either side.

Seeing Yan Qi looking around, and having heard that the layout of homes in the interior differed from those outside the Great Wall, Huo Ling explained, “Outside the Pass, the cold days last longer. We heat the kang for nearly half the year. In winter, once the food is cooked, we bring it inside to eat. Otherwise, just walking a few steps outside would freeze soup and broth solid.”

He motioned for Yan Qi to follow him into the western room where he slept, feeling his way to light the oil lamp.

Yan Qi surveyed the simple yet clean furnishings: a heated brick bed ran along the wall, with pillows and quilts stacked at its head, while a square bedside table stood in the center.

In the empty space beside it stood an old wooden chest, topped by a wooden box. In the corner lay a large, stark white object. Yan Qi stared at it closely for a long moment before recognizing it as what seemed to be a pair of deer antlers.

“Did you hunt that deer?”

Which man wouldn’t want to show off his skills? Seeing Yan Qi’s interest, Huo Ling picked up half a set of antlers with one hand and clattered them down at Yan Qi’s feet, inviting him to examine them freely.

“Not hunted—found. This time of year, the mountains are littered with antlers shed by stags. If you like them, I’ll take you out to collect some later.”

Leaving the antler behind, he went out to serve the meal, unaware that Yan Qi, crouched cautiously behind the door, had first poked the antler with a finger before plucking up the courage to touch it.

Farmers couldn’t afford meat for every meal. Having eaten meat yesterday, tonight’s supper was a pot of sorghum porridge, a plate of stewed cabbage and tofu, and a few multigrain steamed buns placed around the pot.

Huo Ling carried the food inside and set it on the table. After placing it down, he first gave the little ger a bowl of porridge.

The warmth of the porridge seeped through the bowl’s walls into his palm. Yan Qi leaned closer, took a tiny sip, and felt warmth spread throughout his body.

His nose stung, and a tear fell uncontrollably into the bowl. He hurriedly set the bowl down and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

He wasn’t one to cry. Even back home, tears rarely fell. Today, for some reason, it felt utterly humiliating. He just wanted to endure this moment and move on.

Huo Ling watched, pausing with his chopsticks. He wasn’t sure how to comfort the boy—he’d never dealt with such delicate matters before.

He recalled how his niece Yingzi would calm down with a snack when she cried. Returning to the kitchen, he rummaged through the jars and pulled out a salted duck egg.

Back at the table, he cracked it on the edge. The green shell split open. He pierced the indented bottom with his chopsticks, and golden oil oozed out.

“My sister-in-law’s specialty—pickled salted eggs. They go perfectly with congee. Try some.”

He flicked his chopsticks, scooping the entire yolk into Yan Qi’s bowl, then took a bite of the remaining white himself.

Who didn’t know the yolk was the most precious part? Eating the white plain was just salty, utterly lacking in flavor.

A pang of sourness flashed through Yan Qi, but she suppressed it, sniffed back, and before the yolk sank completely, scooped out half and offered it back to Huo Ling.

“You eat too.”

Huo Ling was wolfing down his meal. Seeing this, he quickly caught the half-bun with his chopsticks, muttering, “It’s just one salted egg. What’s there to share?”

Yet these few bites of steamed bun tasted more fragrant than usual.

He recalled how his brother and sister-in-law always served each other food at the table. From now on, living in the mountains, he could do the same.

Midway through the meal, Huo Feng returned and caught Yan Qi’s attention. Yan Qi rose and called out, “Big Brother.”

As far as Huo Feng was concerned, if his younger brother approved of a match and was willing to marry, he’d be grateful to heaven. Now that Yan Qi had entered the family, he was one of their own. He told Yan Qi not to be so formal.

“My second brother has a stubborn streak. Bear with him in the future. If he bullies you, just come to me or your eldest sister-in-law to settle things. We’ll teach him a lesson for you.”

Yan Qi had come here alone, without any maternal family to support him, so the husband’s family had to make a show of reassurance.

A moment later, Ye Suping sent over a freshly cut piece of cloth and a set of her own old clothes.

“I’ve already sent your eldest brother to boil water. Wash up simply once it’s ready—skip washing your hair for now to avoid catching a chill. Wait until the sun comes out. Afterward, discard these clothes. Tonight, make do with mine; they’ll fit you better than the second son’s. It’s our own home—no shame in that.”

As a woman, she was thoughtful and attentive. Huo Ling, however, was slow to realize that having an extra person in the household meant considerably more to consider. He and his wife swallowed the last piece of steamed bun in their hands.

“I was thinking of going to the market tomorrow to buy him some ready-made clothes and get a few yards of fabric.”

Ye Suping nodded, not mentioning how costly this would be.

The groom was the second son, and the second son was spending the money. As the eldest sister-in-law, she couldn’t meddle too much.

“That’s best. One set to wear, plus another set for changing—that should suffice.”

She gestured toward the rabbit-fur vest tucked inside the clothes.

“This is one I outgrew. I was planning to take it apart soon and alter it to be smaller for Yingzi to wear. You can take it for now to wear underneath—it’s very warm. We’ll make a new one before winter comes next year.”

She casually asked Yan Qi if he knew how to sew. He said he did.

Ye Suping smiled again. “Now that I have sisters-in-law too, we can sew together later.”

She wanted to add that with another ger in the house, there would be more than just clothes to prepare, but feared saying too much would make Yan Qi feel awkward.

The ger was quiet and reserved, having endured so much already; his mind was heavy enough. She resolved to speak with Yan Qi tomorrow, before Huo Ling left the house.

After supper, Huo Ling intended to tidy up himself, but Yan Qi insisted on helping. Thinking the tasks were light enough, he let him take charge.

One scrubbed the pots while the other washed the dishes, their movements perfectly in sync.

Boiling water surged in the large pot as Huo Ling ladled two large basins full.

“You wash first. Call me when you’re done. The basins are too heavy when full—you won’t be able to carry them.”

The door closed behind him from the outside. Yan Qi knew it was late and didn’t want to disturb the Huo family’s sleep. Without hesitation, he swiftly and quietly removed his soiled clothes.

These clothes had been worn all the way from his hometown, stitched by his mother’s hand. Though now tattered and worn, he couldn’t bear to discard them. He folded them carefully and set them aside, planning to wash them tomorrow before storing them at the bottom of his trunk.

The water in the basin was warm and just right, soothing to the touch and comforting to the soul. Beside the basin lay a new washcloth and a handful of soapberries.

Yan Qi squatted on the floor, dampening the cloth and gently wiping his body.

After several rinses, the clear water grew faintly cloudy.

He was filthy indeed. His cheeks flushed slightly as he scrubbed harder, stretching the cloth taut across his back with both hands and rubbing it back and forth several times.

After a while, he changed the water and washed himself thoroughly once more. His whole body felt refreshed again, though unfortunately, he still couldn’t wash his hair.

He re-tied his hair with a cloth strip, thinking he’d ask Huo Ling later if he had any old scraps of cloth. He could use one to wrap his hair, preventing it from soiling the pillow and mattress.

He didn’t want to trouble Huo Ling with fetching water. Back home, he’d worked the fields himself and wasn’t weak, but he’d forgotten how things were different now.

The wooden basin filled with water was indeed heavy. He struggled for ages but could barely move it an inch. Reluctantly, he had to go ask for help.

Outside.

Huo Ling finished his ablutions swiftly—washing his face, rinsing his mouth, and splashing water on his feet—done in a flash.

To wait for Yan Qi, he pulled a stool to the storeroom door and joined the big boy tossing bones, glancing toward the door and windows every so often.

As he watched, he suddenly wondered what the ger was doing inside. The thought made his face flush, and he had to get up again to splash some cool water on his face.

After tossing the bone dozens of times back and forth, the window facing the courtyard finally opened a crack. The ger poked his head out and called his name softly, his voice low and gentle.

The heavy basin felt weightless in Huo Ling’s hands. The water stains on the floor would dry soon enough.

He’d also found the old cloth the boy wanted—a sweat towel with a hole in it.

“I washed it clean. I couldn’t bear to throw it away.”

Every peasant household practiced frugality. Clothes too worn to mend were saved for shoe uppers or quilted jackets.

“I’ll wash it after I’m done.”

Yan Qi felt strangely bashful. He turned sideways, bowing his head to tuck every strand of hair beneath the cloth, not a single strand exposed.

With everything done and an hour late, Huo Ling let the ger sleep inside while he, alone, wearing cloth shoes, went to blow out the lamp.

Only moonlight outlined the furniture in the room, the air carrying a faint scent of soap nuts. He sensed the ger’s tension and said only two words: “Sleep.”

Yan Qi clutched the edge of the quilt, exhaled a breath, and slowly closed his eyes.

━━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━━

The next day dawned bright and sunny.

Huo Ling had missed the big market on the fifteenth, but the town held regular markets too, though they weren’t as bustling as those on the first and fifteenth, and fewer people came.

The mountain goods he’d brought down hadn’t been sold yet, and he couldn’t wait until the next first day of the month. Now that he had a husband in the house, his drive was even stronger.

In his view, a banquet was still necessary; otherwise, things wouldn’t be proper.

Besides the banquet, both the mountain and the village needed supplies. These were traditionally prepared by the groom’s side after the betrothal, but now the order was reversed. Still, they couldn’t be spared.

Moreover, before leaving home, his elder sister-in-law had listed several daily necessities for the ger’s household. He had jotted them down one by one, planning to browse the market once the mountain goods were sold, buying whatever he encountered.

Beyond the pass, the land was vast and sparsely populated. Farming alone could fill bellies, and fewer people now made their living year-round in the mountains. Most ventured in only during the ginseng harvest season in August, hoping for luck.

At this transitional time between harvests, few vendors sold mountain goods at the market. Today, from one end of the street to the other, Huo Ling was the only one.

As soon as he displayed the large antlers, several people gathered around. But Huo Ling could tell at a glance they were just gawkers, not buyers, so he didn’t bother to greet them.

From his backpack, he poured out birch polypores, pine mushrooms, and several monkey head mushrooms.

The first two were medicinal herbs found year-round in Bailong Mountain—the former growing on birch trees, the latter alongside pine trees.

Harvesting these required skill—larger single pieces commanded higher prices, while overly fragmented ones risked being undervalued.

Still, their potent efficacy ensured steady demand. Some bought small quantities to brew as tonics, while herbal traders purchased entire loads. Though the bulk buyers offered lower prices per unit, they paid upfront, eliminating the need to sit idle at a stall.

Monkey head mushrooms, however, all grow before the New Year. Thoroughly wind-dried during the harsh winter, they can still be gathered before the rainy season sets in. Otherwise, once the first rains fall, they’ll all become soggy and rotten, leaving only the wait for this year’s new crop.

Huo Ling propped himself up on a large rock to sit. He sold the monkey head mushrooms first, dried goods weighed by the liang, earning twenty wen. A woman bought them to stew with chicken for guests.

Nearly six jin of birch polypore, priced at fifty wen per jin. Over four jin of pine yellow, priced at thirty wen per jin.

Since it wasn’t a major market day, no traveling merchants had come. He had to sell them individually, enduring until nearly noon when the market was winding down, before finally selling everything. Altogether, he made just over four wen.

Compared to these, the antlers proved much harder to sell. Had he come yesterday, Huo Ling would have been confident of selling them. A single day’s difference made a world of difference in business.

But these items wouldn’t spoil. At worst, he could return next time. He re-tied the antlers securely, rolled up the straw mat he’d used for his stall, and hurried off to browse before the other vendors packed up.

The town had everything one could need. He found a cloth shop where ready-made garments hung on poles along the wall.

Ready-made garments weren’t as economical as buying fabric to make one’s own, so few people bought them. The cloth shop displayed them mainly to showcase the quality of their fabrics.

The moment he heard someone inquiring about the price of a ready-made garment, the shop assistant moved with surprising speed, as if afraid Huo Ling might change his mind.

“Take a look at this one, sir. The fabric is exceptionally sturdy.”

He flipped open the garment to show the stitching. “Our tailor’s work is impeccable—straight seams, clean finishes. Buy this, and it’ll last you three to five years.”

A coarse cotton garment lasting five years? It’d be worn to tatters by then. But merchants always exaggerate—how else would their wares seem superior?

Huo Ling, being a merchant himself, took it in stride, merely flipping through the fabric with a dismissive hand.

The styles of ger garments were indistinguishable from men’s, differing only in their brighter hues. Men typically wore black, gray, or brown, while gers favored indigo, bamboo green, or chrysanthemum blue. Lighter shades showed dirt easily during labor, making them rare purchases among country folk.

The outfit before them was a deep amber hue. Huo Ling considered Yan Qi’s complexion and decided it wouldn’t flatter him, requesting an indigo blue instead.

After comparing samples, he measured out ample lengths of bamboo-green coarse cloth and plain white cotton for undergarments. The former would make one outfit, while the latter would easily yield two.

“I’m buying quite a bit from you. Give me a fair price and throw in some scraps. If I like the fit, I’ll come back next time.”

The cloth merchant looked troubled.

“Our shop operates on slim margins. I truly can’t offer much more.”

After several rounds of haggling, the price for the ready-made garments was finally lowered to two hundred wen. The coarse cloth was seventy wen per half-yard. As for the cotton fabric, though unbleached, its cotton content meant it couldn’t be sold cheaply. After much negotiation, only a small discount was granted—originally one hundred and sixty wen, now reduced to one hundred and fifty wen.

He also got the fabric scraps—a dozen assorted pieces—plus a free pair of socks.

This meant spending nearly all his half-day earnings, but Huo Ling felt no regret.

He’d always bought things for the household, treats and snacks, but now that he was shopping for his husband, his spending felt even more unstoppable.

Besides the fabric for clothes, he picked up a pig-bristle toothbrush from a street stall. Thinking the tooth powder was nearly gone, and that two people would use it faster, he decided to buy a whole box.

He also bought a wooden comb, a pair of iron scissors, several thick and thin needles, and some cotton and colored threads. Seeing he had nearly completed his elder sister-in-law’s list, he gathered the items together, tucking them into his clothes to prevent loss, yet still kept glancing around as he walked.

Moments later, he stopped at a stall. A woman sold red cord trinkets. During the New Year, he’d bought a pair of red hair ties adorned with silver beads for his niece, Huo Ying. His older brother had grumbled about it for days, calling him wasteful.

“How much for these bracelets?”

He scanned the selection, settling on one adorned with a peachwood gourd.

He hadn’t slept soundly the previous night. He knew Yan Qi had also woken twice, breathing erratically as he burrowed deeper under the covers, likely haunted by nightmares.

Peach wood was said to ward off evil spirits, while gourds symbolized safety—perfectly fitting for a gift.

Such trinkets weren’t expensive; only the wooden carving held any real value. Huo Ling paid twenty wen, tucking it away carefully in his robe.

Finally, he stopped at the candy shop to have two liang of malt sugar cut into finger-sized pieces, then bought a pound of fatty pork from the butcher. Wrapping it all in leaves, he headed home.