Qingheng laughed for a long time, until he had fed the old horse his hay, Xing Yue had lulled Xing Zhao to sleep, and the two of them, along with the baby, sat down in the kitchen, lit the fire, and started cooking. And yet, whenever he saw Xing Yue’s face, he couldn’t help but laugh.

He stifled his laughter, bobbing up and down, and Qingguo, thinking they were playing a game, waved his little hands and joined in with a “hehe.” 

Xing Yue: “……”

It felt like he was being mocked by a toothless toddler.

Qingheng found Qingguo adorable, smiled, and rubbed his face against Qingguo’s cheeks again and again. Qingguo thought it was a game, so he grabbed Qingheng’s hair and kicked his little legs excitedly, giggling nonstop. Only then did he slowly stop laughing, quickly snatching his hair back from Qingguo’s grasp, and begin explaining the situation to Xing Yue.

Only then did Xing Yue realize that Qingheng was a ger—a gender distinct from men and women. Though he lacked the physical strength of a man, he was capable of procreation.

The boy next door was named Jiang Jiu, also a “ger.” There were “gers” in Lizheng’s family as well, and in Jiang Shen’s household too. Those “gers” were older and had all married, moving to other villages.

Qingheng had also reached marriageable age, but since his father had passed away, he was in mourning and had not yet married, nor did he have any plans to take a husband. As for Qingguo, he was Qingheng’s son, though an adopted one.

After hearing this explanation, Xing Yue felt awkward. He used his big toe to dig at the sandcastle in the kitchen, then pointed at Qingguo and stammered, “Has his mother passed away too?” 

Qingheng’s smile faded slightly. He lowered his eyes to look at Qingguo’s innocent, clear eyes and shook his head. “No.”

Qingguo kicked his little stubby legs and flashed him a toothless grin. 

Qingheng: “……”

He couldn’t help but lean down and plant another kiss on Qingguo’s cheek.

Perhaps because they hadn’t seen each other for two days and he’d missed him so much, both were very excited. 

Xing Zhao was exhausted. After drinking some water, he fell asleep on his bed, but Qingguo was still wide awake and insisted on being held.

Qingheng looked at him, his heart melting.

Xing Yue felt increasingly awkward as he spoke, so he scratched his head and pointed toward the kitchen door. “Where’s the kitchen? I need some water.” They’d been eating flatbreads the whole way and had only had a little water, so he wasn’t actually hungry—he was just thirsty.

As soon as he followed Qingheng into the kitchen, he couldn’t resist scooping up a mouthful of water from the jar and drinking his fill.

He hadn’t used the restroom since this morning at Beitian Fang, and now that his stomach was full of water, he really couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Qingheng checked the fire in the stove, cradled Qingguo in one arm, and with the other hand pulled out a burning log as thick as a child’s wrist. He stood up: “Come on, I’ll light the way for you.”

The flame on the stick flickered in the chilly night breeze as Qingheng led Xing Yue, who was leaning on his cane, through the central passageway of the house toward the backyard.

Only then did Xing Yue realize that while Qingheng’s courtyard appeared to be the typical size of a modern rural home from the front, there was more to it at the back—it was actually quite large.

It was dark, so he couldn’t see clearly, but he could vaguely make out the shadows of buildings. Therefore, there must be more houses in the backyard.

Qingheng led him past that building but didn’t take him inside; instead, they kept walking forward for quite a distance, until it felt as though they were almost at the fortress wall. Indeed, Qingheng did stop in front of a wall.

He pushed open a wooden door in the wall and handed Xing Yue a stick whose flame had died down to embers: “Go on in. The outhouse is straight ahead—be careful not to fall in.”

Xing Yue：“……”

Then, by the light of the embers, leaning on his cane and following the narrow path, he walked another three or four zhang before he saw a small hut. 

Xing Yue: “……”

Going to the outhouse really felt just like making a trip to the capital.

However, he had expected the outhouse in a rural village of old to smell quite strong, but he found that wasn’t the case—the one at Qingheng’s house actually had a very faint odor. He quickly took care of business.

When he came out, Qingheng was gently strolling around, holding Qingguo in his arms and humming a tune he couldn’t make out, though the melody was very gentle.

“Is he asleep?”

“Mm-hmm.”

The two of them walked back together in the pitch-black darkness, with nothing but flickering sparks for light. Xing Yue couldn’t help but ask, “Aren’t you afraid, all by yourself?”

Qingheng replied, “My father, my grandfather, and my older brother will watch over me.”

Only then did Xing Yue realize that three members of this family had passed away. Instantly, he sensed something lurking in the pitch-black surroundings, and a chill ran straight up the back of his neck.

He couldn’t help but shiver, instinctively taking two steps closer to Qingheng until he was practically pressed against him. 

Qingheng: “……”

It wasn’t until Qingheng had put Qingguo to bed and returned to the kitchen that Xing Yue noticed Qingheng staring at him with a look of utter exasperation and contempt.

Xing Yue：“……”

What a complete loss of dignity.

There was nothing he could do about it. He was an atheist, but that didn’t stop his mind from running wild now that he’d traveled through time. Qingheng pressed his hand to his forehead: “Big brother, why are you so timid?”

Xing Yue：“……”

It’s hard to say—maybe it’s because he’d traveled through time.

He stammered, “…Maybe… because of my natural talent?” Qingheng rolled his eyes at him and ignored him.

Lifting the lid, he saw that the water was already boiling in the clay pot.

Xing Yue quickly sat down in front of the stove and obediently grabbed a handful of wheat straw to add to the fire.

Qingheng glanced at him in surprise, squinting intently as he looked him up and down, left and right, only to realize he hadn’t been mistaken—it was indeed Lord Xing’s son. It was as if someone else had taken his place the moment he stepped into the back courtyard.

He was still the young master from a third-rank official’s family—a man who knew nothing of the lives of the common folk, as if he lived in a vacuum—yet he picked up the firewood and added it to the stove with such natural ease…

Qingheng stroked his chin, feeling that something about the scene seemed slightly off.

“What’s wrong?” Xing Yue sensed the gaze and glanced down at himself; surely there was nothing amiss. “It must be a natural talent,” Qingheng nodded, convincing himself.

Then he reached under the cutting board, pulled out two eggs, tapped them against the rim of a bowl, and skillfully cracked the yolks into it. 

Xing Yue: “???”

He wanted to ask what “natural talent” meant, but Qingheng seemed to have resolved the question on his own and hurried off.

As for him, even after finishing his egg drop soup for dinner, rinsing his mouth, washing his feet, and having Qingheng make his bed and bring Xing Zhao back to him, he still hadn’t figured out what Qingheng’s words meant.

The bed was a simple wooden plank bed. Though it was nowhere near as polished and smooth as the ordinary beds of modern times—which were meticulously sanded and finished for fear of a single splinter—it was still better than the one in Beitian Fang. At least the gaps between the planks were narrow, and the planks themselves were straight and even.

Unlike at Beitian Fang, where sleeping felt like lying on a camel’s back—with every bump and curve—this bed was smooth and even.

Faced with such a comfortable bed and the gray, seemingly clean quilt Qingheng had pulled out of the trunk, Xing Yue felt a bit embarrassed.

“I’d better take a bath, or I’ll end up dirtying the bedding.” No one knew what hardships he had endured on his journey into exile. Ordinary people today simply couldn’t imagine it.

Of course, he dared not imagine just how filthy he was now.

“The monk said you and the young master are still ill, so it’s best not to bathe. If you must, you must avoid exposure to drafts, but we don’t have the conditions for that here—the house is drafty. If you catch a chill, your condition might worsen.”

Qingheng thought for a moment. “You should rest and get well first. Once you’re better, I’ll go to the water pond to fetch two buckets of water, heat it up, and then you and the young master can have a good wash.” He looked at the bedding. “The bed and the blankets all belonged to my older brother. No one else in the family uses them anymore, so you might as well use them for now.”

He paused, then looked up at Xing Yue earnestly. “Don’t be afraid. If my elder brother’s spirit truly watches over us from heaven, he will surely protect you.”

For some reason, Xing Yue sensed a faint heaviness in those words.

His wandering mind settled, and before he knew it, the eerie feeling in his heart had dissipated.

“Alright,” he heard himself say.

Qingheng nodded and headed for the door. “Go ahead and sleep. If you’re done with the oil lamp on the wall, just blow it out gently—the wick is a bit loose, so if you blow too hard, it might fall apart.”

As he reached the doorway, he seemed to remember something. He stopped, turned back, and looked at him: “If you need to relieve yourself at night, just use the sheep pen right next to here… And if you need to do your business, do that in the sheep pen too—just stay toward the side.”

With that, he closed the door and left. 

Xing Yue: “……”

His image… was utterly humiliating!

He’d completely lost all dignity.

He wiped his face, sat down on the bed decisively, straightened the blanket for Xing Zhao, and tucked himself in. This won’t do.

He had to hurry up and learn, communicate more, and broaden his horizons. Acting like this, he really was just like a country bumpkin.

Faced with the lower strata of ancient society, his mind felt as clean as if it had been washed with dish soap.

He pulled the scroll of the Thousand Character Classic from his bosom, held it up to the light, and began silently reviewing and reinforcing what he’d learned. It was this very scroll…

Xing Yue tugged at it, flipping through the pages again and again.

It’s way too inconvenient—it takes forever to find a single character.

Damn.