Song Ning had also brought several smaller landscape paintings, some even in color. He kept the two colored ones to hang in the east room later, while the four ink-wash paintings would go beside his and Wei Hu’s bed.

Song Ning wasted no time, grabbing nails and heading to his room to hang the paintings.

His and Wei Hu’s beds were against the wall, without any bedrails, making it perfect for hanging the paintings. Once they were up, the somewhat worn room gained a softer feel, and Song Ning was quite pleased.

Wei Hu returned shortly after. “Master Ma, the carpenter, said it’ll be ready in a few days.”

Song Ning nodded. “Thanks, Brother Wei Hu. How much is it?”

“Not much. Countryside stuff is cheap.”

Wei Hu hadn’t told him the full cost, afraid Song Ning would think it was expensive. A simple set of table, chairs, and bookshelf wouldn’t be pricey, but Wei Hu had asked the carpenter to apply lacquer. That not only added significantly to the cost but also meant waiting several extra days—details Wei Hu hadn’t shared.

After selling that deer, he’d given his mother five taels of silver. The rest had been spent on the table, leaving him nearly broke. Now that he’d returned home, Wei Hu planned to head back into the mountains for hunting in a couple of days.

While cooking dinner, Chen Cuihua called Song Ning over to help tend the fire. Wei Hu went over. “You should just read your book.”

“Mother called for me.”

“It’s fine. I’m free right now.”

Only then did Song Ning decide not to go.

Wei Hu sat on a low stool tending the fire. When Chen Cuihua saw him there, she understood his concern for his husband and said nothing.

While cooking, Chen Cuihua asked about today’s return visit to the in-laws. Wei Hu recounted everything. Chen Cuihua cursed Wu Cai’e, calling her heartless—how dare she take the ten taels of silver dowry meant for Song Ning and give it to her own daughter!

Wei Hu had planned to head into the mountains for a hunt first thing tomorrow morning. Little did he know that a light drizzle began falling in the wee hours of the night, and once the rain started, the air turned even colder.

The rain persisted until dawn, leaving Wei Hu no choice but to stay home. Seeing how chilly it was, Chen Cuihua hurriedly sewed a light quilted jacket for Song Ning to wear.

The countryside grew quiet as everyone stayed indoors. The two hunting dogs, Hei Dou and Hua Dou, curled up obediently in the straw pile in the backyard.

While Chen Cuihua sewed, Wei Hu kept busy weaving a basket. Song Ning sat beside him, helping sort the vines.

Outside, the rain showed no sign of stopping—if anything, it grew heavier. A chill seeped in from the storm, sending a shiver through Song Ning. Wei Hu paused his work. “Go put on another layer.”

Song Ning obediently put on another layer. Chen Cuihua remarked, “The weather changes so quickly. I fear the next shower will bring snow. I forgot to finish your light quilted jacket the other day.”

“It’s fine, Mother.”

Chen Cuihua was busy sewing clothes for Song Ning, working straight through until nearly noon without a break. “Ning’er, roll out some noodles for lunch. It’ll warm you up.”

Song Ning paused before replying, “Got it, Mother.”

Chen Cuihua didn’t know Song Ning couldn’t cook. Even in town households, young girls and boys learned such skills. Assuming he knew how, she called him to cook since she was too busy to spare a hand.

That’s how things worked in the countryside. Once a son married and brought home a wife, both the husband and wife were expected to take over the mother-in-law’s chores. If the mother-in-law were kind, she might still share some of the burden. Chen Cuihua had lived that way herself.

Song Ning was stumped. He didn’t know how to make noodles, but he knew he had to grit his teeth and get started.

Wei Hu also stood up, grabbed a straw hat, and placed it firmly on Song Ning’s head. “Mother, I’ll help Ning-ger tend the fire.”

“Go ahead. The kitchen will be a bit warmer with the fire lit.”

Seeing Wei Hu was coming along, Song Ning finally felt at ease. The two headed to the kitchen together. Chen Cuihua smiled, thinking it was just the young couple getting along well.

Once in the kitchen, Song Ning didn’t know where to start. “Brother Wei Hu, teach me. I’ll make them.”

“Alright, I’ll do it while you watch.”

Wei Hu knew his way around the stove. By the time he was a teenager, only he and his mother remained in their household. Scooping up the dough, he kneaded it while instructing Song Ning. Finding it less daunting than expected, Song Ning joined in, kneading alongside him.

Outside, a fine drizzle fell. Song Ning and Wei Hu stood very close together. Wei Hu shifted uncomfortably to the side, but Song Ning, busy kneading the dough, didn’t notice.

After kneading together, Wei Hu grabbed a rolling pin as thick as a wrist to flatten the dough. Song Ning’s eyes widened in surprise—that rolling pin was huge!

“Brother Wei Hu, let me try.”

As he rolled and pounded the dough, Song Ning managed a few strokes before his strength failed him. Wei Hu chuckled, “I’ll handle it. You’re too delicate.”

Song Ning’s face flushed slightly. “I… I can do it.”

At home, Song Ning had maids to tend to him while he stayed indoors reading and painting. Only after his father passed did he begin serving Wu Cai’e and the other two.

He couldn’t tend the fire or cook, and Song Ning felt a pang of shame. He wasn’t a competent husband. Even ordinary gers and women in town seemed to know how to cook and tend the fire. If not that, they could at least handle needlework.

He couldn’t do any of it. Song Ning recalled his teacher praising his talent when he studied before, though it was a pity he wasn’t a man. Now he wondered where that talent was—he was truly so clumsy, unable to manage even the simplest tasks.

Wei Hu had already rolled out the noodles, neatly slicing them into uniformly thick strands. Song Ning exclaimed, “Brother Wei Hu, you’re so skilled!”

Wei Hu’s heart softened. How could this young lad be so smooth with words? It was the first time he’d been praised for rolling noodles. He hadn’t even noticed the smile already spilling from the corners of his mouth.

“Let’s make a soup noodle with cured pork and Chinese cabbage.”

Song Ning nodded eagerly. “Brother Wei Hu, I’ll tend the fire! I know how to do this!”

The young lad beamed with excitement, as if mastering fire tending were the greatest achievement. Wei Hu’s lips curved upward. “Alright, just be careful.”

“I know, Brother Wei Hu. You can count on me.”

Like an eager child wanting to prove himself, Song Ning fumbled a bit with the fire, but he managed to get it going.

Wei Hu had already chopped the scallions and ginger and sliced the cured pork into paper-thin strips. Song Ning blinked in admiration. Brother Wei Hu was truly amazing—the fat in those slices gleamed like crystal.

He wasn’t naturally gifted at all—Brother Wei Hu was the real expert, capable of anything!

Sitting on a stool, Song Ning tended the fire carefully. This time, he didn’t dump all the firewood in at once. Wei Hu bent over to stir-fry the cured pork, and the aroma drifting over made Song Ning inhale sharply. So delicious~

Wei Hu was tall, and the stove was a bit low for him. Cooking meant he had to bend over, looking a bit cramped. Song Ning found it slightly amusing. Brother Wei Hu kinda… kinda resembled a big bear. Song Ning quickly covered his mouth—Brother Wei Hu couldn’t find out.

This little guy was making far too many little movements while tending the fire. Wei Hu found it hard not to notice. One moment, he’d crane his neck to watch Wei Hu stir-fry, the next, his eyes would dart around Wei Hu’s body. It made Wei Hu feel uncomfortable just cooking.

When this kid first arrived, just two words from him had scared him into crying like a rabbit, eyes red and swollen. Now, it seemed he wasn’t afraid of him anymore. He’d misjudged him. This kid wasn’t just a rabbit; he was more like a sleek little silver fox.

Though Wei Hu’s cooking couldn’t match Chen Cuihua’s, it was still better than many others’. His pot of cured pork and Chinese cabbage noodles glistened with oil, looking incredibly appetizing.

“Get your bowls, it’s time to eat.”

“Aye!”

Song Ning happily fetched three large bowls from the wooden cupboard while Wei Hu dished out the noodles. “Call Mother to eat.”

Outside, the rain hadn’t let up—if anything, it was growing heavier. Song Ning poked her head out of the kitchen. “Mother, dinner’s ready!”

“Aye, heard you!”

By then, Wei Hu had already served out meals for all three. He scooped the few unburned coals from the hearth into a chipped earthenware basin. The kitchen felt warm and cozy, far more comfortable than the main room.

Song Ning bustled about helping, though he couldn’t do much heavy lifting; he could manage the small tasks. After Wei Hu dished out the rice, Song Ning fetched the chopsticks. Once everything was set, he sat obediently on his stool.

Chen Cuihua was still sewing a few stitches, so she was delayed for a moment. Song Ning looked at the huge bowl in front of him, then glanced up at Wei Hu sitting across from him. “Brother Wei Hu, that’s too much. I can’t finish it all.”

Song Ning pushed his bowl aside and scooped some noodles onto Wei Hu’s plate. Wei Hu frowned slightly—how could this young lad eat so little? He added some cured pork to the boy’s portion. “There. Eat up.”

Chen Cuihua arrived just as the young couple was exchanging portions. She held back a laugh, knowing Ning was easily embarrassed—her laughter would surely make him blush again. Watching their affectionate clinginess, she thought, even cooking a meal, they couldn’t bear to be apart.

The three sat in the warm kitchen, eating. Chen Cuihua tasted a noodle and hummed approvingly. “Ning-ger’s cooking skills are quite good.”

Song Ning mumbled a couple of times without responding. Chen Cuihua assumed he was just embarrassed by the praise.

These days, Chen Cuihua found everything about Song Ning to her liking—his gentle nature, his skill in the kitchen, and even his ability to read and write.

Song Ning stole a glance at Wei Hu. The man looked perfectly normal, eating his meal. If it weren’t for Brother Wei Hu, he wouldn’t even be able to cook a proper meal as a son-in-law.

A bowl of steaming noodles warmed Song Ning from the inside out. Brother Wei Hu’s cooking was truly delicious. Adding a splash of chili oil made it even better. He especially loved the Chinese cabbage leaves, cooked until soft and tender in the slightly sticky broth.

Song Ning ladled out another half bowl of broth, added a dash of chili oil, and began sipping it slowly, cupping the bowl in his hands.

After the meal, Song Ning volunteered to wash the dishes. Brother Wei had already cooked for him—he couldn’t let him wash the dishes too. Rolling up his sleeves, he set to work washing the bowls.

Chen Cuihua went back to work on the quilted jacket, saying it would be ready tomorrow. Once she had the inner and outer layers sewn together, she wouldn’t feel the cold anymore.

Just as Song Ning finished washing the dishes and was heading to the main room, he heard someone call out, “Aunt Cuihua, are you home?”

The Wei family rarely had visitors. Chen Cuihua saw it was Qiu-ger, the son-in-law of the Sun family, approaching. She exclaimed, “Oh, it’s Qiu-ger! Come right in!”

Qiu-ger held an oil paper umbrella in one hand and a wicker basket in the other. “Aunt Cuihua, I came to play with Ning-ger.”

“Ning-ger is in the kitchen. You two can play there—it’s warm in there.”

“Okay.”