Ever since returning from the Xie residence, Xie Yushu had settled back into her routine—two points, one line.
She spent her days at the base and her nights with Su Chi.
The drying kilns at the county workshop were already built. She had dried laver from the base transported to the county and had Qin Fulang and his wife do a trial batch.
She’d also hired a few diligent, willing apprentices. They started by assisting—not handling the ovens—with tasks like tearing, spreading, and oiling. The heat control remained in the hands of the couple; they didn’t trust anyone else with it yet.
A Jiu stayed at the workshop for now, helping with lifting and other odd jobs. She could do the work of two people and was adept at heavy labor.
As for A Jiu, Xie Yushu hadn’t yet figured out where to place her permanently, since she hadn’t bought a house in the county yet.
The half-carriage of goods she’d brought back was sorted and put away by her and Su Chi together.
Among the fine things were edibles, high-quality fabrics, and one conspicuously precious item, wrapped so securely it took some effort to unpack.
After untying several layers of cloth and countless crisscrossing ropes, they finally revealed a stunning set of celadon porcelain—not a large piece, but a complete dinner set: bowls, plates, dishes, cups, pots, spoons—every piece delicate and exquisite.
The glaze was warm and smooth, like a thin layer of congealed tallow. The porcelain itself was simple, without ornate patterns—just a few elegant brushstrokes in light color, smooth and effortlessly artistic.
Xie Yushu picked up one piece and examined it—it seemed even finer than what she’d used at the Xie household.
Su Chi’s eyes went wide. He’d never seen such finely crafted porcelain and even held his breath.
Xie Yushu knew he’d like it and handed it to him: “Grandmother’s family is in the porcelain business—they have many beautiful pieces. They must have known I liked them and slipped a set into the carriage.”
Su Chi turned the pieces over and over in his hands, utterly delighted. He carefully rewrapped them and carried them to the cabinet in their room, locking it securely before he felt at ease.
Then Xie Yushu brought in a stack of fine fabrics.
There were two bolts of lake-blue silk with subtle patterns, two bolts of light-colored plain silk, four bolts of moon-white fine hemp, and several other bolts she couldn’t name—all exceptional quality.
Xie Yushu was very pleased with the haul and already had plans.
The silk would become spring outer robes; the plain silk for spring and autumn layered garments; the fine hemp for summer shirts. First priority was Su Chi—any leftover would go toward her own wardrobe.
Along with the fabrics she’d bought for him in Tang’an County, there was enough for Su Chi to have over a dozen new outfits.
Her fulang deserved to wear beautiful clothes. She was determined to pamper him.
The rest was food—over half the carriage full.
A prime ham, about as tall as a child, with the rich aroma of top-tier cured meat; several fine smoked fish; two large smoked hocks; and white porcelain jars of wine-marinated goose liver, dried scallops, conpoy, and about ten palm-sized abalones—every item a delicacy.
These were things ordinary families could never hope to eat—even somewhat wealthy ones would balk at the price.
Xie Yushu was stunned when she counted it all. The Xie family truly was wealthy. If the carriage had been bigger, they’d have filled it to bursting.
Su Chi marveled at the ingredients too, murmuring: “Let’s eat the perishable ones first. The things that keep can be stored for a special occasion or celebration—what do you think?”
“Whatever you say.” Xie Yushu agreed.
The wine-marinated goose liver had to be eaten soon—it would spoil quickly. The rest could last.
When Su Chi mentioned a “celebration,” Xie Yushu’s brow twitched slightly.
Though she’d gone back expecting to finally hold her mother’s long-delayed funeral rites, the Xie family had said nothing about it. Not a single word in her presence.
She thought it over—since she’d passed so many years ago, reopening that wound would only make the living suffer again.
So perhaps it was best to let it go and live well.
On the family genealogy, Xie Yushu’s name remained unchanged—the “shu” for “shallow” stayed instead of being changed to “book.” That was her own insistence.
“Shu” didn’t mean shallow learning—it meant open, expansive, elegant. She didn’t mind it.
Since her aunt had given her that name, she’d use it well—not let her “efforts” go to waste.
Before she knew it, spring had arrived.
Everyone shed their heavy robes for lighter, more comfortable spring clothes.
Songwan Town was touched with green again. Willows in the Xie courtyard sprouted new shoots, roadside flowers bore tender buds, and the air carried the crisp, damp scent of vegetation—everywhere, a picture of vitality.
Spring brought even more bustle to the streets than winter.
Su’s Bun Shop was as popular as ever. In winter, everyone came for a hot breakfast; now that spring had warmed things up, people were out and about more. The shop attracted even more locals, plus merchants and travelers drawn by its reputation.
Su Chi and Chen Fulang were run off their feet—packing, ladling soup, serving side dishes, collecting money, filling buns, clearing tables, and greeting customers. Their hands nearly blurred with speed.
On the other side, Xie Yushu’s business was flourishing—orders for dried laver and seaweed snacks grew by the day. The county workshop shipped batch after batch, yet still couldn’t keep up with demand. She’d hired ten more people to help Qin Fulang and his wife, but it still wasn’t enough.
Ye Youchun was constantly shuttling between Qianwan Village and Tang’an County, overseeing this, managing that, liaising with the Tang family, and relaying messages. She’d visibly slimmed down from the pace.
Xie Yushu wanted the supply shortage—she wanted people to crave her seaweed snacks, using a hunger-marketing tactic from her previous life.
She sold the snacks in packets—just twenty thin sheets per packet, priced at thirty-five wen.
She and Tang Zhiyi had already agreed: Xie Yushu supplied the goods, and Tang’s Shanhai Trading Company handled the sales.
On launch day, at Xie Yushu’s suggestion, Shanhai ran a tasting event. One bite and people were hooked—thin, crisp, savory, melting on the tongue. Who wouldn’t love that?
Xie’s Seafood’s seaweed snacks were an instant hit. The day’s stock sold out before noon, and an extra batch had to be brought in by afternoon.
Wealthy families didn’t care about the price—they just wanted something new, delicious, and prestigious. Both Xie Yushu and Shanhai raked in profits.
That night, after washing up in the warm room, Xie Yushu returned to find Su Chi leaning against the headboard, reading by lamplight.
His literacy had improved greatly—not only did he know numbers by heart, but he could recognize most common characters too.
He read with extreme care, slowly and attentively, as if afraid to crease the pages.
Quietly propped against the headboard, his lowered gaze was impossibly gentle. At one point, his lashes trembled, and his moist eyes widened slightly in surprise.
The room was silent, save for the soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional, barely audible meow drifting in from outside.
Xie Yushu leaned against the doorframe, watching him read with such diligence. A smile tugged at her lips—he was adorable.
Her little fulang was so studious and obedient—just like a model student from her previous life.
The books had been given to her by Third Aunt’s husband on the night before she left—several different volumes. He said the characters were easy to recognize and the stories engaging—perfect for a beginner.
She didn’t know much about storybooks in this era, but she appreciated his kindness and accepted them. She’d meant to look through them, but was called away by her grandmother, and the books ended up packed beneath her clothes. She’d forgotten all about them until now—having no idea what they contained.
Third Aunt’s husband must have chosen good ones. What could they be that had Su Chi so engrossed?
Curious, Xie Yushu crept over to sneak a peek. But the moment she approached, Su Chi sensed her presence and immediately shut the book, tucking it under his pillow—so fast it was almost a blur.
Xie Yushu: …
What did that mean? She couldn’t see it? Was it some kind of illicit book?
Impossible. Absolutely impossible!
They were just ordinary storybooks.
Su Chi wouldn’t read anything scandalous—that was ridiculous!
Her fulang was the purest soul—he’d blush at a daytime kiss. When she tired him out at night, he’d quietly—solemnly—tell her that doing this too often wasn’t good and that she should take care of herself.
Then the next day, he’d brew a big pot of tonic soup, and she’d drink it, get all fired up, and end up “taking care of” him even more thoroughly.
“Why aren’t you reading anymore?” Xie Yushu raised an eyebrow.
Su Chi didn’t answer. He just shrank under the covers, pulling them up to his nose until only his dewy eyes were visible, and murmured: “I’m sleepy.”
Xie Yushu let it go—she’d sneak a look tomorrow. She blew out the candle, climbed into bed, pulled her secret-keeping fulang into her arms, gave him a fierce kiss, and said, “Sleep.”
Su Chi hummed an absent “mm,” but his mind was warm and foggy, still wide awake.
The storybook was about a principal husband of a large household managing the inner chambers and bearing children for his wife.
Each chapter told a little story: how the gentle, beautiful husband managed the household, how he cared for his wife, how he joyfully gave her children.
Each page had a simple illustration: the husband bringing tea and pastries while his wife reviewed accounts; playing music and painting by her side when she received guests; or cradling a baby in bliss.
It was an ordinary domestic tale, but each story emphasized the importance of bearing children.
How the whole household rejoiced when one child was born; how the wife cherished her husband when there were two; how tenderly she cared for him during the postpartum month, afraid he’d suffer any mishap. The family lived in harmony, their life growing ever more prosperous.
This was Su Chi’s first time reading such a book, and first time encountering one about inner households—he’d been completely absorbed.
The characters were indeed simple. Even when he encountered harder ones, he noted their page and position, planning to revisit them once he’d learned more.
It was just a paper storybook with ordinary little characters, but somehow, as he read, Xie Yushu’s face kept appearing in his mind.
If he got pregnant, would she be just as flustered as the wives in the book? Would she carefully help him walk? Would she set her business aside and stay home with him?
When he had a baby, a little one with her blood would appear in swaddling clothes. As the child grew, they’d babble and smile at them. A little older, they’d toddle over with sticky rice cereal in their hands, grabbing at them and calling “Mama” and “Father.”
At that thought, Su Chi’s face burned hot—even his neck flushed pink.
He was grateful the lamp was out, so Xie Yushu couldn’t see his inexplicable feelings.
Tossing and turning in her arms, he couldn’t get comfortable no matter how he lay.
From outside came a string of cat calls—soft, thin, and tender, melting the heart.
Spring cats were always restless. In the past, Su Chi hadn’t understood, but now that he was a married fulang, he suddenly did.
He was enveloped in Xie Yushu’s scent, his whole body tingling. His face pressed against her chest, warm, vivid images flooding his mind.
“Can’t sleep?” Xie Yushu asked softly, having long sensed his restlessness.
Her lips brushed against his thin cheek, her warm breath on his fair skin making him shiver involuntarily.
He let out a muffled hum, his voice carrying that familiar upward lilt at the end—like he was coaxing: “Yushu…”
Rarely hearing him call her so softly, Xie Yushu felt a pleasant tingle. Her throat tightened, her gaze deepening. Her voice dropped low: “What is it?”
“Are you tired today?” His voice was impossibly tender, like freshly steamed sesame rice balls.
Xie Yushu’s drowsiness faded. She pulled him closer and took a deep breath of him: “Not at all.”
Su Chi murmured again: “Are you busy tomorrow?”
Xie Yushu thought through her schedule—it was the usual workload. But his unusual behavior made her certain: he wanted her to stay with him.
She’d been leaving before dawn and returning after dark, spending precious little time with him—rarely even kissing or holding him, falling asleep soon after she came to bed.
Yet Su Chi never complained. He just took good care of her, cooking meals and waiting for her every day.
At that thought, her heart twisted with guilt. She cast all thoughts of business aside.
Her voice gentle as if coaxing a child, she said: “Not busy. I’ll stay home with you all day tomorrow, alright?”
After she said that, Su Chi fell silent. Just as she thought he’d fallen asleep, he spoke again—saying something she found almost unbelievable.
“Then tonight…” His voice was so soft, tinged with shyness, “can you keep me company a little longer?”
The words took all his strength. His hands trembled as they fumbled with the collar of her robe. He swallowed his embarrassment and whispered near her ear: “Can you… hold me more?”
The thread in Xie Yushu’s mind—already frayed—snapped with a sharp crack.
Her ears rang—she must have misheard.
Su Chi was… initiating intimacy with her?!
Recognizing the moment, Xie Yushu’s throat tightened, her breath coming in ragged, urgent gasps.
It must be that she’d been coming home and falling straight to sleep lately. Su Chi felt neglected, needing this to confirm her love for him.
Xie Yushu was consumed by regret. It was all her fault.
Then, in the next moment—
Nose to nose, their breaths tangled, hot and intoxicating against each other’s faces. Su Chi let out a stream of soft sounds, his arms wrapped tight around her shoulders, his body moving with hers.
He was like a tiny boat caught in turbulent waves.
Since their wedding night, he’d never experienced such wild seas—he could barely keep up, tears welling in his reddened eyes as he called her name over and over.
But Xie Yushu had lost herself, forgetting everything else.
Her mind blank, she only knew she had to cherish her fulang, could not let him feel neglected again. Tonight, she would make up for all the missed days—with interest.
The room was dim and sultry. Only a sliver of moonlight slipped through the window lattice, faintly outlining their entwined figures and the ever-softening gasps.
Su Chi’s mind was muddled, his body aching, not even his fingertips could muster strength. He wanted to ask her to slow down, to be gentler.
Xie Yushu knew he was reaching his limit. She mischievously teased him: “Say something nice, and I’ll go easier on you…”
Fearing he might not understand, she kindly hinted: “Listen to the sounds outside.”
The cat outside was calling in a drawn-out, passionate wail—spring mating cries.
Su Chi pressed his lips together tightly, gaining a moment of clarity, looking at her with pathetic reproach.
She was so mean—always teasing him like this.
But his body truly couldn’t take much more…
Xie Yushu knew she’d pushed him too far. She leaned down to kiss away the tears at the corners of his eyes—and just as she did, she heard a tiny, almost inaudible sound from Su Chi:
“Meow~”
Her sanity vanished. She hovered above him, watching his lips part—those lips she’d kissed red—opening and closing as he let out that meow that made her whole body shiver.
She bent down and claimed his breath, fiercer and more suffocating than before, pushing that poor little boat straight into the heart of the storm.
Short as the spring night was, the cat’s calls stretched long and sweet—and inside, the two of them melted together like honey, sweet and inseparable.
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