That evening, Xie Yushu was about to heat water for a bath when a soft “tap-tap” came at her gate.
She opened the door to find Su Chi standing outside. He was hesitating, head lowered, pacing nervously.
Hearing the gate open, he looked up and said softly, “Father finally ate something tonight. Thank you.”
The night was still. The farming folk slept early, and the paths were empty. Apart from the frogs by the pond puffing their cheeks and croaking, there was no other sound.
In the utter silence, Su Chi’s low voice carried a subtle, barely noticeable warmth.
Xie Yushu was taken aback. After a moment, she stepped aside to let him in.
Su Chi had finished his chores and specifically chose this hour to come—partly to avoid being seen, and partly because his mind had finally settled, unlike the restless state he’d been in during the day.
He knew his actions were inappropriate, even scandalous—an unmarried young man visiting an unmarried woman’s home so late at night. But he’d mustered the courage to thank her in person.
After saying his piece, he nervously studied her expression. Why… did she seem unhappy?
Xie Yushu had no idea what Su Chi was thinking. He’d come all this way just to say that?
Her gaze dropped. She felt a flicker of disappointment, yet also an indefinable sense of pleasure. But why were his words always so polite and formal?
He was always like this—too courteous with her, always thanking her this and thanking her that. Deep down, she recoiled from his gratitude.
“It’s nothing. You—” She was about to tell him not to be so formal—they weren’t strangers, they were neighbors, and she often shamelessly brought ingredients over for him to cook.
But then Su Chi said something she hadn’t expected.
His eyesight was remarkably sharp—even in the dim light, he’d noticed something. Pointing at the hem of her robe, he said, “There’s a tear here.”
Xie Yushu looked down. Only then did she notice a gash in her garment’s hem, torn without her realizing. “Ah, must have snagged on something sharp on the ox-cart. It’s nothing.”
Su Chi frowned. This woman was usually so particular, always going out in clean, tidy clothes. Yet now she was being careless. The fabric was good—it would be a shame to leave it torn.
Besides, he felt she should look sharp and refined. There was no room for shabby clothing on her.
He hesitantly offered: “Let me mend it for you. It’ll b-be quick—won’t keep you long.”
Xie Yushu was startled by his unexpectedly thoughtful offer. After a long pause, she said, “Alright.”
Su Chi went back to his house and returned with a small basket of needles and thread. Under the candlelight in Xie Yushu’s main hall, he carefully matched the thread to the color of her robe and began threading the needle.
Xie Yushu moved to go change out of the robe.
“No need to take it off—I’ll be done in no time,” Su Chi said, guessing her intention. He gestured for her to sit on the wooden chair and stay still, his voice soft and soothing: “It’ll be quick.”
She’d never heard Su Chi speak so gently before. Xie Yushu grew uneasy and could only manage a dry, “Mm.”
Her gaze involuntarily drifted to Su Chi, sitting beside her, focused on his careful mending.
The warm yellow candlelight fell on his profile, melting away the cold aloofness of daytime. He looked soft and serene, touched by human warmth, revealing the delicacy and tenderness of a young man.
His usually cool, distant eyes were now fixed intently on the small patch of fabric before him. His dark, rounded pupils, warmed by the candlelight, looked uncharacteristically gentle.
His nose was straight and defined, his lips pressed together in concentration as he worked earnestly.
His slender fingers held the fabric with one hand while the other guided the needle in and out with practiced ease—as if he’d done it hundreds of times.
Sitting so close to him, Xie Yushu couldn’t help but mentally measure the length of his lowered lashes.
They were long and thick, casting a small shadow beneath his eyes like tiny fans.
Were all young men’s lashes this long? Much longer than a woman’s—though she’d never really looked closely at any other man’s lashes either.
She remembered that bold young man who’d claimed to be the most handsome in the village.
This only made Xie Yushu disagree with that claim even more.
Su Chi was far better-looking than that person.
The main hall was extremely quiet, save for the soft crackling of the candle wick and the nearly imperceptible whisper of the needle passing through fabric.
For the final step, Su Chi gently bit off the thread end with his teeth, tied a knot, and smoothed out the mended tear. “Done.”
As he looked up, he unexpectedly met Xie Yushu’s gaze—she hadn’t looked away. There was an undeniable admiration in her eyes.
Xie Yushu ran her fingers over the hem. The fabric felt as smooth as if it had never been torn.
The stitches were fine and even. The repaired spot was practically invisible—impossible to tell it had ever been damaged.
Xie Yushu marveled, “You’re so skilled with your hands. How do you know how to do everything?”
She knew farming folks were handy with all sorts of things, but she couldn’t help praising him.
Su Chi, feeling the heat of her gaze, instinctively looked away. The side of his face where her eyes lingered felt hot.
It was indeed a warm night. He could probably take another layer off his father’s blanket.
“Thank you for your trouble. It’s getting late—you should get some rest.”
Xie Yushu walked him to the gate and only went back inside after she saw him close his own door.
That night, Su Chi lay on his small bed, unable to sleep. Every time he opened or closed his eyes, Xie Yushu was there.
Her praise had been so sincere, her eyes filled with nothing but genuine admiration. He was already struggling to withstand the force of her bright, open smile.
He’d once been certain she was the frivolous, forward type. But over these days of knowing her, she hadn’t crossed any lines. Instead, she’d been thoughtful in every way, always sending things over to his house.
His mind churned with confusion, and he only managed to drift into a light sleep in the small hours of the night.
—
The next afternoon, Su Chi packed up his stall and headed home, thinking he could catch Aunt Gao’s fresh slaughter. He needed to buy some pork for fillings and cooking.
He’d only dressed a portion of the kelp yesterday—the crisp, refreshing salad had been eaten quickly by his father and himself. He could make more today, but there would still be plenty left. He thought about making a pot of kelp and trotter soup.
Today was the day the Gao family slaughtered their pig. Villagers who wanted pork came as soon as they heard the news. A crowd had already gathered at the Gao house, waiting for Aunt Gao to finish butchering so they could buy their share and reward their families after the summer plowing.
“Don’t worry, there’s enough for everyone,” the Gao husband called out, roughly keeping order. His wife was out back slaughtering the pig, while he stood at the front, hands on his hips, bellowing at the neighbors to line up.
With him around, no one was cutting in line.
Suddenly, he spotted a familiar figure and lit up, hurrying over: “Chi-ge’er’s here! The usual?”
Su Chi nodded: “Eight jin of meat, plus two front trotters.”
One for his father, one for Xie Yushu.
Front trotters—called “trotter flowers” because when stewed until tender, the tendon part bloomed like a flower—were the tendon-joint tissue on the inside of the pig’s foot, even richer in collagen than regular pig trotters.
Su Chi was a big customer at the Gao household. Most families only bought one or two jin of meat a month at most. But Su Chi, needing meat for his bun fillings, bought large quantities—seven or eight jin every few days.
Every time he showed up, the Gao husband beamed.
“Coming right up! Once your Aunt Gao finishes, I’ll weigh yours first.” He smiled at Su Chi and motioned for him to sit on the stone bench in the front yard.
Some of the villagers ahead grumbled in complaint.
The Gao husband pretended not to hear. He didn’t care about first-come, first-served—he was serving Chi-ge’er first, because he was the one buying in bulk.
Su Chi sat quietly on the stone bench, waiting. More people arrived. Behind him, a few gossiping husbands clustered together, whispering.
“Chi-ge’er sure has it good—getting the Gao husband to let him cut the line. Look at the rest of us—we showed up just as late, but we don’t get that kind of treatment.”
Several voices murmured in agreement.
One of them, a fairer-skinned young man, spoke up: “Chi-ge’er buys a lot. It’s only natural the Gao husband favors him. If any of us bought ten or eight jin at a time, he’d treat us just as well.”
The others could only laugh awkwardly—they couldn’t exactly admit they were too strapped for cash to buy that much.
Another started up a new topic, lowering his voice and shooting sly glances toward Su Chi: “Have you heard?”
“Heard what?”
The man spoke with dramatic flair, his eyes darting as if he’d witnessed it himself: “I heard Chi-ge’er’s been getting close to that Zhai woman lately. Someone saw her going into Su’s yard—more than once, too.”
“Really? Who told you that?”
Another person remembered something and chimed in, “They do live awfully close to each other—wouldn’t be surprising.”
“If you ask me—”
Before he could finish, the young man cut him off, his face stern and clearly annoyed: “Uncle, you can’t just say things like that. Whoever said that must have been mistaken. Chi-ge’er is the most honest and proper person—he would never do such a thing.”
The man, unfazed, laughed it off: “Oh, I was just saying. Don’t get upset, Sheng-ge’er.”
The others chimed in, praising him: “Sheng-ge’er is truly kind-hearted, always looking out for his cousin. Not like us gossips. I just heard some idle talk—never mind, forget I said anything. Don’t take it seriously.”
They resumed their joking and banter.
“Sheng-ge’er, why are you so late today? Weren’t we supposed to come together?”
Su Sheng had agreed to come with another young man, but he’d arrived later than planned.
One of the husbands walking behind them said without thinking, “Sheng-ge’er must have been helping Su Ping in the fields first, then helping Cai Zhi take care of his little sister. Such a dutiful, hardworking child—my own son can’t hold a candle to him.”
“That’s right—Sheng-ge’er has good looks, a gentle nature, works hard, and smiles at everyone. He gets along with anyone. Unlike—”
They exchanged knowing glances, everyone understanding who he meant.
“If you ask me, Sheng-ge’er is better than his cousin Chi-ge’er in every way.”
They all silently agreed.
Aside from the few households Su Chi did business with and some close neighbors, his reputation among the others wasn’t good.
He was aloof, didn’t bother with them, and unlike Su Sheng, who was sweet-talking and always responsive, he kept to himself.
Su Sheng lowered his head slightly, displaying just the right amount of bashful embarrassment. In the moments when no one was looking, his eyes turned cold. He cast a provocative glance toward his cousin, Su Chi.
His voice was gentle as he said, “Chi-ge’er is much more diligent than I am—he’s up before dawn taking the ox-cart to town to sell his buns. His business is always sold out. None of us have his ability.”
Su Sheng deliberately steered the conversation toward Su Chi’s bun-selling, hoping someone would pick up on it.
And someone did. With a critical tone, one of them said, “Speaking of which, that Chi-ge’er really is something else. He has all those buns, yet he wouldn’t even give two to your father. Your father told me about it—they’re family, both surnamed Su. All he asked for was a couple of buns, and Chi-ge’er sent him away empty-handed.”
“Really?”
“Of course! Cai Zhi only asked for two buns, and Chi-ge’er coldly turned him down.”
The last time Cai Zhi had come away empty-handed, he’d thrown a huge fit at home and spent a good while badmouthing Su Chi to the neighbors, calling him ungrateful and unfilial.
Seeing his goal achieved, Su Sheng smiled inwardly, but on the surface, he furrowed his brows and spoke with feigned understanding: “Uncle, don’t say that. Chi-ge’er’s family has it hard too. Uncle has been sick for years, spending money on medicine without getting better. No matter how well Chi-ge’er’s buns sell, he can’t save much—they’re all stretched thin. My father insisted on taking my little sister to his house to beg for things. It’s only natural Chi-ge’er wouldn’t give in. I wouldn’t have either.”
The man warmly draped an arm over Su Sheng’s shoulder, comforting him: “Sheng-ge’er, you’re too soft-hearted. He was clearly in the wrong, yet you’re still making excuses for them. If you stay this gentle, people will walk all over you.”
Su Sheng just smiled and said nothing.
When the topic turned to Su Chi’s father, the group’s faces soured—as if afraid of catching bad luck or disease. Then they thought of Su Chi’s cooking skill, his booming bun business, and the money he was making, and their envy resurfaced. Their sympathy for Su Sheng’s family grew stronger.
“If you ask me, Chi-ge’er’s bun-making skill should rightfully belong to your family. Wang Wen has no daughter, only a son. Su Hui should have passed the craft to your mother, not her son. A man shouldn’t be out there in the public eye selling buns—it’s just not proper, is it?”
They all nodded in agreement.
Their gazes toward Su Sheng turned warm and pitying.
Su Sheng smiled helplessly and shook his head, saying nothing more.
The others took his silence as reluctant resignation, their sympathy deepening.
Su Chi had sharp ears. Even though they were whispering, he heard every word—the whole righteous defense of Su Ping’s family.
But he didn’t get angry. All he felt was numbness.
He was long used to being compared to his cousin Su Sheng by the gossiping villagers.
In their eyes, he naturally fell short of Su Sheng in every way.
He didn’t care either way. If he worried about what the villagers thought of him every day, how would he even live? He focused on his father’s health—everything else he couldn’t force.
Aunt Gao was quick and precise with her butchering. The waiting villagers didn’t have to wait long. She and her sisters carried out the processed pork.
The Gao husband stood at the front, making requests to his wife. Before long, he handed over what Su Chi had ordered.
“Chi-ge’er—eight jin of meat. Your aunt knows you well—it’s all good cuts, two parts fat to eight parts lean. And here are the two front trotters. Have a look.”
Su Chi took the meat, tied with straw rope, and the two trotters wrapped in oil paper. He gave them a quick look—satisfied—then handed over the counted coins.
The Gao family sold pork at fifteen wen per jin, and front trotters at twenty-five wen per jin. Their pigs were well-raised, the trotters hefty—each weighing about one and a half jin. Two trotters came to three jin. Su Chi paid a total of one hundred and ninety-five wen.
That was nearly two qian in one go—no other household in the village spent like he did.
He walked out of the Gao house under the envious and jealous eyes of the crowd.
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