At that mont, ng Yuhuai felt a wave of emotion, stood still for a long ti, put down his chopsticks, and took several large steps over, suddenly embracing Hua Xiaomai tightly.
It was wonderful—they had a restaurant with a large garden, and intimate acts did not need to wait until they returned ho and shut the door. In this vast space filled with the fragrance of flowers, it was just the two of them. Whenever he wanted, he could hold his wife tightly in his arms without worrying about being seen by anyone.
His actions ca so swiftly that Hua Xiaomai could not help but be startled, and then the corners of her mouth turned upwards as she embraced his waist and pressed her face into the nape of his neck.
This man’s skin was warm all year round. When they first married, she was quite unaccustod to it, especially in the sumr, when he felt even more like a bundle of fire.
However, at this mont, the warmth from his body perated through the soft fabric onto her face. Breathing in his scent, tinged with a faint sll of sweat that wrapped around her, made her feel incredibly secure and at ease.
The two did not speak and just embraced quietly for a while. Around them, the fragrance of bamboo leaves, along with a hint of the subtle aroma of food, quietly circulated around them with the wind, gradually diffusing.
ng Yuhuai sniffed and glanced in the direction of the small kitchen.
"Did you make anything else?"
"Yes." Hua Xiaomai, not wanting to move, lazily nodded her head, "Didn’t I tell you? I’ve been preparing all day. There are still several dishes left in the kitchen—didn’t you just say you were almost full..."
"You’ve been busy all day. I’d burst my belly if I have to eat it all, wouldn’t I?" ng Yuhuai chuckled softly, let go of her, and then took her hand, "Co on, show , what else is there?"
Hua Xiaomai laughed lightly, pursed her mouth, and responded. She then quickly pulled him into the kitchen.
From the mont she arrived in Fire Knife Village, this fellow had appeared. Henceforth, they were bound to spend a lifeti together. Was there anything better than this in the world?
...
In August of last year, the ten or so red osmanthus trees that were moved into Daoxiang Garden blood. Hua Xiaomai once again invited Lady Yang, wife of Magistrate Tao, to Daoxiang Garden. She personally prepared a table of dishes, both to invite her to enjoy the flowers and to host a farewell party for her and Magistrate Tao;
In September, Scholar Wen, after much hesitation, finally approached Hua Xiaomai and broached the difficult subject of borrowing money.
His riverside courtyard was in dire need of repairs after years of neglect, requiring a significant amount of money to restore. Following that, matters such as betrothal and marriage also inevitably necessitated spending silver coin, and even with frugality, at least twenty to thirty taels were necessary.
If possible, he certainly wished to rely solely on his own efforts to save enough money to marry, but how long would that take? He was a man; a delay of a couple of years was not a big deal, but Zhou Yunyun was no longer young, and with such an unrestful father, she probably could not wait that long.
Hua Xiaomai readily lent thirty taels of silver to Wen Huaren, advising him not to worry about repaying it quickly. For the rest of the year, besides attending to the business of Daoxiang Garden, she devoted most of her energy to arranging Zhou Yunyun’s marriage affairs.
In December, Zhou Yunyun finally got married smoothly.
The banquet was held by the river. The staff from Daoxiang Garden handled the food and drinks perfectly, making sure everything was dignified and properly managed, without requiring Wen Huaren to worry at all.
The groom was caught and made to drink from noon until the evening fell. The n were thoroughly drunk, while the won helped clean up the ss.
Hua Xiaomai spoke a few words to Zhou Yunyun in the room, then stepped outside. A bone-chilling cold wind blew, making her shiver imdiately. She wrapped her thick coat tighter around herself and looked around.
The riverside was festive, yet in the other parts of Fire Knife Village, most families had already eaten their dinner, cleaned up neatly, and were gathering around stoves chatting idly, quietly enjoying the rare peaceful evening. On the village paths, only a few children ran about setting off firecrackers, their laughter and the crisp popping sounds gradually fading as they ran off into the distance.
This is just how peasant life is, eyes open to hard work from the beginning of the year to the end. Days pass silently in the sweat mixed with soil, year after year, it always goes on like this, as if it will never cease.
Chinese New Year’s Eve was approaching, and another year was about to pass.
...
Five years later.
The winter in Fire Knife Village was never easy to endure; although it rarely snowed, the damp, cold air would pierce through the clothes straight into the bones. Standing outside for a while would make one feel completely frozen stiff, prompting a rushed return to the warmth of the ho, clutching the hearth as if never to let go.
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