The wind picked up, carrying a chill that sent a shiver through Zhou Zhijun's body.
He knocked the ashes from his pipe bowl, grabbed the two sickles by the door, stuffed two large steamed buns from the kitchen into his pocket, and strode quickly towards the eastern gully.
Chuntao had married Wang Jieshi at eighteen, but before the marriage could be consummated, Wang Jieshi ran away. Now, it was the fourth year.
She had kept an empty house for four years, finally hoping for Wang Jieshi's return, only for him to come back a broken man.
Chuntao was a woman Zhou Zhijun cherished from the bottom of his heart. Watching her struggle under the weight of life, watching her hold on desperately for a man who wasn't worth it, the pain in his heart felt like being cut by a knife.
The moon hid behind thick clouds, leaking only a faint, hazy light. The wind rustled the leaves of the crops in the field.
Zhou Zhijun crept around to the sheltered side of the melon shed and tapped his finger against a pole, his voice low and hoarse, "Jieshi's wife?"
Wang Xiaohong was also in the melon shed, so he didn't dare call her by name directly. This way, he maintained the propriety of a senior while not overstepping.
Chuntao and Wang Xiaohong lay on a worn-out mat, both still awake.
Hearing the voice, Chuntao stiffened, her heart leaping into her throat.
This Zhou Zhijun, his nerve was too great. With Wang Xiaohong right beside her, he dared to come looking for her.
Chuntao understood him less and less.
He had helped the Wang family for four years, and everyone in the village thought he was doing it for Liu Cuilan.
But that day he told her that the reason he helped the Wang family wasn't for Liu Cuilan, but for her.
He had bullied her several times already, each time nearly ruining her.
Whenever Chuntao thought of those scenes of him bullying her, she hated him from the bottom of her heart, wishing she could bite him.
Yet, mixed in with that hatred was something indescribable. It was like a cat scratching at her heart—itchy, tingling, a strange numbness.
During the day, he had slipped her a small box. It was still in her pocket now. She hadn't dared to look at what was inside.
With Zhou Zhijun showing up now, and thinking of that little box, her heart panicked even more.
Her hand instinctively went to that pocket. She replied in a low voice, "Uncle Zhijun? What is it at this late hour?"
When no one was around, she would never address him like that. He had long lost any semblance of a senior's demeanor, being far too shameless.
Calling him "Uncle" now was deliberate, an attempt to dispel any hint of ambiguity. After all, Wang Xiaohong was right there, and she couldn't let her become suspicious.
Zhou Zhijun deliberately raised his voice half a notch so Wang Xiaohong could hear, "This afternoon when we were cutting the melon vines, I saw both your sickle blades were dull. I took them home to sharpen them and brought them back for you."
Wang Xiaohong turned over and peeked out through a gap in the shed, "Uncle Zhijun, you really shouldn't have gone to the trouble!"
In Wang Xiaohong's eyes, Zhou Zhijun was a rare good man in the whole area, and handsome too.
Ever since her father fell ill, Zhou Zhijun had helped her family tirelessly, never missing a single farm chore. Wang Xiaohong was genuinely grateful to him and held him in high regard.
Chuntao's heart raced wildly. Her hand, clutching her pocket, was stiff and unmoving, the hard box inside pressing uncomfortably against her palm.
She was Wang Jieshi's wife, a woman who had kept an empty house for four years. If her affair with Zhou Zhijun got out, not only would she lose all face, but she would also drag her grandmother's name through the mud.
Even the lives of her sister-in-law Wang Lanhua and her brother Li Dazhuang would be thrown into chaos.
Yet, Zhou Zhijun wasn't a bad man at heart. She truly couldn't find it in herself to coldly and harshly reject his kindness.
"No need for all that trouble, I can sharpen it myself tomorrow," she said softly, her tone betraying a hidden fluster.
"What trouble?" said Zhou Zhijun, leaning the brightly polished sickle against the outside of the shed and slipping an oilpaper package through a gap in the planks. "Brought two steamed buns along too, white flour. For you two to fill your bellies."
The words wormed their way into Chuntao's ears, and she immediately recalled the way he had seized her like a ravenous wolf. Her cheeks burned.
Wang Xiaohong caught the oilpaper package, opened it, and saw two soft, fluffy white buns, completely oblivious to the subtle tension between the other two.
Zhou Zhijun spoke again, "I'll come first thing tomorrow to cut down the melon vines. Get it done quick and plow the field, then this job will be behind us. Just wait for spring to plant the corn."
"I... I can ask my brother to plow. No need to trouble you."
Chuntao hurriedly refused, afraid of owing him more. The more she owed, the harder it would be to repay. When he bullied her again, she'd have even less ground to stand on.
Zhou Zhijun was silent for a moment, then said, "Don't trouble your brother. I'll plow for you after the vines are cut. Your father-in-law is gone, and Jieshi is... the way he is. We're neighbors. How could I just stand by and watch you struggle?"
He didn't say he fancied her, but these words flustered Chuntao more than a blunt confession ever could.
Wang Xiaohong yawned, turned over with her back to Chuntao, and said offhandedly, "Uncle Zhijun, you should head back soon too. Must be dead tired after a whole day's work. Sis, don't overthink it. Uncle Zhijun is just kind-hearted, can't bear to see you in a bind."
Before, Wang Xiaohong had thought Zhou Zhijun helped their family because of her mother, Liu Cuilan. But later, after Liu Cuilan registered her marriage with Wang Haichao, Zhou Zhijun hadn't uttered a single bitter word and still helped out as before.
He was a truly good man, the kind you'd be hard-pressed to find anywhere in the whole country. It never crossed Wang Xiaohong's mind that he might have those kinds of feelings for Chuntao.
Chuntao clutched the small box in her pocket, truly wanting to slip it back through the shed gap to return it, but she was afraid Xiaohong might see.
"It's late, you should go back," her voice was as thin as a mosquito's hum.
Zhou Zhijun knew not to push too hard. By the moonlight, he peered through a crack in the shed and saw Chuntao's small face flushed, her little mouth like a plump, tempting cherry.
His Adam's apple bobbed. "Then I'll come first thing tomorrow!" he said in a low voice, then turned and left, careful not to make a sound.
He hadn't even touched a hair on her head, just exchanged a few words through the shed wall. Zhou Zhijun's heart was filled with frustration.
Before long, Wang Xiaohong's soft snores began.
Chuntao reached into her pocket, took out the small box, and opened it. Inside was a small jar of snowflake cream.
In winter, Chuntao always used the cheap sachets of snowflake cream, two mao a packet. This kind in a jar was precious, costing at least one whole yuan. She had never allowed herself such a luxury.
Where would she get spare money for such things? Back then, she had married Wang Jieshi in a marriage exchange for her brother.
She hadn't even gotten a clear look at what Wang Jieshi looked like before he ran off.
These four years, she had kept to an empty room, destined only for endless work. Any little income the household had was tightly gripped by her mother-in-law, Liu Cuilan. Chuntao had no say in the family's money at all.
Being able to eat a full meal was good enough; how could she dare hope for such "respectable" things?
All these years, life had been as bitter as chewing dry firewood—endless farm work, her mother-in-law's groundless criticisms, the villagers' gossip and rumors. All the bitterness and exhaustion she could only swallow down.
Chuntao's heart had long since become a pitch-black, dried-up well, unable to stir even the slightest ripple anymore.
Never did she imagine that Zhou Zhijun would forcefully break into her stagnant life, and that something long extinguished in her heart would quietly stir in the depths of a dried-up well, sending out faint ripples.
Those scenes hidden in the everyday suddenly flooded her mind.
The hoarse voice when Zhou Zhijun called her "Tao," the tender, pained look in his eyes when he gazed at her, his domineering manner when forcing her to eat, and his reckless abandon when he lost control...
Each time she remembered, a tangle of emotions wrapped around her heart, and she actually felt a tremor of excitement that even she despised.
This thrill let her taste the vividness of being a woman, along with a sweetness mixed with panic.
Thinking of this, Chuntao felt her whole body burn as if on fire, sweat soaking through her coarse cloth garments.
Her throat parched, she rolled over and got up, intending to go to the field to find a leftover small watermelon to quench her thirst.
Just as she turned past the melon shed, she bumped into a bare-chested man.
Chuntao was scared out of her wits. Just as she was about to scream, her mouth was tightly covered by the man's hand.
