Zhou Zhijun slipped into the kitchen, holding a piece of scallion pancake in his hand. The chilly wind he brought with him made the flame of the kerosene lamp flicker twice, casting fragmented shadows on the mud wall in the dim yellow light.
Chuntao looked up at him abruptly, her little heart skipping a beat and leaping into her throat.
Seeing him reach back to close the kitchen door, she felt as if a little rabbit was thumping wildly against her chest.
Although Wang Jieshi had bad legs, there was nothing wrong with his ears.
Besides, Wang Xiaoming was still awake in the main room. That half-grown boy had a bad temper; if he caught her and Zhou Zhijun, it would definitely cause a huge uproar.
"What are you doing?" Chuntao watched him warily.
Zhou Zhijun did not say a word. He squatted down in front of her, tore off a piece of the scallion pancake, and brought it to her lips. "Eat!"
"I won't eat it!" Chuntao quickly turned her head away to dodge it.
"Hurry up and leave! Xiaoming isn't asleep yet. If he sees you, we're doomed!" she lowered her voice, her tone filled with fear.
Zhou Zhijun acted as if he had not heard her. He pushed the scallion pancake forward again and said stiffly, "Eat it quickly. I'll leave as soon as you finish!"
Chuntao had long figured out his stubborn temper and knew he would not give up until he got what he wanted. She could only obediently open her mouth and take the pancake offered to her lips.
"I already ate. I'm not hungry. Leave it there, and I'll eat it tomorrow!" she mumbled.
"No way, you have to finish it tonight!" Zhou Zhijun tore off another large piece and handed it over. "Eat up, it won't taste good if it gets cold."
How could he not know what kind of life Chuntao lived in the Wang family?
Every day she ate either dark flour steamed buns or pickled vegetables, just clear broth and watery food without a drop of oil, let alone any nutrition.
Chuntao ate fast, swallowing almost without chewing, just wanting to finish quickly so he would leave.
"Slow down, don't choke!" Zhou Zhijun saw through her thoughts. His voice deepened, carrying a hint of tender affection.
His gaze fell on her feet soaking in the washbasin. Before Chuntao could react, his rough, large hands reached in and gently grasped her feet.
"How did they get so frostbitten? Don't just focus on making cotton shoes for others; make a new pair for yourself too!" His voice held a bit of reproach, but mostly it was heartache.
Zhou Zhijun was right; she really only cared about others.
She had made cotton shoes for Aunt Zhou's family of three, and made new ones for Wang Jieshi and Wang Xiaoming too.
As for her maiden family, she had long finished making a pair for everyone and hung them on the wall by her bed, but she just had not had the time to deliver them.
She was busy inside and out from dawn to dusk. During the day, she had to work in the fields and serve Wang Jieshi, so she could only make shoes at night by the light of the kerosene lamp.
She was just too exhausted. She would often feel sleepy shortly after starting, and there were several times when the needle pricked her hand, but she could only grit her teeth and push through.
The cotton shoes on her own feet had been worn for two or three years. The cotton inside had long since hardened, stiffly rubbing against her feet without providing the slightest bit of warmth.
She had originally planned to find time to make a pair for herself. When the weather was good, she was busy hoeing the fields. Later, it snowed, and then Wang Jieshi had his accident, so she never found the time to make them.
"Mm, I know," Chuntao lowered her head, saying nothing more.
"I think you're just foolish!" Zhou Zhijun's voice was stiff. He stood up, scooped a ladle of hot water from the pot, and poured it into the basin. "Soak them well; it'll help them recover a bit."
As he spoke, he reached into the inner pocket of his cotton-padded jacket, pulled out a small glass medicine bottle, and placed it on the stove.
The other day, when he saw the chilblains on Chuntao's hands, he had made a special trip to the commune to buy this homemade chilblain ointment from an old traditional Chinese medicine doctor. He had been carrying it with him ever since, waiting for a chance to give it to her.
He took her hand again, his thumb brushing over the red, swollen chilblains on the back of her hand. "Look at these hands. Wash them too. I'll apply the ointment for you in a bit."
Without allowing any argument, he pressed her hands into the warm basin as well.
Chuntao's heart leaped to her throat. She pricked up her ears, listening to the sounds outside, and kept urging him, "Hurry up and go! If Xiaoming comes over and sees us, we're doomed!"
But Zhou Zhijun seemed deaf to her pleas. He just focused on washing her hands and feet, then meticulously dried them with an old piece of cotton cloth.
He poured a little chilblain ointment into his palm, rubbed his hands together to warm it, and then gently applied it to her chilblains, his movements as gentle as if he were tending to a little baby.
"Have you got all the New Year goods ready?" he asked casually as he applied the ointment.
In that era of poverty, preparing for the New Year was just a rush to get by. Those with money prepared more, and those without prepared less; there was no such thing as having everything ready.
Chuntao did not have a single penny to her name, so naturally, she had not prepared any New Year goods at all.
She figured she would catch an old hen tomorrow, sell it at the market, buy a few boxes of pastries to visit relatives, and buy two pounds of pork to entertain guests. As for the rest, she would just make do.
She lowered her head, avoiding Zhou Zhijun's gaze, and muttered vaguely, "They're ready."
"You bought the meat? The couplets and firecrackers too?" Zhou Zhijun clearly did not believe her; he knew her difficulties too well. "It's so cold out. Tomorrow I'll go to town and get them for you!"
"No need, I can go myself!" Chuntao quickly refused. She did not want to owe him too many favors. The less she owed, the better.
Zhou Zhijun did not reply. Instead, he unbuttoned his cotton-padded jacket and carefully tucked both of her feet into his chest.
A comforting warmth spread from the soles of her feet, slowly flowing through her entire body. It was so warm that Chuntao's nose tingled and her eyes grew misty.
In this freezing winter, who would not crave this bit of warmth?
Chuntao's vision gradually blurred. Four years of grievances, unwillingness, and helplessness suddenly surged into her heart.
Her life had been like a pool of stagnant water, without a single ripple. It was Zhou Zhijun, like a stone suddenly thrown in, who made her experience the vitality and palpitations of being a woman.
But this vitality and palpitation also made her feel like a child who had stolen an egg to eat, her heart full of apprehension and unease, unable to eat or sleep well.
Her feet were warm in his embrace, and her heart was warm too, but she knew clearly that this warmth was like the winter sun, it looked hot, but it could not dispel the chill at the bottom of her heart.
This warmth was temporary after all. The moment she pulled her feet out, it would only be colder and more painful.
Zhou Zhijun held her feet against his chest, then reached out his burning-hot large hands to grasp her small, chilblain-covered hands, gently rubbing them. "I'll warm them for you."
His eyes shone with a rare gentleness, his gaze falling squarely on her small face.
He ached for this woman, right down to his bones. Seeing her suffer felt like a knife cutting through his heart.
He wanted to marry her, take her home, and make her completely his woman. He wanted to hold her every day, warm her hands and feet, and never let her suffer the slightest grievance again.
But she was like someone bound hand and foot by an invisible rope, unable to move.
He had to rescue her from this cage and let her fly freely in the sky like a little sparrow.
This was the thought Zhou Zhijun had carved into his heart a thousand times over; it was a responsibility he had to shoulder.
He really wanted to go negotiate with Wang Jieshi right away, but he understood the timidity in Chuntao's eyes all too well.
She was afraid of Liu Cuilan throwing a tantrum and acting ruthlessly, afraid that blowing things up would implicate her maiden family, and even more afraid of the gossip and spitting insults of the villagers.
These scruples were like a heavy stone pressing on Zhou Zhijun's heart, making him afraid to act rashly, despite his heart being full of burning passion.
Chuntao felt a little self-conscious under his gaze. A soft blush crept up her small face as she quickly turned her head away to look at the pile of firewood on the ground. "It is not like I have flowers on my face," she whispered.
"You are prettier than any flower." Zhou Zhijun's voice was deep and gentle, carrying a slight huskiness.
"Sister-in-law..."
Wang Xiaoming's voice suddenly rang out from the direction of the main room. The crunching of footsteps on the snow drew closer and closer, until they reached the kitchen door...
