Ahem...
Song Nianchu nearly choked on Mu Shi'an's words.
What kind of outrageous thing was he saying?
Weren’t people nowadays supposed to be reserved and restrained?
First, Wu Zhenggui had slipped her an indecent book, and now Mu Shi'an was telling her to "be gentle."
She was a proper maiden—never even held a man’s hand in either of her lifetimes!
Was this really how they were going to treat her?!
"Which direction is your home?" Mu Shi'an, completely oblivious to how inappropriate his earlier remark had been, calmly asked again.
"...This way." Song Nianchu reined in her emotions and turned to lead the way.
When they arrived home, Wu Zhenggui and Aunt Wu had already helped tidy up her house.
Bright red "double happiness" characters were pasted on the doors and windows, finally giving the place a proper wedding atmosphere.
Seeing Mu Shi'an obediently follow Song Nianchu back, Wu Zhenggui couldn’t hide his grin.
"It’s good you’re back. A'chu is all alone now, so this will be your home together from now on." He turned to Mu Shi'an. "You stick with A'chu—she’s a kind-hearted girl and won’t let you go hungry. I’ll be waiting to drink to your child’s first-month celebration next year."
Wu Zhenggui’s words were anything but subtle. Even the usually composed Mu Shi'an looked slightly flustered at the mention of a "first-month celebration," but he managed to thank Wu Zhenggui anyway.
"Alright, we won’t disturb your wedding night. Old woman, let’s head back." Wu Zhenggui signaled to Aunt Wu.
"Right." Aunt Wu grinned at Mu Shi'an—this young man was certainly handsome, a good match for their A'chu.
Before leaving, the couple made sure to close the courtyard gate behind them.
Now that he was here, Song Nianchu had no reason to be shy. She led him into the main hall and took three incense sticks from the ancestral shrine, handing them to Mu Shi'an.
"This is my father. He won’t get to drink your tea, so offer him some incense instead."
Mu Shi'an accepted them respectfully and lit three sticks for Father Song.
"...Father, I’ll take good care of A'chu." His tone was solemn, as if making a vow.
Song Nianchu raised a brow. She wanted to warn him not to make empty promises—the old man really would haunt his dreams and beat him up if he did.
But the words were already spoken, and there was no taking them back now.
She lit three incense sticks herself and placed them in the burner before turning to Mu Shi'an.
"I’m the only one left in my family now. This is my room, that was my father’s, and the other one’s for storage. The kitchen and washroom are outside. I don’t have many rules—you can use anything in the house, just put things back where you found them."
"And I’m particular about cleanliness. You have to bathe every day, or you’re not getting into bed." She laid out the terms plainly.
Since they’d be living together, it was best to set expectations early.
Medical conditions in this era were poor, and if a man wasn’t clean, it was the woman who’d suffer in the end.
"I’ll remember. Anything else?" Mu Shi'an asked.
"That’s all for now. If I think of more, I’ll tell you later." Song Nianchu wasn’t overly fussy—cleanliness was her main concern.
"Alright. I’ll put my things away first." Mu Shi'an nodded and carried his small bag into the bedroom.
Song Nianchu’s room wasn’t large—just a narrow bed, a wardrobe, and a desk by the window.
These were all old family pieces, but she kept them spotless. Now, with red "double happiness" papers pasted everywhere, the room felt warm and inviting.
"Take your time settling in. I’ll make something to eat." Song Nianchu lingered at the doorway.
"Let me help." Mu Shi'an set down his bag at once.
"No need. It’s your first day here—rest up." She waved him off. A man joining her household as a live-in son-in-law must already feel uneasy; she couldn’t ask him to work right away.
In the kitchen, she retrieved the basa fish she’d prepared earlier.
Qinghe Fishing Village never lacked fish, though those who didn’t know how to cook it often ended up with a strong fishy taste.
Still, it was better than most places. These days, even wild greens and tree roots were fought over.
With swift strokes of her knife, Song Nianchu sliced the fish into thin pieces.
She scooped rice from the jar into the pot, planning to make fish congee—fragrant, filling, and perfect for dinner.
In under half an hour, she carried a steaming pot of congee to the main hall.
"Um—" She meant to call Mu Shi'an to eat, then realized she didn’t even know his full name.
She’d only heard his mother call him "An’er," but that felt too intimate for her to use.
"My name is Mu Shi'an." He emerged from the bedroom at the sound of her voice.
"Mu Shi'an... That’s a nice name." She glanced at his face—it suited him, as handsome as the name was graceful.
"And your full name?" he asked in return.
"Song Nianchu."
Song Nianchu?
"Which 'Nian' and which 'Chu'?" He turned the name over in his mind.
"'Nian' as in 'longing,' 'Chu' as in 'the beginning.'"
"Nianchu... 'Longing unchanged, heart true to the start.' A good name." His voice softened.
"My father just picked it randomly. Let’s eat." She ladled out a bowl of congee for him.
The aroma of rice and fish mingled, making Mu Shi'an’s stomach growl impatiently.
Since his family’s downfall, he hadn’t had a proper meal.
He could’ve toughed it out with coarse buns, but faced with this fragrant congee, his restraint crumbled.
"Thank you." He picked up his spoon and dug in—only to recoil as the scalding porridge seared his tongue, twisting his features.
"Why the rush? Spit it out!" Song Nianchu urged.
But he shook his head, waited a moment, and swallowed.
"Food shouldn’t be wasted." He’d never known hunger could hurt so much.
Lying awake at night, gulping cold water to dull the gnawing in his gut—compared to that, a burnt tongue was nothing.
Song Nianchu could guess how hard his life had been.
Most who were "sent down" never lasted. The hills near Qinghe Fishing Village had gained several unmarked graves over the years—all belonging to people like Mu Shi'an.
Some starved. Some gave up.
In the end, they all returned to dust.
