"Not wanting to waste it is all the more reason to savor it slowly. Good food is meant to be enjoyed," Song Nianchu said with a smile.
Mu Shi'an paused slightly at her words. Though he didn’t respond, his movements slowed as he continued eating the porridge.
And indeed, he began to notice the subtle differences in this fish congee.
He’d had fish congee before, but never this fragrant or fresh. The ones he’d tasted in the past often carried a faint fishy odor, which had never appealed to him. Yet today, he finished three bowls in a row and still felt a lingering craving for more.
"You shouldn’t eat too much at night—it’s hard on digestion. I’ll make something else delicious for you tomorrow," Song Nianchu said, noticing Mu Shi'an’s unspoken hunger.
"It’s fine. I’m not picky," Mu Shi'an replied. Truthfully, he’d never been particular about food.
Back in Jing City, he’d been content with just filling his stomach. During busy research periods, even plain steamed buns had tasted satisfying.
"You might not care, but I do. Life’s too short to waste on bad food," Song Nianchu said, standing up to clear the dishes.
Since arriving in this world—without phones or computers—food had become her only comfort.
"Let me," Mu Shi'an said, quickly stepping in before she could.
Song Nianchu didn’t protest. She’d cooked, so it was only fair he handled the cleanup.
Still, she followed him to the kitchen, where a pot of hot water was already simmering. She ladled out half a bucket.
"Use this to wash the dishes. Save some for your bath later," she instructed.
"Alright," Mu Shi'an agreed.
Song Nianchu carried the remaining hot water to the bathing room—a small addition she’d built after arriving here.
Most villagers bathed in their bedrooms, but she couldn’t stand the idea of damp floors, so she’d constructed her own space.
The only one of its kind in all of Qinghe Fishing Village.
After her bath, Song Nianchu returned to the bedroom, fetched a fresh bar of soap and a new towel, then headed back to the kitchen.
Mu Shi'an had already tidied everything up, and her impression of him rose another notch.
She appreciated people who noticed what needed doing.
"You’ve had a long day. Go wash up and rest early," she said, handing him the soap and towel.
For a brief moment, Mu Shi'an’s expression faltered, but he quickly schooled it back to neutral. Accepting the items, he murmured a quiet thanks.
"Don’t mention it. I’ll head to bed first," Song Nianchu said, oblivious to his reaction as she turned toward her room.
Mu Shi'an remained where he stood, watching until her figure disappeared through the doorway.
He’d rarely imagined himself married, let alone speculated about the kind of wife he might have.
If he had, he’d have pictured a colleague who shared his ambitions or a homemaker who could manage their domestic life.
Never in his wildest thoughts had he envisioned himself as a live-in son-in-law—let alone to a woman from a remote fishing village.
Life truly was unpredictable.
But since he’d given his word, she would be his only wife from now on, and he’d fulfill his duties as a husband.
Mu Shi'an ladled out the last of the hot water and carried it to the bathing room, washing himself thoroughly.
When he returned to the bedroom, Song Nianchu was reclined on the bed, absorbed in a book. At the sound of his entrance, she snapped it shut, her cheeks tinged with an odd flush.
"You... you're done washing." Song Nianchu's words came out a bit stuttered.
"Mm." Mu Shi'an nodded, his hair still dripping water, wearing nothing but a white tank top.
His firm shoulders were completely exposed, and his lean waist was barely covered by the thin fabric.
Song Nianchu felt like she'd struck gold—not only was he ridiculously handsome, but his figure without clothes was even more impressive.
Her mind flashed back to the "illustrated guide" she'd just been reading, and she could feel heat rushing to her face.
Though her thoughts could be bold, her actions were anything but.
With such a breathtaking man standing right in front of her, she couldn’t even bring herself to look directly at him.
Song Nianchu, you’re utterly hopeless!
She silently berated herself, only for the quilt beside her to be lifted the next moment, the crisp scent of soap drifting into her nose.
Instinctively, she looked up and saw Mu Shi'an settling onto the bed beside her.
H-him… he’s getting into bed?!
Does he actually plan to… consummate the marriage?
What should she do now?
Should she pounce on him or just lie back and let things happen?
The images from the "guide" clashed wildly in her mind, every possible position replaying on loop—but the more options she had, the harder it was to choose.
Her thoughts were a tangled mess, and she couldn’t even decide on a single move.
"What are you reading?" Mu Shi'an, oblivious to the war raging in her head, casually took the book from her hands.
"Don’t look!" Song Nianchu shouted, snapping back to reality.
But it was too late. He’d already opened it.
The room plunged into dead silence. Song Nianchu wished the ground would swallow her whole.
How does one salvage their dignity after being caught studying an adult guidebook on their wedding night?
Asking for a friend. Urgently.
Mu Shi'an’s mind went blank for a long moment before he finally regained his senses, stiffly closing the book.
"That… I…" He tried to explain, but words failed him. He was never much of a talker, and this was a situation he’d never encountered before.
Song Nianchu snatched the book back and shoved it under the pillow in record speed.
"Uncle Zhengui forced this on me! I had no idea it was this kind of book—otherwise, I would’ve refused outright!" she declared, righteous indignation in her voice.
"...Mm." Mu Shi'an nodded, his own cheeks warming.
His memory had always been sharp—near-photographic, even.
Usually, it made his research work effortless. But right now, he cursed that ability.
The images he’d just seen were now etched into his mind, impossible to shake off.
"Anyway… it’s late. We should sleep." Song Nianchu, dignity thoroughly obliterated, yanked the quilt over herself and turned away, presenting only the back of her head to him.
Mu Shi'an watched her rare display of bashfulness, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
He blew out the kerosene lamp and lay down slowly.
He’d never shared a bed with a woman before—let alone one this small, where Song Nianchu’s feet kept brushing against his legs.
A woman's skin is always smoother than a man's, and the moment their bodies touched, Mu Shi'an's mind flashed back to those little illustrations he had just seen.
Mu Shi'an, since when did you become so easily stirred?
But Wu Zhenggui had mentioned to him before that Song Nianchu had taken him in as a live-in husband precisely because she wanted a child.
Though Song Nianchu wasn’t quite like other women, she surely wouldn’t make the first move in such matters.
He had accepted her betrothal gifts—he was to be her husband now, so this was only natural.
Mu Shi'an slowly reached out toward the woman beside him.
