Chapter 2: It’s Just Coquetry, He Can Do It!
In the early bright winter mornings, when the eastern sky began to pale with a fish-belly white hue, it was already the hour of Chen*.
*T/N: Between 7 to 9 am
Smoke started rising from chimneys in the village of Liuxi. During summer and autumn, this would be considered late, but in the frozen winter, one could only do household chores indoors, and getting up early meant consuming more lamp oil.
Most households in the morning settled for hot dry rations and a large bowl of vegetable soup. Those better off might mix some fine white flour into coarse grains, making it less harsh on the throat. Although most families in the village couldn’t be considered well-off, compared to the past two years, people were now quite content.
Previously, the northern border had fought a full two years of war, with successive deployments from the imperial army resulting in many deaths, finally driving the northern marauders back. Although victorious, the war had been immensely costly over these two years.
Liuxi Village was not far from the border, nor was it too close, and it hadn’t been directly affected by the turmoil of war. However, during the hardest times, some could barely manage one meal a day, and even that wouldn’t satisfy their hunger.
After the war ended, these past two years had been a period of recuperation, gradually easing the hardships. Though the meals were rough, being able to eat three times a day finally filled their stomachs.
This morning, even the children in the village were probably up at the latest, except for the newlywed bride from a family at the western end of the village.
Qingyan woke up hungry. Before he fully opened his eyes, the scent of steamed buns reached him, hot and steamy with the primal fragrance of fermented wheat. Drawn by the aroma, he propped himself up with his elbow from the bed.
The soreness all over made him involuntarily grunt, especially the pain at his back, which intensified when he sat up. Tears welled up in his eyes, biting his lips so hard he almost stopped breathing.
Since his eighteenth birthday, when he won the lottery, Qingyan had never felt wronged again. He had made up for the hardships of his childhood. Though not extravagant, he lived comfortably, ensuring everyone in his household ate their fill.
With wealth came a keen sense of self-preservation. Even a small cut from a fruit knife made him rush to the hospital as if he were on death’s doorstep. He took his well-being seriously because who could say when good times might end?
So, feeling this much pain now, Qingyan felt thoroughly wronged. He silently shed tears in bed until hunger pangs overtook his self-pity, and he wiped his eyes with his sleeve.
Only then did he notice he was wearing a loose, bright red wedding gown. The air outside the covers was slightly chilly, and goosebumps rose on his skin, pampered and smooth due to his meticulous care.
Outside, he could hear the clinking of spatulas against the bottom of pans and the fragrance of sizzling oil. Qingyan hadn’t eaten much yesterday and had been tossing and turning all night. Swallowing saliva, his primitive desire for food overwhelmed everything else.
He gritted his teeth against the pain and found a pair of freshly washed old cloth shoes by the bedside. They were too big, but he could manage.
After putting on his shoes, he grimaced when he stood up and realized the wedding gown was too short, exposing a little bit of his calf above his ankles. This wedding gown was the only dowry the original owner had, tailored secretly by his stepmother to fit his frame.
She had hesitated to spend the money from the bride price, but having received so much dowry, it wouldn’t be acceptable without a wedding gown, so she gritted her teeth and did it.
Though hungry, Qingyan staggered to a square wooden table by the window, where a bronze mirror, a sewing basket, and a wooden comb lay. Qingyan picked up the bronze mirror and carefully examined his face.
Reflected in the mirror was the face he had known for twenty-two years, with its familiar features. His short hair had grown unexpectedly long, almost reaching his waist now. He lifted his right hand and looked at the small red mole on his thumb—it was still there.
Qingyan breathed a sigh of relief, murmuring to himself, “Luckily, it’s still my own body.”
He looked very much like the original owner but with subtle differences. Perhaps because the original owner had always been underfed and poorly nourished, Qingyan, despite his impoverished youth, had always had enough basic food. The original owner was clearly a bit shorter than Qingyan.
Qingyan had “inherited” his identity, “inherited” his red wedding gown, and perhaps to fit the original world’s logic, had also “inherited” the medicine originally intended for the original owner.
He wondered where the original owner was now. Thinking they might have swapped places, Qingyan couldn’t help but smile. The original owner appeared weak, but was actually ruthless. If he went there and found his money cheated away, Wang Yan and that man would not have an easy time.
Actually, Qingyan wasn’t easy to deal with either, but the children in that house reminded him of his own childhood, so he couldn’t bear it. If the original owner retrieved his money and did what Qingyan couldn’t do, Qingyan thought it wouldn’t be bad.
Gurgle, gurgle.
The scent of food from the crack under the door made Qingyan’s stomach growl incessantly. He put down the bronze mirror, wiped his face, and stopped thinking about these things. He had to deal with the immediate reality first. Without eating, he felt he might faint from low blood sugar.
With difficulty, Qingyan shuffled to the weathered vermilion wooden door and pushed it open.
Intent on food, Qingyan was unprepared for what he saw when he pushed open the door. His expression was one of astonishment, his steps halting as he took a step back. If his back hadn’t been so painful, he might have instinctively fled back inside and slammed the door shut with a bang.
In the kitchen, a tall and upright man stood by the stove, gazing at the steaming iron pot. At the moment Qingyan opened the door, he heard the noise and instinctively turned his head to look.
It was a clear day today, sunlight filtering through the window paper casting soft beams of light on the kitchen floor. One beam fell perfectly on the man’s face, revealing half of it covered in scarlet protruding scars, exposing terrifying entangled sinews, reminiscent of something from a dark comic.
Although Qingyan had caught a glimpse of this face under lamplight the previous night, he couldn’t restrain his startled reaction at first sight. Honestly speaking, objectively, this half of the grotesque face was equally terrifying whether seen at night like a ghost or during the day like a monster.
When the man saw Qingyan’s figure, he hesitated briefly.
However, he quickly saw Qingyan’s expression and lowered his eyelids, concealing his gaze. He turned his head slightly, hiding the grotesque half of his face and exposing the relatively intact side.
His eyes, with deep folds under double eyelids, were as serene as a quiet lake. His high nose bridge was traversed by red sinews extending from the damaged side, abruptly stopping at the highest point. His lips were neither thin nor thick, giving off a sharp impression of someone not easily approachable. At this moment, his lips were tightly pursed, giving him a stubborn look.
While not stunning, this contrasting face was exceptionally striking. Combined with his own aura, if not for those grotesque scars, he might have had girls and boys throwing handkerchiefs at him wherever he went.
Perhaps sensing Qingyan’s gaze, the man’s eyes flickered briefly, but he didn’t react in any special way.
He didn’t look at Qingyan, merely moved his lips and spoke in a low, emotionless voice, “Get up and eat.”
Upon hearing this, Qingyan suddenly snapped out of his daze, his heart skipping a beat. He quickly realized his reaction had hurt the man.
Qingyan cursed himself for being useless, feeling a mixture of guilt, pity, and a hint of apprehension. It was too late for explanations now; it would only make things more awkward.
He bit his lip, blinked his clear eyes, subtly loosened his collar again, and took a step forward, seemingly intending to help at the stove. However, after a few steps, he inexplicably stumbled and almost fell to the ground.
The man reacted swiftly. Although his eyes weren’t on Qingyan, at the moment when Qingyan was about to fall, he stood up quickly and moved closer, supporting the frail young man who was about to collapse.
As soon as Qingyan steadied himself, the man quickly withdrew his hand, preparing to step back to maintain distance.
Qingyan was unwilling to let him retreat. Light as a rabbit, he swiftly pounced forward, falling into the man’s broad and warm embrace. He clung to the man’s chest with one hand, looking up with a dependent expression, while reaching out to touch the man’s cheek—not the intact side, but the grotesque and terrifying half.
The man jerked his head back suddenly, restraining his movements from being too violent. He just managed to dodge Qingyan’s hand.
Qingyan was determined. If he didn’t resolve this today, this awkwardness might linger between them for a long time, something he couldn’t accept.
Thus, Qingyan thickened his skin and, ignoring the man’s silent refusal, tiptoed and raised his hand again, his fingertips gently tracing the scars on the man’s face. This time, it seemed the man sensed his determination and didn’t refuse again, though his body visibly stiffened.
Despite the man’s silent resistance, Qingyan persisted. Leaning in, he touched the man’s scarred face with his fingers.
Compared to the people of this bitter era, Qingyan’s skin was exceedingly tender and smooth, fragrant from various bathing liquids and moisturizers. With these fragrant and fair fingers, he delicately traced the scars on the man’s face, as if no one had ever touched him like this before.
The man stiffened all over. Eventually, he turned his face away slightly, avoiding Qingyan’s fingers. His Adam’s apple moved slightly, almost in a breathy tone.
“You should wash your face first…”
Qingyan leaned softly against him, his breath fragrant, and coquettishly said, “Husband, can you help me wash it?”
The man had been avoiding Qingyan’s gaze all this time. Otherwise, he would have noticed the strange look in the young man’s eyes snuggled against him—not fear or apprehension anymore, nor teasing or dependence, but an indescribable surprise and confusion.
Qingyan’s gaze shifted from the man’s face to a row of characters not far from his profile. The upright Chinese characters resembled character introductions post-processed beside actors in some TV dramas, hovering there in midair.
Qingyan tentatively reached out and touched them. His fingertips scattered the characters like sand. He pulled back his hand, and the characters returned to their original state.
The man noticed his movements, turned his head slightly to look at him, but still tried hard to keep his horrific face hidden.
Qingyan’s puzzled mind calmed down.
He once again touched the man’s face, his warm and soft body pressing closer, sticky and humid, and asked, “Is it okay?”
Spoiler for the Next Chapter:
Of course, it was because of last night…
