Arriving at the mountain cabin, Kang He cleaned both inside and out.
After being away for two days, the place felt as if it had come alive again.
He unpacked the dried provisions he had brought, bustling back and forth, no less taxing than climbing the mountain.
The mountain was naturally damp, and with several days of rain, the cabin hadn’t been heated.
Stepping inside, the cold and wet were piercing.
Fan Jing lit a fire, and after an hour or so, the cabin began to feel warmer.
Sitting by the stove, he removed the gauze from his arm, checked his wound, and saw it had healed.
The past couple of days, he hadn’t felt pain even when moving, so he picked up his bow, gave it a few test pulls, and felt no lingering ache, satisfying him.
“I’m going out for a bit,” he said.
Knowing Fan Jing’s arm had recovered and he couldn’t stay idle, Kang He didn’t try to stop him.
After so many days without using his bow, Fan Jing’s hands must have been itching.
“Eat before you go,” Kang He suggested.
“Zhen’er made flatbreads. I’ll take some to eat on the way.”
With that, Fan Jing grabbed two flatbreads, took the water pouch he hadn’t finished, put on his straw hat, and left.
“So carefree, not even willing to eat together. Tomorrow I’ll let you have all the flatbreads, see if you still take them to eat out,” Kang He muttered with a wry smile, feeling a bit displeased. Still, he hurried to the courtyard gate, calling after Fan Jing’s figure fading into the misty rain, “Come back early. It gets dark quickly in this weather.”
Back in the cabin, Kang He felt a bit lonely.
Glancing at the two small beds placed in separate corners, he smiled faintly.
When Fan Jing returned, it wasn’t yet dark, though the rain outside had grown heavier.
He carried a cage with a pheasant adorned with colorful feathers.
Hearing the noise, Kang He poked his head out of the cabin.
“Got something?”
Fan Jing nodded, handing him the cage, which held a white-furred, red-eyed female rabbit.
“Caught with the cage you made.”
The rabbit, wet from the rain, huddled in the cage, not very lively.
Kang He closed the door, let it out, and it darted to a corner to hide, looking quite spirited.
The pheasant from Fan Jing’s trap, however, was injured and could only flop on the ground, unable to run.
Kang He grinned.
“The cage catches live animals without hurting them. We can raise it ourselves.”
Fan Jing took off his raincoat.
“Where will you keep it?”
“I’ll build a shed in the courtyard. It can eat and relieve itself there without stinking up the place.”
Fan Jing said nothing, noticing that next to his small bed by the wall, another bed had been pushed close.
He looked at Kang He.
“This afternoon, I sewed a mat with palm bark and dry grass. It’s big enough to cover both beds. Winter’s coming, and without something thick, it’s easy to catch a cold.”
Kang He spoke earnestly, but his eyes sneaked glances at Fan Jing’s expression.
Seeing his brow furrow, Kang He quickly added, “Don’t worry, the beds are just pushed together. I hung a curtain in the middle.”
Fan Jing said, “If the mat’s big enough for two beds, why not make two?”
Kang He coughed dryly.
“Isn’t it less trouble? Sewing one is faster than two. One mat, and we can sleep on it tonight. Two mats would take longer.”
Fan Jing glanced at him, listening to his explanation, unsure whether to believe it but saying nothing more.
That night, they ate simply—flatbreads with vegetable porridge.
After dinner and soaking their feet in hot water, they weren’t in a rush to sleep.
True to his word, Kang He found some wood in the cabin and started hammering away, preparing to make a rabbit hutch.
He thought if luck held, catching a male rabbit with another cage could lead to breeding, and selling the offspring would be more reliable than hunting.
Long-term planning couldn’t rely solely on luck and nature.
Hunting was good, but it didn’t always yield results.
Fan Jing sat to the side, tinkering with his bow and arrows.
Having gone out today, perhaps because of the recent rain, he hadn’t seen any birds.
After so long without shooting, his hands itched, but today he hadn’t had a chance to use his bow.
The small fire in the stove warmed them.
After working on his bowstring, Fan Jing watched Kang He build the rabbit hutch for a while, then, feeling sleepy, took off his shoes and went to bed.
The newly padded bed was indeed more comfortable.
The bedboards already had moisture-proof mugwort, and now with the added mat, it wasn’t as hard.
But the mountain was cold, and even the thick blanket felt like iron.
Seeing Fan Jing get into bed, Kang He, who had been focused on his carpentry, lost interest in the hutch.
He washed his hands, coughed lightly, and headed to the bed.
Fan Jing lay on the inner side, eyes closed, flat on his back.
The dividing curtain wasn’t drawn.
Kang He’s lips curled up.
He quickly took off his shoes, climbed into bed, and the two beds, pushed together, felt spacious.
Lying so close, he could feel Fan Jing’s breathing.
Fan Jing, used to sleeping alone, wasn’t accustomed to this but didn’t mind since it was Kang He.
“Are you cold?” Kang He asked.
Fan Jing didn’t open his eyes.
“Not cold.”
“You’re that resistant to the cold? I think the mountain’s much colder than before we came up.”
Kang He turned to face Fan Jing, speaking softly.
“Even with warmed feet, the bed feels cold under the blanket.”
“That’s how it is in the mountains,” Fan Jing replied.
Kang He said, “Next time we go to town to sell things, I’ll buy a hot water bottle. Filling it with hot water at night will keep us warm.”
Fan Jing listened to Kang He’s soft voice, letting out a faint hum.
The gentle tone lulled him, and as sleep crept in, neither spoke further, leaving the cabin quiet.
Just as Fan Jing was drifting off, a hand slipped under the blanket and grasped his.
Startled, his sleepiness vanished.
Their clasped hands lay quietly under the blanket.
The cabin was so still, it seemed he could hear his own heartbeat.
It wasn’t Kang He’s first time doing something like this.
Looking at Fan Jing’s cool, indifferent face so close, he felt a growing fondness, unable to resist wanting to be closer.
For two people together, holding hands was natural enough, but Fan Jing’s reserved nature made Kang He feel a bit shy.
Fan Jing’s fingers were long, calloused, and slightly cool.
Seeing he didn’t pull away or scold him, Kang He felt a quiet thrill, unsure if Fan Jing was okay with it or simply asleep.
Kang He chuckled inwardly, thinking he was acting like a naive boy.
At seventeen or eighteen, four years younger than Fan Jing, he supposed he was just that.
Fan Jing, fully awake but silent, wasn’t sure how to react.
He’d never been married or closely observed how couples lived, unsure if holding hands in bed was normal.
Unable to reason it out, he pretended to sleep.
But the faint sweat in his palm betrayed him.
In the dim firelight, Kang He’s lips curved into a smile.
Knowing Fan Jing wasn’t asleep, the bed creaked as Kang He pulled their blankets together over both of them.
Slipping into Fan Jing’s bed, Kang He pressed close.
“I’m warm. I’ll be your heater.”
Fan Jing said nothing.
Seeing him still pretending to sleep, Kang He pulled Fan Jing’s hand to his chest, where his heart beat warmly under his clothes.
Fan Jing’s hand flinched as if burned, instinctively pulling back, but Kang He held it firmly.
“Isn’t it warm?” Kang He teased.
Fan Jing opened his eyes, turning to find their faces nearly touching.
His brow furrowed.
“Who sleeps like this?”
“Couples, of course. Since we agreed to try this, if we don’t test sleeping together and adjust, how will we manage all the days ahead?”
Fan Jing found his logic reasonable, yet somehow skewed.
“I’m not used to sleeping with someone touching me. Let go.”
Kang He didn’t comply.
“If you’re not used to it, fine. Can I touch you then?”
Fan Jing was silent for a long moment, perhaps thinking it over.
“No.”
Kang He’s brows dipped.
“Not even a touch? How will we pass on the family line then?”
Fan Jing hesitated.
“Not now.”
“So you’re saying you’re willing to have kids with me later?”
“You talk too much.”
Fan Jing pulled his warmed hand from Kang He’s chest.
Young and vigorous, the heat was intense.
With Fan Jing’s hand gone, Kang He felt a pang of emptiness.
“Brother, can I at least hold your hand?”
Fan Jing didn’t respond, but he didn’t say no.
Kang He took it as permission, happily holding his hand, feeling content.
“Sleep.”
The next day, sleeping so close kept them warm, and they woke late.
The rain had stopped outside, and though it wasn’t sunny, the winter day was clear—a rare treat.
They got up, washed quickly, ate breakfast, locked the door, and went out together.
On their last trip up the mountain, Kang He had nearly exhausted the nearby fern roots, which could be ground into profitable powder.
But wild roots were scarce, and a hundred pounds yielded only a few pounds of powder.
Following Fan Jing, Kang He hoped to find more elsewhere.
“Ferns don’t move like animals, running from one mountain to another. Even guarding one mountain, there’s not much to hunt,” Kang He said. “Maybe I’ll check another mountain.”
“Other mountains have other hunters. They might not take kindly to you taking their resources, and they’ve got ways to make trouble. Even if they don’t care, an unfamiliar forest without a guide is dangerous,” Fan Jing warned, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings before settling on Kang He, urging caution.
Villagers often foraged in familiar areas, but deeper forests, rich with goods, were rarely ventured into without skill.
Kang He didn’t argue, knowing Fan Jing was right.
He hadn’t forgotten his earlier recklessness, and without Fan Jing’s familiarity with the terrain, he’d have suffered losses.
Seeing Kang He’s silence, Fan Jing added, “Don’t worry. My arm’s healed. I can earn money.”
Kang He grinned.
“So you’re saying you’ll take care of me?”
Fan Jing glanced at him.
“Eat less, and I can manage.”
Kang He laughed.
“How much do I even eat, and you’re already complaining?”
Fan Jing didn’t reply.
Suddenly, he drew a bamboo arrow from the quiver on his back.
With a swift whoosh, a large bird crashed at Kang He’s feet.
Kang He blinked, then saw the bird, its wing pierced by the arrow, still flapping but not fatally wounded.
Looking up, he saw Fan Jing, bow in hand, lowering it with a steady gaze.
It was the first time Kang He had seen Fan Jing shoot.
He’d known Fan Jing’s archery was good, but this precision was striking.
No wonder the young Qin hunter had praised him so.
Fan Jing, standing a short distance away, saw the admiration in Kang He’s eyes and gave a faint smile.
“You can eat a bit more today.”
Kang He laughed, picking up the bird.
“So caring. I must’ve earned eight lifetimes of luck to be with you.”
Fan Jing gave him a quick glance, took a thin rope from his waist, and tied the bird’s legs, his eyes unusually gentle.
They spent the day in the mountains, returning home as the cold valley winds picked up.
Fan Jing had hunted four birds, a pair of wild ducks, and a fat gull—nothing he targeted escaped.
Kang He gathered three taro roots, about ten pounds of fern roots, and some other forest goods.
His only comfort was the four half-pound fish and a shrimp caught in the river traps.
Fan Jing planned to hunt another day and go to town the next to sell their haul.
Kang He stayed busy processing the taro and resumed work on the rabbit hutch.
The next day, Kang He stayed at the cabin.
He processed the taro in the morning, cleaned the courtyard in the afternoon, and set up the rabbit hutch on the left side of the house, lining it with dry grass to keep the rabbit warm.
Unable to multitask, the day grew late.
Seeing the taro was ready, he cut a piece to cook for dinner.
As he chopped vegetables, a loud knock came from the courtyard gate.