Chapter 32: Slaughtering Pigs

On the first day of the first lunar month, the Fan family prepared for a feast, collecting pre-ordered chickens and ducks, along with borrowed tables, chairs, benches, pots, bowls, ladles, and basins from various households.

They also built a few simple mud stoves in the courtyard.

On the seventh day, they planned to slaughter a pig in advance, as doing it on the feast day would likely be too hectic.

Early in the morning, before dawn, Kang He had just lit the fire to boil a pot of water when the closed stove door creaked open.

A figure, carrying a chill, stepped inside.

Fan Jing returned from outside with a box of pig-slaughtering tools.

Kang He quickly moved a stool aside, offering the warmest spot by the fire.

“Got everything?”

Fan Jing nodded, set down his things, and sat.

The fire in the stove licked the pot, its glow warming his cold body.

He had borrowed the tools from the village butcher, Fei, who had broken his arm after getting drunk at a New Year’s feast and was now recovering at home, unable to slaughter pigs.

With no time to hire a butcher from another village, Fan Jing took on the task.

For the pig slaughter, Father Fan only invited the eldest branch of the family, though he initially considered inviting a neighbor they often interacted with.

Grandfather Fan, however, thought their family alone could handle it, proudly insisting they didn’t need outsiders to slaughter the pig and make the feast lively.

Father Fan followed his wishes and didn’t invite anyone else.

In the past, when the Fan family slaughtered a pig, Chen Shi would always call her second brother’s family to join.

Whether they helped or not, they’d come for the meal.

But after a recent argument, things had changed.

When Hu Shi visited earlier, Chen Shi mentioned the pig slaughter, saying if her brother’s family wanted to join, they’d come without needing repeated invitations.

After an hour or so, Eldest Uncle Fan Shoushan and Grandfather Fan arrived, followed by a pale-faced young man, Fan Xin, the only son of the eldest branch.

Kang He had met this cousin before, during a New Year’s meal when the two branches ate together.

Grandfather and Grandmother Fan doted on Fan Xin, constantly piling food into his bowl, treating him like a precious seedling.

Fan Xin wasn’t short, with fair skin and a slightly hunched back.

He was quiet, but unlike Fan Jing’s cold reserve, Fan Xin’s silence stemmed from shyness.

His temperament wasn’t as bold as his father’s but resembled Father Fan, Fan Shoulin, in some ways.

Upon entering the courtyard, Fan Xin greeted everyone—calling Father Fan “Second Uncle,” Chen Shi “Second Aunt,” and the girls, Zhener and Qiaoer.

He also greeted Kang He.

“Cousin,” Kang He responded with a smile.

At that moment, Fan Jing emerged from the kitchen with a slaughtering knife.

Fan Xin, catching sight of him, instinctively covered his crotch and timidly called out, “Brother Jing.”

Fan Jing glanced at him but didn’t respond.

Fan Xin seemed relieved by the lack of attention and scurried off to the side.

Chen Shi, tying on an apron, saw that everyone needed for the task had arrived and the water had boiled.

“Father, Eldest Brother, shall we start?”

Grandfather Fan set down his bowl of hot soup, full of energy.

“Alright, let’s do it!”

The men headed to the pigpen to drag out the pig.

Kang He rolled up his sleeves, following the determined group, ready to lend a hand.

But at the pen’s entrance, Fan Jing stopped him.

“You’re too small for this.”

Kang He rolled his sleeves higher.

“I’ve got plenty of strength!”

Fan Jing’s eyes flickered.

Slaughtering a pig wasn’t particularly difficult, but seeing Grandfather Fan’s old bones and the seemingly useless Fan Xin joining in made him doubt their reliability.

Still, since the family was enthusiastic, he held back any harsh words to avoid embarrassing them.

“Brother-in-law, watch out for the pig’s kicks. This one’s fierce—Father nearly got knocked over by it before,” Zhener called from the doorway, watching the commotion.

Kang He laughed and patted Fan Jing’s hand before entering the pen.

The pigpen erupted in chaos—clanging and banging followed by a piercing squeal.

The nearly two-hundred-pound pig was dragged out, its ears and tail pulled, its back and legs pinned.

Those at the door quickly scattered.

The pig was strong, kicking wildly and catching the unprepared Fan Xin off guard, smearing his pants with manure.

As it was pulled from the pen, the pig squealed, drooling and thrashing, making everyone sweat.

Someone yanked the pig’s tail hard.

Panicked, the pig kicked harder, sending Grandfather Fan tumbling from under the eaves.

“Ouch!” Grandfather Fan hit the ground, groaning and unable to stand.

Chen Shi screamed, and in the chaos, the pig broke free from two of the men.

Kang He, still holding on, was dragged several meters by the maddened animal.

The courtyard became a mess of pig squeals and human shouts.

Suddenly, a sharp whoosh cut through the air, and the frenzied pig collapsed, its fat trembling.

An arrow was lodged in its side.

Kang He, still shaken, turned to see Fan Jing, brows furrowed, rushing over.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Kang He replied, shaking his head and pinning the pig down to keep it from running.

Fan Jing shouted, “Bring the blood basin! We’ll slaughter it here.”

Father Fan snapped out of his daze, hurrying to fetch the basin, while Fan Shoushan grabbed a wooden bench.

They struggled to lift the pig onto the bench.

Fan Jing swiftly drew a cold, gleaming knife.

The massive beast was intimidating, and the men averted their eyes, as did Chen Shi and the girls.

Fan Jing’s gaze was icy as he struck, the blade flashing like frost.

Blood gushed into the basin, the pig twitched a few times, then went limp.

Only then did everyone slowly release their grip.

“It’s done!” Grandfather Fan, limping over with a hand on his waist, was unharmed and cheerful.

“It’s over,” someone said.

“This pig’s a good one. Last year’s pissed everywhere, stinking up my clothes.”

The Fan brothers exhaled, laughing about last year’s pig-castration fiasco.

The tension in the courtyard dissipated, replaced by lively chatter.

Kang He stared at the once-vigorous pig, now lifeless.

Glancing at Fan Jing, who was silently wiping blood from the knife, he raised an eyebrow.

“You’re something else.”

Fan Jing shot him a look.

He didn’t want the pig to wreck the courtyard, as others might have let it.

“I’ve gotten better. There was a time I stabbed a pig, and it still bolted out of the yard.”

That pig had run like mad, trampling a neighbor’s vegetables, and it took effort to drag it back.

If not for that incident, Fan Jing wouldn’t have taken on pig-castration jobs last winter.

The village had laughed about it, and no one dared hire him for such tasks, forcing the family to pay a butcher a few coins to let him try.

Kang He chuckled.

Chen Sanfang sprinkled salt into the frothy pig’s blood, stirring it.

Fan Jing poured boiling water to scald the pig’s hair, scraping it off to reveal the white meat beneath.

The men, done with the hard work, washed their hands and left Fan Jing to clean and butcher the pig.

They’d seen it enough times to be bored, and with wine waiting for the feast, their minds were on drinking.

It was rare for the brothers and nephews to gather, so Father Fan invited them to the main room for drinks.

Fan Xin, bothered by the pig’s stench on his clothes, went home to change.

Knowing scholars liked cleanliness, no one minded.

Father Fan happily fetched a jug of wine from the house, spotting Kang He in the courtyard, engrossed in watching Fan Jing scrape the pig’s hair.

He thought his son-in-law should join the uncles for drinks and advice.

“Kang He!” Father Fan called, tongue loose from wine.

But before he could finish, Fan Jing shot him a look, knife in hand.

Father Fan swallowed hard.

“You… help Jing out here.”

Kang He nodded.

“Alright, Father.”

Fan Jing watched his father slink back inside before resuming his work.

Soon, Grandmother Fan and Eldest Aunt Zhang Guilan arrived, heading to the kitchen.

Fan Jing cut the pork into strips, handing them to Kang He and Chen Shi to place in a large bamboo basket in the house.

“How do you raise such sturdy pigs!” Chen Sanfang exclaimed, setting down the meat.

She saw her brother and his wife arrive with their two children, late enough that she thought they weren’t coming.

Lunch was nearly ready.

Hu Shi was one thing—women couldn’t help much with the pig—but her brother, a strong man, only showed up after the work was done.

Chen Sanfang greeted them coolly.

“You’re here. Sit inside.”

Though still polite, her warmth had faded.

The two children, unaware of the tension, shouted, “Auntie, we want roasted meat!”

“Ask your parents for it. I don’t have any here,” Chen Sanfang replied, carrying the meat inside.

Her brother and Hu Shi exchanged a glance, sensing her coldness.

Kang He pretended not to notice, saying, “Uncle, Aunt, make yourselves at home,” but stayed busy, not offering them a seat.

At noon, Kang He cooked, stir-frying fresh pig liver with red vegetables, making twice-cooked pork with garlic sprouts, and preparing a sour vegetable soup with pig’s blood.

He made small portions to avoid leftovers for the feast.

Everyone, except Chen’s brother’s family, had tasted Kang He’s cooking before and ate quietly, appreciating his skill.

But Chen’s brother’s two boys, around ten years old, ate like they’d never seen meat, piling their bowls high with food, their faces smeared with grease and rice, slouching on their stools.

Even Grandfather and Grandmother Fan, who favored boys, weren’t fond of these two.

In the past, Chen Shi might not have minded, even joining the boys in grabbing meat.

Now, she found their behavior embarrassing.

After lunch, Chen’s brother’s family lingered in the courtyard.

Neither Father Fan nor Chen Shi engaged them much, and seeing the Fan family’s warmth among themselves, they felt slighted.

Chen’s brother grumbled to Hu Shi, “Sis is still mad. She’s been cold to us today. It’s not like before. If the kids misbehaved, we could’ve brought them to eat roasted meat or given them some pastries, so they wouldn’t gorge at the table.”

Hu Shi replied, “It’s been so long, and she’s still holding a grudge. I didn’t know she was so petty. As the elder sister, why’s she so touchy?”

Chen’s brother said, “I’ll go apologize later. Look, her son-in-law is so capable—cooking, farming, everything. They’ve only been here a short time, and they’re already buying livestock.”

“Borrowing money to buy them,” Hu Shi scoffed.

“What’s there to be proud of?”

Chen’s brother countered, “Even if it’s borrowed, they’ve got the means.”

He went to Chen Shi.

“Sis, Mei Niang was wrong that day. I’ve scolded her at home. We came today to apologize.”

Chen Shi looked at her brother’s guilty, aggrieved expression and felt a surge of frustration.

If he hadn’t mentioned apologizing, she might’ve felt better.

His insincere words only angered her.

If they truly meant to apologize, why arrive so late on a day when men were needed to help, and empty-handed at that?

If they’d openly admitted they came for the meal and thanked her, it would’ve been more honest.

Instead, they acted reluctant, as if they wouldn’t have come without the apology excuse.

It wasn’t that she wanted anything from them, but she’d never seen such a half-hearted apology.

Just because he was younger didn’t mean he could apologize so carelessly.

Chen Shi recalled Kang He’s words: empty talk was useless compared to Fan Jing, who spoke little but acted reliably.

She didn’t want to argue with her brother’s family, but his words were too much.

Chen Sanfang wasn’t a weak woman; she could be fierce.

She’d once relied on her brother’s family, tolerating them blindly.

Now, seeing clearly, she couldn’t hold back.

“Apologize? How? Showing up at noon, eating your fill—that’s your apology? What a joy! Next time, I’ll offend someone and apologize so easily!”

Stung by her sarcasm, Chen’s brother flushed.

“Sis, we’re family. Why say such harsh words?”

Chen Shi snorted.

“You’re not shy about helping yourselves. I used to get plain vegetables at your place.”

Choked, he couldn’t retort.

“We came to apologize, and you’re upset. Fine, we won’t come back!”

He stormed off, calling Hu Shi to leave.

The kids, upset at getting no treats or money, refused to go until he slapped them, dragging them out.

Outside, they lingered, hoping someone would call them back, but no one did, leaving them bitter.

On the way home, Chen’s brother and Hu Shi cursed.

“They say a married daughter is like spilled water—how true! Tomorrow’s feast, we won’t go to support her. If she’s mistreated at the Fan house and comes crying for help, I’ll treat her the same way she treated us!”

Though they said this, on the feast day, they sat at home, hoping Chen Shi would send for them.

They planned to grumble if invited, but no one came, even as night fell.

On the ninth day, before dawn, the Fan household buzzed with activity.

Villagers arrived to help, each receiving a new apron from the host family, who only greeted guests while helpers handled cooking, washing, and serving.

An apron wasn’t payment for the work, but a gesture of mutual favor—helping today meant help in return tomorrow.

The hired cook and his two apprentices arrived early, dividing the helpers into teams: one for washing and cutting vegetables, one for cooking, one for serving and washing dishes, and one for miscellaneous tasks.

Soon, the courtyard was steaming with activity.

Kang He and Fan Jing, up early, wore new clothes—red undergarments with soft, warm blue cotton jackets.

Liang Hui had skillfully embroidered geese on the sleeves and hems, her fine work making the birds lifelike despite the rush.

Their tall, upright figures looked striking in the fitted clothes.

Qiaoer, seeing them, couldn’t help but say, “Big Brother and Brother-in-law look so handsome—truly a perfect match!”

Fan Jing glanced at Kang He, whose neat features and wide-shouldered, narrow-waisted frame were accentuated by a thumb-wide belt.

He looked truly dashing, like the day they met on the village path, when Kang He, soaked from mountain mist, had looked at him with shining eyes, clinging to him despite his wild, beastly scent.

Without a mirror, Fan Jing didn’t know if he matched Qiaoer’s praise.

He’d never cared about his appearance, believing looks didn’t help in hunting or fighting beasts.

But today, he suddenly cared.

Noticing Fan Jing’s distraction, Kang He adjusted his collar and whispered, “What’s wrong?”

Fan Jing, almost impulsively, asked, “How do I look today?”

Kang He paused, then leaned close.

“I don’t know about ‘how,’ but I’m glad you’re my husband. If you were someone else’s, I’d be jealous.”

Qiaoer, seeing their affection, quietly closed the door and slipped out, stifling a grin.

Kang He took Fan Jing’s slightly cold hand, kissing his forehead gently.

“I used to curse fate’s hardships, wondering if the heavens were toying with me. But meeting you, Fan Jing, made everything clear. If I had to lose everything to gain you, it was worth it.”

Fan Jing didn’t fully grasp Kang He’s words, but the sincerity in his eyes moved him.

He asked, “If you hadn’t met me first…”

“There’d be no today,” Kang He interrupted firmly.

If he hadn’t met Fan Jing, he wouldn’t have reached this point—married, surrounded by friends and family—with anyone else.

In all his years, no one else had stirred him like Fan Jing.

Fan Jing touched Kang He’s lips.

They lingered in the room before joining the bustling courtyard.

“Look at you two, primping so long in there!” Chen Shi teased, dressed in her finest clothes with a peach-blossom hairpin, her daughters styled like city girls.

Seeing Fan Jing’s unusually red lips, she gasped.

“Jing, did you put on rouge?!”

Fan Jing glanced at Kang He, frowning, and wiped his lips.

Chen Shi laughed.

“Don’t wipe it off—it looks good!”

Kang He stifled a laugh.

“Even Mother says it looks nice.”

Fan Jing, ears red, said nothing and headed to the courtyard.

Chen Shi called after him, “Marriage suits you! Even our Jing knows how to dress up now!”