Kang He looked at the face so close to his, with clear eyes and dark brows.
He said, “Fan Jing’s face is small, with single eyelids, making him look younger than his age, and there’s a hint of stubbornness.”
He had to admit, from the first glance, he felt Fan Jing’s appearance was particularly to his liking.
Fan Jing was lying on Kang He’s body, noticing the man staring straight at him.
Unsure of what to do, he tried to get up, but Kang He held his waist.
“I just stole a piece of rock sugar,” Kang He said.
Fan Jing replied, “Didn’t we give it all to Zhen’er and Qiao’er?”
“Otherwise, how could it be called stealing?” Kang He chuckled, then added, “How about I share some with you?”
Fan Jing’s brow twitched.
“I just rinsed my mouth.”
“No worries, it won’t hurt your teeth.”
With that, Kang He flipped over, pinning Fan Jing beneath him.
Before Fan Jing could react, Kang He leaned down and pressed his lips to his.
Fan Jing’s eyes widened in surprise.
Unlike before, when Kang He’s kiss was fleeting like a dragonfly skimming water, this time it lingered.
It felt like Kang He was gently nibbling, yet not just that—something slipped into his mouth.
Fan Jing watched as Kang He closed his eyes, seemingly lost in the moment.
His own head grew dizzy, unable to fathom that closing one’s eyes could be for anything other than sleep.
At first, Fan Jing didn’t resist, nor did he reciprocate, simply letting Kang He do as he pleased.
After a moment, he felt breathless, weighed down by Kang He’s body, unable to move.
He tried to push him away, but Kang He only held him tighter.
This loss of control made Fan Jing uneasy, stirring memories of things that frightened him.
With effort, he pushed Kang He, who had kissed him until his limbs felt weak, away a little.
Kang He, pushed back, was momentarily stunned.
He felt the unusual force in Fan Jing’s push and, for a fleeting moment, was hurt by the rejection.
But when he saw Fan Jing’s chest heaving, his head turned aside as he gasped, brows tightly furrowed as if startled, Kang He panicked.
In all their time together, he had rarely seen Fan Jing look so afraid.
“You don’t like this,” Kang He said, quickly getting off him.
“I won’t do it again.”
Hearing Kang He’s words, Fan Jing turned back. Looking at him, he gradually regained his composure.
Staring at Kang He’s slightly reddened lips, he recalled what they’d just done and felt it wasn’t so bad.
Kang He’s lips were soft.
He didn’t dislike it, nor did he not want it.
But he couldn’t shake the fear gnawing at his heart.
After a long pause, he said, “I want to be on top.”
Kang He blinked, taking a moment to process.
He let out a long breath, reaching out to squeeze Fan Jing’s hand.
“You should’ve said earlier. You scared me.”
Then, he lay down and patted his chest, gesturing for Fan Jing to come over.
Fan Jing’s brow twitched again, but he complied.
Kang He had been expectant, but when Fan Jing climbed on top, he just looked at him oddly without moving.
“What’s wrong?” Kang He asked.
Fan Jing, pressing down on him, countered, “Why aren’t you moving?”
Kang He choked.
“You’re on top. I thought you’d kiss me.”
Fan Jing was puzzled.
What difference did it make who kissed whom when their lips met?
Still, hearing Kang He, he leaned in tentatively.
Before he could reach, Kang He eagerly met him halfway, sparing him the awkwardness of inexperience.
Kang He wrapped his arms around Fan Jing’s waist, legs entwining his, as if afraid he’d escape.
Their bodies pressed closer than ever before.
Fan Jing found this much better than before.
They lost track of time, the room filled with occasional soft sounds.
The wind howled outside, but neither paid it mind.
Kang He kissed his lips, then moved to his neck, making him itch.
He said he wanted to consummate their marriage that night.
Fan Jing felt dazed, unsure why he was so weak despite doing nothing strenuous.
He asked Kang He what consummating meant.
“You don’t know?” Kang He asked.
“No.”
Kang He, propping his face, looked at the man beside him.
“Like the rabbits in the shed, stacked together.”
Fan Jing fell silent, likely picturing rabbits mating, his brow furrowing.
Seeing this, Kang He realized Fan Jing didn’t know how it worked and might not be ready.
He smoothed Fan Jing’s brow and said, “I’m teasing. We’re going up the mountain tomorrow, so I won’t do anything.”
Fan Jing said nothing, only wanting Kang He to kiss him more.
He reached out, and without another word, Kang He leaned in again.
Later, Fan Jing grew sleepy.
He vaguely heard Kang He ask why he wanted to be on top.
“You wouldn’t let me move…” Fan Jing murmured, “Like that one-eyed bear that pounced on me.”
Kang He, listening to the man in his arms, felt a pang in his heart.
Fan Jing’s past had been too hard, and Kang He only wished he’d met him sooner.
Life in the mountains was easier than farming, but it was still a dangerous trade, risking one’s life.
Ge Youquan’s case was proof.
Kang He often recalled that perilous day, his heart gripped by fear.
If it had been Fan Jing lying there, he’d have lost his mind.
Today, it was Ge Youquan; tomorrow, it could be him.
No one could predict accidents in the mountains.
Kang He thought, once they saved enough, they’d need to find another livelihood.
A lifetime of this would always mean living on edge.
The next day, they rose early.
Since there was no heavy work, Chen Sanfang didn’t make thin porridge but steamed buns and boiled an egg for each.
After breakfast, they grabbed their tools and headed to the mountain.
In the deep mountains, the snow and mist were thick.
Fan Jing led the way, followed by Fan Jing’s father, with Kang He at the rear.
Chen Sanfang and the two girls, Zhen’er and Qiao’er, walked in the middle.
At the wooden cabin, Chen Sanfang and the girls, visiting for the first time, realized how far it was.
The dense, towering trees blocked the sky, and in this season, it was not only cold but eerily ominous.
After a tour, Chen Sanfang and the girls saw where Fan Jing had spent years.
Their hearts ached.
Wiping her eyes, Chen Sanfang said, “This is no place for people. How did your big brother survive here? How could he sleep at night?”
Zhen’er and Qiao’er stayed silent, hearts heavy for their brother’s struggles.
“Mother, Zhen’er, Qiao’er, come inside and warm up,” Kang He called from the door.
“We need to pack up and head back.”
“Aye.”
Inside, Chen Sanfang noticed how clean the cabin was, the stove well-stocked.
A duck, two smoked fish, and a piece of unidentified meat hung above the hearth.
Before, she might’ve thought the couple lived well here, but after seeing the perilous surroundings, the tidiness brought some comfort.
They drank hot tea brewed with fresh water, then quickly packed taro and roots into baskets.
They didn’t linger, fearing the dark and treacherous roads.
Going up the mountain was easy; coming down was hard.
The snowy paths were slippery, and Chen Sanfang and Qiao’er fell twice, their clothes muddied, taro spilling.
Fan Jing, at the front, blocked the rolling taro with his foot, saving it from the ravine.
Still, no one could help carry more.
Kang He, Fan Jing, and Fan Jing’s father each bore heavy baskets and bundles of roots.
Chen Sanfang picked up a stick to steady herself.
No one complained, only noting that winter roads were tough, and hunting in the winter months was unwise.
The next day, Kang He, Fan Jing, and Fan Jing’s father returned to the mountain, finishing the packing.
Kang He moved the rabbit hutch home, settling three rabbits into it that night.
Feeling the mother rabbit’s belly, he sensed she was pregnant.
The warmer valley climate would be better for them than the mountains.
“Sanlang, what do we do with the taro and roots?” Chen Sanfang asked, eyeing the pile.
“I heard Sun Daniang say city taro tofu sells for four coins a square. Let’s make it early and sell it at a good price.”
“Alright, I’ll teach you how tonight,” Kang He said.
That night, Chen Sanfang and the girls washed their hands and, under Kang He’s guidance, peeled and ground taro.
Fan Shoulin watched, reluctant at first, but soon joined in.
With many hands, the meticulous work went fast.
They made fifty to sixty pounds that night.
Kang He advised against making too much, fearing waste if it didn’t sell.
Though the price wasn’t high, every pound was hard-earned.
The next morning, the taro tofu was soft and springy.
“We only saw this in the city before, but now we can make it at home!” Chen Sanfang exclaimed, praising Kang He repeatedly.
“It’s not hard, just the right amount of lye water.”
“I may not be as skilled, but I’ll get the hang of it,” she said.
“Your hands are deft, Mother. You’ll do better than me in no time,” Kang He replied.
Flattered, Chen Sanfang eagerly prepared to sell the taro tofu in the city.
She’d sold vegetables and poultry before and loved the task.
The girls wanted to join the excitement.
Kang He was pleased.
Sharing the work was far better than one person doing it all, so he agreed.
That afternoon, Kang He planned to use leftover pork, minced, and pickled vegetables to cook taro tofu.
Fan Shoulin suggested making extra to share with the eldest branch of the family, as Fan Jing’s cousin, Fan Xin, was back from school.
Kang He agreed, planning to share regardless.
Taro tofu wasn’t meat, but it wasn’t an everyday dish for farmers.
They had enough to spare a taste for the relatives.
Fan Jing helped Kang He tend the fire, chopping wild scallions he’d gathered.
“We need to go to the city in a couple of days,” he said.
“For what?” Kang He asked.
“For the New Year’s feast. Don’t we need new clothes?” Fan Jing replied.
He didn’t care much himself—new clothes were rare in their poor household—but he’d noticed Kang He had sold his good furs earlier.
With the cold weather, he wanted to make him something new.
He’d seen cotton given to Kang He by his grandparents in the new house.
“You’re right, I forgot. Let’s pick a day to go,” Kang He said.
As they spoke, they put rice in the pot, hearing Chen Sanfang’s voice outside.
Chen Sanfang and the girls were back.
“How’d the taro tofu sell?” Kang He asked.
Qiao’er piped up, “Couldn’t have sold better! City folk spend freely during the festival, buying two or three squares without haggling.”
Zhen’er smiled, eyes gleaming, confirming the good sales.
“Your mouth’s slick as oil,” Chen Sanfang teased Qiao’er.
“We’ll make more tonight and sell tomorrow. Some ladies and gentlemen asked us to save some for them.”
Relieved, Kang He relaxed. Fan Jing, who’d been quiet, asked, “How much did you make?”
Chen Sanfang paused, then answered vaguely, “Haven’t counted. Some sold for three coins a square, some for four. So many people asking prices and when we’d set up, I couldn’t keep track.”
“My mouth’s dry from talking all day, and my feet ache,” she added, slipping into the house.
Fan Jing opened his mouth, but Kang He stopped him.
“Mother worked hard making tofu last night and stood in the cold selling today. Let her keep the money,” Kang He said.
“Winter’s tough for farmwives. Let her have some extra for the New Year.”
Fan Jing looked at Kang He.
“I’ve saved enough for the feast. She has her own money. If you let her keep the sales, she won’t spend it wisely. You don’t know her ways.”
Puzzled, Kang He asked what he meant, but Fan Jing wouldn’t elaborate, only saying he’d understand later.
Kang He didn’t dwell on it, assuming Fan Jing was just annoyed he’d sided with Chen Sanfang.
Over the next few days, Chen Sanfang learned to make taro tofu herself and sold it in the city daily, even in rain or snow, never complaining.
With free hands, Kang He and the girls processed roots into powder.
The girls worked diligently, speeding up the process.
In a few days, they finished half the roots.
The powder cakes were hard to dry in winter, so they baked them by the fire.
With many hands, the work was lighter.
Even the leftover pulp was gathered by the girls to burn as firewood.
Kang He praised their diligence, promising to buy them each something they wanted once the powder sold.
One day, seeing the powder nearly done, Fan Jing called Kang He to the city to get measured for clothes.
“To the same auntie’s place?” Kang He asked.
Fan Jing nodded.
“I’ll pack some dried kudzu and fern powder, and a square of taro tofu for her,” Kang He said.
Fan Jing agreed, adding, “They have no land and buy rice and vegetables. We’ll bring some greens too.”
They packed and set out, sparing Chen Sanfang the trip to sell tofu.
“I’ve got regular customers now,” Chen Sanfang said, pulling Kang He aside.
“You’ll be busy at the tailor’s. Let me sell.”
Kang He glanced at the falling snow.
“It’s cold out. I can’t let you freeze while Jing and I are comfortable at the shop.”
Chen Sanfang tried to protest but fell silent when Fan Jing appeared, saying, “Let’s go.”
Before leaving, they pulled radishes from the field and gathered cabbage, winter greens, onions, scallions, garlic sprouts, and coriander, filling a large sack.
“Mother loves selling tofu,” Kang He said to Fan Jing with a smile.
“She’s happy when she’s making money,” Fan Jing replied.
Kang He didn’t respond.
In the county, they sold the tofu quickly as the festival neared, prices rising.
As they set up, someone asked, “Where’s the lady who sells here? Chen, with two girls—one quiet and quick, the other sweet-talking?”
“That’s my family,” Kang He said, smiling.
“Is Chen sick? She stayed late in the rain yesterday, refusing to leave with tofu unsold. I let her move her stall under my eaves.”
“Thanks for looking out. She’s fine, just resting today since Jing and I had to come to town,” Kang He said, impressed by Chen Sanfang’s business savvy.
“Good to hear. You two are filial. Weigh me half a square of tofu.”
“Half a square?” Kang He asked.
“What, not selling halves today? Chen did, even at four coins a square now. She’d sell half for two coins.”
Kang He understood, smiling.
“If she did, so can we. I don’t have a scale, but I’ll cut you half by hand.”
The woman hesitated, but Kang He cut more than half, clearly over the mark.
“For a regular, of course,” she said, pleased.
After she left, Kang He said to Fan Jing, “Mother’s a natural at business.”
Fan Jing said nothing.
By late morning, they sold thirty-some pounds of tofu, earning over a hundred coins.
Some asked about the vegetables in their sack, but Fan Jing brushed them off.
They headed to Hui Niangzi’s cloth shop at the bridge.
The year-end rush brought many customers.
Liang Shi’s belly was noticeably larger, but her husband was back, helping with accounts, and they’d hired a capable young woman, easing the load.
“So many vegetables!” Liang Shi exclaimed, touched by the large sack.
With many guests during the festival and rising prices, fresh produce was hard to come by.
“Haven’t seen you two in a while. All well?” she asked.
Fan Jing gave a quiet “Mm.” Kang He said, “We were in the mountains until the snow came. Thanks for your concern.”
Liang Hui noticed Kang He’s speech had improved.
“You talk so smoothly now.”
Kang He grinned.
“Much better.”
Liang Hui was delighted, saying they were blessed to overcome ailments together.
“We came to visit and get clothes made,” Kang He said.
Liang Hui led them to the fabrics.
“Red wedding clothes or something ordinary?” Kang He asked Fan Jing.
He’d heard some villagers skipped red wedding attire for convenience, wearing regular clothes—new for some, old for poorer families.
Kang He thought they could make two sets of regular clothes, wearable after the wedding, unlike red attire stored away post-ceremony.
“Up to you,” Fan Jing said.
“Why’s everything up to me? You never think about us,” Kang He muttered.
Fan Jing glanced at him.
“Isn’t that good?”
Their quiet exchange reached Liang Hui, who smiled.
“Since Jing brought two pounds of cotton, how about regular winter clothes for the outer layer and red inner garments?”
Kang He liked the idea—practical yet festive.
“You think of everything, Auntie.”
“It’s not me. Many small households face the same dilemma. We can’t afford grand ceremonies, but we find ways to make it work,” Liang Hui said.
They chose fabrics and got measured.
Fan Jing offered payment, but Liang Hui refused until Kang He persuaded her.
“Jing’s lucky to have found a good man. He’s livelier now,” Liang Hui said.
Her husband, Zhang Tian, brought two oil-paper packages.
“They brought so many vegetables and two packs of fine powder. I only noticed when I checked the sack.”
Liang Hui gasped, having overlooked the powders.
“Their family isn’t well-off, yet they’re so generous.”
Zhang Tian, seeing her guilt over taking their money, comforted her.
“You’ve been good to them, so they think of you. Next time, make them more clothes.”
Liang Hui felt better.
When Kang He and Fan Jing returned home, it was afternoon.
The house was lively, as if guests were there.
Inside, they saw two boys with stuffed cheeks chasing each other.
Seeing Fan Jing’s stern face, they froze.
“Mother, the stone-faced monster’s back!” one shouted.
“Watch your mouths!” came a sharp rebuke.
Kang He frowned at the boys’ words, realizing they meant Fan Jing.
“Whose kids are so rude?”
Fan Jing said calmly, “Go ask.”
Then he went inside.
Kang He was about to investigate when he saw Chen Sanfang seeing someone out—a woman with a basket covered by cloth, looking heavy, and two boys.
“Mother, who was that?” Kang He asked, assuming it was a villager, but Chen Sanfang had called her “sister-in-law.”
“My brother’s wife and nephews,” Chen Sanfang said quietly.
“I’ve never met them. Why’d they leave so fast?” Kang He asked.
“Jing doesn’t like them coming. They don’t stay long when he’s here,” she replied.
Kang He knew Fan Jing’s reserved nature intimidated villagers, but not to the point of fleeing.
Unless there was guilt involved.
He didn’t press Chen Sanfang but noticed Zhen’er sweeping with her head down and Qiao’er pouting as she cleaned used cups, clearly unhappy.
He acted unaware, smiling at Chen Sanfang.
“Jing’s just not good with guests. You know he’s cold on the outside, warm inside. Next time your sister-in-law and nephews come, I’ll host.”
Chen Sanfang beamed.
“You’re the most sensible.”
Kang He’s name became Kang Jie
Fixed