Jiang He came back with the medicine. Jiang Chun took the medicine bundle and handed it to her aunt Jiang Xi, letting her be responsible for decocting medicine for Wang Yin’er every day.
It’s not that they were afraid someone would do something bad—before the sixteen taels of silver were spent, maybe that was really a possibility.
But now that the money has been spent, if someone did something bad and caused Wang Yin’er to lose her life, not only would the sixteen taels be like water thrown away, they would also have to spend extra for a coffin—really not worth it.
But other people definitely couldn’t be as attentive as Jiang Xi, her biological mother.
Jiang Chun thought of how Doctor Cao had said that Wang Yin’er might have a high fever at night, and again instructed: “Big Aunt, if Yin-jie’er starts burning up at night, remember to soak a cloth towel in cold water and apply it to her forehead. When the towel heats up, change the water and soak again.”
In the prescription that Doctor Cao gave, there must be antipyretic herbs, but Chinese medicine naturally takes effect slowly, and its effectiveness varies from person to person, so it’s best to assist with physical cooling methods.
Jiang Xi hurriedly nodded: “I know, in the past when the two siblings got wind-cold and developed a high fever, I also did it like this.”
Jiang Chun saw that all the instructions had been given, and there wasn’t much point in staying longer at the Wang household, so she said to Jiang He: “Dad, shall we go home?”
Jiang Xi quickly tried to keep them: “Eat dinner before you go back? Today it’s all thanks to you two helping out front and back, otherwise I really wouldn’t have known what to do.”
As she spoke, she began wiping tears again.
Jiang He sighed and waved his hand: “We’re all family, don’t busy yourself anymore. Taking care of Yin-jie’er is the proper matter. We’ll go home to eat, it’s fine.”
After hearing these words, Jiang Xi didn’t try to keep them anymore.
By the time Jiang Chun and her father returned by cart to Daliushu Village, the sun was already setting, and smoke was already rising from the chimneys of many households in the village.
The mule cart stopped at the door of the Jiang family. Jiang Chun jumped down from the cart and hurried home to cook. Jiang He went to the village head Zou’s house to return the cart.
Opening the front gate, Jiang Chun saw Song Shi’an slowly pacing in the courtyard.
He was wearing a dark-blue long robe. Although his body was still very thin, he was very tall, his posture straight, just like a green pine or emerald bamboo.
Most stunning was that face—his facial features were sharply defined, long brows reaching the temples, phoenix eyes slightly raised, high and straight nose bridge, thin lips lightly pressed—so perfect he didn’t seem like a mortal.
The afterglow of the setting sun cast on his body, his fair face as if dusted with a light layer of powder, and it was exactly this layer of powder that added a bit of earthly smoke and fire [i.e., grounded human presence] to his otherworldly appearance.
At this moment, she suddenly understood what “a dragon trapped in a shallow pond” meant.
A person like this—this small farmhouse courtyard clearly could not hold him. One day he would be a hidden dragon leaping from the deep, becoming a high-ranking official at the top of the court.
If it were another woman, perhaps at this time she’d feel anxious and uncertain—afraid her own background was too low to match him, afraid he would forget gratitude and abandon her, the wife he married while in hardship.
If she had a ruthless heart, she might as well break his legs, make him into a cripple who couldn’t walk, to avoid “regretting having let husband seek a marquis title.”[this references the saying “悔教夫婿觅封侯” — regret letting the husband rise to nobility and then leave the wife behind]
But Jiang Chun had absolutely no such worry.
She felt that she and Song Shi’an were a couple made by heaven and arranged by earth—there was no one more matched.
You must know, if not for her coming over, he would’ve been a bachelor all his life, dying without ever having enjoyed the pleasures of the bridal chamber.
As for being abandoned—he already swore to the heavens that he would take responsibility for her, she was absolutely assured.
So she bounced over in front of Song Shi’an, tilted her head and looked at him, smilingly asked: “Husband~ Haven’t seen you all afternoon, did you miss me?”
Song Shi’an: “.…”
He glared at her and said indifferently: “Speak properly.”
Jiang Chun stood up straight, cleared her throat, and then asked with an extremely serious face: “Husband, not seeing for half a day, have you perhaps longed for your wife?”
Song Shi’an: “???”
So when he told her to speak properly, this was what she understood?
He was practically about to be angered into laughter.
Jiang Chun knew this kind of question he definitely wouldn’t answer, so she asked and answered herself: “I know husband definitely missed me. Otherwise, why would you specially run out to the courtyard to wait for me?”
“I missed husband too, missed, missed so much—wished I could grow wings on my back and fly home to see husband.”
Song Shi’an truly didn’t know what to say— even the city walls of the capital weren’t as thick as her face.
He was silent for a moment, then changed the topic and asked: “How is Wang Yin’er?”
Actually, even without asking, he could guess the result—if Wang Yin’er had already breathed her last, she wouldn’t have the leisure to come flirt with him.
Mentioning Wang Yin’er, the smile on Jiang Chun’s face faded slightly. She reached out and supported his arm, saying: “The sun’s about to go down. Let’s go inside to talk, be careful not to catch a chill.”
Back in the kitchen, she grabbed a small stool for him to sit on.
She tied on an apron, picked up the half carrot she hadn’t finished chopping at noon, and while cutting it, told him about what had happened with Wang Yin’er.
After she finished, she sneered coldly: “Grandma even envied Wang Yin’er for being a maid in a rich household, wearing gold and silver, enjoying blessings. How would she know that maids aren’t even treated like humans—whoever lays eyes on them might ask for them, and even to protect the face of the master’s daughter, they could directly be beaten crippled.”
Though later the Liu family did indeed pay a hundred taels of silver, but exchanging half a lifetime of lame legs for a hundred taels—Jiang Chun felt it was a big loss.
But so what?
The Liu family was an official household, while they were just common folk struggling to make a living—don’t even talk about getting justice, they didn’t even dare go stand outside the Liu residence and shout a few words.
Song Shi’an had said it right: the people don’t fight the officials—otherwise, it would be like an egg smashing against a rock.
Of course, Jiang Chun was just voicing her emotions, speaking based on the matter at hand. Based on her relationship with Wang Yin’er, it wasn’t worth it for her to stick her neck out on her behalf.
Song Shi’an, as a young master born into a noble family, had seen far too many things like this growing up.
He didn’t speak in defense of the Liu family, nor did he echo Jiang Chun’s righteous indignation, only calmly said: “If the legs don’t work, then they don’t work. As long as the person is alive, there is still hope.”
Jiang Chun very much agreed with these words, and for once, praised Wang Yin’er a little: “You don’t say—Wang Yin’er stayed in the Liu household for two years and did improve quite a bit. Compared to other young women, she can bear hardship more.”
If it had been two years ago, upon hearing that she might be left with a lifelong condition and her legs wouldn’t work properly—don’t even mention personally listening to Doctor Cao’s instructions—she would’ve already been wailing and mentally collapsing.
As the two were talking, Jiang He came back too. He also grabbed a stool and sat down beside Song Shi’an.
Then he asked Jiang Chun: “Chun-niang, that ginseng slice you put in Yin-jie’er’s mouth—where did it come from?”
Jiang Chun thought to herself: This rough old man actually paid attention to detail for once. The scene was a complete mess at the time, yet he still noticed her stuffing a ginseng slice into Wang Yin’er’s mouth.
She calmly smiled on the surface and said: “I thought Yin-jie’er’s life was hanging by a thread. What if she breathed her last before Doctor Cao could arrive? Then how could Big Aunt go on living? So I picked a few ginseng slices from husband’s medicine pouch to bring along, just to hang on to her life a little.”
Jiang He, with a face full of lingering fear, praised: “Still you thought things through thoroughly. I didn’t even think of that!”
Then he added: “It’s no good for son-in-law’s medicine to be short of ginseng slices. How about tomorrow I go to the county seat and buy more for him?”
Jiang Chun hurriedly refused: “No need, Dad. There are still enough ginseng slices. Last time I got him a full month’s worth of medicine.”
Jiang He let out a sigh of relief and smiled: “As long as it’s enough. Can’t let son-in-law’s medicine get interrupted.”
Song Shi’an lowered his eyes slightly, the corner of his lips hooking into a mocking arc.
The medicine pouch was in the west room, and he had stayed in the west room all day without leaving—he could be certain she hadn’t even touched the ginseng slices inside the medicine pouch.
It must have been brought out using her that “ability to produce things from thin air”!
Including that bird’s nest that previously appeared out of nowhere—it must’ve been the same.
Otherwise, something like blood-swallow bird’s nest, which was so precious and scarce—what kind of family background would one need to let someone eat it for half a month straight? And after just stopping for two days, it was already replenished again.
Even the Song family before anything happened wouldn’t have been able to do this.
Only that rough and careless fellow Jiang He could be so easy to fool. Whatever she said, he believed—never even questioned it.
But Song Shi’an could only keep it to himself. It was impossible to expose her. Otherwise, it would be killing 800 enemies while damaging 1,000 of your own.
If Jiang Chun knew he had secretly discovered her secret, even if she didn’t silence him, she would definitely raise a pile of unreasonable demands.
—
After dinner, when Jiang Chun was washing the dishes, she suddenly saw the bird’s nest she had soaked at noon. She quickly rinsed it clean and began to stew it.
This stuff was precious—if she hadn’t drawn it from her check-in rewards, she wouldn’t have spent silver to buy it for Song Shi’an. Her wallet couldn’t take that kind of blow.
After she put on the bird’s nest to stew, she began boiling water.
Today, she had gone back and forth to the county once, and to town once—the dirt roads were dusty, and even though she’d wrapped her head with a cloth, it was inevitable that dust had gotten into her hair.
Once the hot water was ready, she washed her hair with soapnut water.
The original host’s hair quality was excellent—jet black, thick, and shiny, practically like hair in shampoo commercials from her previous life.
Among a bunch of yellow-haired village girls, she was simply like a crane among chickens [鹤立鸡群 – idiom meaning standing out from the crowd].
Jiang He said it was all thanks to their family eating well—never lacking in oil or meat since childhood. That’s why she grew tall, was strong, and had dark hair.
Jiang Chun thought about it carefully and actually felt it made a lot of sense.
Once she had dried and combed her hair smooth, the bird’s nest was done stewing.
So she let her waist-length hair down and carried the stewed bird’s nest into the west room.
The oil lamp’s light was insufficient. To spare his eyes, Song Shi’an wasn’t copying texts, but instead stitching together the previously copied pages.
In the past, such menial tasks were done by the page boy. Now he could only do it himself.
He actually did it pretty decently.
Although he didn’t know how to sew, he had a brain. After thinking through it more carefully, he got the hang of it—and the rest was just a matter of practice making perfect.
Luckily, the bookstore owner didn’t have high standards for this—after all, they’d be pasting book covers on top anyway, so even if the binding was a little rough, it didn’t matter—as long as it didn’t fall apart.
Jiang Chun placed the bowl onto the kang table and said with a beaming smile: “I saw bird’s nest selling cheap today, so I bought some more for husband.”
Song Shi’an closed his eyes—utterly speechless.
First of all, bird’s nest couldn’t possibly be cheap.
Second of all, what’s in this bowl is blood-swallow bird’s nest—which is much, much more expensive than regular bird’s nest.
Thankfully, there wasn’t anyone knowledgeable present. Otherwise, he’d be embarrassed on her behalf—if there were a crack in the ground, he’d want to crawl into it first.
But what could he say?
He could only nod his head and give thanks: “Many thanks.”
Jiang Chun whoosh jumped up onto the kang, sat down across from him, propped her elbows on the kang table, then held her face in both hands and looked at him, smiling brightly: “I’ll watch husband eat.”
Song Shi’an put down the half-bound book in his hands and tried to shoo her off: “You should go boil water for washing the feet.”
Her eyes were bright, like a lively audience eagerly waiting to watch a monkey show—how was he supposed to eat this bird’s nest?
Jiang Chun stayed seated without moving, still smiling: “Just now I boiled a big pot of water, washed my hair, and what’s left is enough for the three of us to soak our feet.”
After saying this, she rested her cheek on one hand and used the other hand to pull a large lock of hair from behind her, holding it out in front of him: “Does husband want to check if my hair was washed clean?”
Jet-black, shiny strands entered his sight, and the light fragrance of soapnut drifted into his nose. Song Shi’an uncomfortably shifted backward a little.
In the Song household, soapnut water was something only the servants used. The masters disliked its pungent scent and all used scented soap instead.
But today, Song Shi’an seemed to realize for the first time that soapnut water was not only not pungent, it also had a special grassy-woody fragrance.
Seeing he didn’t react, Jiang Chun gave a light hum and threatened: “Are you checking or not? If you’re not checking, I’ll start making a fuss.”
Song Shi’an, thinking of how she had kissed him earlier, then forced him to kiss her back, couldn’t help the redness creeping up his ears.
Afraid she’d take the opportunity to push further, he hurriedly reached out and took the strand of hair, gave it a few perfunctory glances.
Then very seriously nodded and said: “Checked. It’s very clean.”
Jiang Chun snorted with a laugh: “You could be even more perfunctory if you tried.”
Song Shi’an was truly at his wits’ end with her and asked helplessly: “Then how do you want me to check?”
Jiang Chun immediately pulled a hair tie out from her sleeve and handed it to him, grinning: “Husband, help me tie my hair. Once it’s tied up, the check is naturally done.”
Song Shi’an: “……”
So that’s what all the roundabout talk was for—waiting here to trap him.
But since he’d already been kissed and even forced to kiss her back, tying hair didn’t seem all that unacceptable anymore?
He said blandly: “Come here.”
Jiang Chun instantly kicked off her shoes and climbed up onto the kang, circled around the kang table to Song Shi’an’s side, sat down with a plop, then leaned back—and her whole body nestled right into his arms.
Song Shi’an suddenly had a soft, warm body in his arms, the scent of soapnut on her hair filling his breath, and his mind went momentarily blank.
Only after quite a while did he come to his senses, and immediately leaned backward, avoiding contact with her body. He said irritably: “Why are you sitting so close!”
Jiang Chun, after getting in all the cuddling she wanted, then slowly scooted forward a bit, saying with an innocent face: “Aiya, I didn’t judge the distance well and ended up sitting in husband’s lap.”
Song Shi’an: “……”
I believe your nonsense!
But he didn’t dare argue with her either. He could see it clearly now—this rascal was just like a donkey: you had to go along with the direction of its fur. [属毛驴的，得顺着捋 – idiom meaning someone stubborn who only listens when you coax them] (T/N: Girl they really like to use their idioms 😩)
He could only sit upright, put both hands by the sides of her face, gather up her hair, then used one hand to hold the braid, the other as a makeshift comb, slowly smoothing out her hair strand by strand.
This rascal truly was born with good hair—black, glossy, and soft—not at all inferior to the finest silk.
Mhm, as he combed, he actually got a bit addicted, and couldn’t help but comb for a little while longer…
Once he snapped out of it, Song Shi’an’s face flushed red at once. He hurriedly grabbed the hair tie and quickly wrapped it around her braid a few times, then tied it into a butterfly knot.
“All done.” Letting go of the braid, he quickly retreated several steps, afraid she’d start messing around again.
Jiang Chun reached out and touched the rough ceramic bowl, and seeing the temperature was just right, she didn’t tease him anymore. She smiled and said: “Husband, eat the bird’s nest. Otherwise, it’ll go cold soon.”
Song Shi’an let out a breath of relief.
Then regretted it a little.
If she wanted to watch a “monkey show”, just let her watch. It’s not like he’d lose a piece of flesh. Why did he bring up the foot-soaking water out of nowhere? And look what happened—she caught that and used it as a reason to go wild.
He scooted back to the kang table, reached out to bring over the bowl, and lightly stirred it with a spoon.
Then he stirred up a few grains of black goji berries hidden at the bottom.
Song Shi’an raised his eyes and glanced at her askance. He couldn’t hold it in and spoke in a weird tone: “These are goji berries? Why are they black? Could it be you’ve got bad eyesight and bought spoiled ones?”
Jiang Chun got so mad she laughed, scolding with a laugh: “What are you saying, husband? These are black goji berries—black goji berries that can only grow on the highlands of Tubo [吐蕃 – the ancient Tibetan region].”
After saying that, she felt something was off.
Song Shi’an came from a noble family—how could he not recognize black goji berries?
Back then, she, a writer staying up all night to type, had even looked up info specifically when she brewed black goji berries in her thermos. She found out that black goji berries from the Tibetan regions had a history of over a thousand years.
So in this Great Zhou Dynasty that had taken a historical detour after the late Tang, black goji berries must definitely exist.
She glared at him angrily, grinding her teeth: “You’re messing with me on purpose?”
Song Shi’an firmly denied: “I don’t really eat goji berries.”
For someone who doesn’t really eat goji berries, not knowing there’s a black variety wasn’t that strange.
But Jiang Chun clearly didn’t believe it. She looked at him suspiciously.
After a moment, she suddenly grinned slyly, pointed at Song Shi’an, and shouted: “What a move—Jiang Taigong fishing, those who’re willing take the bait! [姜太公钓鱼，愿者上钩 – idiom meaning someone sets a passive trap and lets others fall in willingly]. So you deliberately provoked me, made me angry and flustered, just to force me to kiss you?”
She shook her head, looking helpless: “Husband, you’re just too reserved. If you want to kiss me, just say it. I wouldn’t reject you. Why take so many detours?”
Finally, she sighed, summing it up: “You scholarly types, really—thin-skinned and no fun!”
Song Shi’an, who had just been falsely accused and hit while down, quickly denied with three rapid statements: “I didn’t, I haven’t, don’t slander me.”
Jiang Chun acted like she hadn’t heard him, reached out and pinched his chin, leaned her head in, and with a loud “smooch,” planted a big kiss on his left cheek.
Leaving a faint pink lip mark on his fair and tender skin.
Jiang Chun was very pleased with the “stamp” she had placed.
But her obsessive-compulsive tendencies kicked in—so she leaned in again and gave another smooch on his right cheek.
Song Shi’an was shocked, angry, and embarrassed all at once. Just as he opened his mouth to scold her, he didn’t catch his breath properly and immediately started coughing.
This cough just wouldn’t stop—he coughed as if his heart and lungs were being torn apart.
Then his body went limp, and he collapsed backward.
Jiang Chun was startled, quickly reached out to catch him, and while pressing his philtrum [掐人中 – a common emergency first-aid action in Chinese medicine to wake someone], she repented aloud: “I have sinned—actually kissed husband into fainting…”
The just-awakening Song Shi’an heard this and nearly passed out again.
No kidding, really no kidding—just with this one’s constant tormenting, he was afraid that before his health could recover, he’d be tormented to death by her.
He raised his hand with difficulty, pointed toward the door, and said with effort: “You… go out…”
Jiang Chun hugged him without moving, whimpering: “Husband, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have kissed you. You already said things like this should be initiated by the man, but I ignored your wishes and forced a kiss on you. I definitely won’t do it again next time. Don’t be angry, okay?”
At first, Song Shi’an thought she was just admitting defeat, but the more he thought about it, the more something felt off.