Jiang Chun hurriedly put away those two wolf-hair lake brushes, then went out to greet.
Zheng Yi had a huge camphorwood box on his shoulder, walking all trembling and unsteady. When he saw Jiang Chun, he immediately shouted toward her: “Chun-niang, come quick, this box is a bit too heavy.”
Niece’s strength is great, better to hand it to her so he could rest a bit.
Jiang Chun took three steps in two, ran over to Zheng Yi in a few quick strides, then reached out and took down the box from his shoulder, tucked it single-handedly under her armpit.
She said politely: “Why did Uncle come in person? You could’ve just asked Cousin Peng to go tell the meat stall, I would have rented a mule cart myself to go fetch it.”
Zheng Yi’s focus was a bit off-track, frowning he said: “Renting other people’s mule cart all the time is not a long-term solution. Your family’s still not planning to buy a mule cart?”
Before, when they had to support the niece’s husband, money in hand was tight, that was understandable. But now her family had received five hundred taels of silver as compensation from the Liu family, household items that should be bought, should be bought.
Jiang Chun smiled and said: “Bought it already, the mule is tied right behind the pigsty; and the mule cart has also been ordered at Carpenter Fang’s place, but it’ll take half a month before it’s finished.”
Zheng Yi said with comfort: “As long as it’s bought, as long as it’s bought, mule cart this kind of thing—no matter who has it, it’s still better to have one at home, more cheap that way.”
The uncle and niece chatted as they walked into the house, and before long, they arrived at the west room.
Song Shi’an had already gotten down from the kang. Seeing Zheng Yi enter, he cupped his hands and gave a salute: “Uncle.”
Zheng Yi had met Song Shi’an a few times before, but this was the first time he received such a proper courtesy. He felt a bit overwhelmed by the unexpected favor, hurriedly stepped forward to support him: “Niece’s husband doesn’t need to be so formal.”
Song Shi’an straightened up along with Zheng Yi’s pulling force, his gaze swept over to the huge wooden box tucked under Jiang Chun’s armpit, and he understood it was mostly likely something sent by Lu Zhengheng for painting tools.
He looked at Jiang Chun and pointed to the open space in front of the kang’s edge, said: “Put the box here.”
She was standing there like a wooden stake at the doorway, carrying such a big box under her armpit, not even afraid of throwing her back out.
Jiang Chun walked over and placed it at the spot he said.
The camphorwood box wasn’t locked. Song Shi’an walked over, lifted the lid, and started looking through the things inside.
One had to say, what Lu Zhengheng prepared was indeed quite complete.
Included were a full set of thirty-eight brushes of various thicknesses, one Duan inkstone, six pieces of high-grade pine soot ink, three packs of premium Xuan paper, and bottles and jars of colored pigments numbering several dozen, and a Qilin-auspicious-patterned paperweight.
There was even a large roll of felt to place beneath the Xuan paper.
Besides this, at the bottom of the box was a small case, inside which were ten small gold ingots of five taels each.
One tael of gold equals ten taels of silver—ten ingots of five taels, converted to silver, was a full five hundred taels.
The deal he made with Lu Zhengheng was that he would help draw a landscape painting, and Lu Zhengheng would help settle Liu Qitan—there was no involvement of money.
But Lu Zhengheng still took the initiative to send over fifty taels’ worth of gold.
If this were before the Song family incident, had Lu Zhengheng brought fifty taels of gold to request a painting from him, he would have slammed the gold to the ground and told someone to throw him out.
Who’s he insulting?
His paintings—were they something that could be traded with mere vulgar things like gold and silver?
But now, Song Shi’an looked at those fifty taels of gold, and not only was he not angry, he even felt that Lu Zhengheng was someone who knew how to handle matters—barely counted as sending charcoal in snowy weather [fig. offering help in time of need].
It also proved that Lu Zhengheng was a free-handed spendthrift young master.
A wastrel is good, this way he could draw another painting later and sell it to him at a high price—surely he would sweetly accept it like eating honey.
He also wasn’t taking advantage of him for nothing. At worst, in the future when he offends his brother-in-law and gets exiled to Lingnan, he would say a good word on his behalf and have him demoted to a place with slightly less harsh conditions.
Song Shi’an closed the small case and handed it over to Jiang Chun with a backward motion, saying: “Wife, keep this.”
Jiang Chun was curious about the items in the box, so the moment Song Shi’an lifted the lid, she leaned over to watch the excitement—and naturally saw that little case of golden, glittering gold ingots.
Her drool nearly dripped down.
Although both were five hundred taels of silver, the silver notes given by the Liu family were light and fluttery, had no sense of presence at all. Clearly they couldn’t compare to the visual impact of these ten golden and shining gold ingots.
Seeing Song Shi’an hand the little case over, she didn’t even decline—snatched it right up into her arms and gave a few “hehehe” silly laughs.
“Pfft.” Zheng Yi was amused by her little money-grubber look.
He thought to himself: this niece’s husband handed the money over to his niece at the very first moment—clearly he keeps his niece in his heart. As her uncle, he felt very satisfied.
Originally, he still had some complaints about his brother-in-law being stingy, buying his niece a sickly man as a live-in husband. But now it seems—brother-in-law really had good eyes!
This niece’s husband not only was an old acquaintance of the county magistrate, he was also capable—one painting could earn fifty taels of gold, what worry is there that he couldn’t support a household?
Niece, just get ready to enjoy blessings.
After Song Shi’an checked everything, he closed the lid of the box and turned around, said to Zheng Yi: “Thanks to Uncle for making this trip. Let Chun-niang make a few dishes, and once Father comes back from selling meat, have him drink a few cups with you.”
Even used the word “nin” [您 – polite/respectful form of “you”], clearly recognized this uncle from the bottom of his heart.
Jiang Chun herself had never used “nin” with Zheng Yi, after all, rural folks like them didn’t go in for such formalities—everyone just used the casual “you” [你].
Jiang Chun quickly agreed: “What my husband says is right, Uncle must definitely stay for a meal.”
Last time, because of her matter, Zheng Yi had run around for two days. They should have held a banquet to thank him, but the household was all chaotic at the time, so it never happened.
Today, no matter what, he couldn’t be allowed to leave with an empty stomach.
Zheng Yi also wanted to grow closer with his niece’s husband, so he didn’t decline.
Jiang Chun took out the household’s tea leaves, brewed a pot of tea, let Song Shi’an chat with Zheng Yi, while she drove Zheng Yi’s mule cart and rushed to the town.
She first went to her family’s meat stall and informed Jiang He that her uncle had come to their home, then picked out a piece of streaky pork with a good mix of fat and lean, and placed it into the basket.
Then she went to the restaurant and asked for two jin of marinated pig head meat and a jar of good wine.
On the way, she saw someone hawking mountain goods. She originally intended to go over and see if there were any oyster mushrooms, but ended up catching sight of a pile of shan yao [山药 – Chinese yam] placed on the ground.
The man selling mountain goods didn’t seem to recognize their value—asking only three wen per jin. Jiang Chun didn’t even bargain and directly bought them all.
Shan yao helps digestion and is rich in nutrients, a good thing for nourishing the body—just right for Song Shi’an to eat.
After weighing, it was a full fifteen jin.
She counted out forty-five wen from her money pouch, handed them to the man, and placed the shan yao in the back of the mule cart.
That man, seeing that Jiang Chun was a ‘money-big, air-loud’ kind of person, couldn’t be shy anymore. Blushing, he started promoting his chestnuts to her.
Jiang Chun originally wanted to refuse—after all, there were plenty of those on the back mountain. If she wanted to eat some, she could just carry a stick and go knock some down.
Besides, Jiang Liu still owed her a basket.
Thinking it over, she still spent three wen to buy two jin.
Suddenly she started to miss the flavor of chestnut-stewed chicken.
So she simply bought a big rooster from the old man selling live chickens nearby.
All for vinegar-wrapped dumplings—it really was that kind of behavior.
But it’s fine—who told Uncle to suddenly want to eat chestnut-stewed chicken? As a filial niece, how could she not make the arrangements?
At this moment, Zheng Yi, who was drinking tea and chatting at the Jiang household, still didn’t know that a big black wok [fig. to be blamed for something one didn’t do] had suddenly been dumped on him.
Jiang Chun drove the mule cart back to Daliushu Village. On the way, she passed the house of Widow Li who made tofu and bought a piece of tofu.
After arriving home, she unloaded the goods, went inside to say a few words to Uncle, then started cooking.
First, she added half a pot of water into the large pot, lit the firewood and let it burn on its own. Taking advantage of the time, she killed the chicken and peeled the chestnuts.
Once the water was boiling, she plucked the chicken, removed its internal organs, washed it clean, and chopped it into pieces.
Then she heated oil in a wok, added ginger and garlic to stir-fry until fragrant, tossed in the chicken pieces, stir-fried with soy sauce, added water, added star anise, and finally added the chestnuts to begin stewing.
At the same time, she chopped the streaky pork into pieces, lit the stove in the west room, heated the wok and added oil, put in white sugar to stir-fry the caramel, then added the pork, stir-fried with soy sauce, followed by ginger, garlic, and star anise, added water, and started stewing.
In the gaps between watching the two stove fires, she also cut up the tofu and set up Song Shi’an’s special small double-handled iron pot.
Once the pot was hot, she poured in soybean oil, put in the tofu pieces and fried them until golden, then scooped them out for later use.
Then she poured in new oil, spooned in a few ladles of doubanjiang (fermented bean paste), stir-fried until fragrant, added soy sauce and a little water, brought it to a boil, put the tofu back in, stewed for a bit, and sprinkled scallions before serving.
A simple jiang-shao doufu (soy-braised tofu) was done.
Seeing there was still time, she even peeled one yam and made a stir-fried yam slice dish.
By the time Jiang He rushed back home after selling meat, Jiang Chun had already finished cooking all the dishes.
They were: chestnut-stewed chicken, red-braised pork, soy-braised tofu, stir-fried yam slices, and boiled salted duck eggs.
Adding the bought marinated pig head meat, it made exactly six dishes.
In ancient times, guest meals must have an even number of dishes. If not enough, they’d rather slice a few pieces of pickled mustard root and plate it as a stand-in than serve an odd number.
Jiang Chun placed the dishes on the table and called everyone to take their seats.
Although Jiang Chun’s cooking could only be considered average, it depended on who you compared with. In the village, she was definitely chef-level—Zheng Yi, Jiang He, and Jiang Chun all ate until their mouths were oily.
Zheng Yi drank a few cups of wine with his brother-in-law Jiang He, but felt that just two people drinking wasn’t lively enough, so he cast his gaze toward Jiang Chun and Song Shi’an across from him.
The niece’s husband had a weak constitution and was still taking medicinal soup for nourishment, clearly couldn’t drink alcohol.
So he set his sights on Jiang Chun, personally poured a cup of wine and placed it in front of her.
With a laugh in his voice, he said: “Our Chun-niang is the kitchen guardian girl, and ever since she was young she’s been like a tomboy. She ought to learn how to drink—once she learns, she can accompany your father for a few cups now and then, so he won’t be drinking all alone and bored.”
After a pause, he looked at Song Shi’an: “Also, I heard that in big households, the womenfolk are always going out to banquets, and each of them can drink. Niece’s husband, don’t you think so?”
Song Shi’an lifted his eyelids and slanted a glance at Jiang Chun, afraid that if she drank she would go on a drunken rampage and he wouldn’t be able to handle her—but he also couldn’t lie to an elder.
After hesitating for a moment, he still answered truthfully: “Indeed. Before anything happened to my family, all the womenfolk at home could drink.”
The womenfolk of aristocratic families go out to banquets all day long; the hosts at the table will always try to persuade them to drink. If any woman says she can’t drink, she’ll definitely be laughed at. So, more or less, everyone can drink a bit.
Jiang Chun picked up the wine cup with difficulty. Since it was Uncle, an elder, who personally poured it, she felt embarrassed not to drink.
Actually, it wasn’t that she couldn’t drink—in her past life, her alcohol tolerance was pretty good. Red wine, beer, fruit wine, foreign liquors, and even baijiu—she drank them all.
But the wine of Great Zhou was just too awful—sour and spicy, like a mix of white vinegar and baijiu. Last Mid-Autumn Festival, she took a sip and instantly surrendered.
Like drinking herbal medicine, she pinched her nose with her hand, brought the wine cup to her lips, then tilted her head back and downed it in one go.
Immediately, she started squinting and grimacing, baring her teeth and curling her lips, not a single facial feature left still—she twitched like someone with epilepsy.
Zheng Yi and Jiang He were both amused by her act and burst into loud laughter. Zheng Yi laughed so hard, he dropped his chopsticks to the floor.
Even Song Shi’an couldn’t help but smile. He covered his mouth with his sleeve and laughed silently a few times, with the smile lingering at the ends of his eyes and brows that hadn’t been hidden.
It was like the first thaw of winter snow, spring returning to the earth, as if the cramped kitchen had suddenly been veiled in soft light.
Jiang Chun was directly stunned by the sight. For a moment, she even forgot the strange taste in her mouth.
What was this? Acting like a clown just to make the beauty laugh?
Well… that was actually worth it.
The result of being seduced by beauty was that Jiang Chun got persuaded by Zheng Yi into drinking ten or so cups.
She didn’t feel much at the time, but after sending Zheng Yi off and scrubbing all the pots and bowls clean, she finally understood what it meant to be drunk-high.
—
Inside the west room, Song Shi’an was leaning against the bedding, holding a wolf-hair brush that Lu Zhengheng had entrusted Zheng Yi to deliver, absentmindedly examining it.
In his head, he was actually pondering the composition of the landscape painting he was about to begin.
Jiang Chun pushed the door open and staggered in, closed the door behind her with a backward motion, kicked off her shoes, crawled onto the kang, then flung herself into his arms.
She mumbled: “Husband, my head feels so dizzy oh~”
A towering wave of alcohol breath rushed toward him.
Song Shi’an placed the brush on the kang table, wrapped one arm around her back and one around her waist, holding her in place within his embrace.
Her body was slowly sliding down, and if left alone, would definitely slide into some unspeakable place.
If she honestly lay still and rested without making trouble, sliding down would be fine—but would she?
Of course not.
Jiang Chun didn’t behave properly even while lying on top of him. Not only did she not reflect on her overdrinking, she even turned the blame around: “Husband, why didn’t you control me better, just watched with eyes wide open as I drank too much! Tell me—weren’t you secretly hoping I’d get drunk, so you could take the chance to get intimate with me?”
Song Shi’an let out a quiet scoff: “I’m not as despicable as you think.”
If he wanted to get intimate with her, why would he need to wait until she was drunk?
Obviously, she was even more passionate and proactive when sober.
“I don’t care, you just did it on purpose—you wanted me drunk so you could get intimate with me.” Jiang Chun acted shameless, dead set on placing this big, thick black wok on his head.
Song Shi’an had dealt with plenty of drunkards in his past life, and knew trying to reason with them was absolutely pointless.
He sighed, took the initiative to lower his head, and pressed his lips against her cheek, then said gently: “All right, we’ve been affectionate, now be good and close your eyes to sleep.”
“That’s not how you show affection,” Jiang Chun reached out and pointed to her own mouth, shouting: “You have to kiss on the lips for it to count!”
Song Shi’an refused without hesitation: “I avoid alcohol. Your mouth smells of wine. I can’t break the precept.”
Jiang Chun did remember this, he was a lay disciple of Buddhism and could not drink alcohol.
Her eyes turned a little, then she raised her hand and pointed to her neck, smiling cheekily: “Then kiss here. This place doesn’t have the smell of wine.”
Song Shi’an followed her finger with his gaze, and what entered his eyes was a slender section of her neck, and at the base of her neck, the slightly loosened crossed collar from her twisted posture revealing a patch of fair skin.
Song Shi’an: “……”
He looked away and tried to reason with her: “I already kissed your cheek. Don’t cause trouble. Quickly close your eyes and sleep—we still have to get up and prepare dinner later.”
But Jiang Chun was not someone who could be reasoned with. She licked her lips and threatened him in a dark tone: “If Husband refuses to be affectionate with me, I’ll force a kiss on you and make you break your precept.”
Song Shi’an lowered his eyes to look at her face, flushed red from the rising tide of alcohol.
A moment later, he bent down again, lips moving toward the side of her neck.
It wasn’t because he was afraid she’d really kiss him by force. From the fact that she had gone all the way to the county seat just to press soybean oil for him, it was clear—she still respected his identity as a lay disciple.
Even while drunk, she couldn’t do something that would make him break his precept.
She was pretending to be drunk and act wildly, but what she wanted was no more than a kiss on the lips. Once she learned that kissing on the lips would count as breaking the precept, she took a step back and settled for a kiss on the neck.
If even such a small request, he couldn’t satisfy, she would surely feel disappointed.
Since he had already made up his mind to gamble once more, then there was no need to avoid her like she was poisonous.
He slowly pressed his lips against the skin of her neck and softly kissed her.
Perhaps because of his vegetarian diet, Song Shi’an’s sense of smell was keener than others.
Jiang Chun had bathed just yesterday, and after returning from the county seat, had washed her hair, face, and neck again. At this moment, her neck still carried a faint trace of soapberry fragrance.
That wasn’t the main point. The main point was—her crossed collar was half open, and a light, clear fragrance, like an orchid blooming in an empty valley, drifted faintly from her collar and into his nose.
It clearly clashed with her passionate and bold nature, yet it was exactly the kind of scent he had always loved.
Song Shi’an closed his eyes and took in a long breath. Immersed in that orchid scent, he felt his whole body become much more soothed.
Then—something hit the back of his head. The next moment, his lips once again landed on Jiang Chun’s neck.
Song Shi’an: “……”
Here we go again.
Jiang Chun’s humming-whining voice sounded next to his ear: “Husband, that’s still not how you show affection! That night, how did I kiss Husband—Husband also has to kiss me that way, okay?”
Song Shi’an closed his eyes—this fellow really was very skilled at inching forward once given an inch, truly difficult to serve.
He parted his lips and gave a suck on the skin at the side of her neck.
The moment their skin touched, a shameful “pop” sound rang out.
Song Shi’an’s face instantly flushed hot, even the tips of his ears turned completely red.
Knowing she wouldn’t be satisfied so easily, he could only endure the embarrassment, parted his lips again, and took the soft flesh of her neck into his mouth, suckling.
Jiang Chun closed her eyes, her red lips half-parted, utterly enjoying herself, her body twisting and writhing in his arms. From her mouth came uncontrollable moans: “Mm… ah… husband… mm…”
Song Shi’an’s face turned bright red on the spot. He released her and said helplessly: “Don’t… don’t make those kinds of suggestive sounds.”
“You can think it,” Jiang Chun chuckled, “I’m not stopping you from thinking it.” She grinned, her other hand climbing up his back and giving him a push, twisting her body to urge him on: “Continue, don’t stop~”
Song Shi’an: “……”
He sighed again, his lips once more taking in the soft flesh of her neck, using a bit more force than before—alternating between sucking and biting, sometimes giving a few hard slurps.
Whether it was that the soft flesh of her neck was just too kissable, or he’d been bewitched by the orchid scent that kept wafting from her collar, as he kissed and kissed, he became somewhat dazed and lost in desire.
Even when Jiang Chun eventually let go of the hand pressing down on the back of his head, he still didn’t stop.
By the time he returned to his senses, the side of Jiang Chun’s neck had already been tormented by him to the point of red tinged with purple, as if a fully-bloomed red plum blossom had been branded onto her.