The Second Young Master’s Obedient Husband : Chapter 11

When the first snowfall came, Liang Yu went into the mountains again.

He snared two fat rabbits and a pheasant. He skinned and gutted them, cleaned them thoroughly, tied them tightly with hemp rope, and while the sky was still not fully bright, circled around to the back of those earthen houses.

The fence wall was still crooked and leaning, and the courtyard gate was shut.

When Liang Yu climbed over, the chimney of the kitchen had just released its first wisp of smoke. The window paper glowed with a dim yellow light, and one could see shadows moving inside. He walked to the base of the kitchen window, set the rabbits and pheasant on the windowsill, and placed a package of medicinal herbs underneath the rabbits.

He turned to leave, but the window opened a crack.

Su Qingyu’s face appeared, his hair not yet combed, hanging loose over his shoulders. Seeing the things on the windowsill, and then seeing the person standing at the base of the window, he froze for a moment, and the tips of his ears slowly turned red.

Liang Yu looked at the pretty young man and stood motionless.

His eyes darkened. He leaned forward, wrapped his arm around Su Qingyu’s shoulder, and covered those soft lips. A young man full of vigor and blood, at first he exercised some restraint, but later, tasting the softness inside, he could not stop himself.

Su Qingyu’s eyes went round, and he instinctively struggled once. But after being kissed until he went soft, he stopped moving, clinging to the sturdy shoulders and back of the man, closing his eyes, and responding clumsily.

Liang Yu tasted the flavor and grew reckless, kissing him until his lip flesh swelled and his mouth could not close, before finally releasing him.

When he was let go, Su Qingyu’s eyelashes trembled. He wanted to glare at the man but did not dare, lowered his eyes, and silently reached out to take the things from the windowsill one by one.

The window closed again.

Liang Yu stood for a moment, then turned and climbed back over the fence.

From then on, every few days, there would be extra things on the windowsill.

Sometimes two cleaned pheasants, sometimes a slab of meat. During the heavy snow days, he delivered firewood several times in succession, stacking it outside the fence yard, covered with a layer of oilcloth on top. Another time, a small cloth bag appeared on the windowsill. Su Qingyu opened it and found it full of malt sugar and candied fruit, sweet enough to make one smile.

With Liang Yu looking after him, Su Qingyu’s life improved considerably. His mother had nourishing medicine to drink, and her illness improved somewhat. She no longer coughed all day long. Eating their fill and dressing warmly, both mother and son gained weight. Su Qingyu’s originally thin and pinched little face was now rounder, tender and white, both obedient and soft.

Those sweet treats, Su Qingyu did not have the heart to finish all at once. Every day he dissolved a small piece in hot water, sweet and sugary, warming him for the whole day. The badger oil rubbed on his hands and face meant that neither mother nor son added a single new crack this year from the winter cold they had suffered in previous years.

That evening, the snow stopped, and a faint golden light appeared in the west.

Su Qingyu stood in the kitchen doorway, looking at that stack of firewood outside the fence yard. It was covered with oilcloth, weighed down with several stones so the wind could not blow it open. The firewood was split neatly and evenly, stacked higher than he was tall.

His fingers gripped the doorframe, gripping until his knuckles turned white.

When the sky was almost completely dark, Su Qingyu went out.

Wrapped in a newly made cotton padded jacket, he carried a bundle in his chest. Inside were things Su Qingyu had secretly made for Liang Yu. Su Qingyu looked left and right, avoiding people, and furtively went to the eastern end of the village to repay his debt.

When Su Qingyu knocked on the door, Liang Yu was drinking wine inside the house. Hearing the sound, he got up and opened the courtyard gate. Seeing the tender and white young man, his eyes darkened, and he stepped aside to let him in.

Su Qingyu stepped over the threshold, his feet landing on the swept clean stone floor.

Liang Yu closed the door, walked past him, and entered the house first. Su Qingyu followed behind, standing at the doorway, unsure whether to enter or remain standing.

“What are you standing there for? Come in.” Liang Yu’s voice came from inside, lazy and languid.

Su Qingyu lifted the door curtain and went in.

The room had a charcoal brazier burning, warm and cozy, as if a completely different world from the cold outside. A wooden table, several bench stools, and against the wall a low couch had been added, covered with thick cushions. On the small table atop the couch sat a wine pot and cups, and a plate of peanuts.

Liang Yu was already seated on the edge of the couch, his two long legs stretched out casually, his chin lifting toward the opposite side: “Sit.”

Su Qingyu hugged his bundle and sat on the bench stool. The bundle rested on his knees, his fingers gripping the wrapping cloth, gripping until his knuckles turned white.

Liang Yu’s gaze fell on the bundle, then moved to his face. Those eyes in the firelight of the charcoal brazier appeared deep and unfathomable: “Making shoes? You know how to do this?”

“I know a little.” Su Qingyu lowered his head. “Learned from Mother.”

Liang Yu said nothing, only reached out his hand. Su Qingyu froze for a moment before realizing, and hurriedly handed over the bundle.

Liang Yu took it, unwrapped the cloth, and revealed the pair of cotton padded shoes inside. The uppers were made of dark blue cotton cloth, the soles densely and tightly stitched, the needlework fine and even. One look told that much effort had been invested. He picked up one and turned it over and over to examine it, then picked up the knee pads. The corners of the knee pads were embroidered with a few cloud patterns, not conspicuous but delicate.

“Your embroidery is not bad.” Liang Yu set down the knee pads and raised his eyes to look at him. “Learned from your mother?”

“Yes.” Su Qingyu nodded. “Back in the south, Mother was famously skilled at embroidery.”

Liang Yu rewrapped the shoes and knee pads, set them aside, picked up the wine pot, poured a cup of wine, and pushed it to the edge of the small table: “Have you ever drunk wine?”

Su Qingyu shook his head.

“Have a taste.” Liang Yu leaned toward the inside of the couch, his posture languid. “It drives out the cold.”

Su Qingyu got up and walked over, sat on the other side of the small table, and picked up the cup of wine. The wine liquid was clear, carrying a fragrance of grain. Su Qingyu’s hands trembled slightly. He drank a mouthful and swallowed it down. The wine burned from the tip of his tongue all the way to his throat, burning until his eyes grew somewhat moist.

Liang Yu looked at his appearance, and the corner of his mouth pulled into a slight curve: “If you’ve never drunk before, take small sips.”

Su Qingyu set down the wine cup. The spicy sensation still burned in his throat. He lowered his eyes, his eyelashes casting down, throwing a small shadow in the firelight of the charcoal brazier.

The room grew quiet, save for the occasional crackle from the charcoal brazier.

“These past days,” Liang Yu spoke, his voice languid, “how have you been doing?”

Su Qingyu raised his head and met those eyes: “Much better.”

Liang Yu’s gaze traveled over his body, from face to neck, from neck to chest, and then to that waist. That gaze carried weight, pressing down until one could scarcely breathe.

“You seem to have gained some weight.” Liang Yu reached out, pinched his arm, then pinched his waist. This time he could feel flesh, not like last time when it was all bone.

Su Qingyu stiffened at the pinching but did not dodge.

Liang Yu withdrew his hand and leaned back into the couch again. He picked up his own cup of wine and took a sip, but those eyes still remained on his face.

“Your face is looking well too.” Liang Yu said. “Have you finished that box of fragrant balm?”

Su Qingyu nodded, his earlobes somewhat warm.

Liang Yu let out a scoffing laugh: “Finished it and didn’t know to come get more? Waiting for me to deliver it to you?”

Su Qingyu pressed his lips together and said nothing.

Liang Yu set down the wine cup, got up, walked to the doorway of the inner room, lifted the curtain, and went inside. After a moment he came out, holding a box in his hand, which he tossed over.

Su Qingyu caught it. It was still the osmanthus scented fragrant balm, even larger than the previous box.

“Don’t save it.” Liang Yu sat back on the couch, his tone lazy. “This face of yours is the most valuable thing on your whole body. Don’t ruin it.”

Su Qingyu held that box of fragrant balm, his fingertips caressing the lid, his face burning hot. He raised his head and looked at the sharply defined face opposite him. Those eyes reflected the firelight of the charcoal brazier, deep and unfathomable.

Outside, a sudden sound of falling snow came, as some tree could no longer bear the weight of the snow, crashing down with a crackle. Separated by the courtyard wall and the thick curtain, the sound was muffled, yet exceptionally clear.