The crystal fish jelly was delicious — even better than what she had eaten in the palace.

Using loquat peel in place of dried tangerine peel was an unusual substitution, but it worked remarkably well, giving the crystal fish jelly a faint, delicate fragrance of loquat.

After lunch, Li Que volunteered to wash the dishes and tidy up. He and Li Kun cleaned both the main hall and the kitchen before leaving. Shen Zhuxi followed Li Que around, continuing to give him verbal instructions — directing him on which washing powder to use where, and which cloth to use for which surface. This prompted Li Kun to grumble at her:

“Good heavens, what a fussy little pig.”

After seeing the two brothers off, Shen Zhuxi returned to find Li Wu already fast asleep in her bed, sprawled out and snoring. The sight irritated her. She picked up her poetry anthology, dragged a chair out to sit beneath the osmanthus tree, and settled in to read.

Bathed in the shade of the osmanthus tree, Shen Zhuxi found herself looking forward to the scene it would make in the golden tenth month of autumn, when the tree would be in full bloom.

She read for a while, but gradually began to doze off. Thinking of the person sleeping so comfortably inside, her indignation slowly rose — why should he be allowed to occupy her bed while she had to simply endure it?

She didn’t know where she found the courage, but she tossed down her poetry anthology and walked into the inner room.

Li Wu had already spread himself across the entire bed in the shape of a starfish — long arms and legs sprawled as wide as they could go, leaving her not a single inch of space. Her temper flared, and again not knowing where her boldness came from, she walked right up and started pushing him toward the wall.

“Half of this bed is mine!” she said. “Move over!”

Li Wu, half-asleep and barely conscious, was jostled and rolled over, freeing up space for one person.

“…Li Wu? Li Wu?” Shen Zhuxi called out tentatively.

Li Wu didn’t react.

Well, she couldn’t be blamed for what came next.

With righteous anger rising in her chest, Shen Zhuxi took advantage of his unconscious state and began shoving and kicking him toward the wall. At first she only meant to push him a little further over, but slowly her intentions shifted. Li Wu had made her cry so many times and was always calling her a blockhead — she couldn’t resist settling a few old scores while she had the chance, and her efforts grew increasingly forceful.

Li Wu kept his eyes closed, but his brow furrowed. He caught the hand she was using to push his shoulder and pulled it back sharply. Shen Zhuxi, caught completely off guard, tumbled onto the bed.

Before she could even struggle, the red quilt had already been thrown over her.

In the span of just a few blinks, Shen Zhuxi found herself wrapped up like a silkworm cocoon.

“Stop fussing. Go to sleep,” he said, eyes still shut, reaching out to cover her eyes with his hand.

Shen Zhuxi’s heart leaped. She instinctively tried to break free, but the quilt was wound tightly around her, and no matter how she turned her head from side to side, that large hand stuck to her eyelids like a stubborn plaster.

“Take your hand off!” she snapped.

Li Wu said nothing. From within the warm darkness, only the steady rhythm of his breathing reached her.

“Are you asleep?”

“Li Wu?”

“Li Wu! Li Wu!”

Shen Zhuxi fumed. Li Wu remained as immovable as a mountain.

She struggled and thrashed until she exhausted herself. The warmth pressing against her eyelids urged her toward sleep against her will, and her eyelids grew slower and slower with each blink.

As Shen Zhuxi fought against drowsiness, Li Wu quietly opened his eyes.

He watched Shen Zhuxi, lying beside him, without blinking.

His hand rested over her eyelids — like a full, ripe ear of wheat lying in the snow. The displeased line of her lips slowly relaxed into a softer curve; no rouge or powder, yet her lips were the color of roses by nature.

His gaze traced the shape of her lips, wondering whether taking a bite would be as sweet as a rose.

People had long been fond of comparing women to flowers — lotuses or peonies, most often. In Li Wu’s eyes, she was a flower too, but not one of those delicate kinds. She was a weeping crabapple blossom — swaying gracefully in the wind, willowy and enchanting, yet standing firm and unbroken even when storms came crashing through.

Li Wu said suddenly, “I need to go to the neighboring county this afternoon. I might be back late. If you get hungry first, there are taro cakes in the kitchen.”

“Weren’t the taro cakes all eaten by Li Kun at lunch?”

Li Wu rolled toward her, his breath landing right on the tip of her nose.

“I hid one for you,” he said softly.

Shen Zhuxi felt a strange unease, though she couldn’t tell whether it was because of what he said or because of his breath so close to her face.

Li Wu said nothing more after that, and before long Shen Zhuxi slipped into dreams as well. When she woke again, Li Wu was no longer in the room.

She rubbed her drowsy eyes and walked out to the main hall. There, beneath the osmanthus tree in the courtyard, she spotted a line of words scratched into the ground with a tree branch.

“Gone out. Wait for me to come back.”

The characters were short, though they were written crookedly and with great effort. Looking at that clumsy but earnest handwriting, Shen Zhuxi could almost picture Li Wu crouching under the osmanthus tree, writing each stroke with painstaking concentration.

She picked up her poetry anthology and sat beneath the tree to read for a while. Then, all of a sudden, a tentative voice rose from beyond the bamboo fence.

“Is Brother Li home?”

Li Wu was out, and this was an unexpected visitor — Shen Zhuxi didn’t know who had come, and felt somewhat nervous.

She set down her book and walked to the gate. Rather than opening it right away, she first called out: “Who is it…?”

“It’s Sister Zhou from next door!” The woman outside heard Shen Zhuxi’s voice, and her own tone immediately relaxed and brightened. She spoke with a smile, warmly: “I’ve come to return some money to Brother Li.”

Only then did Shen Zhuxi open the gate. Outside stood a woman of about forty, who broke into a probing smile the moment she laid eyes on Shen Zhuxi. Though she wore plain cloth clothes, everything about her was neat and clean from top to bottom — a quality that earned Shen Zhuxi’s goodwill considerably, and she swung the half-opened gate wide.

“But Li Wu isn’t home at the moment…”

“No matter that he’s not home — giving the money to you is just the same.” Sister Zhou smiled a little shyly. “A while back my household was short on funds, and Brother Li lent me ten taels of silver. We’d agreed I’d repay it within two months, but due to certain circumstances, it ended up being dragged out for more than half a year. I’m truly sorry.”

With an apologetic expression, she pressed several small pieces of broken silver along with a string of copper coins into Shen Zhuxi’s hands before Shen Zhuxi had a chance to say a word.

Shen Zhuxi hadn’t even properly taken hold of the silver when the basket of eggs Sister Zhou was carrying in her other hand was thrust toward her as well.

“Brother Li didn’t charge me any interest, but I can’t sit easy with that on my conscience. Please, you two newlyweds take these eggs and nourish yourselves.”

“There’s really no need…” Shen Zhuxi quickly tried to push the basket back. “Li Wu didn’t charge you interest, so I can’t accept this either.”

Sister Zhou pushed the basket right back, her expression pleading: “Please take it. It’s a small token of goodwill from me. If you won’t accept it, I’ll never dare show my face at your door again.”

Seeing how firm she was, Shen Zhuxi accepted the basket at last. Not knowing quite what to say next, she was saved by Sister Zhou, who smiled and said:

“Now that I’ve returned the money, I can finally set down one of the worries weighing on my heart. You may not know this, Madam Li, but I was actually a guest at your wedding. Li Wu invited every person of note in the whole town. He thinks very highly of you.”

Shen Zhuxi smiled with a hint of embarrassment. “I wasn’t prepared for the wedding day. I must have made a spectacle of myself for everyone.”

“Don’t worry about that — when I got married, I cried even worse than you did!” Sister Zhou waved it off with a laugh.

After a few more exchanges, Shen Zhuxi found Sister Zhou a very easy person to talk to. She was about to invite her inside to sit down when Sister Zhou got there first and invited her over for soup instead.

“I’ve made barley soup — it aids digestion and does wonders for the stomach. There’s no one at my house either, and you’re alone here too. Why not come sit with me? We can share a warm bowl and keep each other company.”

Shen Zhuxi had been bored sitting alone, and after politely declining twice, she finally yielded on Sister Zhou’s third insistence, half-pushed and half-willing.

“Then I hope I won’t be imposing…”

Shen Zhuxi left the words “I’ve gone to Sister Zhou’s to visit” scratched in the dirt beneath the osmanthus tree, then followed Sister Zhou out the gate. Sister Zhou led her to the neighboring house with a smile — “neighboring” being a relative term, as there was actually a fair distance between the two properties. Shen Zhuxi counted her way past piles of cow dung along the path, and after steering around the fourth pile, Sister Zhou called out cheerfully, “Here we are!”

A small courtyard, roughly half the size of Li Wu’s, appeared before Shen Zhuxi.

Sister Zhou hurried ahead, pushed open the bamboo fence gate, and enthusiastically welcomed Shen Zhuxi inside.

The courtyard was small, yet somehow offered more usable space than Li Wu’s. Like its owner, it was plain in appearance but scrupulously tidy. Shen Zhuxi looked around with curious eyes — and then a bizarre cry from somewhere behind the house gave her a fright.

Shen Zhuxi was startled by the strange sound she had never heard before. Sister Zhou was startled by Shen Zhuxi suddenly jumping.

“What was that?” Shen Zhuxi asked, hunching her shoulders, a flicker of fear rising in her.

“That’s a sow calling out. My pig is about to give birth,” Sister Zhou said breezily, as though she hadn’t smelled or heard anything out of the ordinary — and somehow still managed to smile. “Go sit anywhere you like in the hall while I bring out the barley soup.”

Sister Zhou bustled off toward the kitchen. Shen Zhuxi made her way into the narrow main hall and sat down carefully, ears pricked toward the sounds periodically rising from the backyard.

So that’s what a pig sounds like.

Oinking and snuffling, grunting and chomping…

While Shen Zhuxi was busy contemplating the sounds of pigs, Sister Zhou returned carrying a ceramic basin of barley soup and two ceramic bowls.

She set the soup and bowls on the table. The four corners of the table were badly worn, and one leg was shorter than the others — even with a handful of straw wedged beneath the short leg, the surface was still not quite level. As for the two bowls, half the glaze had already chipped off, and the rims were jagged like a dog’s teeth. Yet, like the woman herself, both bowl and basin were spotlessly clean.

Sister Zhou noticed her looking at the chips on the bowls, and gave an embarrassed little smile. “We’ve had these bowls a long time. These two are actually the best of the lot.”

“It’s fine — chips are actually a good thing,” Shen Zhuxi said comfortingly. “Li Wu’s ceramic basin has chips in it too. As they say, broken pieces bring peace.”

Sister Zhou laughed. “Isn’t Li Wu’s home your home now? You’ve gotten married — it’s time to start changing those old habits of yours. I heard Li Wu pulled you out of the river. Where are you originally from?”

“My ancestral home is in the south of the Yangtze River region. I entered the palace as a maid when I was very young, and I can’t quite remember much about my hometown anymore.”

“No wonder you carry yourself the way you do — girls who come from the palace are simply different.” Sister Zhou smiled. “Are your parents still living? If you need to travel south to return home for a visit, the time on the road alone would be hard to predict.”

“I’ve been separated from my family. I don’t know where they are now.” Shen Zhuxi’s expression dimmed.

“I see.” Sister Zhou looked at her with sympathy. “Don’t lose heart. Parents always wish for their children to be safe and well. As long as you take care of yourself, there will come a day you’re reunited. And your Li Wu—”

Before Sister Zhou could finish, a bloodcurdling shriek from the backyard cut her off entirely.

Shen Zhuxi shuddered again, thoroughly startled.

Sister Zhou stood up and went to the window to peer outside.

“The pig may be ready to deliver,” she said, turning and walking back. “Madam Li, I’m going to check on the pigpen. Come along with me.”

“Ah?” Shen Zhuxi blinked.

“Have you ever seen a woman give birth?” Sister Zhou asked.

“No… no, I haven’t…”

“Well, here’s your chance to broaden your horizons. A sow giving birth is much the same as a woman delivering a baby. Once you’ve seen a pig deliver her young, you’ll have a better idea of what to expect when your own time comes.”

Sister Zhou took Shen Zhuxi by the hand and started heading out. The mere thought of setting foot in a pig’s birthing chamber drained the color from Shen Zhuxi’s face.

She had no need to mentally prepare herself for that! She and Li Wu weren’t going to have children anyway!

“I really don’t think I need to… my barley soup…”

Shen Zhuxi tried to wriggle free, but before she could finish her sentence, the enthusiastic Sister Zhou had already pulled her out the door.

“The soup can wait until we get back. Once the piglets are born, there won’t be anything left to see!”

Unable to refuse, Shen Zhuxi had no choice but to follow Sister Zhou to the pigpen. Before they even got close, a pungent and peculiar stench surged into her nostrils.

It was entirely unlike the smell of a latrine or cow dung — this was something else altogether, something that made Shen Zhuxi go pale as a sheet of paper, her expression that of someone attending a funeral. She was one eye-roll away from fainting on the spot.

“What is that smell?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Why, the smell of the pigpen,” Sister Zhou said, apparently immune to it — somehow still smiling. “All pigpens smell like this. You’ll get used to it.”

She would never, not for as long as she lived, get used to this smell!

Shen Zhuxi was herded along like a duck being driven to market, Sister Zhou pushing her right up to the edge of the pigpen.

The closer she got, the more overpowering the smell became, and the more fiercely she resisted. Shen Zhuxi held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut, wishing with all her might that all five of her senses could simply stop working in this moment.

Never mind barley soup — at this rate, she doubted she could eat dinner tonight either.

“Look, it’s giving birth. One has already come out.” Sister Zhou smiled.

Shen Zhuxi cracked one eye open the tiniest sliver. In the dim and cramped pigpen, a large sow lay in a corner bedded with dry straw. A newborn piglet, pink and squirming like a little caterpillar, let out a weak cry at its side, while the sow cried too — a suffering, desperate howl that wrung the heart of anyone who heard it.

The sow had no time to tend to the newborn, for her belly continued to contract — there were still piglets left to deliver.

With a great straining cry, the head of another pink piglet emerged from beneath her. The piglet, already possessed of a will to survive, wriggled in rhythm with its mother’s efforts, struggling to push its way out into the world.

Without realizing it, Shen Zhuxi forgot to keep holding her breath.