After the Sweet Little Husband Got Remarried - Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The mountain wind carried a damp chill, heavy with the scent of coming rain. It grew stronger by the minute, whistling through the trees around the grass hut, setting the branches swaying with deep, rustling sighs.

Inside, the two had just lain down to rest when a streak of white lightning tore across the night sky outside. A sharp crack followed—thunder split the air like an axe cleaving wood, echoing through the hills.

Lu Lu had only just gotten into bed when the thunderclap made him jump. He ducked his head beneath the blanket, squeezing his eyes shut as his hands clutched the quilt’s edge. His body trembled faintly.

Many years ago, on a stormy night just like this, his father had left him forever.

Shen Ying, pulling the quilt up over them both, noticed the way Lu Lu’s body curled inward, trembling beneath the covers. He turned his head slightly—Lu Lu’s back faced him, his shoulders quivering.

His husband had always been timid, easily frightened. After all, he’d nearly drowned once; such fear didn’t fade easily. The thunder outside must have terrified him.

Shen Ying’s gaze lingered on the nape of Lu Lu’s neck for a moment before he turned over, lying on his side to face him. He hesitated for a while, wanting to pull him into his arms, but his hand paused midway and stopped.

Though they’d shared a bed every night since marrying, their contact had gone no further than that single hand-holding night after returning from the Jiang family’s home.

After a few seconds of hesitation, seeing Lu Lu still trembling, Shen Ying quietly edged closer and let his palm rest gently against Lu Lu’s waist.

He pretended to be asleep, breathing evenly, as though the touch had been accidental.

Lu Lu’s eyes flew open the moment he felt him move closer. His body, already trembling from fear, went rigid.

The man behind him had merely turned over, laying a hand across him before going still again, seemingly asleep.

Lu Lu dared not move away—afraid of waking him—so he stayed where he was, frozen in place.

Warm breath brushed the back of his neck. The hand resting at his waist was large and hot against his thin robe. It was the first time they had been so close. Lu Lu’s face flushed, and his heart beat so fast it almost hurt.

Outside, thunder roared and lightning flared, but somehow, within that quiet embrace, a strange calm settled over him.

Then came the rain—at first a soft patter, like tiny beads striking the roof, then a relentless downpour. The sound of it filled the world: on the eaves, on the leaves, on the earth itself.

The distant forest and fields vanished behind veils of mist. The hut, too, was wrapped in that silvery haze.

Before long, the trembling in his arms ceased. Shen Ying listened to the steady sound of the rain, opened his eyes slightly, and looked at the figure now sleeping soundly against him.

He carefully withdrew his hand from Lu Lu’s waist and pulled the quilt higher over him. As he caught Lu Lu’s wrist to tuck it under the blanket, he glanced down at it—the scars there had faded after several days of applying mutton-fat ointment. Still, the wrist was too thin; the man needed to be nourished well.

He laid the delicate wrist back under the covers and, instead of turning away, quietly drew him back into his arms.

Perhaps it was the comfort of the rain, but Lu Lu slept deeply that night, waking later than usual. When his eyes fluttered open, Shen Ying was still asleep beside him, and daylight already streamed through the window.

Outside, the chickens and ducks in the shed clucked and quacked hungrily. Rainwater dripped from the eaves with soft, rhythmic sounds.

Lu Lu blinked awake slowly, his gaze landing on the face mere inches from his own. For a few seconds, his mind went blank before memory struck—he had fallen asleep in Shen Ying’s arms. His ears burned hot.

Just as he shifted to sit up, Shen Ying opened his eyes. Their gazes met instantly.

Normally, they each kept to their own sides of the bed. He had no idea how Shen Ying had ended up holding him through the night.

His face flushed crimson. Flustered, he got out of bed in a hurry, dressed quickly, and escaped into the kitchen.

Morning after rain was always cool, the air fresh with damp earth and the scent of washed leaves. Mist wound gently through the mountains.

Still blushing, Lu Lu began preparing breakfast.

It was late, so he made two simple bowls of egg dumpling soup. From start to finish, he kept his head down, avoiding Shen Ying’s gaze entirely, not saying a single word.

After breakfast, Lu Lu carried grain to feed the chickens and ducks, while Shen Ying went to check the vegetable patch with his hoe.

When Lu Lu reached the shed, he found part of the earthen wall had collapsed—the rainwater had dripped directly onto the chicken coop. No wonder the birds had been so noisy all morning.

He opened the coop, herded the chickens and ducks to the dry corner near the firewood pile, and began sweeping out the damp straw. Just then, he noticed something new inside the nest.

Out in the field, Shen Ying was digging drainage ditches where water had pooled. The wind had toppled the new trellis, and he propped it back up, pushing the bamboo stakes into the softened soil.

When he returned to the yard, Lu Lu was crouched by the chicken coop, holding two smooth, round eggs. He looked up when he heard Shen Ying approach, his earlier shyness forgotten, joy shining in his eyes.

“The hens laid eggs!” he said excitedly. “I just picked two.”

He lifted his hand to show them, then added, “There’s also a duck egg—one of the hens laid that too!”

Shen Ying’s lips curved into a smile. “So many?”

Lu Lu nodded, still grinning. “Mm. I checked another hen just now—it should lay in the next few days. You can take them with you when you go up the mountain.”

Whenever Shen Ying went hunting, he stayed in the mountains for long stretches—sometimes half a month, sometimes a full month.

During the rainy season, when the roads turned to mud, he might be trapped there for two or three months at a time. He and Jiang Song shared a large cave they’d found, equipped with a bed and cooking utensils. All they needed to bring were grains and flour.

But Shen Ying shook his head. “No need. Keep them for yourself. You should eat more—build up your strength.”

At the mention of his health, Lu Lu suddenly remembered what Shen Ying had said before—that he needed to get stronger if they wanted to have children. Heat rushed to his face once again.

Shen Ying didn’t notice. His attention had gone to the roof of the shed, where rain still dripped through a small hole. “It’s leaking, isn’t it?”

Lu Lu pulled himself back from his thoughts, his cheeks still warm. “Yes,” he said, pointing toward the corner. “That part collapsed.”

Following his gesture, Shen Ying saw the damage clearly—the earthen wall near the shed had indeed caved in. “I’ll borrow a ladder from Uncle Dashan and fix the roof.”

As he turned to leave, his gaze caught the flush still coloring Lu Lu’s face, and he couldn’t help but glance a little longer.

Their eyes met briefly before Lu Lu looked down, murmuring, “I’ll go put the eggs away first.”

While Shen Ying went to borrow the ladder, Lu Lu placed the eggs carefully in the kitchen cabinet, then returned to the shed to gather dry straw for the repairs.

He sorted the straw neatly along the stems and tied them into bundles for Shen Ying to use later.

Before long, Shen Ying came back carrying the ladder—and a bamboo basket filled with shelled peas.

“I happened to run into Auntie and my sister-in-law,” he said, handing it to Lu Lu. “They were shelling peas and told me to bring some home.”

It was pea season, and since the heavy rain had kept everyone from working the fields, every household was sitting indoors shelling peas that morning.

Lu Lu accepted the basket with a smile. Remembering the piece of cured meat still hanging from the rafters—and the clay pot he’d bought yesterday—he said, “Then I’ll make stewed pea rice for lunch.”

“Sounds good,” Shen Ying replied easily.

He set up the ladder by the wall, climbed onto the roof, and began repairing the thatch while Lu Lu handed up bundles of straw from below.

The roof had been built three years ago, and the upper layer of thatch was already starting to rot, some parts even sprouting patches of green moss.

As he worked, Shen Ying said down to him, “Once we’ve saved enough, we’ll tear this shed down and build two proper huts—one for firewood and one for the chickens. What do you think?”

The way he said “we” made Lu Lu’s heart lift with quiet warmth. He looked up at him, eyes bright. “I think it’s a good idea.”

Just imagining the future—their own new home—filled him with a sudden, inexplicable excitement. For the first time, it truly felt like this place belonged to them both.

When the roof was fixed, Shen Ying returned the ladder and began cleaning the shed while Lu Lu went into the kitchen to prepare lunch.

Because rain had blown in overnight, the shed floor was still damp. Shen Ying replaced the wet straw in the chicken coop with ashes from burnt wood—it would make good fertilizer later.

In the kitchen, Lu Lu rinsed the rice and set it to boil in the clay pot, then went behind the house to the bamboo grove and cut a fresh bamboo shoot.

The tender bamboo shoot paired perfectly with the sweetness of peas and the savory salt of cured meat.

He sliced the bamboo thin and blanched it to remove its bitterness, then diced the remaining piece of cured pork.

The peas were already shelled. He rendered fat from the pork in a hot pan, added the bamboo slices and peas, and stir-fried them until fragrant.

Meanwhile, the rice in the clay pot bubbled merrily, releasing steam in little bursts.

Lifting the lid, Lu Lu stirred the grains with his chopsticks, then poured in the stir-fried ingredients. He covered it again and let it simmer slowly over a low flame.

By the time Shen Ying came in from outside, the rice was ready. The rich, savory scent of bamboo, peas, and cured pork filled the air.

Lu Lu mixed the rice and toppings thoroughly, then filled a bowl to the brim, pressing it lightly with the spoon before handing it to Shen Ying.

“Try it—see if it tastes good.”

Shen Ying accepted the bowl, picking up a pair of chopsticks from the bamboo tube. “If you made it,” he said with a grin, “it’ll definitely be good.”

The tender bamboo was crisp and fragrant, the peas soft and sweet, the saltiness of the cured meat binding everything together into one perfect harmony.

After one bite, Shen Ying took another, his cheeks puffed out as he chewed. “Delicious!” he said with obvious delight.