After the Sweet Little Husband Got Remarried - Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Lu Lu looked at the woman before him, utterly bewildered, until Jiang Huai frowned and leaned close to whisper, “That’s Brother Shen Ying’s stepmother.”

Lu Lu had heard bits and pieces about the Shen family’s quarrel from others. The reason Shen Ying had fallen out so bitterly with his family—and had gone so far as to request the village headman to divide the household—was precisely because his stepmother, Feng Xianglian, had taken his money yet refused to contribute a single coin toward his wedding feast.

Several women and ge’ers who had finished washing their laundry nearby lingered on the stones, watching the scene unfold with idle curiosity.

Jiang Huai stepped slightly in front of Lu Lu protectively and murmured, “Sister-in-law, don’t say anything for now. I’ll handle her.”

Then, lifting his chin, he turned to face Feng Xianglian with a sharp sneer. “Anyone who didn’t know better would think some grand deity had descended among us. You pocketed all the silver, didn’t even show your face at the wedding feast, and still dare call yourself an elder? Brother Shen’s real elder is at home—in a spirit tablet on the altar.”

At the mention of money, Feng Xianglian’s expression darkened. Clutching her handkerchief, she glared at him. “And who asked you to meddle? You’re an outsider. Mind your own business. What’s the Shen family’s affair to you?”

Jiang Huai had been waiting for that exact line. Without missing a beat, he threw her words back at her, his tone equally cold. “You’re not a Shen either. You’re an outsider yourself. So what business of yours is the Shen family’s affair?”

“You—” Feng Xianglian’s face turned purple. She opened her mouth, but no retort came.

Beside her, Shen Sui clutched her basin, shrinking into herself like a frightened sparrow. She dared not make a sound as the argument raged on.

The women across the pond watched, whispering to one another with poorly concealed amusement. Seeing herself outmatched by a young ge’er, Feng Xianglian’s fury only grew. She spun on Shen Sui and dug her fingers into the girl’s arm, pinching hard as she scolded, “You lazy wretch! Standing there gawking while I’m being mocked—are you enjoying the show? Let’s see if you can still laugh after this!”

Shen Sui tried to dodge away, but Feng Xianglian caught her by the ear, twisting until her face scrunched in pain.

Lu Lu’s brows furrowed involuntarily as he watched.

His own stepfather had beaten and cursed him for not being his real child—for being the reminder of a man he’d despised. But Shen Sui was Feng Xianglian’s own daughter. He could not fathom how a mother could treat her child so harshly.

Still, it wasn’t his place to interfere. There was nothing he could do.

At last, Feng Xianglian dragged the girl away, still muttering angrily as she went. When she left, the onlookers, deprived of their entertainment, scattered as well.

After finishing their laundry, Lu Lu and Jiang Huai walked back together. On the way, Jiang Huai chatted about many things—bits of gossip about the Shen family and village affairs.

As they neared the foot of the mountain, they ran into Jiang Dahan, Jiang Huai’s father, returning from the fields. He carried two heavy baskets on a pole, his trousers rolled to the knees, bare feet still slick with mud.

“Father!” Jiang Huai called, waving energetically before running toward him. Lu Lu followed at a slower pace, balancing his basin.

Jiang Dahan waited for them, then reached into one of the baskets, pulling out two fat fish strung together with a twist of straw rope. “Here,” he said, handing them to Lu Lu, “take these home and make some fish soup.”

In his younger years, Jiang Dahan had been a hunter, spending his days deep in the mountains. But when his sons grew up and learned the trade, he retired from the forests to farm the land instead.

The fish were freshly caught from the fields, their scales muddy but glistening, their gills fluttering as they wriggled in the air.

It was nearly time to transplant rice seedlings. If the fish were left in the paddies, they would nibble on the tender young roots, so every household cleared their fields beforehand—keeping the small fry to raise into rice fish by harvest season and catching the larger ones for food.

Lu Lu thanked him sincerely, took the rope of fish, and returned home. Before parting, Jiang Huai called out that they should go up the mountain together tomorrow to pick wild greens.

Back at the cottage, Lu Lu set the fish in the kitchen and used a bamboo pole to hang their freshly washed clothes across the courtyard wall.

That morning, Shen Ying had said he would return by dusk, yet darkness fell and still there was no sign of him.

Not knowing when he would be back, Lu Lu cooked rice and steamed it in a wooden steamer, keeping it warm with low fire, then cleaned and sliced the fish into neat pieces, salting and marinating them with scallions and ginger.

The seasonings—scallion, ginger, garlic, and chili—were leftovers from the wedding feast, as was the soy paste for stewing fish. The only thing missing was mountain fennel, the wild herb that added aroma and depth to the dish.

He searched the area behind and around the house until he found a lush patch growing beside the courtyard wall, and even discovered a spiny pepper tree behind the shed, its branches heavy with green pods.

The fennel leaves would take away the fishy odor and enrich the flavor; paired with fresh peppercorns, they would lend a spicy fragrance that made the mouth tingle.

By the time all was ready, Shen Ying had still not returned. Lu Lu sat by the main hall door and resumed weaving the unfinished basket, working by the faint glow of dusk rather than lighting the oil lamp.

In early spring, night fell quickly. The mountains were quiet and serene, scattered stars gleaming faintly above the treetops.

From the woods came the soft cries of birds returning to their nests. A few sparrows perched on nearby branches, preening their feathers before fluttering away into the dark.

After a while, distant barking echoed from the foot of the mountain, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps. The gate creaked open, and a tall figure stepped into the courtyard.

Shen Ying had returned from hunting.

Lu Lu immediately rose to his feet.

Shen Ying carried a pheasant and two wild hares in one hand, and in the other, he led a young deer, its leg clearly injured—it limped as it walked.

He guided the deer into the shed before bringing the game birds and hares inside. Seeing Lu Lu working in the dimness, he frowned. “Why didn’t you light the lamp? You’ll strain your eyes in the dark.”

Blood still trickled from the hares. Lu Lu didn’t dare take them from his hands. Lighting the oil lamp quickly, he said softly, “I thought you’d be home before nightfall.”

Only then did Shen Ying realize that Lu Lu had been waiting for him—that his delay had caused him worry. He gave a small, apologetic smile. “The traps were farther out than I expected. Da Song and I walked a long way, but it was worth it. This haul should fetch a good price.”

His gaze drifted to the basket frame by the door. “Were you weaving a back basket? I saw the chicken coop in the shed—you made that too?”

Lu Lu nodded, moving the unfinished basket aside. By the lamplight, his eyes reflected warm gold. “Are you hungry? I’ll make dinner right away.”

Shen Ying grunted in affirmation. After an entire day in the mountains, his stomach was hollow. There had been places to cook along the way, but food made by his own ge’er was something else entirely.

He placed the pheasant and hares beside the stove, tying their legs with straw rope. “That injured hare—we’ll keep it for ourselves. The rest I’ll take to the city tomorrow with Da Song to sell.”

Lu Lu nodded in agreement.

The rice in the steamer was still warm. Lu Lu had him carry it to the main hall, then rekindled the fire and began cooking the fish.

Cooking fish wasn’t difficult—what mattered was the seasoning and the control of heat. Too strong a flame, and the flesh would turn tough and fall apart at the touch of chopsticks.

He chopped scallions, ginger, and garlic, heating oil until it sizzled, then stirred in the aromatics until the kitchen filled with fragrance. Adding water, he simmered it into a clear broth.

If he had pickled chilies, the flavor would have been sharper and richer—perhaps even enough to make sour fish stew with mustard greens.

When the broth began to boil, he added the fish heads first, letting them cook longer, then gently slid in the marinated slices one by one.

When the stew was done, he ladled the tender fish into a large coarse porcelain bowl, sprinkled it with fennel leaves, crushed peppercorns, and chopped dried chili, then poured hot oil over the top. The oil hissed and spat, releasing a burst of intoxicating aroma.

It was his father who had taught him to cook fish with mountain fennel. He used to say that Lu Lu’s other father had loved the flavor—but after his passing, Lu Lu’s stepfather had banned it from their table. Since then, he had never tasted it again.

The smell lured Shen Ying from the main hall. He couldn’t help swallowing when he saw the steaming bowl. “You added mountain fennel? You made fennel fish?”

Lu Lu nodded shyly. “I picked it behind the house. And… these fish were from Uncle Dahan.”

He’d met Jiang Dahan earlier that day and had been told to call him Uncle Dahan just as Shen Ying did.

“I know,” Shen Ying said, smiling faintly. “Da Song mentioned it. Said they’d be cleaning the paddies and would save me two fish.” He placed the bowl on the table and served Lu Lu a bowl of rice. “You went out with Huai today, didn’t you? Da Song told me his brother went to find you this morning.”

Lu Lu nodded again. After a moment’s thought, he decided not to mention the unpleasant encounter at the pond. Instead, he said, “Huai came to ask me to go wash clothes, and he brought rice cakes his mother made.”

“Ah, her rice cakes are good,” Shen Ying said, smiling. “I had two pieces myself. Huai’s a straightforward boy—blunt sometimes, but kindhearted. If you ever need help, you can count on him.”

Lu Lu smiled softly. “He’s very nice.”

“I knew you two would get along.” Shen Ying picked out a tender piece of fish belly, free of bones, and placed it in Lu Lu’s bowl. “Uncle Dahan raises good fish. Eat more.”

The freshly cooked fish was silky and tender, the broth fragrant and rich. Each bite carried the herbal freshness of fennel and the numbing scent of peppercorns. It was exquisite.

Before long, Shen Ying had eaten two full bowls of rice.

Lu Lu had worried he might dislike the fennel, but seeing him eat so heartily, his unease melted away.

Then he remembered the plan to till the land and plant vegetables. Since Shen Ying was going into the city tomorrow, he wanted to ask him to buy a hoe—but didn’t quite know how to bring it up.

Noticing his hesitation, Shen Ying paused with his chopsticks. “What’s wrong?”

Lu Lu bit his lip and thought for a moment before speaking. “Auntie asked Huai to bring me two bags of vegetable seeds today. She said when it’s time to till the soil, she’ll send Brother Jiang and Uncle Dahan to help.”

Shen Ying nodded. “Da Song mentioned that too. I’ll buy a hoe in the city tomorrow.” His gaze softened as he added, “Next time, just tell me directly what you need—or better yet, come with me. The money’s with you anyway. Buy whatever you like.”

Lu Lu blinked, momentarily stunned, his heart fluttering with a quiet thrill. He had never once been to the city in his entire life.

But remembering that all that silver came from Shen Ying’s hard work, he lowered his eyes and hid the flicker of excitement. “There’s nothing I need,” he murmured.

“Hair ribbons, rouge, hairpins—whatever you want,” Shen Ying said with a faint smile. “We’ll see once we get there.”

But as he spoke, he was already making plans in his head. After selling the game tomorrow, he would visit the fabric shop in town—and buy several fine pieces of cloth to make his husband a few new sets of clothes.

Chapter 5

Lu Lu looked at the woman before him, utterly bewildered, until Jiang Huai frowned and leaned close to whisper, “That’s Brother Shen Ying’s stepmother.”

Lu Lu had heard bits and pieces about the Shen family’s quarrel from others. The reason Shen Ying had fallen out so bitterly with his family—and had gone so far as to request the village headman to divide the household—was precisely because his stepmother, Feng Xianglian, had taken his money yet refused to contribute a single coin toward his wedding feast.

Several women and ge’ers who had finished washing their laundry nearby lingered on the stones, watching the scene unfold with idle curiosity.

Jiang Huai stepped slightly in front of Lu Lu protectively and murmured, “Sister-in-law, don’t say anything for now. I’ll handle her.”

Then, lifting his chin, he turned to face Feng Xianglian with a sharp sneer. “Anyone who didn’t know better would think some grand deity had descended among us. You pocketed all the silver, didn’t even show your face at the wedding feast, and still dare call yourself an elder? Brother Shen’s real elder is at home—in a spirit tablet on the altar.”

At the mention of money, Feng Xianglian’s expression darkened. Clutching her handkerchief, she glared at him. “And who asked you to meddle? You’re an outsider. Mind your own business. What’s the Shen family’s affair to you?”

Jiang Huai had been waiting for that exact line. Without missing a beat, he threw her words back at her, his tone equally cold. “You’re not a Shen either. You’re an outsider yourself. So what business of yours is the Shen family’s affair?”

“You—” Feng Xianglian’s face turned purple. She opened her mouth, but no retort came.

Beside her, Shen Sui clutched her basin, shrinking into herself like a frightened sparrow. She dared not make a sound as the argument raged on.

The women across the pond watched, whispering to one another with poorly concealed amusement. Seeing herself outmatched by a young ge’er, Feng Xianglian’s fury only grew. She spun on Shen Sui and dug her fingers into the girl’s arm, pinching hard as she scolded, “You lazy wretch! Standing there gawking while I’m being mocked—are you enjoying the show? Let’s see if you can still laugh after this!”

Shen Sui tried to dodge away, but Feng Xianglian caught her by the ear, twisting until her face scrunched in pain.

Lu Lu’s brows furrowed involuntarily as he watched.

His own stepfather had beaten and cursed him for not being his real child—for being the reminder of a man he’d despised. But Shen Sui was Feng Xianglian’s own daughter. He could not fathom how a mother could treat her child so harshly.

Still, it wasn’t his place to interfere. There was nothing he could do.

At last, Feng Xianglian dragged the girl away, still muttering angrily as she went. When she left, the onlookers, deprived of their entertainment, scattered as well.

After finishing their laundry, Lu Lu and Jiang Huai walked back together. On the way, Jiang Huai chatted about many things—bits of gossip about the Shen family and village affairs.

As they neared the foot of the mountain, they ran into Jiang Dahan, Jiang Huai’s father, returning from the fields. He carried two heavy baskets on a pole, his trousers rolled to the knees, bare feet still slick with mud.

“Father!” Jiang Huai called, waving energetically before running toward him. Lu Lu followed at a slower pace, balancing his basin.

Jiang Dahan waited for them, then reached into one of the baskets, pulling out two fat fish strung together with a twist of straw rope. “Here,” he said, handing them to Lu Lu, “take these home and make some fish soup.”

In his younger years, Jiang Dahan had been a hunter, spending his days deep in the mountains. But when his sons grew up and learned the trade, he retired from the forests to farm the land instead.

The fish were freshly caught from the fields, their scales muddy but glistening, their gills fluttering as they wriggled in the air.

It was nearly time to transplant rice seedlings. If the fish were left in the paddies, they would nibble on the tender young roots, so every household cleared their fields beforehand—keeping the small fry to raise into rice fish by harvest season and catching the larger ones for food.

Lu Lu thanked him sincerely, took the rope of fish, and returned home. Before parting, Jiang Huai called out that they should go up the mountain together tomorrow to pick wild greens.

Back at the cottage, Lu Lu set the fish in the kitchen and used a bamboo pole to hang their freshly washed clothes across the courtyard wall.

That morning, Shen Ying had said he would return by dusk, yet darkness fell and still there was no sign of him.

Not knowing when he would be back, Lu Lu cooked rice and steamed it in a wooden steamer, keeping it warm with low fire, then cleaned and sliced the fish into neat pieces, salting and marinating them with scallions and ginger.

The seasonings—scallion, ginger, garlic, and chili—were leftovers from the wedding feast, as was the soy paste for stewing fish. The only thing missing was mountain fennel, the wild herb that added aroma and depth to the dish.

He searched the area behind and around the house until he found a lush patch growing beside the courtyard wall, and even discovered a spiny pepper tree behind the shed, its branches heavy with green pods.

The fennel leaves would take away the fishy odor and enrich the flavor; paired with fresh peppercorns, they would lend a spicy fragrance that made the mouth tingle.

By the time all was ready, Shen Ying had still not returned. Lu Lu sat by the main hall door and resumed weaving the unfinished basket, working by the faint glow of dusk rather than lighting the oil lamp.

In early spring, night fell quickly. The mountains were quiet and serene, scattered stars gleaming faintly above the treetops.

From the woods came the soft cries of birds returning to their nests. A few sparrows perched on nearby branches, preening their feathers before fluttering away into the dark.

After a while, distant barking echoed from the foot of the mountain, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps. The gate creaked open, and a tall figure stepped into the courtyard.

Shen Ying had returned from hunting.

Lu Lu immediately rose to his feet.

Shen Ying carried a pheasant and two wild hares in one hand, and in the other, he led a young deer, its leg clearly injured—it limped as it walked.

He guided the deer into the shed before bringing the game birds and hares inside. Seeing Lu Lu working in the dimness, he frowned. “Why didn’t you light the lamp? You’ll strain your eyes in the dark.”

Blood still trickled from the hares. Lu Lu didn’t dare take them from his hands. Lighting the oil lamp quickly, he said softly, “I thought you’d be home before nightfall.”

Only then did Shen Ying realize that Lu Lu had been waiting for him—that his delay had caused him worry. He gave a small, apologetic smile. “The traps were farther out than I expected. Da Song and I walked a long way, but it was worth it. This haul should fetch a good price.”

His gaze drifted to the basket frame by the door. “Were you weaving a back basket? I saw the chicken coop in the shed—you made that too?”

Lu Lu nodded, moving the unfinished basket aside. By the lamplight, his eyes reflected warm gold. “Are you hungry? I’ll make dinner right away.”

Shen Ying grunted in affirmation. After an entire day in the mountains, his stomach was hollow. There had been places to cook along the way, but food made by his own ge’er was something else entirely.

He placed the pheasant and hares beside the stove, tying their legs with straw rope. “That injured hare—we’ll keep it for ourselves. The rest I’ll take to the city tomorrow with Da Song to sell.”

Lu Lu nodded in agreement.

The rice in the steamer was still warm. Lu Lu had him carry it to the main hall, then rekindled the fire and began cooking the fish.

Cooking fish wasn’t difficult—what mattered was the seasoning and the control of heat. Too strong a flame, and the flesh would turn tough and fall apart at the touch of chopsticks.

He chopped scallions, ginger, and garlic, heating oil until it sizzled, then stirred in the aromatics until the kitchen filled with fragrance. Adding water, he simmered it into a clear broth.

If he had pickled chilies, the flavor would have been sharper and richer—perhaps even enough to make sour fish stew with mustard greens.

When the broth began to boil, he added the fish heads first, letting them cook longer, then gently slid in the marinated slices one by one.

When the stew was done, he ladled the tender fish into a large coarse porcelain bowl, sprinkled it with fennel leaves, crushed peppercorns, and chopped dried chili, then poured hot oil over the top. The oil hissed and spat, releasing a burst of intoxicating aroma.

It was his father who had taught him to cook fish with mountain fennel. He used to say that Lu Lu’s other father had loved the flavor—but after his passing, Lu Lu’s stepfather had banned it from their table. Since then, he had never tasted it again.

The smell lured Shen Ying from the main hall. He couldn’t help swallowing when he saw the steaming bowl. “You added mountain fennel? You made fennel fish?”

Lu Lu nodded shyly. “I picked it behind the house. And… these fish were from Uncle Dahan.”

He’d met Jiang Dahan earlier that day and had been told to call him Uncle Dahan just as Shen Ying did.

“I know,” Shen Ying said, smiling faintly. “Da Song mentioned it. Said they’d be cleaning the paddies and would save me two fish.” He placed the bowl on the table and served Lu Lu a bowl of rice. “You went out with Huai today, didn’t you? Da Song told me his brother went to find you this morning.”

Lu Lu nodded again. After a moment’s thought, he decided not to mention the unpleasant encounter at the pond. Instead, he said, “Huai came to ask me to go wash clothes, and he brought rice cakes his mother made.”

“Ah, her rice cakes are good,” Shen Ying said, smiling. “I had two pieces myself. Huai’s a straightforward boy—blunt sometimes, but kindhearted. If you ever need help, you can count on him.”

Lu Lu smiled softly. “He’s very nice.”

“I knew you two would get along.” Shen Ying picked out a tender piece of fish belly, free of bones, and placed it in Lu Lu’s bowl. “Uncle Dahan raises good fish. Eat more.”

The freshly cooked fish was silky and tender, the broth fragrant and rich. Each bite carried the herbal freshness of fennel and the numbing scent of peppercorns. It was exquisite.

Before long, Shen Ying had eaten two full bowls of rice.

Lu Lu had worried he might dislike the fennel, but seeing him eat so heartily, his unease melted away.

Then he remembered the plan to till the land and plant vegetables. Since Shen Ying was going into the city tomorrow, he wanted to ask him to buy a hoe—but didn’t quite know how to bring it up.

Noticing his hesitation, Shen Ying paused with his chopsticks. “What’s wrong?”

Lu Lu bit his lip and thought for a moment before speaking. “Auntie asked Huai to bring me two bags of vegetable seeds today. She said when it’s time to till the soil, she’ll send Brother Jiang and Uncle Dahan to help.”

Shen Ying nodded. “Da Song mentioned that too. I’ll buy a hoe in the city tomorrow.” His gaze softened as he added, “Next time, just tell me directly what you need—or better yet, come with me. The money’s with you anyway. Buy whatever you like.”

Lu Lu blinked, momentarily stunned, his heart fluttering with a quiet thrill. He had never once been to the city in his entire life.

But remembering that all that silver came from Shen Ying’s hard work, he lowered his eyes and hid the flicker of excitement. “There’s nothing I need,” he murmured.

“Hair ribbons, rouge, hairpins—whatever you want,” Shen Ying said with a faint smile. “We’ll see once we get there.”

But as he spoke, he was already making plans in his head. After selling the game tomorrow, he would visit the fabric shop in town—and buy several fine pieces of cloth to make his husband a few new sets of clothes.