Eighteen, Adorable

At night, the woman prepared a table full of delicacies from the mountains. Living by the mountain and the sea, they naturally relied on the bounty of the stream and fish ponds nearby. The woman was an expert in the kitchen; it didn’t take long for the house to fill with the inviting aroma of food. When she lifted the lid, steam billowed out, revealing a dish of sweet and sour fish and another of dried silverfish, both perfectly cooked atop the rice.

Yingshi, reluctant to trouble their host any further, slipped on her shoes and went to help carry the dishes. She saw the aunt deftly lift the sweet and sour fish with her hands, so Yingshi imitated her and picked up the plate of dried silverfish. Her hands were naturally cool; at first, she felt only a bit of heat, nothing unbearable. Yet after taking a few steps, the plate grew increasingly hot, searing her palm like an iron brand. She wanted to turn back, but the stove was already too far. She had no choice but to bite her lip and, with a pained expression, carry the plate to the table.

Fortunately, Liang Yun noticed her discomfort from afar, guessed the cause, and hurried over to take the dish from her hands. The ordeal was finally over.

“Careful, it’s hot…” she breathed a sigh of relief, intending to warn Liang Yun, but he had already placed the dish on the table.

Yingshi quickly puffed her cheeks and blew on her pinkened fingertips. Her hands were slender and fair, her nails grown out half an inch, the palms upturned to reveal rosy pads. Each fingertip was pink and rounded—who knew whether it was their natural color or the result of the burn?

Though she wore no rouge, her hands possessed a seductive beauty that made hearts skip a beat. Liang Yun glanced away, handed her a teacup filled with cool water, and told her to hold it.

“To soothe the burn,” he said.

Yingshi lowered her gaze to the cup; the water’s surface rippled with her breath. She blinked and felt the heat in her fingertips slowly dissipate. It was a simple remedy, but effective.

She suddenly smiled, her eyes curving into crescent moons, clear and alluring as if filled with spring water. Two shallow dimples appeared on her cheeks, making her adorably charming.

Liang Yun lowered his eyelids and took a sip of tea.

The woman’s husband had passed away years before. Her daughter had married into the neighboring village, and her son worked in town, rarely coming home. Usually, she lived alone.

Tonight, she welcomed Yingshi and Liang Yun, and happened to have a spare bedroom for them.

Liang Yun seemed not to care for fish, so Yingshi and the aunt polished off two bowls of fish between them.

After eating, exhaustion overtook Yingshi; she fell into a deep sleep the moment her head touched the pillow.

The two rooms were separated by only a wall. Liang Yun lay with his eyes closed, yet he could clearly hear every breath from the next room.

After two nights spent together, Liang Yun felt he knew her well. When she slept deeply, her breathing was heavier, as if a child with a stuffy nose. From the rhythm, Liang Yun could tell she was sleeping soundly tonight—unlike the nightmares of the previous night.

He hoped she would sleep peacefully until dawn.

During the day, the villagers’ words left Liang Yun uneasy. He was never indecisive, yet tonight, a few comments from others made him hesitate.

He argued with himself: perhaps he could find a child who had lost both parents for her to raise. That way, she wouldn’t have to worry in the future. Bringing the child up from a young age, inviting renowned tutors—how could virtue be lacking? If necessary, he could oversee the child’s education himself; under his eye, what mistake could be made? If the child proved unsuitable, he could simply find another—there was no shortage in the Liang family.

The only uncertainty was her—would she be willing to raise another’s child? She was still young and might not understand what it meant to live a lifetime without her own offspring. Would she regret her choice one day?

That night, Liang Yun tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Soon, however, he heard the familiar sound of hooves.

The reinforcements from the east arrived faster than expected. The journey had been arduous, leaving her too anxious to sleep soundly; every noise shattered her rest.

Yingshi awoke abruptly from her dreams, startled by the thunderous sounds outside, nearly jumping from her bed and rushing out barefoot.

Her hair was disheveled, flying over her shoulders as she stumbled outside. The night wind swept into her mouth and nose, and without warning, she collided into the man’s arms.

Liang Yun was already awake—or rather, he hadn’t slept at all.

He hadn’t intended to disturb her, planning to let the guards wait until she woke before departing.

But unexpectedly, she rushed into his embrace.

The moonlight illuminated his features as Liang Yun steadied her wrist, preventing her from falling.

Through the thin sleeve, the girl’s wrist was slender and soft, trembling slightly with her rapid breathing.

In her haste, she clutched his sleeve to steady herself, gripping it tightly.

“Don’t be afraid, they’ve come to fetch us,” Liang Yun said, his gaze fixed on the distant horsemen.

Yingshi, reassured, shifted her gaze from the riders to him, suddenly realizing how tall he was. She had to tilt her head to see his face in the moonlight.

Even in peril, Liang Yun exuded calm and authority, always ready to strategize.

The sound of hooves grew closer. As they approached, Yingshi could finally see the newcomers clearly—each rode a fine horse, clad in dark armor. When they drew near, they dismounted and bowed before Liang Yun.

“Master, we are late!”

A vast crowd, numbering at least several hundred.

Yingshi clutched her sleeve, slowly retreating step by step until she was far enough away from him.

Liang Yun heard the soft rustling of fabric but did not turn to look at her.

In that moment, both instinctively put distance between themselves.

These days spent together were destined to become a deeply buried secret.

...

The usually quiet, remote village had grown lively in recent days.

Women gathered by the bend of the stream, washing clothes. One sharp-eyed woman spotted Lady Fu scrubbing a large gray men’s jacket and teased her.

“Oh, Da Ya, washing your husband’s clothes so early? Men are hard on clothing—a day in the fields makes them too dirty to show.”

Another woman laughed and chimed in, “Still calling her Da Ya? She should be Lady now!”

There was little else to gossip about in the village, with only a few dozen households. Conversation always circled back to the same stories.

When it came to the man who had just married the Fu family’s daughter, the women always had much to say.

“My goodness, your man is something! He can shoot a bow and hunt deer—and he’s strong as an ox!”

“Yes! I heard he hunted a huge deer recently. That pelt alone could fetch several taels of silver at the market—several taels! My family works all year and still might not earn that much!”

Another remarked, “He seems to have forgotten his past—maybe he’s from a wealthy family! If he remembers, he’ll take you away to live in luxury!”

This sparked laughter among the group.

Fu Da Ya blushed at their words, hurriedly gathered her washbasin, and rushed home.

She happened to run into her elder brother returning on his mule.

Their late father had been well-versed in medicine, renowned in the region; many poor families sought him for help with difficult cases. Sadly, he had passed away years ago, leaving his only son to inherit his skills. Her brother was even more talented but disliked staying in the village, riding his mule off to treat patients and often disappearing for weeks.

Fu Fan saw her brother smiling—usually stingy, but in good spirits today—and asked, “You look pleased. Did you strike it rich this time?”

Her brother replied, “Not bad, really. Picked up an easy job the other day. The lady’s family was wealthy but brought no silver, so she paid me with a pair of earrings instead.”

As he spoke, footsteps sounded from the inner room.

A man in a simple gray coat bent as he stepped through the door.

Fu Fan’s eyes lit up with delight at the sight.

The man strode over, smiling, “Fan, brother, you’re back.”

His name was Aniu, a little slow-witted.

He’d been sick for so long, perhaps fever had dulled his mind, or maybe a fall had damaged it. Despite her brother’s skill, he couldn’t cure Aniu’s headaches.

“I told you, you’re not well enough to be out and about. You need to rest! Who told you to go up the mountain?” Fu Fan scolded, though she couldn’t suppress her smile.

Aniu scratched his head and smiled, “I caught two rabbits today—our meat is assured.”

He was tall and thin, and when he spoke, he liked to stare intently at people, his eyes unusually bright. His smile revealed white, even teeth—so different from the rough, yellowed teeth of common folk.

Even dressed simply in cast-off clothing, with patched trousers and short legs, he remained handsome and charming when he smiled.

Fu Fan couldn't help but feel a little proud, as if she’d found a treasure.

She eagerly shared her joy, “You should ask my brother how much silver he earned this time!”

Aniu played along, his lips curling high, giving her all the happiness she desired, “Brother, how many taels did you earn today?”

Fu Fan beamed.

“My brother is too easily fooled. He believed that lady’s claim that the ring wasn’t worth much and took these plain silver-wrapped earrings. Honestly, are they really worth fifty taels?”

Aniu glanced at the earrings in Fu Fan’s hand.

The jade beads glimmered in the sunlight, surrounded by a faint halo.

His heart, for reasons unknown, suddenly trembled.