Chapter 5: Stay Away From Me

In the original, Liu Huaixu had also been “conquered” by the original owner in the end—and still left with the Jieyuan.

But judging by Liu Huaixu’s attitude now, Yu An couldn’t fathom how any conquering had ever been possible.

Liu Huaixu’s hostility toward the original owner was simply immense. By Yu An’s count since arriving in this world, they’d exchanged words only a handful of times—and every exchange had sounded roughly like this.

Today’s accusation was selling the house. The previous two had been brothels and gambling dens.

Oh, and selling the chickens.

Yu An couldn’t understand it. With things this bad, why was Liu Huaixu still wearing herself out sharing this crumbling mud house with her?

She wasn’t the original owner, after all. Yu An had done nothing wrong, and just carrying the labels of “scumbag” and “wastrel” already grated. These past days she’d been extremely attentive, helping Liu Huaixu with everything—when Liu Huaixu planted, she tagged along; when Liu Huaixu tended the plants, she tagged along too.

So how, after days of this, could Liu Huaixu still talk to her the same way?

Yu An, who felt she’d been currying favor nonstop lately, finally developed a bit of a temper under this repeated badgering.

“I just thought it was cold and wanted you to come inside. Why are you snapping at me?”

Yu An’s face was the picture of grievance—and that, oddly, startled Liu Huaixu.

Those dashing brows only ever knotted when she failed to wheedle money out of anyone. One sarcastic remark, and now they were knotted tighter than ever?

Liu Huaixu stood before the house, unmoving, waiting to see if Yu An’s mask would crack. But the longer she waited, the more aggrieved Yu An seemed—looking for all the world as if she were the one being bullied.

Neither spoke. Liu Huaixu had no interest in wasting time on her.

The autumn harvest was upon her; she needed to eat early and get to the fields. The food was last night’s leftovers, reheated simply, gone in a few mouthfuls. She pocketed a steamed bun for later, in case hunger struck.

Through all of this, Liu Huaixu never once looked at Yu An. Only when she stepped out the door did Yu An finally move—grabbing a steamed bun for herself and trailing along behind.

Once the gate was locked, Liu Huaixu’s eyes settled on Yu An. She said nothing, but Yu An read her perfectly: Why are you following me?

“I want to come work with you.”

“?” Liu Huaixu’s brow creased, and she looked her up and down.

Yu An followed her gaze down at herself. Nothing wrong with this outfit… right?

Ever since Liu Huaixu’s remarks about her clothes that day, Yu An had dug hemp garments out of her own room—much the same fabric as Liu Huaixu’s, just a different color: hers dark gray, Liu Huaixu’s pale blue-green.

As her eyes moved to Liu Huaixu herself, it dawned on Yu An: the missing piece was the sickle!

“Hold on—I’ll grab a sickle and come work the fields with you.”

“Gate” was generous—it was a crude barrier of branches, and the “lock” a length of chain. Yu An undid it at random, rummaged through the yard, and after a long search turned up a rusted sickle.

Yu An looked at the sickle in Liu Huaixu’s hand outside the gate, then at the one in her own, and asked, baffled, “Is yours the only usable one in the house?”

Raised in the countryside since childhood, Yu An still had some common sense. What farming household had only one sickle to its name?

Her bafflement, in Liu Huaixu’s eyes, was a loaded question asked in bad faith.

She was the only one in the house who worked, so naturally the one usable sickle was hers. The other was rusted, and Liu Huaixu couldn’t fix it.

So she kept her face cold and said nothing.

Yu An waited a while, got no answer, and understood there wouldn’t be one. Liu Huaixu truly was exactly her type—just far too cold.

Colder than she’d even imagined.

“I’ll just sharpen it. Won’t take a minute.”

Yu An found a stone in the yard, sprinkled some water on it, and in a few brisk strokes had the rusted sickle gleaming. At the gate, she locked up again, then grinned at Liu Huaixu. “Let’s go!”

Two steps down the road, she realized Liu Huaixu hadn’t moved. Yu An turned back, puzzled. “What’s wrong?” What she really meant was now what?—what more did this woman want from her?

The woman had snarled accusations of troublemaking at her; she hadn’t held it against her. Now she was making every effort to be good, and still the cold shoulder?

Yu An turned back and took her hand, saying gently, “Come on, sister, let’s go work.”

Liu Huaixu’s hand whipped free, her gaze unreadable.

Though she didn’t understand, Yu An let it go. “Come on, then.”

This time, Liu Huaixu moved, following behind her.

That “sister” just now had made Liu Huaixu’s mind drift—back a dozen-odd years, to the first time she’d ever met Yu An.

Back then, Yu An had been an innocent, carefree child, peeking out from behind Old Madam Yu, calling to her in that soft, sweet voice: “Big sister.”

Liu Huaixu was five years older. She’d played with her since they were small, watched the innocent child differentiate into a Alpha—and then turn into whatever she was now.

Tall and long-limbed, dashing and proud, never again calling her “big sister” in that soft little voice.

Walking ahead, Yu An came to a fork in the road and, unsure which way to go, turned to ask Liu Huaixu—catching her mid-daze.

Lost in those memories, Liu Huaixu’s face was utterly relaxed—no usual frost, no furrow between her fine brows. Beyond the coldness lingered a trace of tenderness. Yu An caught it and assumed her words had gotten through—that Liu Huaixu was starting to believe in her.

Her gaze dropped. Liu Huaixu was swinging the sickle absently—afraid she’d cut herself, Yu An reached out quickly to steady it…

“What are you doing?” That one gesture alone, and the flicker of tenderness vanished from Liu Huaixu’s face, her eyes blazing.

For a moment, Yu An felt rather awkward. She explained, “You were off somewhere. I was afraid the blade would cut you.”

“I was not.”

Face frozen, Liu Huaixu strode past her toward the left fork.

Behind her, Yu An curled her lip and muttered, “Ice block.” Then she followed.

The family’s dozen-odd mu of poor fields sat in an out-of-the-way spot, nearly past the edge of Zeyuan Village. In her days here, this was the farthest Yu An had ever walked.

Passing all those fields earlier, Yu An had several times wanted to ask Liu Huaixu: are we there yet?

But Liu Huaixu marched on, head down, showing no sign of stopping, so Yu An swallowed the question and kept following.

Without a watch or a phone, Yu An’s sense of time wasn’t precise—but this felt like quite a long walk. She stopped and asked, “Sis, how much farther? It’s been almost half an hour, hasn’t it?”

Farmland was rarely right next to home, but this far?

It wasn’t that she was tired—just that trudging on and on with no end in sight was maddening. That was why she’d asked.

But to her surprise, Liu Huaixu didn’t even turn her head. Her reply was ice: “Don’t call me sister.”

A few steps later, Liu Huaixu stopped and looked back. “What is a ‘half hour’?”

“Uh…”

Yu An scratched her head. It had slipped out in the moment.

“It’s… about two quarter-hours’ worth?” Yu An’s tone was uncertain.

“Not yet.” Liu Huaixu’s answer was clipped; she clearly had no interest in more talk. Seeing that Yu An hadn’t answered her own earlier question, she didn’t press it either—just turned and kept walking.

Yu An was, in truth, thick-skinned and endlessly curious.

She’d dodged Liu Huaixu’s question; Liu Huaixu hadn’t pressed. Her mind circled back to the “sister” business, and she hurried to catch up. “Then why can’t I call you sister?”

Liu Huaixu was five years older—what was wrong with “sister”?

Stopping, Liu Huaixu shot her a sidelong look, unable to tell whether she was playing dumb or genuinely oblivious.

“On paper, we are wives. You shouldn’t be calling me sister.”

And beyond that, Liu Huaixu had no wish to be called “sister” by the Yu An of today.

Those memories of Yu An’s childhood just now—the more adorable the child had been, the more hateful the grown woman was.

Yu An hadn’t expected that to be the reason. As Liu Huaixu walked off, she fell in step again, shameless as ever. “Then what should I call you? Wife?”

“…” Liu Huaixu ignored her.

She didn’t even spare her a glance.

Finding no fun in it, Yu An behaved herself and walked on in silence.

Before long, the two of them arrived at a stretch of wasteland. And it was called wasteland for a reason…

It was truly desolate.

On the way, they’d passed those vast stretches of golden fields, and Yu An had assumed Zeyuan Village sat on good land—the rice growing beautifully everywhere.

But now… this patchy mess, some stalks half-grown and dead, drained her spirit just to look at.

“What happened to these paddies?”

A dozen-odd mu of poor land yielded less than four or five mu of good fields. Liu Huaixu understood the question perfectly—and found it pointless.

Why did they call it “poor land” if not for its meager harvest?

In years past, all the Yu family’s fields had been good ones. The few times the original owner had laid eyes on them, they’d been gold, every grain plump. Surprise at seeing such barren ground now was only natural.

But she was the one who’d gambled the fields away—and she had the nerve to ask what happened?

“Drought.”

Liu Huaixu’s answer was terse. Yu An understood it—and still had questions. “But the paddies up ahead all looked fine to me?”

Liu Huaixu, already preparing to start work, took the question as asked in bad faith and ignored her.

Yu An didn’t press. Instead she looked around.

One look, and she got it.

Rice being rice, water was everything. Most of the fields up ahead sat closer to the Zeyuan River, and people had built small weirs and sluice gates for them. Ample rain plus rich soil—naturally, the crops thrived.

But this dozen-odd mu of poor land sat at the very edge of Zeyuan Village. Whatever water reached here simply wasn’t enough.

Yu An sighed softly, feeling the weight of making a living.

While she mused, Liu Huaixu hadn’t been idle—by Yu An’s rough estimate, she’d already cut half a mu.

How so fast?

Because this land produced less than half a mu’s worth of grain per mu—what Liu Huaixu had harvested so far didn’t even match a quarter of good land’s yield.

Sighing again, Yu An set to cutting rice as well. Strong and fast, she caught up to Liu Huaixu in no time.

Though Liu Huaixu didn’t look over, she knew Yu An had started working. She lifted her head to tell her to stop playing around—and found Yu An’s form more professional than her own, her sickle strokes positively precise.

Liu Huaixu lacked strength. Easy stalks went smoothly enough, but tough ones took several strokes to sever. Yu An, meanwhile—blade falls, rice falls. And the sheaves were laid out perfectly neat.

Liu Huaixu was somewhat dumbfounded. She had practically watched Yu An grow up—pampered from birth, never having done a day of this kind of work.

Then how…

Utterly unaware that she’d given herself away, Yu An noticed Liu Huaixu had stopped—and stopped too, asking with concern, “What is it? Are you tired?”

Liu Huaixu pressed her lips together and said nothing.

“I’m stronger—I work faster. Go rest.”

Yu An could clearly see the thin sheen of sweat on Liu Huaixu’s brow—she had to be tiring. Glancing up, Yu An found the sun rather fierce.

It was autumn now: cool mornings and evenings, heat building toward midday. She couldn’t read the time here, but if it was getting hot, noon had to be close.

She fished out her steamed bun and offered it. “Hungry? Have some.”

Truthfully, Yu An didn’t like steamed buns—dry and flavorless. But they certainly filled you up. A whole bun followed by one big gulp of water, and you’d be stuffed for certain.

But Liu Huaixu was neither hungry nor tired. She simply found Yu An strange.

All these years, she had lived on a cycle: hope for Yu An, then disappointment, again and again. Last year’s affairs had snuffed that hope out completely.

Now that she was acting so normal, it only unnerved her.

Because she couldn’t tell what Yu An was playing at.

Taking the bun, Liu Huaixu considered a moment, then asked anyway: “How do you know how to do this work? And… why are you doing all this?”

Yu An, about to head back to the rows, was stopped dead—stumped.

Right. She had no idea whether the original owner could even do farm work. She’d just charged in without thinking.

She plopped down on the ground, laid the sickle beside her, and tried to think of a good answer.

What she didn’t know was that this brief pause was all Liu Huaixu needed to fill in the blanks herself: another excuse, another lie in the making.

Liu Huaixu’s eyes fell. She had to admit it, even now: some unrealistic little hopes for Yu An still flickered in her—the wish that she might change for the better. But it seemed Yu An had only found a new way to be the same.

“If you won’t say, then don’t.” Liu Huaixu’s voice was cold as she handed the bun back.

Liu Huaixu was five years older than Yu An. Omega her own age had children old enough to help in the fields already. And her?

She spent every day humoring a fully grown child—dreading the next disaster, dreading she’d gamble away the last of everything they had. Living on tenterhooks, day after day.

It was exhausting. Truly exhausting.

In truth, Yu An had paused only briefly. Not long at all.

But Liu Huaixu was too sensitive to it.

By the time she’d worked out her answer, Liu Huaixu was already bent to her task again, face colder than ever. Yu An shivered—the brutal sun itself seemed to have been frightened off by that chill.

“What’s the matter?”

“…” Liu Huaixu didn’t answer, already lowering her head to work.

This coldness was somehow different from before. Yu An thought it over, then asked, “Are you upset with me?”

Bent over her work, Liu Huaixu froze. Those lovely eyes blinked—then, awkwardly, she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

The late-morning sun was strong now, its light almost glaring on Liu Huaixu. Yu An squinted at the sight—and her heart gave two loud thumps. She clapped a hand over her chest, feeling oddly guilty.

Her eyes stayed glued to Liu Huaixu all the same.

Perhaps sensing the gaze, Liu Huaixu turned her face toward her.

That gaze burned hotter than the sun. Liu Huaixu had no choice but to look back—and looking only infuriated her further.

Her hand flew to the back of her neck on instinct. The suppressant salve there had half-melted in the sun—and if she sniffed hard, even she could catch that faint cold fragrance.

A flash of mortified anger crossed her eyes, her voice carrying more heat than usual. “Stay away from me.”

That heat was the heat of fury and shame.

Yu An had no clue what she’d done. Seeing Liu Huaixu snap at her, she assumed she’d angered her by not answering sooner, and rushed to explain: “I… I watched you cut a few stalks and picked it up. Besides, I’m a Alpha—I’m strong.”

That was the answer Yu An had worked out while sitting there, and the logic held up.

As the primary laborers, Alpha naturally had a talent for such work; Liu Huaixu wouldn’t question it.

But she had no idea that Liu Huaixu’s suspicions had long since moved past how she’d learned to work so neatly.

Now, that flirtatious gesture of hers had called Widow Cui to mind.

“Stay away from me.” Liu Huaixu said it again—and flung the very sickle Yu An had been using far from her.

“I don’t care what you’re scheming, but I’ll tell you plainly: there is nothing left in this house for you to ruin. This grain is little, but it’s what we need for winter. Don’t you dare get ideas about anything.” Including me. Don’t get ideas about me either.

Yu An, who’d rather prided herself on her recent behavior, was genuinely angered by Liu Huaixu’s vicious tone and glare.

The original owner had been scummy and rotten—nothing she could do about that. But if she wanted to live here now, she had to change things. Why wouldn’t Liu Huaixu give her the chance?

At the thought, her own tone soured.

“Everyone says it’s never too late to turn back. So why won’t you give me even the slightest chance to change?”

Hearing Yu An blame her, Liu Huaixu nearly laughed in fury.

As if she were the one withholding chances? It was Yu An who never wanted—never deigned to want—the chances she’d been given.

Liu Huaixu refused to quarrel. She didn’t take the bait, just lowered her head and kept working.

This only enraged the aggrieved Yu An further. She’d never suffered such wrong in her life. If she didn’t get this straight with Liu Huaixu, she wouldn’t rest easy.

She couldn’t change the past—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t change what came after!

She grabbed Liu Huaixu’s arm to stop her working, chin jutting stubbornly. “I’ve been working seriously these past days. Can’t you see any of it?”

“Working seriously??”

Yu An nodded. “Yes.”

That righteous answer sent Liu Huaixu’s fury spiking, her voice dropping another degree colder. “Working seriously—and still finding time to make eyes at Widow Cui? I have told you over and over: no carrying on like that in the village.”

“I wasn’t making eyes at anyone!”

“Then explain the silver bracelet on Widow Cui’s wrist. If it wasn’t a gift from you, then what?”