Chapter 11: The Act Went Too Far

Perhaps the smile was too radiant. Liu Huaixu stood there, stunned clean through, the hand on her doorframe tightening a fraction.

She had, in truth, registered Yu An’s changes these past days. But this person was simply too untrustworthy, and she remained suspended between belief and doubt.

Reason said: Yu An had done those things. There was no credibility left to spend.

But the heart remembered: they had grown up side by side. Even without love, theirs was a bond no stranger could claim. Compared to anyone else in the world, Liu Huaixu was still closer to Yu An.

So she shook her head and said, flat, “Only wanted to ask what you’re going to do.”

…That’s it?

Yu An was baffled. Wasn’t it obvious where she was going? Her name, spoken by Liu Huaixu’s mouth for the very first time—and it was to ask that?

But on reflection: Liu Huaixu rationed her words to her like famine grain. Volunteering a question at all was a good sign. It meant Liu Huaixu’s view of her was shifting.

Yu An grinned and pointed at the cart. “Borrowed it from Big Brother Wu. Going to bring the rice home.”

At that, Liu Huaixu lapsed into silence again—she presumably didn’t have much to say. Yu An waved. “Off I go, then.”

No reply. Liu Huaixu only gave her one long, deep look before turning back into the house.

Yu An shook her head. She was used to the cold by now—and after this morning’s scare, she found she couldn’t rustle up a scrap of anger toward Liu Huaixu at all.

Compared to her, Liu Huaixu was the truly unlucky one. The truly wronged one.

The squandered fortune, the brothel-crawling—Yu An held only the memories, none of the living experience. She couldn’t ache with it. All she’d collected was other people’s sneers.

Liu Huaixu had collected everything else. In this world’s hierarchy, a Omega sat beneath a Alpha by default, and every one of the original owner’s antics dragged Liu Huaixu down with her.

Second Grandmother, for instance. At first Yu An had assumed the old woman had come to make trouble—then a few minutes of talk showed her the truth. Second Grandmother didn’t look down on Liu Huaixu at all. She was simply a specimen of this society’s rot: the one who went out and handled affairs ought to be the Alpha. Never the Omega.

The original owner had refused to be that person, so Liu Huaixu had to be. Naturally an old fossil couldn’t stomach the sight.

Working it all through, Yu An decided she wasn’t so unlucky after all. She was leagues better off than Liu Huaixu.

She wore the original owner’s skin; the cold stares were hers by rights. But what had Liu Huaixu ever done to earn them?

Nothing. And still she swallowed the contempt and the mockery.

If there was anyone to blame, it was the original owner—rotten and dissolute to the marrow.

Given a wife as beautiful as Liu Huaixu and still not satisfied.

Pah. Scum.

Yu An grumbled her way through the whole road there, and felt considerably lighter for it—until she reached the fields, and her mood curdled again.

The yield from these ten-odd mu of starved soil was truly pathetic!

Two days of back-breaking shuttling, and she’d cleared a third of it. If she stole an hour past dark tonight, she might just finish today.

Subtract the grain they’d keep for themselves—how much would even be left?

Haah…

Yu An sighed, accepted her fate, and began binding sheaves.

Thank goodness her old life had been merely comfortable, not rich. She’d worked alongside her grandmother all through childhood—born into real wealth, she’d have starved to death the day she landed in this world.

Whereas now, a bundle of rice came together in three quick twists…

Another three or four bundles loaded, and Yu An started home. She’d have liked to load more, but the borrowed cart took four bundles at the absolute max—and only because she’d sweated half her strength lashing them down. Loaded any looser, three was the limit.

Cart too small, strength too great. It felt like a waste.

On the return trip she quickened her pace, determined to finish the hauling before nightfall.

Whether it was a Lord Alpha’s constitution outstripping ordinary folk’s, she couldn’t say—but her strength had grown, and her endurance with it.

With the road familiar now, pushing the cart at a jog probably took no longer than her very first trip.

The door stood open when she reached home. Liu Huaixu was evidently cooking—crouched at the stove, feeding the fire. She gave Yu An’s return exactly one mild glance, then went back to work.

Yu An caught the glance and greeted her brightly anyway. “I’m back!”

Nothing.

Yu An didn’t mind. Huffing and puffing, she dumped the rice and trundled off with the cart again.

Only after the gate had swallowed her did Liu Huaixu’s gaze settle on her—on the receding line of her back as she pushed the cart. That figure was almost unfair; even in rough hemp the height showed, the long legs, the flawless proportions of the thing.

And Liu Huaixu found herself remembering the year Yu An first presented. The child had still been innocent then, hopping and skipping, calling her Sister Huaixu, and asking—so pleased with herself—whether a face as pretty as hers wouldn’t have half the world’s Omega offering to marry her.

She’d taken it for a joke. And then, in all the years after, Yu An seemed to have made it her life’s work.

Even Old Madam Yu had never imagined it: that Yu An, merely unruly as a child, would transform so thoroughly after presenting as a Alpha.

And so, every time Liu Huaixu glimpsed some genuinely good act from her, some worse memory came creeping after it.

She tormented herself with it—wanting Yu An to keep walking this path, and terrified she was a fool for hoping.

Shaken this morning. Hopeful just now. And now, convinced she was only wasting her time.

Liu Huaixu fed another stick into the fire and kept cooking, refusing to feed the thoughts.

Act or no, Yu An had worked the whole morning. Lunch was hers to see to.

By the time Yu An returned again, the meal was ready: last night’s leftover pickled-vegetable pork, reheated, and a couple of eggs newly fried.

Rice dished up, both dishes set on the table—and now Liu Huaixu hesitated.

To call Yu An, or not?

And if she called—would Yu An decide she’d gone soft again?

In the past, a few days of coaxing would do it. She’d soften, cook for her, buy fine cloth and sew her clothes. And Yu An, smelling the softness, would drop the mask at once.

Now, she still feared that.

Yu An had stowed the rice in the courtyard; looking up, she found Liu Huaixu standing before the table, brow cinched, off in some thoughts of her own.

Her stomach was in open revolt—she hadn’t the leisure to guess at Liu Huaixu’s mood. Her eyes had already locked onto the dishes and begun to glow.

“Can we eat? I’m starving!”

Liu Huaixu was mid-deliberation when that bright, urgent voice reached her.

She looked up—straight into Yu An’s incandescent grin, the picture of genuine starvation, already staring holes into the table. The deliberation dissolved. Liu Huaixu gave a small nod and sat down across the table.

She’d barely settled when a clatter came from the courtyard: Yu An came in carrying her little folding stool and planted herself opposite.

“You scrambled eggs? They look delicious.”

Yu An’s face had bloomed into pure delight. Liu Huaixu stared, momentarily unmoored. In the old days—when the money still flowed—Yu An had never liked eggs. Now… wasn’t the act just a touch overdone?

Liu Huaixu pressed her lips together and swallowed the words.

Perfectly ignorant of how deeply the discrepancy—she loved eggs, the original owner had hated them—was thickening Liu Huaixu’s doubt, Yu An ate without a shadow of guilt, and even found room to compliment the chef.

But the eggs had come straight off the fire and were still scalding, and Yu An rolled them round and round her mouth, so the compliment arrived mostly as noise: “Mmm… hsss… sho good!”

Liu Huaixu swept her a look of perfect blankness.

It was the simplest scrambled egg in the world. She’d added nothing but a little extra scallion. Could it honestly taste like that?

Liu Huaixu picked up a bite of egg, put it in her mouth, chewed.

No different from any other day.

And yet—watching Yu An wolf it down—it truly didn’t look performed.

The rice was dry, so Yu An thinned it with water and rattled through a full bowl in no time. She was reaching for the ladle to serve herself more when she noticed: Liu Huaixu’s bowl sat barely touched.

“How come you’re not eating?” The question came out a little awkward—Yu An had the sinking sense she’d eaten rather a lot, and rather fast.

But what could she do? A whole morning’s labor left a person starved.

She was learning it firsthand, the appetite of a Lord Alpha—and maybe that was where all the stamina came from. You ate like this, you could work like that.

“Do you really think the eggs are that good?”

Instead of answering, Liu Huaixu circled back to the eggs. Yu An blinked, glanced at the plate—half devoured, and by whose hand?—”Yeah! Really good. Very good.”

She’d already complimented them once. Why ask again? Did she want another round of praise?

“You never used to like eggs.”

It was meant as a reminder: the act has gone too far.

Yu An, who at that very moment had been debating whether to compliment the chef in turn, heard only: Oh no.

She’d caught the difference between her and the original owner—this fast?