Chapter 13: Wifey, Tomorrow I…

“Has Sister Yu An really turned good?”

Then, pitched just loud enough to carry: “She’s gotten so weird.”

Yu An’s hands seized mid-motion. She very nearly dropped the rice where she stood.

No. No way. She’d met Wu Qiuqiu exactly twice—and already spotted the seam between her and the original owner?

Then Liu Huaixu… days and days of living together. What must Liu Huaixu think of her?

Yu An slowed her hauling, deliberately, and listened for Liu Huaixu’s reaction.

“Who’s to say.” Liu Huaixu’s voice carried nothing out of the ordinary—still that flat, chilly calm—and only then did Yu An’s shoulders come down. She picked her pace back up.

Maybe the deliberateness showed anyway, because Liu Huaixu’s gaze, landing on her, softened by a degree. Yu An herself noticed nothing. Wu Qiuqiu, standing right there, noticed everything—her jaw went slack, and she tugged Liu Huaixu’s sleeve, whispering, “Sister Huaixu… do you…?”

The tug brought Liu Huaixu up short—she realized how her face had just behaved.

She knew what Wu Qiuqiu was asking. She shook her head: that is not what this means.

Only then did Wu Qiuqiu breathe out.

She drew Liu Huaixu over toward the house door—farther from Yu An, though her eyes never left her.

“Sister Huaixu… has she been like this the whole time, lately?”

Liu Huaixu considered. “Yes. The whole time.”

“Could she be… again—?”

Again hung unfinished in the air, but Liu Huaixu knew.

“Not this time.” Her voice was firm. Then, silently, she added the rest: there was nothing left in that house for Yu An to pawn.

The answer soured Wu Qiuqiu’s expression. When she looked at Yu An again, something murky had crept into her eyes.

Liu Huaixu followed her gaze, pressed her lips together, and said nothing.

Yu An, heads-down and busy, never noticed that both of them had been watching her. She just worked, and worked, and by the time she paused to rest, Wu Qiuqiu was long gone—and only Liu Huaixu stood at the door.

“Uh… she left?”

“Mm. She left.”

Relief sagged through Yu An. “So when do we eat? I’m hungry.”

“In a little while.” With that soft reply, Liu Huaixu turned back to the stove.

Dark was coming earlier and earlier. By the time Liu Huaixu finished cooking, night had all but fallen.

Yu An was starving. She watched Liu Huaixu’s busy back, agonized for a respectable interval, and then gave in: “For dinner… could we maybe have scrambled eggs again?” Her stomach chose that exact moment to growl, loud, and Yu An ducked her head, mortified, hands pressed over her belly.

It truly wasn’t her fault…

Alpha stomachs ran large by nature, and she’d put in a full day of heavy labor. Of course she was hungry.

Liu Huaixu took in the embarrassment and said, mildly, “Noted.”

But inside, the questions were compounding.

If Wu Qiuqiu hadn’t said the word weird, she might never have flagged the problem. She’d assumed it was simply Yu An trying a new trick.

But blushing over a growling stomach? That wasn’t Yu An. Not the Yu An of any age.

Even as a girl, she had never been like this.

Her thoughts had drifted clear off, and Yu An—watching her agree without moving a muscle—grew anxious and prompted her: “Could you scramble an extra egg?”

“Hm?” Liu Huaixu turned, found a face of naked expectation pointed at her, and only then remembered the eggs.

She had no idea how many eggs the house even had left, so she didn’t answer—she simply turned back inside for the oil lamp.

The silence read, to Yu An, as displeasure. She hurried after her—and before she’d crossed the threshold, Liu Huaixu whipped around, guarded as a fortress: “Don’t come in.”

Yu An, one step shy of the door, looked down at her own foot, and silently withdrew it.

Nice for five minutes, and already snapping again.

Swallowing the sting, Yu An said, “Fine—don’t be mad. I won’t eat the eggs.”

This household was poor as ash. Eggs were the one luxury Yu An dreamed about.

That, and… the pork she’d tasted exactly once.

But the family was broke and she was in debt; she hadn’t the face to bring up meat.

Liu Huaixu had already stopped listening—she’d gone for the oil lamp, and turning back, found Yu An mid-pout, mumbling away like the world’s most wronged creature.

She nearly laughed out of pure exasperation.

One egg, and the girl feared her temper? And when she’d done far, far worse—where had that fear been?

And yet, staring at that aggrieved face, Liu Huaixu concluded—yet again—that she was being much too soft.

The girl had done a morning’s work, and she’d actually caught herself feeling sorry that she’d tired herself out. Fine. Eggs to mend her strength—it was only proper.

Except the memory of Yu An nearly crossing her threshold had already dragged all the old ugliness back up.

She turned, put the oil lamp back—and when she faced Yu An again, her face had dropped several degrees colder.

The sudden chill sent Yu An’s nerves into overdrive.

“That—I—I really won’t eat the eggs!”

Liu Huaixu was beautiful, yes—and her temper was foul and her face a wall of ice. Yu An knew, knew, it was all the original owner’s fault. Knowing changed nothing. With that cold face turned on her, her heart still fluttered wrong.

Her every instinct screamed placate her. Make the ice go away.

The results, though… were not promising.

Liu Huaixu simply ignored her and walked outside. Yu An, seeing her emerge, backed up a step.

The cold wouldn’t lift, Yu An couldn’t stand it, and it occurred to her that the firewood in her room hadn’t been lit—so she went and fetched some, and got her fire going.

By the time her fire burned steady, Liu Huaixu’s dinner was ready.

And then—perhaps because Yu An had nettled her earlier—Liu Huaixu did something unasked: she gave her the coarse grain.

The big bowl held polished white rice. The small bowl, coarse brown.

The big bowl was, transparently, meant for Yu An.

The small one was Liu Huaixu’s.

And Yu An wouldn’t have dared say one word about it.

So she ate—mouthful of coarse rice, mouthful of pickle—barely touching the cabbage on the table.

Liu Huaixu didn’t care whether she ate. Head down, she worked through her own bowl.

By the time Yu An finished hers, Liu Huaixu hadn’t cleared half.

A day of labor, and that small bowl was a joke. Yu An now prayed with her whole heart that Liu Huaixu would stop eating, and surrender the rest.

Perhaps her stare ran too hot, because Liu Huaixu grew uncomfortable under it, looked up frowning, opened her mouth to scold—and found Yu An’s eyes welded to her rice bowl.

“Heh heh…” Caught, Yu An scratched her head and produced two sheepish chuckles, eyes dropping to the table.

Liu Huaixu was almost speechless at the sheer hopeless display.

Sighing inwardly, she shoveled half her own rice into Yu An’s bowl.

Yu An’s grin split her face. She seized the bowl and dug in—this time even managing a few bites of cabbage, pickles no longer her whole diet.

And she didn’t forget her thanks, saying through the food, garbled: “Shister Huaixu, thank you!”

Liu Huaixu’s eyes lifted, cold. “Swallow. And don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” Yu An set down her bowl, sincerely bewildered.

Wife—banned. Her name—banned. Sister—banned.

Wu Qiuqiu called her Sister Huaixu, and it sounded perfectly nice.

But no. Not allowed.

Yu An frowned, and reasoned with her in complete earnest: “I have to call you something, right? You’re older than me. What’s wrong with ‘Sister’?”

Liu Huaixu ate on, unhurried, her voice as rippleless as ever. “Not allowed.”

Not this. Not that.

A little sulky now, Yu An picked her bowl back up. She finished first again—she always finished first—and after setting down her bowl and chopsticks, she watched Liu Huaixu eat for a while. Then a wicked little idea lit up.

“Wifey, I saw when I was fetching the firewood—we’re running low. Tomorrow, once I finish my work, I’ll chop some more.”

The words were barely out when Liu Huaixu’s chopsticks stopped dead, her face curdling into outrage: “You—”

Here it comes, thought Yu An—not allowed—and she didn’t give her the opening. “Wifey, tomorrow—”

“Get out.”