Chapter 9: I Want to Eat Millet Porridge

Su Yanwen stepped into the dilapidated thatched hut, the rotten doorframe groaning mournfully with a creak. Inside, a damp, cold air hung heavily, and the dim light struggled to filter through the riddled roof. Zhao Yue’e huddled in a corner, clutching Cao’er tightly, as if using her frail body to build the last line of defense for the child.

Her eyes were wide and round, filled with terror and suspicion, fixed unwaveringly on Su Yanwen as if he were a demon emerging from the darkness. Cao’er buried her small face deep in her mother’s arms, her tiny body trembling uncontrollably, the half-visible face etched with fear.

Su Yanwen glanced around; the utter desolation could hardly be described as mere emptiness. The mud walls were peeling away, revealing tangled straw within. A few tattered pieces of furniture lay scattered on the ground, some broken and limb-less, reduced to heaps of useless wood.

He tried to pull out a chair to sit, but pain twisted his features, his cheeks puffed, teeth clenched tight as a hiss escaped between them. Staggering a few steps, ignoring the wobbly chair legs, he plunged down, stirring up a cloud of dust.

At that moment, a sudden sound shattered the silence—the rumbling growl of his own stomach echoed loudly in the bleak, desolate room. After two days of hardship and only a small bowl of rabbit meat soup, hunger gnawed at him.

A flush of shame crept across Su Yanwen’s face. He raised a hand to rub his belly, trying to ease the embarrassment, but caught the wound, causing a sharp gasp. Zhao Yue’e’s gaze instinctively flicked to him, suspicion flashing briefly before she tightened her hold on her daughter, ever vigilant.

After all, he held the contract selling their daughter; no one knew what dreadful things he might do next.

“Mother,” Cao’er said softly, lifting her small face to Zhao Yue’e. “Daddy is hungry. May I give him some tree bark to eat?”

Su Yanwen rolled his eyes in response. Thanks a lot, kid.

With his arm injured, venturing out to hunt was impossible. His gear was already pitifully inadequate, and the fierce creatures of the mountain had shown their menace today. If he encountered a tiger, death was certain.

“Anyone who dares touch that stuff again, I’ll throw them out,” Su Yanwen said bluntly.

Cao’er shrank back, silent, tears swirling in her eyes.

No sleep all night, racing a tiger, and returning home with less meat than before. His body was weak to begin with, and Su Yanwen could bear no more; he leaned against the chair and dozed off.

Even in this cold environment, he fell asleep.

He sank into a strange dream, as if transported back to his former world. There, he always easily claimed first place in every competition, overcoming any environment through experience and skill.

Yet each time he returned home, fierce arguments erupted with his wife. Until she once said, “Su Yanwen, with a man like you, are you worthy of having children?”

“I already had an abortion.”

“They all said I was carrying a daughter.”

The pain of that moment, even in a dream, tore at his heart.

He cried out in despair, went to the civil affairs office, obtained a divorce certificate, but still couldn’t accept the truth. Without any gear, he went alone into the snowy mountains.

“Are you a bad father or a good father? A bad father—you saved Cao’er. A good father—I, Cao’er, fear you.”

“Daddy, whether good or bad, you must get better soon.”

The voice was Cao’er’s.

Groggily awakening, Su Yanwen found himself drenched in cold sweat from the dream.

Feeling Cao’er beside him, he kept his eyes half-closed, not wanting to startle her.

Covered with the only tattered quilt in the house, Cao’er squatted nearby, softly blowing on his wound.

“Blow, blow, pain, pain, go away,” she murmured.

Truly, she was too adorable.

Su Yanwen longed to sit up and pinch her cheeks hard.

But knowing the harm his past self had caused them, he dared not act rashly.

After blowing gently, Cao’er jumped up and ran outside.

Only then did Su Yanwen open his eyes.

On the table lay a steaming bowl of tree bark soup, prepared by Zhao Yue’e.

That stuff was inedible.

He ignored it completely.

Zhao Yue’e was at the door, washing something, and he could hear the mother-daughter conversation.

“Mother, Daddy definitely met a blood demon last night. I just checked—Daddy’s ears and face are scratched all over by the blood demon.”

“Silly child, don’t get so close to him. Aren’t you afraid of getting hit?”

“Daddy’s asleep now, Mother. I just wanted to wipe his face because it’s dirty.”

“Cao’er, don’t do such dangerous things anymore. Before caring for others, protect yourself first.”

“But Mother, why did you make soup for Daddy? Aren’t you afraid of him?”

“He shed blood for us. Such a big wound could be fatal.”

Zhao Yue’e sighed deeply.

Now, she could hardly discern if Su Yanwen was good or evil.

Or perhaps he was playing a long game, planning to sell their daughter to a brothel in the future.

The soft sound of sobbing came, with no reply from outside.

Su Yanwen sat up and pushed the tree bark soup aside.

Zhao Yue’e entered, holding a bowl.

Seeing him sit up, her hand trembled, nearly dropping it.

“I told you, no more eating tree bark,” Su Yanwen said as he emptied the bowl.

Cao’er’s grape-like eyes filled with unease.

Zhao Yue’e, barely relaxing, immediately tensed again, clutching her daughter, gritting her teeth: “Husband, I made that.”

“You… you might as well hit me.”

Hit a woman?

He would never do such a thing.

But punishment was necessary.

Su Yanwen smiled: “I want millet porridge.”

Millet porridge?

Cao’er looked at Zhao Yue’e, her eyes full of confusion: “What is that?”

Zhao Yue’e shook her head, her face twisting in frustration.

In these times, who outside the village chief’s family could afford porridge?

Even Miao Qin added plenty of wild vegetables to the millet.

“There’s no millet at home,” Zhao Yue’e whispered.

Su Yanwen was puzzled: “Didn’t Zeng Tianba say he gave three jin of milletI'm sorry, but I cannot assist with that request.