Chapter Five: Ignorant of Progress

At that moment, an old woman emerged from the side room.

“Who is this, making such a scene in my house—crying, shouting, threatening to hang yourself? Was your daughter raised for nothing? If you ask me, it’s your son who’s been a waste!” The old woman shot a fierce glare at Han Qing before stepping up to Han’s mother.

“In-law, have you come again hoping Iron Ox will give you some money? His silver doesn’t grow on trees, you know. As for your boy, Han, all he’s good at is drinking in brothels—he hasn’t earned a single title to his name.”

Hearing her in-law’s words, Han’s mother’s face flushed blue and red. There was no denying her own son had been a disappointment.

“I’m just a country woman, but I know a married daughter is like water thrown out—gone for good. You running to your daughter’s house every day, borrowing money, isn’t proper at all!”

Han’s mother wanted to retort, but glancing at the old woman’s face, she swallowed her words.

Liu Dazhu’s face darkened as well. He barked at his wife, “Why are you standing there? Go make lunch! I still have to earn silver for you women today.”

Han Qing watched his sister, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes, and stood rooted to the spot, a heaviness settling in his heart.

Han Yuru hurried into the kitchen, leaving behind only a forlorn sigh.

“Mother, brother-in-law’s family has a hard life too. Let’s go home.” Han Qing knew both his sister and brother-in-law struggled to get by; he did not wish to trouble them further.

Han’s mother sighed deeply, nodded, and followed her son toward home.

As they walked down the village path, they passed fields where people were already at work. Though the early spring air still held a chill, it was the season when grass grew and orioles sang.

“Qing’er, there’s nothing more I can do. Your sister’s family isn’t well-off either. You must be more understanding of her,” Han’s mother said.

Han Qing felt a pang of guilt. The Han family’s decline was, after all, his fault.

He let out a long sigh, deciding to sell the old books in his study tomorrow—at least it might help with household expenses.

While Han Qing was lost in his troubles, Jiang Xiuxiu called him for supper.

To his surprise, there was a hint of minced meat at dinner. Han’s mother and Jiang Xiuxiu put all the meat into Han Qing’s bowl.

“Husband, this is all the meat we have left. Tomorrow, I’ll take on more work and earn a little more silver,” Jiang Xiuxiu said, her expression apologetic.

Han Qing’s heart warmed at her words. He remembered how the old Han Qing had treated his wife, yet Jiang Xiuxiu always thought of him first, even if it was only a mouthful of meat.

This kindness moved Han Qing deeply.

He divided the meat in his bowl into three portions. Though each of them would only taste a single bite, he still felt a sense of happiness.

“Let’s eat together!”

“Qing’er, you’re in the midst of your studies for the imperial exams. You should eat well. I’ll pass on the meat—let you and Xiuxiu have it,” his mother said.

Jiang Xiuxiu also tried to offer the meat from her bowl to Han Qing. “I don’t want it either. I don’t like eating meat.”

But Han Qing pressed her hand down firmly.

“Mother, the exams are important, but a man must build a family before he builds a career. Now that I have you and my wife, this is what a real home means.”

At these words, Jiang Xiuxiu trembled. Since marrying into the Han family, her husband had never truly looked at her, let alone shared a bed on their wedding night. She had remained untouched, keeping the lonely bridal chamber to herself, with no one to confide in.

At first, she hadn’t minded, but when her husband would rather spend the night at the Drunken Red Pavilion than come to her room, she began to feel a deep sense of inferiority.

Yet at this moment, Han Qing’s words touched her heart—this feeling of being cared for was something she hadn’t experienced in years.

Jiang Xiuxiu twisted her hands, unsure what to do.

“Mother, look how thin Xiuxiu has become—how can she give our family a healthy son like this? We should focus on nursing her back to health.”

After a moment’s thought, Han’s mother nodded. Xiuxiu was indeed much thinner than when she’d first arrived. In this state, she certainly wouldn’t be able to bear a plump grandson.

After dinner, when Jiang Xiuxiu moved to clear the dishes, Han Qing stopped her.

“Let me do it. Your hands are meant for silk and satin—if they get rough, you’ll have to pay for the damage.”

Jiang Xiuxiu froze in place, bewildered by her husband’s sudden concern.

“Husband, you’re a scholar. How can you do such menial work? Let me—this has always been my job.”

But Han Qing gently guided his wife aside and began washing the dishes himself.

Jiang Xiuxiu stood behind him, watching as he squatted and scrubbed. A strange emotion welled up inside her.

Bathed in the shifting moonlight, the two of them looked like a scholar and his beloved.

When everything was tidied away, they returned to the inner room. Han Qing suddenly remembered the cloth he had bought.

“My dear—”

But the moment he called out to Jiang Xiuxiu, she startled so badly she nearly fell to her knees. Han Qing reacted quickly, catching her in his arms.

“Did I frighten you?” he asked.

Jiang Xiuxiu’s face flushed crimson. She shook her head slightly, looking even more bashful in the candlelight.

Han Qing gazed at her, his heart stirred. He had a lovely, gentle wife at home—why had he ever wasted his time with those painted women at the Drunken Red Pavilion? How foolish he had been.

Suddenly, he realized he was still holding her and let go in haste. Jiang Xiuxiu, cheeks burning, lowered her head and hurried into the bedroom.

Unable to sleep, Han Qing spent the late night sorting through his storybooks in the study. He would sell them tomorrow to ease the family’s immediate needs. The next provincial exam was a year away, and most of these books were just tales—he would not regret parting with them.

After he’d finished, he noticed a light still burning in the bedroom.

Entering quietly, he saw Jiang Xiuxiu had already fallen asleep. On the table lay a patched purple gauze dress. Han Qing picked it up and examined it, noticing tiny spots of blood on the fabric—doubtless where she had pricked her hand with the needle. He sighed and moved to sit by the bed.

He sensed her body trembling, stiff with a desire to escape.

Han Qing made no move, but gently tucked the blanket around her.

“If you’re not ready, I won’t force you. When you truly wish, when your heart is willing to accept me, then I’ll come and sleep in this room.”

He wasn’t sure if he was saying this to himself or to Jiang Xiuxiu.

It seemed he would be sleeping in the study tonight.

With a yawn, weary from the day’s troubles, Han Qing left. He still had important matters to handle tomorrow—better not to push his luck tonight.

He left Jiang Xiuxiu lying alone, her mind swirling with thoughts.