Guo Fucheng led the way up the muddy path. Li Wei, still inhabiting the delicate body of Shen Xiu, found the effort surprisingly taxing. She observed her surroundings with a sharp, professional eye. The village, nestled in a valley, was poor but not destitute. The fields were well-tended, and the stone walls surrounding the small plots were sturdy. It spoke of hard labor and discipline qualities Li Wei respected.
Fucheng's home sat slightly apart from the main cluster of houses, built against the hillside. It was a simple, single-story structure of dried mud bricks and a thick, thatched roof, anchored by a small but well-built stone courtyard. A few chickens scratched at the packed earth.
"This is it," Fucheng announced quietly as he opened the wooden gate. He paused, gesturing toward the interior with his rough, calloused hand. "It is not a scholar's dwelling. But it is ours, and it is safe."
Li Wei stepped into the courtyard. The air immediately smelled cleaner of fresh straw and sun-warmed earth. She noticed the details: a wooden bucket meticulously filled with rainwater, a stack of firewood split and organized neatly by size, and a modest kitchen area with a large, clay stove and a single iron wok. The organization was impeccable.
"The room on the left is the bedroom," Fucheng continued, keeping a respectful distance. "I cleaned it. I will take the small storage room next to the kitchen for now. Until you decide otherwise."
Decide otherwise? He was giving her agency, something her biological family had ruthlessly denied the original Shen Xiu. Li Wei felt a flicker of surprise mixed with her lingering resentment.
"Where are your family members?" she asked, her voice regaining a little of its habitual firmness. "Does your mother or father live here?"
Fucheng cleared his throat, his gaze drifting to the ground. "They passed a few years ago. I live alone. It is only us here now, Xiu'er."
Xiu'er. The diminutive, intimate address felt strange on the tongue of this large, stoic man.
She walked straight to the kitchen area. To a culinary expert, this was a battlefield, and she immediately began taking stock of her weapons. There were sacks of rice and millet, a basket of sweet potatoes, some dried beans, and a large jar of what smelled like homemade soy sauce and rice wine.
"Where is the well?" she asked, turning to him.
"Just outside the main gate, down the path a little," Fucheng replied. "I need to get the buffalo settled. Are you hungry? I can boil some water for rice gruel."
Li Wei shook her head. "I will cook," she stated, her tone decisive. This was the one thing she knew how to control, the one way she could assert her true self. "Show me the well. I need water, and I need to clean the wok."
Fucheng looked genuinely startled, then a slow, cautious smile touched his lips ,a handsome, open smile that briefly transformed his weathered face. "The well is safe. I will carry the water for you. You are exhausted."
Before she could object, he had snatched a yoke and two buckets and was heading for the gate. She watched him go, a strange mix of annoyance and gratitude settling in her chest.
He returned quickly, setting the brimming buckets down without a splash. Li Wei immediately set to work. She began by cleaning the clay stove, adjusting the vents, and laying kindling. Then, she scoured the iron wok until it gleamed. Fucheng watched her, leaning against the doorframe, silent but attentive.
"Do you have any ginger or scallions?" she asked without looking up.
"In the little patch by the wall," he said, pushing himself off the doorframe. "I will pick them."
Within half an hour, Li Wei had transformed their meager supplies. Instead of plain gruel, she quickly fried some millet with a few shreds of dried pork she found, adding the fragrant ginger and scallions for color and scent. She broke two chicken eggs likely meant for sale into a bowl and whipped them into a simple, fluffy omelet, expertly cooked in the seasoned wok.
The resulting meal was simple, rustic, yet packed with flavor and nourishing warmth. She served it on two cracked earthenware bowls.
Fucheng sat opposite her on the low stool. He stared at the food,the golden-brown fried millet, the light, airy eggs with an expression of awe. He had clearly expected something bland and functional.
He didn't speak. He simply picked up his chopsticks and took a bite of the millet. His eyes widened slightly. He looked at the food, then at her, his expression radiating pure, uncomplicated appreciation.
"This is..." he began, then paused, swallowing. "This is the best food I have ever tasted, Xiu'er. Truly. Thank you."
It was a simple compliment from a simple man, but it landed with a surprising weight on Li Wei's modern heart. It wasn't the polite praise she was used to from high-society dinners; it was honest, visceral gratitude.
She ate in silence, the taste of the warm food grounding her in her new reality. The meal was practical, comforting, and delicious. In the humble kitchen of this Daxia Dynasty farm, Li Wei realized two things: First, her knowledge was a true currency, a tool for survival. Second, Guo Fucheng was a man of quiet, deep gratitude, and that single, simple quality was far more valuable than the silver her family had taken.
"I will make this arrangement work, Fucheng," she said, finally meeting his gaze across the steaming bowl. "But I will not be a typical wife. I will cook, I will manage the home, and I will find a way to make money. Do you understand?"
Guo Fucheng smiled slowly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. The unconditional kindness in that look was unnerving, yet compelling.
"I understand," he affirmed. "I only ask that you stay. Whatever you need to do, I will help."