Chapter 8: Division of Labor, Can Beauty Feed You?

Chapter 8: Does a Pretty Division of Labor Feed You?

Someone nearby winked at Zhang Chenghai, hinting he shouldn’t ask—why bother?

Some people had arrived early and seen Qin Yizhou tying an apron to cook. Zhang Chenghai came late, and by the time he arrived, Qin Yizhou had already served the dishes on the table.

Of the two buddies who showed up, one was Cheng Rong, who was already married, and the other was Yue Hongwei, who was still single.

Earlier, Qin Yizhou and Yue Hongwei had even shared a dormitory. Being single, Yue Hongwei had gone back to change clothes before coming over. When he arrived, he saw Qin Yizhou still busy in the kitchen.

When Qin Yizhou noticed Yue Hongwei’s arrival, he told him to sit down while he wrapped up cooking. Meanwhile, Song Fenglan went to make the bed—the bed frame and wooden boards washed that morning had already dried. After Qin Yizhou set up the bed, Song Fenglan put down the straw mat and other bedding.

The sheets and covers were out being washed, so they would use the straw mat and blanket directly for the night.

Seeing this, Yue Hongwei felt puzzled—shouldn’t Song Fenglan be the one cooking? But he didn’t voice his thoughts.

Now, as everyone sat at the table, Zhang Chenghai asked the question outright.

"It wasn’t me. I’m not good at cooking," Song Fenglan said bluntly. "The food I make is so bad, you’d probably skip it altogether."

"You don’t cook at home?" Zhang Chenghai pressed.

The atmosphere instantly went stiff, freezing awkwardly. Cheng Rong quickly tugged at Zhang Chenghai’s sleeve. Why pry into how they split chores? It wasn’t like they ate here every day.

"We divide the work at home," Qin Yizhou explained. "Fenglan made it through high school and is skilled at tailoring. A home is for both husband and wife—it shouldn’t fall on her to do everything. I’m often away, so everything at home still relies on her."

Qin Yizhou didn’t want anyone looking down on Song Fenglan just because she wasn’t good at cooking and did fewer chores. It wasn’t a big deal. He wasn’t helpless—why should his wife have to serve him?

"You don’t even have wine—"

"A couple’s home really can’t depend on just one person," Cheng Rong interjected, tugging Zhang Chenghai’s sleeve again. What was he thinking?

At home, Zhang Chenghai hardly had to lift a finger—Auntie Fatty took care of everything. If the child cried, she’d hush them before he even spoke. When he returned home, the bath was ready and hot, and she even brought him foot-soaking water. To him, that was a wife’s job. If a wife didn’t handle those things, why would a man even marry?

"Drink less," Qin Yizhou said, knowing how much people loved drinking at gatherings. The booze stank up the place, and Qin Yizhou himself avoided drinking when visiting others. Besides, little Qin Zihang was here, and he didn’t want his wife and son breathing in the fumes. "No day off tomorrow—you still have training."

After Cheng Rong tugged his sleeve twice, Zhang Chenghai didn’t press further. Even if he was dense, he could sense they didn’t want him to continue.

"What’s training?" little Qin Zihang asked curiously.

"It’s to make your body strong," Song Fenglan explained.

"I want to do it too!" Qin Zihang immediately declared.

"..." Song Fenglan’s lips twitched. Her boy wanted a piece of everything.

"You’re too small. Let your dad carry you during training," Cheng Rong joked. "In this heat, your soft, pale cheeks would turn pitch-black."

"If I turn black, Mom won’t even see me! No, no!" Qin Zihang shook his head.

In the apartment complex where Qin Zihang and his mother lived, there was a black cat. When it curled up in a corner with its eyes closed, people often didn’t notice it—until someone stepped on it, sending the cat yowling with its fur on end.

Qin Zihang didn’t want to become a little black kitten and get stepped on.

"Don’t listen to him. It’s not that dark," Yue Hongwei said. "Look at your dad—he hasn’t turned pitch-black."

Song Fenglan glanced at Qin Yizhou. His skin was tanned, a golden-brown from frequent sun exposure. He had that rugged, manly vibe, nothing like those soft pretty boys. There was a different kind of charm to him, one that felt more secure.

It had been a long time since Song Fenglan last saw Qin Yizhou. While their son hadn’t recognized his father at first, she still knew her own husband. Qin Yizhou hadn’t changed much from before—if anything, he carried himself even stronger now.

"Time to eat," Song Fenglan said, turning to serve her son some food. "Didn't you say you wanted meat? Go ahead and eat, chew slowly—don’t choke."

A simple meal was quickly finished, and everyone went their separate ways afterward.

Zhang Chenghai returned home and couldn’t help grumbling, "No alcohol, and even with meat, it was flat and boring. Some hospitality that is. Qin Zihang’s mom just sat there eating with the kid—she didn’t even cook."

"She didn’t cook?" Auntie Fatty was surprised. "Was she tired from the train ride? They had lunch at the canteen, didn’t they?"

"No, it wasn’t her—it was Qin who cooked." Zhang Chenghai said. "Qin works so hard, comes home to no hot meal, and still has to cook for his wife and kid."

"Is that so?" Auntie Fatty replied. "Maybe the child is still young, and taking care of him is exhausting enough. She—"

"We have two kids at home, and I’ve never seen you skip cooking." Zhang Chenghai said. "But Qin Zihang’s mom is really beautiful—I’ve never seen anyone so pretty."

"What’s beauty got to do with housework?" Auntie Fatty was knitting a sweater for the kid, making the body larger so the sleeves could be lengthened next year. "What matters is being capable. If Qin Zihang’s mom doesn’t cook, who does? Qin still has to train and work—how can he cook for them every day? Coming home exhausted, only to cook for her… And earlier, it was Qin doing all the cleaning too."

"Beauty… easy on the eyes, I suppose," Zhang Chenghai took off his shoes and soaked his feet in a basin.

Summer was already hot, and feet stewing in those canvas shoes grew sweaty and smelly. Zhang Chenghai didn’t soak his feet daily—only when it crossed his mind. Otherwise, he’d just sleep without bothering.

Auntie Fatty put up with it. Men were bound to sweat, and this was nothing compared to the stench of a cowshed back in the countryside.

After the guests left, Qin Yizhou tidied up the dishes, heated water for baths, and handled everything efficiently. He didn’t demand that since he cooked, Song Fenglan should wash the dishes.

Song Fenglan disliked scrubbing greasy dishes, so she poured warm water to bathe Qin Zihang instead. Qin Yizhou spoke up, "Let me wash him. He’s big enough now—he should learn to wash himself gradually. You can’t keep doing it for him forever."

"He should learn, yes," Song Fenglan agreed. "For now, you help him while I handle the laundry first. Everything in the bag needs rewashing—they’ve been packed too long and smell."

"Leave it. I’ll handle the laundry," Qin Yizhou said. "You’ve raised him solo all these years. I come back for a few days, then leave again—I haven’t done much."

"Then you wash them," Song Fenglan didn’t argue and left their son’s clothes untouched.

While Qin Yizhou bathed Qin Zihang, the kid giggled.

"That tickles!" Qin Zihang squirmed as his father scrubbed off a layer of grime.

The night before, Qin Yizhou had only rinsed him lightly. Now, a layer of grime came off.

Song Fenglan didn’t linger—she had her own washing to do before her bath. Yesterday at the guesthouse, she’d just given herself a quick rinse. Her clothes still smelled faintly of the bag, making her uncomfortable. Thankfully, the clothes she’d sunned that day were dry, so she could change into fresh ones.

By evening, the whole family had bathed and changed. Qin Zihang lay in bed early, begging for his mom’s bedtime story.

Song Fenglan told him *Journey to the West*, one of China’s Four Great Classics, to benefit his future studies. She also alternated with shorter fairy tales like *Snow White*—different stories kept him engaged.

"The Great Sage, Sun Wukong!" Qin Zihang cheered.

Song Fenglan avoided *Investiture of the Gods*. While Nezha’s tale was exciting, young children might mimic his reckless water-play. She cherry-picked the parts to tell.

"So cool!" Qin Zihang exclaimed. "Why didn’t the Great Sage tell his master to get lost? All he does is chant the Tight-Fillet Spell and yell for help—what’s the point of him?"

"You respect your teachers," Song Fenglan was used to her son’s bold questions. "A master is like a teacher—they pass down knowledge. Fighting doesn’t solve everything; reasoning matters. The Great Sage was mischievous, so his master had to discipline him."

"If I go to school, will my teacher chant the Tight-Fillet Spell at me?" Qin Zihang touched his head. "Will they give me a fillet?"

"No," Song Fenglan patted his head. "Those fillets cost money—teachers can’t waste it. If every kid got one, it’d cost too much, and then there’d be no money for meat."

"But… only the Great Sage has one," Qin Zihang frowned. "Why can’t just one kid have it?"

"..." Song Fenglan hesitated. Her son’s logic was hard to counter. "All kids are treated the same. But Tang Sanzang’s disciples were all different—a monkey, a pig, and a general. They weren’t the same."

"What’s the difference?" Qin Zihang scrunched his little brows.

"Different. If your mom says it's different, then it's different," Qin Yizhou replied as he tidied up and returned to the room. Hearing his son's words, he thought the boy was picking nits. "Close your eyes and sleep quickly. Your mom has been with you on the train for so long—she must be worn out."

"Mom, read me another story next time," Qin Zihang said, closing his eyes. But after a moment, he opened them again and looked at his father. "Dad, you have to wake me up when you go out tomorrow. If you don’t, I won’t call you Dad anymore."

Qin Zihang knew how to threaten his father. After all, he hardly knew his dad—calling him Dad wasn’t a big deal. He also remembered other kids saying he didn’t have a father, even though he clearly did. He didn’t blame his mom but thought his dad wasn’t very good.

"Alright, alright, I’ll wake you up tomorrow," Qin Yizhou said. "Little ancestor,* how could I dare not to?"

"I’m not an ancestor. I’m small," Qin Zihang retorted.

"Yes, you’re small, very small," Qin Yizhou replied half-heartedly, thinking his son talked too much.

Qin Zihang closed his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering slightly. Song Fenglan saw right through him. She handed the fan to Qin Yizhou, motioning for him to fan the boy.

Song Fenglan didn’t care if Qin Yizhou was tired—raising their child had been exhausting. Now was the time for him to help out and understand how hard it was to raise a child.

"Easy does it—not too hard or fast," Song Fenglan whispered. "Don’t fan directly at his head."

She adjusted the blanket over Qin Zihang, making sure his tummy was covered. Even in summer, a child might catch a chill if their stomach wasn’t kept warm.

"Got it," Qin Yizhou said softly as he fanned Qin Zihang.

Hearing his parents’ whispers, Qin Zihang couldn’t suppress a smile. He almost raised his hand to cover his mouth, afraid they’d notice he was still awake, but stopped halfway. Instead, he puckered his lips, feigning sleep.

Such a little actor, Song Fenglan thought with a quiet laugh.

After a while, Qin Zihang finally fell asleep, wedged between his parents. Qin Yizhou glanced at his son, then at his wife.

"Turn off the light," Song Fenglan said.

"..." Qin Yizhou thought it was time, but with their son just arriving, he couldn’t move him to the next room yet. Still, the adjoining room was ready—Qin Zihang could sleep there anytime. He wanted to hold his wife’s hand, even embrace her, but their son was in the way.

That night, Qin Zihang squirmed and kicked, his sleeping posture terrible. Song Fenglan woke up several times, but at least with their son in the middle, there was less risk of him falling off the bed.

Back in the capital, the bed had a railing on one side, and Song Fenglan slept on the open side to prevent Qin Zihang from rolling off.

Early the next morning, Qin Zihang woke up while Song Fenglan was still out cold. He was about to call for her when Qin Yizhou stopped him.

"Let your mom sleep a little longer," Qin Yizhou whispered. "Dad will take you to buy breakfast. We’ll wake her up when we get back." *Note: “Little ancestor” is a term used humorously in Chinese to refer to a spoiled or indulged child.