Chapter 19 Change of Attitude

Chapter 19: A Change in Attitude

Chang Jinhua wore a jacket today that she usually didn't, having ironed it flat with a kettle of hot water early in the morning. Her hair was combed neatly with osmanthus oil, and she pinned an old-fashioned silver hairpin into it.

In the kitchen, Aunt Tian was in charge of cooking, with Man Geer assisting on the side. Chang Jinhua took out a small wooden box from her room and opened it in front of everyone, revealing seven or eight small silver ingots, totaling about ten taels.

Her eyes welled up, her voice a little choked as she said, "Wan Geer has no family left, but we've prepared the matchmaker's gifts and betrothal gifts as we should. We can't take advantage of him just because his parents are gone."

The Song clan chief stroked his beard. "You're a reasonable woman, Youmin's wife. It's only right."

Chang Jinhua respectfully bowed to the clan chief.

Zhang Xiaoyu sat at the table waiting to eat, rolling his eyes at this. "She's so good at playing the saint. Handing over so much silver to a guy who hasn't even married in yet—what if he takes the silver and runs? What'll you two do then?"

Last time before his nephew left, he gave him a good scolding, blaming him for not checking properly, saying that Wan guy was already promised to someone else, and accusing him of not proposing earlier.

The Song family kept such a tight lid on things, only calling her husband two days before the betrothal to say they were holding it. How was he supposed to know?

There had been some rumors in the village a few times, but Song Tingzhou, after studying for two years, was always aloof, looking down on this one, dismissing that one. Who would've thought he'd actually marry an orphan with no parents?

In ancient times, such things were taboo; people like that were said to bring bad luck to their parents, considered unlucky. Women who became widows were even more gossiped about behind their backs.

Chang Jinhua had been through this kind of prejudice herself, which was why she felt more sympathy for Meng Wan. As for Song Tingzhou, he cared even less—being able to keep Meng Wan was already his good fortune.

For today's feast, Chang Jinhua went all out: chicken stewed with mushrooms, braised pork belly, twice-cooked pork belly with pickled cabbage, clear-stewed carp, cabbage stewed with tofu, cold shredded daikon, tofu skin stir-fried with cabbage, and a bowl of egg and winter melon soup.

Zhang Xiaoyu ate until his face was shiny with grease. Song Ershu was embarrassed by him and frowned, scolding, "You clueless thing, all you know is eating. Go help your sister-in-law."

Zhang Xiaoyu feared his husband, so he reluctantly got up from his seat and wandered into the kitchen, peeking around.

Chang Jinhua was overjoyed today and showed him respect, smiling as she said, "After the guests leave, stay and help clear the table. If you want any of the leftovers, pick a few dishes to take home."

Zhang Xiaoyu was overwhelmed by the kindness. This was the first time Chang Jinhua had been so nice to him. Even the vegetable dishes in this feast glistened with oil, far more fragrant than his own cooking. He nodded eagerly and, after the guests finished eating and sat chatting, worked diligently.

Chang Jinhua sighed and said to Meng Wan, "Your second uncle's wife is also a pitiful soul. Her mouth is sharp, but she's hardworking enough."

Song Ershu drank himself silly, sprawling wherever he pleased, ready to fall asleep. It took Dali and Song Tingzhou to carry him home.

He was a chronic drunkard, tall and strong-looking but incredibly lazy. The few acres of land at home were all managed by Zhang Xiaoyu himself, which wore out his body and left him childless.

But when a guy was childless, the gossip always fell on him, with no one caring why he couldn't have children—they just saw him as a barren hen, no questions asked.

Chang Jinhua said Meng Wan wasn't to lift a finger in the kitchen today, so he sat down to eat at the feast with a clear conscience, watching Man Geer and the others bustle about, feeling a bit out of place.

No wonder experts said it takes twenty-one days to form a habit. He'd done housework for years at his uncle's place, and after coming to this era, he'd been at it for nearly half a year in the Song household. If he ever got back to modern times, he'd save up and start a housekeeping company.

After seeing off the guests with Chang Jinhua, Meng Wan figured he wasn't needed and returned to his room. The token Song Tingzhou had given him and the betrothal money from Chang Jinhua had been placed in the cabinet earlier. With no one around now, he took them out.

The betrothal money was nothing special, but under the red cloth from Song Tingzhou was indeed a wooden box, small and elongated.

Meng Wan lifted the lid. Inside was a slender silver hairpin, its head carved into a smooth, rounded cloud pattern.

He instinctively took it out and weighed it in his hand—solid, about half a tael.

Meng Wan was speechless. So that was it—he'd refused his silver last time, and now he was getting a silver hairpin as compensation? Was his pair of shoes too casual?

This betrothal didn't seem like a loss—ten taels of silver as a betrothal gift and a silver hairpin.

After the kitchen was cleaned up, Chang Jinhua wrapped a red envelope for Aunt Tian, who refused to take it. The two tussled in the kitchen.

"Just two tables, I just threw it together. It's not worth taking a red envelope for—people would think I'm some kind of greedy person."

"If you don't take it, people will gossip. You've worked hard all morning; take it and go home to rest." Chang Jinhua always handled things so no one could find fault.

Aunt Tian really couldn't bring herself to take the money. Usually, wedding feasts ran from dawn till dusk, but with just two tables, she could manage it all herself, especially with Man Geer helping.

She refused outright, but Chang Jinhua insisted on giving it. Meng Wan pushed aside the cloth-patched door curtain, hung up after the weather turned cold to block some wind, and came out.

He chimed in, "Auntie, just take it. You make your living with your skills. If you don't, we'll be too embarrassed to ask you for help after the New Year."

Chang Jinhua shot Meng Wan a glare and said to Aunt Tian, "This guy of mine has no shame, casually mentioning his own wedding."

Then she took Aunt Tian's hand and pressed the red paper packet into her arms. "We'll need your help after the New Year too, and I won't hesitate to boss you around then."

Sixth Aunt Song also urged her, so Aunt Tian finally accepted the red cloth, though she refused to take any meat dishes.

Chang Jinhua divided the leftovers between Zhang Xiaoyu and Sixth Aunt Song, even handing Sixth Aunt Song a bag of sugar. "Don't argue with me. As a matchmaker, this gift is already too meager. If you don't take even this, you're looking down on me."

Sixth Aunt Song accepted it graciously, laughing, "Then I've made this match easily, without wearing out my tongue."

"I won't see you out. Take Man Geer and head back. We'll need you for the wedding ceremony after the New Year." Chang Jinhua knew she was straightforward and didn't bother with pleasantries.

"Sister-in-law, I'll be off too." Zhang Xiaoyu eyed Sixth Aunt Song's sugar enviously, but his hands were full carrying Chang Jinhua's baskets of meat and vegetable dishes, so he couldn't bring himself to say anything sour.

"Wait a moment." Chang Jinhua pushed open the back door and took down a basket hanging there, filled to the brim with small chunks of frozen tofu, all stuck together. She grabbed another small basket, knocked some frozen tofu loose, filled it, and handed it to Zhang Xiaoyu.

"Take this home to cook with cabbage or pickled greens. Go on."

Zhang Xiaoyu took the basket dumbly. He'd heard villagers mention the frozen tofu Chang Jinhua sold at the market—this must be it.

He looked down at the small chunks in the basket and said in a muffled voice, "I'll return the basket later."

Chang Jinhua replied, "No rush. It's late today—tomorrow will do."

Zhang Xiaoyu left, carrying two baskets on each arm. As he walked through the village, a villager who saw him asked, "Yu Geer, coming from your sister-in-law's place? Oh my, Widow Song actually gave you all this? You didn't steal it, did you?"

Zhang Xiaoyu looked up and cursed, "Bullshit! Did an icicle hit your head and make you talk nonsense? You go to your sister-in-law's happy occasion to stir trouble, thinking everyone's as unwelcome as you?"

Fourth Aunt Song's face changed, and she sneered, "Who cares about a fool like you? Everyone in the village knows Widow Song can't stand you."

Zhang Xiaoyu proudly showed off his baskets, revealing the packed frozen tofu and meat dishes, his mouth nearly twisting with glee. "How my sister-in-law treats me is none of your business. But your branch—six brothers—have any of your five sisters-in-law ever visited you during holidays?"

Fourth Aunt Song pointed a trembling finger at him. "You... you idiot!"

When it came to arguing, Zhang Xiaoyu was a village champion. No wonder few gossiped about his reputation—they couldn't outmatch his tongue.

Fourth Aunt Song quickly lost to him, and Zhang Xiaoyu walked home triumphantly, running into Song Tingzhou and Song Dali, who were returning from escorting the drunk Second Uncle.

"You're heading back already? Not staying longer?" Zhang Xiaoyu instinctively hid the baskets behind his back, then felt foolish—Song Tingzhou's mother had given them to him, not stolen. Why hide them?

"No, Second Uncle's wife." Song Tingzhou was as brief as ever.

Song Dali added, "Second Uncle's wife, we just put Second Uncle on the kang, but since no one was home, we didn't dare light the fire. Go check on it. We two won't stay."

Zhang Xiaoyu forced a fake smile. "Alright, sure."

After he left, Song Dali said to the quiet Song Tingzhou, "Is Second Uncle's wife in a good mood from the feast?" Usually, she ignored the younger generation, but today she'd even invited them in.

"Maybe."

Song Tingzhou answered distractedly, in a hurry to get home. He was tall and took long strides, but after leaving Song Dali, he hesitated at his own gate.

Chang Jinhua hung the leftover raw meat in a basket from the eaves in the kitchen. Turning around, she saw her son standing outside the door. “Da Lang, why aren’t you coming in?”

Only then did Song Tingzhou step inside, his first question was, “Where’s Wan Geer?”

Chang Jinhua smiled. “In his room.”

Song Tingzhou walked in but veered into his own room. His book chest was empty now; when he opened it, he found a red cloth-wrapped bundle.

He’d guessed it was shoes when he first picked it up. Now, unwrapping the red cloth, he saw it was indeed a pair of indigo-blue new cotton shoes. The stitches were uneven—some thick, some thin—and the shoe uppers were packed with too much cotton, making the inside too tight. He wasn’t sure they’d even fit.

He sat on the kang and took off his shoes, and was about to try them on, but stopped, afraid to get them dirty. He wanted to go out and get water to wash his feet, but Chang Jinhua was outside. With a smile in his eyes, he measured it in the air—the length seemed just right.

Meng Wan, hearing them talk from his room, thought Song Tingzhou wanted to talk to him, but after waiting a while, nothing happened.

From the kitchen, Chang Jinhua called out, “I’m going to Aunt Six’s. Wan Geer, light the kang later.”

After she left, Meng Wan lifted the door curtain to go get some firewood outside. Across the way, Song Tingzhou also pushed aside his curtain and came out.

“I’ll go,” Song Tingzhou said without wasting words, already walking out as he said it.

It was just a small chore, anyone could do it. Meng Wan pulled up a small wooden stool and sat by the hearth, waiting for him to bring the firewood.

Song Tingzhou carried a bundle of firewood and set it beside him. They had two piles of firewood stacked by the door, but winter burned through it fast. To stay warm, they had to heat the kang morning and evening.

They hadn’t heated it that morning, and at noon, they’d used a lot for entertaining guests. But if they didn’t heat it again after dark, they’d freeze and wake up in the middle of the night.

“Go inside. I’ll light the fire,” Song Tingzhou said in a steady tone, much like before. Yet Meng Wan felt he hadn’t looked at him much today. Even now, his eyes were on the firewood as he spoke.

“Since we’re already engaged, there’s no need to be so formal, right?” Meng Wan pulled out a few dry bean stalks, lit them with a flint, and tossed them into the stove, looking up at him.

Song Tingzhou met his gaze, facing Meng Wan’s beaming smile, then lowered his head again, his ears reddening.

Before, neither knew the other’s thoughts, but now that they were betrothed, Meng Wan seemed more at ease looking at him.

Meng Wan continued adding firewood to the stove, speaking calmly. “Since we’re engaged, there are some things I should tell you plainly.”

Song Tingzhou’s heart tightened. He knew nothing of Meng Wan’s past, only that Chang Jinhua had bought him from a slave dealer. According to the dealer, Meng Wan had been a servant in a wealthy southern household, sold far away for offending his master.

Having seen true wealth and nobility, and being so handsome, could he really be content marrying him—a poor scholar who couldn’t even pass the county exam?

Song Tingzhou’s voice was dry as he forced out two words, “Go on.”

Meng Wan added the last piece of firewood, patted his hands, and stood up. He cleared his throat. “Ahem… that… when you have free time from your studies, could you write me a few calligraphy pieces?”

Song Tingzhou, whose emotions had been churning, was instantly soothed by his words. He stared in astonishment. “Calligraphy pieces?”

Meng Wan scooped water to wash his hands. “Come with me.”

He stepped first into the small room. Song Tingzhou hesitated—they weren’t yet married, and being alone together felt improper.

“Hurry up and come in?”

After Meng Wan’s second urging, Song Tingzhou followed him in.

Since the engagement, Meng Wan had become much more relaxed. Without a word, he opened the cabinet and took out a few discarded sheets of paper.

“Could I borrow a brush? A worn-out one will do.”

Song Tingzhou immediately fetched a brush and inkstone from the cabinet, then set a small square kang table on the kang. “If you want to practice writing, I’ll buy you more brushes and ink from town.”

Meng Wan said calmly, “No need. Prioritize yourself for now. We can practice later when the household has more means.”

Song Tingzhou’s heart stirred at this—Wan Geer seemed different toward him now.

Meng Wan had never learned brush calligraphy, but his high school deskmate, who called himself a modern literary giant, often showed off his calligraphy. He knew the basics of using a brush.

Kneeling on the kang, he leaned slightly forward, leaving a small gap between his body and the table. His hands spread naturally, his left arm sweeping out to press the paper, his right hand forming a hollow shape, fingers slightly bent, gripping the brush with thumb, index, and middle fingers. His wrist relaxed as he lightly dipped the brush into the inkstone’s ink, then tilted the brush slightly above the paper, the tip facing him, moving his wrist and palm in sync…

Meng Wan struck an impressively flashy pose, even fooling Song Tingzhou for a moment, and then wrote something that looked like a pile of crap.