When Wang Fenglan circled back to money, her voice sharpened to a blade's edge—never mind that her son lay bandaged in bed. "Three months with no remittance! How are we to eat through Spring Festival? Your elder brother's three boys, your younger brother's two—all at the age where their bones ache with growing. Your father is sick and has been bedridden for several months.

She leaned in, "Nine mouths to feed on three pairs of working hands. Zhou Huian—you don't get to climb up then kick the ladder down." Her gaze turned flinty. "Remember who gave you his conscription slot."

Lin Xiaoxiao froze at the doorway. Is this woman his mother or a debt collector?

The thought slithered cold down her spine: Is he even her blood?

Zhou Xiaoli fanned the flames. "Second Brother, Father coughs blood some dawns. The village doctor says 'feed him meat or bury him.' But he refuses—says you're stretched thin since marrying." Her eyes darted meaningfully toward the corridor. "Does your city wife lock the money chest?"

Zhou Huian's knuckles whitened on the bedsheet. "Hold your tongue. Recent wages are earmarked." His voice dropped.

Wang Fenglan looked at her son's cold gaze and shuddered inwardly. She was still afraid of Zhou Huian. This child had been like a wild wolf since he was little, ruthless and cruel.

Yet hunger outweighed fear. Her face puckered. "Fine, blame our poverty. But Xiaoli's future—that you'll secure."

The whole village had seen Xiaoli parade that zhiqing beau—holding hands openly at the propaganda film screenings. He'd sworn to return for her, spinning city-dreams... then vanished like smoke, taking fifty pounds of grain tickets and twenty yuan with him.

Lin Xiaoxiao listened for a while longer and understood a little bit more, namely that Zhou Huian had an older brother and a younger brother, and that Zhou Xiaoli was the only daughter in the family.

This time, Wang Fenglan brought her daughter over, hoping that Zhou Huian would find a husband for Zhou Xiaoli in the city.

She couldn't help but sigh again, thinking what a strange family this was.

Wang Fenglan finally noticed her silhouette. "Lin Xiaoxiao!" The name cracked like a whip.

"Eavesdropping's a city habit? Come in properly!" If not for Huian's eyes on me, I'd scorch you ears, her tone implied.

Lin Xiaoxiao entered, ignoring her. She thunked the stainless steel pot onto Zhou Huian's bedside table. "Eat. Heal. Or that wound festers.

The duck's aroma hijacked the room. Wang Fenglan and Zhou Xiaoli drifted closer, nostrils flaring—meat scent, rich and fat-glistened. Zhou Xiaoli's finger darted toward the pot.

Zhou Xiaoli rubbed her red, stinging hand and pouted in frustration, "How could my second brother finish such a big pot? You city folks are so stingy."

Lin Xiaoxiao couldn't understand how someone like Zhou Huian could have such terrible family members. She sneered and retorted, "City folks are stingy, but don't give country folks a bad name."

Zhou Xiaoli glared at her, but couldn't argue with Lin Xiaoxiao. Besides, she had been craving meat for the past few days, her eyes gleaming whenever she saw it.

She had always craved meat, but she knew she could only eat it during festivals, so she could always resist.

But now she couldn't resist at all. She swallowed her saliva and turned to look at Wang Fenglan: "Mother, I want to eat too."

Wang Fenglan's stomach growled. Meat. Holidays flashed in her mind—men devouring chicken flesh, children gnawing joints, herself sucking marrow from discarded bones.

Now she glared at Lin Xiaoxiao. "We rushed here starving! Not a bite since yesterday! Fetch bowls—this pot's too big for one man!"

Lin Xiaoxiao didn't blink. "Canteen's out back. Street vendors sell noodles—fifteen fen a bowl. The duck won't rot while you're gone."

Wang Fenglan's jaw tightened. At home, daughters-in-law trembled at her voice. "I bore him! Don't I deserve one mouthful?"

Zhou Huian opened his mouth to intervene—just share it, avoid the scene—

But Lin Xiaoxiao cut in, her eyes sharp as scalpels: "My duck. My rules."Her glare promised: Play the saint, and this soup scalds your face.

Zhou Huian snapped his jaw shut, feigning sudden exhaustion.

Defeated, Wang Fenglan yanked Zhou Xiaoli to a bench. Corncake crumbs rained as she thrust one at her daughter. "Eat. When you marry cityfolk, don't turn miser like this one."

Lin Xiaoxiao almost laughed. Daydreaming of city sons-in-law while chewing dry cornbread? Delusion ran thick in this bloodline.

She ladled broth over a duck leg, bent to lift Zhou Huian—and forgot 1970s courtship rules demanded meter-wide gaps.

Zhou Huian froze. Her citrus-jasmine scent—like lemon peel on night-blooming flowers—flooded his senses. Before he could recoil, her surgeon-strong arms hauled him upright.

She's done this before, he realized. Hands steady, leverage precise—like she'd repositioned bodies weightless as straw.

"Broth first," she ordered, pressing the lunchbox to his lips. "Heals faster on empty tissue."

He hesitated, shamed by his mother's stare.

Exactly why they bully you, Lin Xiaoxiao thought. She shoved the box higher. "Drink. Or I'll tube-feed you."

Across the room, Zhou Xiaoli choked on her corncake. The sight of Lin Xiaoxiao's dominance—duck-grease glistening on Zhou Huian's lips—

Her gut clenched. Acid rose. She retched into her hands.