Chapter 105: The Republican-Era Young Lady Stops Making a Fuss 16 – Country Boy He Dusheng

Her nose was filled with a familiar scent.

Out of habit, Song Xuange nuzzled against it, only to brush up against a piece of fabric that was not especially soft.

She turned her face uncomfortably, but it still didn’t feel right, so she simply hooked her arm around his neck and pressed forward with the top of her head.

“If you keep bumping into me like that, I’m going to fall off the bed.” A familiar voice sounded by her ear.

Song Xuange woke up all at once.

She realized she had somehow curled up on He Dusheng’s hospital bed. The bed was already small to begin with, and He Dusheng had curled his body up, even leaving a bit of room for her belly.

He really was sleeping right on the edge, on the verge of falling off.

“Awake?” he asked.

Song Xuange felt a little annoyed with herself. How had she fallen asleep?

From the sound of his voice, it was no longer as hoarse as it had been yesterday, and he looked much more spirited too.

That put her somewhat at ease, and she scrambled to her feet with both hands and feet.

So He Dusheng could move in and sleep a little more comfortably.

She complained, “Why didn’t you wake me up and tell me to go back and sleep in my own bed?”

“Yes, yes, my fault. I insisted on keeping you here to sleep,” he said, nodding along.

That made it hard for her to keep complaining.

She gave a couple of disgruntled huffs, then crawled over to feel his forehead.

He Dusheng caught her hand, pressed a kiss to the back of it, then placed it over his chest. “Don’t worry. The nurse came by half an hour ago. The fever’s gone.”

What?

“The nurse already came? Why didn’t you wake me?”

Didn’t that mean the awkward way the two of them had been sleeping had been seen?

He Dusheng chuckled softly. “My fault.”

Song Xuange: “…Why are you admitting fault so quickly?”

He Dusheng: “If I’ve made you unhappy, then whatever the reason, it’s definitely my fault. What’s the harm in admitting it?”

Song Xuange’s eyes widened. She couldn’t quite process it.

Was this really her usually stern He Dusheng?

How had one bout of illness turned him into someone who could toss out sweet talk so casually?

Something was off. She needed to observe a little more.

Suspicious, she slid off the bed.

She was still wearing the qipao from yesterday, and it was wrinkled beyond recognition.

She sighed. She couldn’t very well meet people looking like this.

“This morning, Ruixin brought some clothes over. They’re in the trunk by the door.”

He Dusheng lay on his side on the bed, one hand propping up his head, the other loosely circling her waist from behind.

Song Xuange lowered her head and looked at the hand around her waist. She just felt that today’s He Dusheng was off somehow.

In the past, this man would never have been this affectionate with her.

It wasn’t a matter of physical contact.

It wasn’t as if they had never been more intimate than this.

But these naturally affectionate little gestures, those hadn’t existed before.

Before, he would only quietly do things for her and arrange everything properly, but he had never spoken words that sounded like love talk.

And the way he looked at her, he had always been gentle and tender before, but today, there was an extra depth of feeling in it.

Bright and rippling, like the autumn moon reflected on water.

And beneath that moonlight was her reflection.

Even if he said nothing at all, even if he only looked at her like that, it was enough to make her heart sway.

Clutching at her chest, she turned her back to him.

She found the clothes by the door and went behind the curtain around the hospital bed to change.

The doctor came by on rounds.

He Dusheng introduced him to her. “Yuan Zhongyao, Doctor Yuan. Luckily, he had medicine with him on the ship and helped stabilize my condition.”

Yuan Zhongyao looked to be twenty-seven or twenty-eight, even a little older than He Dusheng.

“It was nothing, no need to dwell on it.”

After examining him and asking a few questions, Doctor Yuan said with a smile, “You’re recovering well. We’ll observe for one more day. If there’s no relapse tonight, you can be discharged tomorrow and recuperate at home.”

That was naturally good news.

Since it was only one more day, Song Xuange simply decided not to go back either and wait to leave the hospital together with He Dusheng tomorrow.

She had thought it would be a day full of tender affection and intimate whispers.

Unexpectedly, after the meal, those with quick access to information began arriving one after another to visit the patient.

He Dusheng was feeling somewhat better, but dealing with these people was mentally exhausting, so Song Xuange took the task on herself.

She simply told them that He Dusheng was still very weak and not in any condition to talk much, and that she would receive everyone on his behalf.

She had thought she would need to spend a good deal of effort persuading him. Normally, he would have gritted his teeth and endured it rather than trouble her.

But today he was unusually obedient.

Song Xuange said, “If more people come later, just pretend to be asleep. I’m receiving guests while heavily pregnant. Anyone with even a little tact won’t stay long. But if they see you’re awake, even if it’s just polite small talk, a sentence or two from each of them would be enough to wear you out…”

Before she had even finished speaking, she saw He Dusheng pull up the blanket and lie down at once as though asleep.

Song Xuange tugged the blanket back. “What are you doing?”

“Pretending to sleep?”

Song Xuange choked. “…You’re this obedient?”

“Madam has spoken. I’ll just do as I’m told. If I still made you waste more breath trying to persuade me, that would be childish.”

Song Xuange: “…”

What he said made sense, but something still felt off.

Anyone who could find out as early as today that He Dusheng had been hospitalized was not only well-connected, but also knew how to conduct themselves.

Just as she had expected, they brought gifts, offered a few words of concern, and did not linger.

After she saw the guests out and came back in, she found that his breathing beneath the blanket was long and steady. She waited a while, but he still didn’t stir.

He had actually fallen asleep.

He was really leaving everything to her just like that?

He really trusted her that much?

With this man suddenly no longer acting like someone who thought of her in all things, she found herself strangely unaccustomed to it.

Song Xuange sat in the rattan chair beside the hospital bed and poured herself a cup of tea, her fingertips unconsciously rubbing along the rim.

In the sunlight, the branches of the plane tree outside the window swayed, casting shifting, dancing shadows.

The shadows fell over He Dusheng’s face, dazzling Song Xuange’s eyes, yet he himself seemed not to notice in the slightest, sleeping with unusual peace.

His thick lashes cast a small patch of shadow beneath his eyes.

His eyelashes were really long.

Without thinking, Song Xuange reached out, wanting to touch them, but just before her fingers brushed him, she drew her hand back again.

How could he be so at ease?

Song Xuange stared at him for a long time, then suddenly realized that this was the first time He Dusheng had entrusted himself to her without reserve.

He was no longer that Mr. He who always had everything under control, no longer the husband who had no one to dote on him and would even hide his injuries from her, but simply an ordinary person who could grow tired and fall ill.

He began to trust her, to rely on her.

That realization made her heart swell slightly. Something warm slowly melted open in her chest, wrapping itself snugly around her heart.

Only then did it truly begin to feel real, that they were husband and wife.

From below the window came the cries of a flower seller. Song Xuange rose quietly and looked out. The young flower girl stood there with a bamboo basket hooked over her arm, filled to the brim with white magnolias.

Even from upstairs, Song Xuange seemed to catch the fragrance of the flowers.

She gently closed the window, shutting out the noise from below. Then she drew the curtains halfway, blocking the shifting shadows of the trees outside.

After watching him for a long while, Song Xuange suddenly smiled.

She moved the rattan chair to the small table beside the hospital bed, spread out a sheet of paper, and continued refining her proposal.

Toward evening, when He Dusheng woke, he found Song Xuange bent over the small table by the bed, writing. Her brows were slightly knit, her lips unconsciously pressed together, an expression of concentration he had never seen on her before.

He watched her quietly without making a sound.

Only after she finished the final stroke and looked up into his eyes did she realize he was already awake.

“Why didn’t you say anything if you were awake?” She set down her fountain pen and reached out to feel his forehead.

He Dusheng caught her hand and lightly kissed her fingertips. “You looked busy.”

His gaze was unbelievably gentle.

The tips of Song Xuange’s ears reddened slightly. She drew her hand back, avoiding his eyes, and said with feigned composure, “I have some ideas about the factory. We can discuss them after you recover.”

But He Dusheng was intrigued. “Tell me.”

As she tucked the blanket around him, she said, “I can’t explain it clearly in a few words. We’ll talk slowly after we get home.”

He Dusheng let her fuss over him, but his eyes never left her for even a moment.

A faint smile spread across his face. “All right, I’ll listen to my wife.”

The next day, He Dusheng left the hospital in grand style. He had gone in alone, but when he came out, he had quite a bit of luggage with him.

After returning home, the first thing He Dusheng did was take a bath.

Song Xuange took the opportunity to bring out the pajamas she had sewn for him.

He Dusheng said, “They’re new?”

“Mm, I made them. Try them on.”

When she didn’t hear him respond, Song Xuange looked up, only to find fierce joy blazing in his eyes.

She lifted a hand and touched his face.

Song Xuange said, “I told you, I’ll slowly learn how to love you, how to treat you well.”

He Dusheng pulled her into his arms.

His voice caught as he called her name. “Xuange…”

She wrapped her arms around him in return, holding him tightly.

Song Xuange answered softly, “I’m here. I always will be.”

–

He Dusheng liked that plain white set of pajamas very much.

Not just in words, but in action.

At first, Song Xuange hadn’t noticed and only thought he was trying to make her happy.

For the first few days after he was discharged, he didn’t even go downstairs.

He stayed in the bedroom the whole time.

At first, Song Xuange thought it was because he had only just recovered from a serious illness and was still weak and tired.

Until one morning at breakfast, she suddenly remembered and instructed Ruixin, “Dusheng has worn those pajamas for several days. When you have a moment, go upstairs, take them, and wash them.”

Ruixin went, but before long she came back looking uneasy.

“Miss, sir said he’ll wash them himself. He wouldn’t let me go in and collect the clothes.”

“…”

What kind of strange fit was this now?

He was still sick, and he wanted to wash clothes?

Song Xuange went upstairs and saw He Dusheng sitting at the table by the window reading the newspaper. He hadn’t even eaten.

His expression was dark.

Song Xuange instantly forgot to ask about the pajamas.

“Did the paper report some major news?”

He Dusheng said, “What new thing could there be? On the Shanghai scene, it’s always just one side exits and another enters. Nothing important.”

Song Xuange was suspicious.

If nothing was wrong, why was he pulling such a long face?

He Dusheng casually tossed the newspaper aside. She picked it up and flipped through it. There was indeed nothing unusual in it, and only then did she relax.

Then she remembered what had happened earlier and asked him, “I told Ruixin to come up and take your dirty clothes to be washed. What nonsense were you talking?”

He Dusheng fell silent for a moment. Unhurriedly, he smoothed his cuff, his face full of concern. “What if Ruixin ruins them in the wash?”

Song Xuange: “…”

Do you hear yourself right now?

Whatever screw had come loose in his head, Song Xuange could not stand the thought of someone sleeping in the same bed as her wearing the same set of clothes for three days without washing them.

She went to her wardrobe and took out the new clothes she had prepared for He Dusheng. From among them, she selected another set of pajamas and tossed it at his face.

“Change already. And if you start smelling sour, don’t you dare get into my bed.”

Even with the clothes smacking him full in the face, He Dusheng didn’t lose his temper in the slightest.

Calmly, he took them down and held them in his hands, examining them for a while. He looked at Song Xuange, then turned the garment inside out to inspect it. A moment later, he smiled.

He looked at Song Xuange. “You made this too?”

Though it was phrased as a question, his tone was certain.

There was even a trace of smugness in it, pride at recognizing her handiwork.

Song Xuange said, “…It’s the same style, so of course I made it.”

He Dusheng stood up, smiling brightly.

At last, he was willing to take off the pair of pajamas he had worn for three days.

As he slipped into the new set and buttoned it up, he walked toward her. His bare abdomen showed not an inch of excess flesh, only taut firmness.

As he moved, the muscles beneath his skin shifted, and she was suddenly reminded of those nights not long ago, of how scorching and powerful they had been.

He looked tall and lean in clothes, but who would have thought this was what lay beneath them?

She quietly averted her eyes.

In just a few steps, He Dusheng had already buttoned up the front of his top.

When he reached her side, he noticed the obvious stack of men’s clothing in her hands. After a brief hesitation, he asked, “You made all of these too?”

“How could that be? With my level of skill, making pajamas is about the limit before I embarrass myself wearing them outside. These were made by Tailor Luo at the shop after I chose the styles, patterns, and fabric.” Song Xuange explained, “When they were delivered last time, I looked them over and casually put them away in my wardrobe.”

She was about to put the clothes back into the men’s wardrobe beside it, but He Dusheng intercepted them halfway.

“Let me see,” He Dusheng said.

And when he said he wanted to see them, he meant it literally.

He shook each piece out one by one and spread them across the bed to inspect.

Song Xuange couldn’t stop him in time, so she gave up. “If you’re going to shake them all out, then you can fold them yourself.”

Heaven knew how much time it had taken her to fold them all the last time.

Just as she was thinking that, He Dusheng pointed at a wrinkle off to the side and said with pained concern, “Look, see how careless you were.”

Song Xuange: “…”

Was there no justice left in this world? She made clothes for him, and now he was blaming her for them?

Song Xuange ignored him and moved off to one side, leaving him to his little episode.

He Dusheng paid Song Xuange no mind either. He tried on the clothes one set after another, standing before the full-length mirror and fussing with them.

This was the first time she had ever seen this man preening himself like that. It was quite a novelty.

As she watched, that faint trace of discomfort she’d felt earlier had long since vanished.

All she felt was that she really did have excellent taste. Every outfit she had chosen suited him perfectly.

Beautiful.

The clothes were beautiful, and the man wearing them was even more so.

After admiring himself to his heart’s content, He Dusheng rang for Ruixin to bring up an iron and an ironing board.

There wasn’t enough room for the ironing board, so he simply pushed the breakfast on the table aside and set to work with great enthusiasm.

He personally ironed each piece of clothing one by one. Once they were pressed, he either folded them with meticulous care or hung them carefully in the wardrobe.

Song Xuange actually sat there quietly watching him bustle about, and far from feeling bored, she found that an entire morning had passed just like that.

When everything had finally been put in order, He Dusheng chose a frost-colored long gown and put it on.

The robe hung straight down, and on him it looked like fresh snow draped over pine branches.

The fabric was fine Hangzhou Gauze¹, woven so thin that when the slanting sunlight fell across it, the cloud-pattern embroidery beneath showed through faintly.

The color was not pure white, but more like the creamy sheen of oil skimmed from freshly cooked polished rice. Song Xuange had chosen it on purpose.

He Dusheng turned around and rolled his sleeves to two inches below his wrists.

He spread his hands toward Song Xuange, then slowly turned in a circle.

“Well? Does it fit?” he asked.

He stood tall and elegant before the window, stealing half the color from the morning light.

Fit was putting it too mildly.

Leaning against the headboard, Song Xuange’s gaze rippled faintly as her slender fingers wound a strand of hair by her ear around her index finger again and again.

She smiled at him. “Whose handsome young gentleman is this?”

While he was still caught in a daze, she went on, “To barge so boldly into a young lady’s boudoir²?”

He Dusheng came to himself and walked over, cupping his hands in a proper bow. “This humble scholar was indeed presumptuous.”

Then he added, “I possess nothing of value, only this body of mine. I wonder whether it is still to the young lady’s liking?”

When Song Xuange saw that he had really gotten into character, she grew embarrassed instead. She gave two light coughs to cover it up, yet still insisted on putting on an air of flirtatious ease. “Satisfied. Very satisfied.”

The smile on the face before her deepened.

Then he stepped closer and hemmed her into a space barely big enough to breathe.

He was so close that the tips of their noses were almost touching.

And he was still acting. “This humble scholar has traveled far and eaten neither food nor drink. My stomach is empty with hunger. Since the young lady is pleased, might she allow this humble scholar to beg for something to eat and drink?”

Song Xuange turned her head aside, avoiding his aggressive gaze.

But he caught her chin and turned her face back so she was looking straight at him.

He pressed, “May I?”

“I…” Her heart pounded like a drum, color blooming across her cheeks, her eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings. Song Xuange stammered, “I… I suppose you can.”

His untouched breakfast was still on the table by the window.

The man chuckled softly.

“This humble scholar thanks the young lady for her generosity.”

But after saying that, he still did not let her go.

Song Xuange heard herself swallow.

The man moved close to her lips, brushing them intimately.

“If the young lady has something delicious, don’t keep it all to yourself. Reward this humble scholar with a taste as well.”

In the next moment,

he could no longer restrain himself from seeking out the sweetness he had long desired.

…

After a long while, he wrapped his arms around her sated form, red as a cooked shrimp, and sighed, “The young lady truly did not deceive me. You really are sweet and delicious.”

This man was not at all as weak as Song Xuange had thought.

Sure enough, after putting that frost-colored gown back on, the same one he had just taken off again, He Dusheng calmly went downstairs.

He went to the laundry room and personally washed the set of pajamas he had worn for three days, along with the qipao she had just changed out of, still marked with water stains.

Ruixin didn’t understand. Ruixin was uneasy. Ruixin cast a pleading look toward Song Xuange.

Song Xuange turned her head away and pretended not to see.

Watching He Dusheng’s busy figure, it belatedly dawned on her, could it be that the reason this fellow hadn’t gone downstairs for three days was because he didn’t want to take off the pajamas she had sewn by hand?

He had always been particular, forever neat and courteous in front of the servants. Earlier, when Ruixin brought the iron upstairs, he had not even let her enter the room.

Since he was wearing pajamas, had he simply eaten all his meals in the room as well?

So when he learned that there were other outer garments she had chosen for him, he willingly went downstairs at once?

Song Xuange was only guessing. She wasn’t entirely sure.

After all, if such behavior were attributed to He Dusheng, it did seem a little childish.

But if that really had been what he was thinking, then it also felt a little adorable.

And it left her with a faint ache in her heart.

It only made her want to treat him even better.

During the meal, Song Xuange made a point of carefully observing his tastes and preferences.

But she didn’t discover any particular dishes he favored.

He could eat sweet dishes, and he showed no special preference for savory ones. He ate spicy food as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.

Light dishes were fine, and rich, heavily seasoned ones were fine too.

What she did notice instead was that whenever she reached for a certain dish a few extra times, even if he had originally been eating it happily, he would not touch it again after that and would only eat the others.

Only after she put down her chopsticks would he start eating from that dish again.

He did it all so naturally that if she had not been deliberately watching him these past few days, she never would have noticed.

She understood that this was his unconscious way of yielding to her.

Though Song Xuange was touched, she also felt a little stifled.

She was annoyed that he thought only of her and not of himself.

“What are you sulking about this time?” He Dusheng had the servants clear away the dishes and cups from the table, then brewed a pot of tea himself and handed her a cup.

So Song Xuange asked him directly, “What kind of dishes do you like?”

He Dusheng failed to follow her train of thought and let out an amused laugh. “So you’ve been staring at my chopsticks all this time because of that? I thought the food didn’t suit your taste.”

Then he said, “I don’t have any particular favorites. As long as it tastes good, that’s enough. Ordinary seasonal dishes are fragrant enough.”

Song Xuange puffed up in irritation.

Of course, she was angry at herself.

She told He Dusheng about how Lu Zhu had asked her what he liked, and she had been unable to answer.

“How can a person not have any tastes they prefer?” she said to him seriously. “You’re just saying that to placate me. You don’t have to accommodate me so completely that you wrong yourself. When we eat together, there ought to be dishes you like on the table too. If you don’t eat well, how are you supposed to go to work and get anything done?”

He Dusheng was left speechless, listening as her little mouth rattled on and on about why food had to be eaten with joy and satisfaction.

Only after a long while did he reply under her increasingly disgruntled stare, “I’m the one you were talking about, so how come you’re the one getting upset first?” Helpless, he took her handkerchief and wiped away her tears, then sighed. “What are you crying for?”

Once Song Xuange’s tears started, they wouldn’t stop.

Emotions during pregnancy really made no sense at all.

Instead, it ended with him apologizing, holding her and coaxing her softly. “My fault, my fault. How could there be no favorite dishes? My poor wife was asked and couldn’t even answer.”

Song Xuange thumped him. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Hahaha, I know.” He spoke slowly. “It’s true that I don’t have any particular favorite dish, Xuange. You don’t need to feel like you’ve wronged me.”

Seeing that she was about to glare at him again, He Dusheng continued, “Then let me tell you what dishes I don’t like.”

Song Xuange stopped crying at once and pricked up her ears.

Holding her in his arms, He Dusheng said slowly, “I don’t like bitter flavors. Things like bitter melon, lotus seeds, and ginkgo don’t suit my taste. When I was little, I ate too much pumpkin, sweet potatoes, pickled vegetables, and smoked fish, so I don’t care for those either. And soups like lotus root starch or water shield soup, all thick and sticky, look too much like the snot of street children. I saw too much of that back then, so eating it makes me queasy.”

Song Xuange committed it all to memory. Though some of those happened to be things she liked, it would be easy enough to make sure not every dish in a meal included them. “All right, I’ll let Nanny Wen know.”

He Dusheng smiled.

“Then shall I tell you what tea I like to drink?”

Song Xuange nodded furiously.

He Dusheng said, “I like the taste of ripe Pu’er tea best, mellow and full-bodied with a sweet aftertaste. That’s what’s usually stocked in my office. Sometimes…” He looked at Song Xuange, smiling with his eyes, “sometimes I also drink Qimen Black Tea. It smells very much like you, honeyed and orchid-like, with the lingering sweetness of preserved fruit.”

Qimen Black Tea was Song Xuange’s favorite. She understood what he had left unsaid.

For the entire afternoon, He Dusheng held her in his arms while the two of them chatted on and on about their likes and dislikes, and what foods they avoided.

Only, he already knew every one of her preferences and aversions clearly.

As for his, this was the first time she had ever learned any of them.

Song Xuange refused to accept it. “How could you possibly know every little one of my preferences that clearly? There has to be something you don’t know.”

He Dusheng arched a brow, his eyes full of indulgent, helpless affection that plainly said, Here you go again.

“Don’t believe me? Then test me.”

Song Xuange eagerly began setting questions.

Her questions were as obscure as they could possibly be.

From the fabric and colors she liked in her clothes, to the themes of civilized drama³ she enjoyed watching, to the shades of lipstick and brow powder she used, to the different temperatures and sweetness levels she preferred for her morning and evening milk… he answered every single one fluently, without the slightest pause.

Song Xuange stared at him with her round apricot eyes, looking at him as though he were her other self.

There were many things even she herself still had to hesitate over and sort out, yet when they reached him, giving an answer seemed absurdly easy.

This wasn’t scientific!

Her whole body radiated silent accusation toward him.

He Dusheng sighed once, then pretended to be troubled and aggrieved. “My dear young lady, you have no idea how delicate and fussy you are. What of yours would I dare not care for with utmost precision and caution?”

The back of his fingers brushed across her tender, rosy cheek. “Still, constant dripping wears away stone, and no effort is ever wasted⁴. For this country boy, He Dusheng, this life is already enough.”

Translator’s Notes