Chapter 11

It was late spring, early summer—that drowsy time of year. He'd been active all morning, trekking across most of the mountain, and was worn out.

Chen Jue followed the natural rhythm of eating when hungry and sleeping when tired, dozing off as squirrels hopped around and birds chirped occasionally. With the scent of chrysanthemums by his pillow, he slept even more soundly.

When he woke, the sun was already dipping toward the west. Chen Jue yawned, stretched, and prepared to head down the mountain. On the way down, he picked some wood ear mushrooms and dried pine mushrooms.

He'd tried cooking greens earlier today and planned to make them for dinner.

Gray rabbits occasionally darted through the grass, and pheasants flapped away, but unfortunately, no eggs were left in their nests.

Chen Jue didn't think much of it. He couldn't even bear to recall the taste of eggs right now. With his stomach still settled and his body feeling fine, he decided not to think about anything that might make him puke.

Since he knew the trail well and had left earlier this time, Chen Jue reached the village in no time, the sun just barely above the mountaintop. He started processing the herbs in the yard.

Today, he could finally brew Zhou Qingshan's medicine.

The dodder vine was soft and delicate, and after a day of drying, it was ready to be used as medicine.

That morning, Chen Jue had found bai ren zi and sour jujube kernels among the herbs he'd stored earlier.

He had almost all the ingredients he needed.

The Huo family had a medicine pot—probably because the original owner had gathered herbs, they had all the necessary tools.

Today, Chen Jue finally got to use the big stove with its attached smaller one. The Huo family's stove was quite impressive. Though Chen Jue couldn't cook, he could appreciate good craftsmanship.

The stove was neatly built from mud bricks, with three openings of different sizes arranged according to the compass points.

The smallest was at the edge.

The small stove had a very low flame, fed by leftover heat from the big one. It was used for simmering soups and stews, and most importantly, for keeping food warm so the household's masters could eat whenever they wanted.

This kind of stove was typical of wealthy households. Ordinary families wouldn't bother with an extra small stove just to keep soups warm.

Chen Jue had seen this design in a documentary about medicinal food.

Everything else in the Huo household was as rough as the other village homes, but this stove was exceptionally well made. Maybe it was built because Old Man Huo was sick and needed a stove for brewing medicine.

Chen Jue was just guessing. He had no memories from before, not even what the Huo family looked like.

Reducing three bowls of water to one takes time, so Chen Jue decided to cook his own meal while he waited. But he was still clumsy in the kitchen—scrubbing the pot was a hassle, and tipping water out of the big iron pot set into the stove was tough.

Once he finally managed to get everything into the pot, Chen Jue sat down to stoke the fire.

The bitter smell of the medicine drifted out faintly. Bai ren zi had a distinctive pine-like scent that grew stronger when boiled, cutting through the lard smell from his vegetable pot.

He was low on cooking oil, but there was a jar of white lard. Even though Chen Jue didn't want to smell it, he knew he needed some fat in his diet.

So he added a spoonful of lard to the soup, planning to stew mushrooms in it, and tossed in a small handful of the milk berries and goji berries he'd picked that day.

He hoped to recreate Director Zhou's cream of mushroom soup.

Unfortunately, his soup-making skills were nowhere near as good as his medicine-brewing skills.

By the time the medicine was ready, his cream of mushroom soup had failed. One sip and Chen Jue almost threw up. He rushed to the fence and puked until he was breathless, just as Zhou Qingzhu arrived to pick up the medicine. Seeing him throwing up so violently, Zhou Qingzhu thought he'd eaten poison.

"Brother Chen, you okay? Why are you puking so bad?"

Chen Jue took a sip of water to rinse his mouth and waved his hand at him, his throat hurting.

Zhou Qingzhu couldn't help saying, "I never want to have kids after seeing this. It's too painful."

Chen Jue glanced at him in surprise. Zhou Qingzhu was only fifteen and not even married yet, and he already didn't want kids? That was a modern way of thinking—a Gen Z way of thinking.

It seemed you couldn't judge by modern or ancient standards. People who didn't want kids just didn't want them.

He himself had once been someone who didn't want kids. He'd made a vow to Director Zhou: he would never marry, and even if he did, he wouldn't have kids.

Back then, when he realized he was gay and couldn't tell Director Zhou directly, he came up with that excuse to fend off the pressure to get married.

Little did he know that every vow he'd made back then would now come true.

So you shouldn't make vows lightly.

He hoped this young man wouldn't have his words thrown back in his face someday.

Chen Jue gave a slight shake of his head and pointed toward the kitchen.

"I've brewed the medicine. Take it home. It's made of bai ren zi, sour jujube kernels, dodder vine, and Caulis Polygoni Multiflori—three bowls of water boiled down to one. It's for calming the mind and helping you sleep. Take it every night before bed. Let your eldest brother try it for a few days and see how it goes. If it doesn't help, I'll switch to something else. Keep an eye on your brother's mental state over the next few days."

Without a medical chart to write on, Chen Jue simply explained the prescription and dosage aloud.

A doctor's habit.

Zhou Qingzhu, struck by how clearly and logically he spoke, glanced toward the kitchen, then looked back at him.

Brother Chen knows medicine? No, that wasn't the question right now. The question was whether he had gotten over his grief this quickly.

Had Chen Jue really moved past the news of losing his husband in just one day?

He found it hard to believe, yet he couldn't read anything on Chen Jue's face. He was too calm—calmer than ever before. It was a cold, expressionless detachment.

Aside from slightly red eyes, there was no other sign of excessive grief. And the redness was from vomiting.

This left Zhou Qingzhu unable to say any of the comforting words he had prepared.

When he looked at the pot of soup Chen Jue had made, Zhou Qingzhu was even more at a loss for words.

The big pot was full of whole stalks of greens, whole mushrooms, and egg foam floating all over the surface...

He had sensed something was off. Chen Jue's cooking used to look much better than this. Was this a pregnancy craving for whole vegetables?

But when he saw Chen Jue take another sip and run off to vomit again, Zhou Qingzhu opened the bamboo basket he had brought. He had almost forgotten—he had come to deliver food.

"Brother Chen, my dad made some flatbreads. Want to try one?"

After vomiting, Chen Jue was about to tell him to take it away, but a glance changed his mind. To his surprise, the flatbread was made of wheat flour—not white, but pure wheat. That was rare, especially during this lean season between harvests.

He caught the aroma of staple food and instinctively swallowed.

Zhou Qingzhu smiled and said, "Eat up, they're fresh off the griddle."

Chen Jue knew this was Uncle Liu's way of thanking him for brewing medicine for Zhou Qingshan.

Uncle Liu hadn't even questioned whether the prescription was correct—he just came straight to express his gratitude.

Chen Jue didn't know whether to call them simple folk or people with an innate reverence for medicine—as long as there was medicine, they would drink it.

If this were the modern era, the patient's condition, the prescribed medication, and its side effects would all need to be clearly explained.

But Uncle Liu had never even asked what illness Zhou Qingshan had.

Thinking this, Chen Jue said, "Thank Uncle Liu for me. He doesn't need to make me pancakes anymore. I just grabbed Brother Qingshan's herbs while I was out—they're common ingredients, not worth much silver. Think of the brewing as my thanks for Uncle Liu taking care of me these past few days."

Zhou Qingzhu's words of gratitude got caught in his throat.

Was he really that black-and-white about debts and favors?

Being so black-and-white made him feel distant, and Zhou Qingzhu felt a bit uneasy. Brother Chen used to be quiet too, but not this... cold. In this village, Brother Chen was closest to him—he would never talk to him like this.

Every time he came, Brother Chen would pull out a stool for him, and even if he sat there fixing two pairs of shoes, Brother Chen wouldn't kick him out.

Zhou Qingzhu didn't know what had gone wrong. Under Chen Jue's direct stare that clearly expected him to leave, he shuffled out awkwardly.

When he returned the medicine pot, Chen Jue had already eaten and was washing and processing herbs. Zhou Qingzhu offered to help, but Chen Jue refused. Chen Jue said directly, "When you get home, massage your brother's legs. Do it at least half an hour a day—it'll help him heal faster."

"Really?" Zhou Qingzhu was never one to keep his mouth shut. Seeing Chen Jue just nod, he couldn't help but ask in a low voice, "Brother Chen, you know how to prescribe meds and treat people?"

Chen Jue's eyebrows twitched slightly. Finally, that question—his family should've asked that first.

Chen Jue said seriously, "I know a little."

What he knew was indeed just a little when it came to traditional Chinese medicine. Director Zhou said she was just a beginner, so as her half-baked student, he didn't dare call himself a TCM doctor.

If someone asked if he was good with a scalpel, he could say without hesitation he was the best surgeon at Zhonghai Hospital.

Too bad no one here would appreciate that, and he wouldn't need it anytime soon. Back then, even Cao Cao, with his killer headaches, didn't dare let Hua Tuo cut him open, let alone a nobody herb picker like him.

Zhou Qingzhu said, "Wow! That's awesome! Even a little is awesome—Brother Chen, you never told me this before."

Just as Chen Jue was about to say it ran in the family, Zhou Qingzhu automatically filled in the blank: "Is there a doctor on your mom's side of the family?"

...Mom's side.

Chen Jue pressed his lips together. Well, that term did fit.

Chen Jue didn't explain further. The more he explained, the more gaps would show, so it was better to let them imagine on their own. The original owner was quiet, and since he'd only married into the family a year ago, not many people knew his background.

Seeing Chen Jue start chopping herbs, the small guillotine cutter clanking loudly, Zhou Qingzhu knew he didn't want to talk more and took his leave.

By the time Chen Jue had sorted all the herbs he'd picked over the past two days, the sun had completely set.

The big rooster had been circling Chen Jue while he chopped the herbs, its long beak constantly trying to snatch a piece. Chen Jue shooed it away a few times: "You'll get yours soon enough."

And he meant it.

He mixed the day's herb dregs with a handful of bok choy leaves and cornmeal into a small bowl of slop, and the rooster ate it up happily.

Chen Jue rested his chin on his hands and watched it eat. This rooster was a glutton—whether it was the corn hanging on the wall or the herbs he'd gathered, if it wasn't poisonous, it had to be the first to try it.

The hen never fought with it. Every morning, she went out to scratch for food herself and, being self-sufficient, still laid an egg for him every day.

Comparing the two, who'd like this lazy, good-for-nothing rooster?

So Chen Jue had no mercy. Before long, the rooster, which had been eating happily, wobbled around the yard like it was drunk, then collapsed under the tree.

Chen Jue grabbed it by the neck and hung it on the tree. Since nothing had snatched it last night, tonight should be safe too.

Even though he lived at the foot of the mountain, it was still pretty safe—no big animals came down.

He needed a good night's sleep. So the rooster would hang on the tree for now.

Chen Jue closed the wooden fence gate and the plank door, washed up quickly, and sat on the edge of the kang to soak his feet.

After soaking his feet, he could sleep well.

In his past life, busy with school and work, he rarely got a full night's sleep. Now that he finally had time, he'd sleep well—it was good for the baby, too.

Chen Jue looked down at his belly. He wanted to reach out and touch it but ultimately gave up. He'd accepted the child, but he wasn't ready to take on the role of a mother yet.

Author's note:

Don't worry too much—this story's romance has nothing to do with the original female lead. Since it's tied to the plot, I won't spoil it.

This story is about how sworn enemies become lovers. If you're into that kind of trope, keep reading—I'm planning to write a long one this time. As always, thanks for your comments and bookmarks.