Dusk, like a soft veil, slowly enveloped the back hill of the Hongqi Production Brigade. Lin Wanqiu had just carefully placed the freshly laid eggs into her cloth bag, the warmth of the eggshells still lingering on her fingertips, when suddenly she heard very light footsteps behind her—not the crisp sound of a wild animal breaking a dry branch, but the steady sound of someone deliberately lightening their footsteps.
Her heart tightened, and she turned abruptly, her right hand instinctively reaching for the sickle hidden at her waist. The last rays of the setting sun slanted through the gaps in the poplar leaves, falling precisely on the person who had just arrived: the cuffs of his faded coarse cloth jacket were rolled up to his forearms, revealing his strong wrists; his trouser legs were stained with a little mud; his hair was shorter than when they last met, and the stray hairs on his forehead were slightly blown by the wind. It was none other than her husband, Shen Tingzhou, whom she had thought had "sacrificed" himself nearly a year ago.
Shen Tingzhou stopped three steps away from her, his dark eyes fixed on her. His gaze first fell on her hand tightly gripping the sickle, then moved to her bulging cloth bag, and finally settled on the chicken coop behind her. His voice was as deep as a mountain stream: "Did you build this chicken coop?"
Lin Wanqiu's heart pounded, her hand gripping the sickle tightly, leaving a mark. In the original owner's memories of her past life, Shen Tingzhou always wore a crisp military uniform, his eyes sharp as an eagle, his speech crisp and decisive, characteristic of a soldier. But the man before her had shed the sharpness of his uniform, gaining a more approachable air, yet he was still someone not to be underestimated. She suppressed her shock and confusion, slowly releasing the sickle, her tone as calm as possible: "Yes, it's only been here a few days. What are you doing here?"
"Just passing by." Shen Tingzhou's answer was concise, but his gaze did not leave the chicken coop, and his brows furrowed slightly. "The fence is too sparse, and weasels can easily get in at night; the thatch on the roof is only one layer, and it will leak when it rains heavily." As he spoke, he walked towards the chicken coop, and gently tapped the willow fence with his fingers. "The willow branches have not been soaked, and they will dry out and break in no time."
Lin Wanqiu watched him expertly inspect the chicken coop, her doubts growing. Shen Tingzhou was a military officer; how could he know these farm chores? And he said he was "just passing by"—this back mountain was remote, rarely visited except by villagers gathering firewood. How could someone "on a classified mission" just "pass by"?
"You know how to build chicken coops?" Lin Wanqiu couldn't help but ask.
Shen Tingzhou glanced back at her, his dark eyes seemingly hiding emotions she couldn't understand: "I learned a little from the villagers when I was stationed in the countryside for training." He paused, then took out a hammer, a few polished wooden nails, and a small bundle of hemp rope soaked in tung oil from his canvas backpack. "I'll reinforce it for you, so there won't be any accidents tonight."
Lin Wanqiu stared blankly at the tools in his hands—these tools were clearly meticulously prepared; the wooden pegs were the perfect length to secure the fence, and the hemp rope, soaked in tung oil, was rot-resistant and durable. They didn't seem like things someone would carry while "passing by." Her doubts grew, but she didn't refuse. Firstly, she was genuinely worried about a weasel attack, and secondly, she wanted to take the opportunity to see what Shen Tingzhou was up to.
Shen Tingzhou walked to the fence first, squatted down, and carefully examined the joints of each willow branch. His movements were practiced; his fingers deftly tightened the loose branches, then firmly bound them with hemp rope soaked in tung oil, each knot tied tightly and neatly. The light of the setting sun fell on his lowered eyelashes, casting a small shadow under his eyelids, softening his usually cold and hard features.
Lin Wanqiu stood to the side, watching his busy figure, and suddenly recalled a fragment from the original owner's memories: When Shen Tingzhou returned home to visit his family after joining the army, he saw that the neighbor's cowshed was about to collapse, and without saying a word, he helped repair it, looking just as focused. At that time, he was not yet the taciturn officer who was only focused on his mission later on; his eyes still held the enthusiasm of a young man.
"Pass me a wooden peg." Shen Tingzhou's voice interrupted her thoughts.
Lin Wanqiu quickly stepped forward, picked up a wooden nail, and handed it to her. Her fingertips inadvertently brushed against his fingers; his hand was cold but strong, bearing the thin calluses from years of holding guns. Lin Wanqiu recoiled as if burned, her heart pounding even faster.
Shen Tingzhou seemed oblivious to her odd behavior. He took the wooden nails and gently hammered them into the fence posts to secure the loose willow branches. "When weaving fences in the future, use willow branches that have been soaked in water. They're more flexible and less likely to break," he whispered as he worked. "You should also lay a layer of dry grass in the chicken coop. It will keep you warm and collect chicken droppings as fertilizer."
Lin Wanqiu nodded, silently noting down his words. She realized that although Shen Tingzhou was a man of few words, he was very thoughtful, even considering details like using chicken manure as fertilizer. This added another layer of doubt to her mind—was he really just "passing by," or had he been secretly watching her and Nian'an all along?
The two worked together seamlessly. Shen Tingzhou was responsible for reinforcing the fence and roof, while Lin Wanqiu went to the stream to fetch clean water to wash the feeding troughs and waterers. She also took out some hay from her storage space and spread it in the chicken coop. The chickens and ducks seemed unafraid of Shen Tingzhou, pacing around his feet and occasionally pecking at his trouser legs. He didn't chase them away, but would occasionally bend down and gently stroke the chickens' feathers.
As dusk settled and the mountain breeze grew cooler, Shen Tingzhou finally hammered in the last wooden nail. He then added a thick layer of thatch to the roof and secured it with hemp rope. He stood up, dusted off his hands, and looked at the reinforced chicken coop, nodding in satisfaction: "This is much sturdier now. Even if it rains heavily tonight, we don't have to worry about leaks, and weasels can't get in."
Looking at the newly renovated chicken coop, Lin Wanqiu was filled with gratitude. She took out the freshly laid egg from her cloth bag and handed it to Shen Tingzhou: "This egg was just laid today, it's still warm, you can have it."
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