After she let go, Wen Zhaoye still wanted to refuse the bed, but she grabbed his shoulders and made him turn over.
His body stiffened slightly, and he suddenly remembered the numerous scratches on his back, and the deep fingernails left by someone from the previous night on his shoulder:
What if she takes the opportunity to undress me? I'd be heartbroken.
Wen Jiaojiao urged, "..."
"Hurry up! Doesn't your back... hurt?"
"Not sour."
As Wen Zhaoye finished speaking, his long eyelashes trembled slightly. He swiftly stepped off the bed and lay down heavily on it. The bed leg creaked and broke off with a loud crash, and the bed board tilted rapidly.
Wen Zhaoye's pupils widened in surprise. He quickly raised one hand to grab the edge of the bed, barely managing to keep his balance and avoid falling.
Tonight...
Wen Jiaojiao quickly got out of bed and pulled Wen Zhaoye to his feet, saying:
"Brother, are you alright?"
"It's alright, I'll go out and have someone make a bed for me as soon as possible." Wen Zhaoye said, and walked out first.
Noticing Wen Jiaojiao's gaze fixed on his back, he raised an eyebrow slightly.
Just as he was convinced she was going to follow him again, he turned his head and saw Wen Jiaojiao climb into bed. He comforted himself with the thought:
Yeah, when laziness strikes, I don't even recognize my own family. It's normal that I don't want to be clingy right now.
Wen Jiaojiao lay flat on the bed, on her side with her back to the door.
Finally, they've left. Now I can finally get some rest.
Wen Zhaoye arrived at Zhang the carpenter's house at the village entrance, but didn't see anyone. Just as he was about to leave, he caught a glimpse of a busy figure in the kitchen and said:
"Make me a bed."
Zhang Qiaoling paused in her work of cooking pig feed, turned her head and saw Wen Zhaoye, exclaiming in surprise:
"Wen Zhaoye, you're here? Come in and have a seat."
Two thick, black braids hung obediently on either side of her neck, and her little face was filled with joy.
Wen Zhaoye walked out:
"No need. If your dad isn't home, please pass on the message that the bed should be two meters long and two and a half meters wide, the latest model with a bedside table."
Only families getting married in the village would have a large bed, let alone a bedside table, Zhang Qiaoling exclaimed in surprise:
"Wen Zhaoye, you're getting married? To whom?"
Wen Zhaoye hesitated for a moment, then spoke again:
"Not that fast yet."
Zhang Qiaoling frowned and walked to his side, scrutinizing him closely:
"From this, it sounds like you've found someone you like and are planning to get married?"
Wen Zhaoye and she had been classmates since childhood, so he naturally knew that she was a notorious gossip; whatever she said a second ago would spread like wildfire the next.
He said impatiently, "I just want to sleep comfortably, don't ask me anything else."
Zhang Qiaoling looked him over, her gaze settling on a faint red mark on the back of his neck.
"You're not even married, so which woman gave you those scratches on the back of your neck?"
Wen Zhaoye subconsciously raised his hand to cover the back of his neck, giving her a cold glance: "You scratched yourself."
Zhang Qiaoling was a well-known tomboy since childhood, the kind of person who played with boys all the time. She considered herself to have known him fairly well since childhood.
She firmly believed that Wen Zhaoye wasn't the type to philander, but she couldn't help teasing him further:
"You caught it yourself, so why are you feeling guilty?"
"If it's none of your business, then don't ask."
Wen Zhaoye could no longer contain himself and finished speaking in an unfriendly tone. He had just stepped onto the road when, as if remembering something, he paused:
My subconscious thoughts were all about women, but what if it was a short, thin man last night?
So it's not that they're preventing the final step, but that the final step can't be taken at all. They even sneaked out this morning because they were afraid I'd find out.
Wen Zhaoye frowned, increasingly confused, and decided to simply try to forget this memory altogether.
Anyway, as long as it's not Wen Jiaojiao, whether it's a man or a woman, it's disgusting enough to him.
Wen Jiaojiao woke up in the evening. She groggily looked through the narrow window at the last rays of the setting sun. Stepping out of the main room, she saw Wen Zhaoye chopping wood.
This young man is incredibly strong; he still has the energy to chop wood.
Sweat streamed down Wen Zhaoye's muscular arms beneath his short-sleeved shirt, beads of sweat crisscrossing his forehead. His handsome face was wild and untamed. He glanced through the window at Wen Jiaojiao, who was sitting up on the bed, and called out:
"I left some rice for you in the pot, go and eat it yourself."
Wen Jiaojiao's desire to slack off and pretend to sleep vanished instantly. She went out and said solicitously:
"Brother, let me do it. I'm best at chopping wood. I'll finish the work first and then eat, otherwise I won't be able to eat."
Wen Zhaoye didn't let go: "Are you sure?"
Wen Jiaojiao was eager to prove herself, and had just forcefully snatched the axe when its heavy weight caused her to fall to the ground, her face turning red.
She tried twice, but found it difficult to even swing. Under his chuckling gaze, she awkwardly dropped it on the ground, catching her breath as she said:
"I really can't chop firewood, but I can let my mom do it. She has plenty of strength anyway."
Wen Zhaoye picked up the axe, glanced at her indulgently, and urged:
"Hurry up and eat. You haven't eaten for two meals, aren't you hungry?"
Wen Jiaojiao turned away dejectedly and went into the kitchen. She opened the pot lid, and just by looking at the thick mung bean porridge in the small porcelain bowl, she knew it must have been made by Wen Zhaoye.
After all, Xu Cuifen would only cook it thick for her when she was given special treatment; the rest of the time it was just clear broth and water.
She brought it out, sat on a bamboo stool in the courtyard, and scooped a spoonful into her mouth:
"Where's my mom? I can't see her."
Wen Zhaoye's long arms bulged with a strong, muscular shape, and beads of sweat clinging to his forehead dripped onto the tip of his high, straight nose with each sweeping motion of chopping wood.
"After finishing our meal, we went to Aunt Pang's house, and she hasn't come back yet."
Wen Jiaojiao swallowed the thick porridge that was sticking to her throat with difficulty, and a bad premonition suddenly arose in her heart:
Could this cheapskate mom be trying to take advantage of me again?
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