Chapter 2: Seventy Percent Full

It was already late autumn, and the weather was growing colder by the day, making lazy people all the more eager to curl up under the covers and refuse to get out of bed.
Yet the aroma of the food kept drifting to her nose, luring the still-sleeping person to open her eyes.
Following the smell, Mu Ran sat up groggily in bed and recognized the breakfast as her favorite Qibao porridge.
She was instantly energized, hurriedly put on her clothes, stepped into her shoes, got out of bed, ran out of the room, crossed the main hall, and ran into the kitchen.
Morning light spilled through the kitchen window lattice and fell on the plain blue garment the man was wearing, making him, with his extraordinary bearing, seem almost not of this world.
The man’s sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing a red knotted cord around his wrist. He lowered his eyes and held a porcelain spoon to taste the flavor. Even the hanging hem of his robe set off his tall, upright, and relaxed figure, adding a touch of worldly warmth.
Cang Shubai added more sugar to the porridge. Hearing the stealthy footsteps, he pretended not to have heard them. Sure enough, before long, someone hugged him from behind.
Mu Ran poked her head out from behind him. “You worked hard going out to work in the middle of the night. We agreed that today’s breakfast was mine to make.”
Cang Shubai turned his eyes back. “Then I’d have to eat breakfast and lunch together.”
He was mocking her for getting up late.
Murran pressed her face against his back and grumbled indignantly, “Actually, I woke up a long time ago. It’s just that when I saw you get up so early, I decided to sleep a little longer on your behalf.”
“Then later, are you going to eat a little more on my behalf too?”
Murran lifted her face and laughed out loud. “That’s not out of the question.”
Cang Shubai took her hand, his gaze gentle. “Go wash up. The porridge will be ready soon.”
Murran nodded obediently. She went to wash up, then sat down again at the dressing table and combed her hair in front of the mirror.
The person in the mirror still had the dewy look of someone just awake, her eyes shining as if they held light. Her black hair, tied with a green hairband, was braided into a pretty plait that matched the pale green ruqun she was wearing today.
Cang Shubai passed by the door carrying the bowl of porridge. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her in the mirror fussing with a few stray strands. He set down the bowl, walked over, and gently tucked the wisp of hair hanging by her cheek behind her ear. His fingertip brushed inadvertently against the tip of her ear. “Dawdle any longer and the porridge will go cold.”
In the mirror, his brows and eyes were curved in a smile, and even the arc of his blue robe sweeping past the back of her chair carried a touch of warmth.
Murong Ran finally pinned a beaded flower in her hair, then happily followed him out of the room.
But she could not sit still. It happened that the sunlight was just right today. After Cang Shubai finished tidying the kitchen and came out again, he saw that Murong Ran had already carried a bowl out of the house and gone to listen to the neighboring aunts in the same village chat.
The neighboring aunt was surnamed Wang, and everyone called her Aunt Wang. On ordinary days she took on some laundry work. Sometimes when she could not finish it all, she would share the work in her hands with other aunts, so her home could be called a small holy land of gossip.
Aunt Wang said mysteriously, “Hey, have you all heard? Those two from the Li family at the head of the village had a really fierce quarrel a few nights ago.”
The other aunts were curious while working. “What happened?”
Murong Ran sat on a small stool and nodded along. “What happened?”
Aunt Wang lowered her voice and said, “It’s all because of the Li family wife’s pregnancy.”
“Pregnancy is a good thing.”
Murran chimed in as well, “Right, it’s a good thing.”
Auntie Wang glanced at the others. “But the problem is, Li Ergou left home to sell goods three months ago, yet his wife has been pregnant for a month.”
“Oh my, what a sin!”
Murran took a spoonful of porridge and chewed the lotus seeds in it with relish. “What a sin indeed.”
One of the aunties said, “Every time I pass by the village entrance, the dog they keep at home barks at me a few times, but when Butcher Fan from the village passes by, that dog doesn’t make a sound. Butcher Fan is so familiar with the Li family’s dog—there must be something going on!”
“Right, and you know what, it just might be Butcher Fan who put horns on Li Ergou!”
“Li Ergou is crying his eyes out, saying he wants to throw himself into the river and end it all.”
“He’s an honest man—there’s no need for him to go to such extremes!”
Murong Ran swallowed a mouthful of porridge and chimed in, “Isn’t that the truth? The child may not be his, but the wife is, at least.”
All the aunties turned to look at this Murong Ran, their expressions somewhat odd.
When a bunch of women got together to gossip, the young wives in the village would get nervous at the sight of them—yet Murong Ran was quite the exception, always joining in the fun right in front of them every single time.
Still, Murong Ran had one good quality: she was very cooperative. Whether she had anything to say or not, she would always pick up the conversation and never let it go cold. So they were rather fond of this young wife.
Auntie Wang kindly reminded her, “Xiao Ran, don’t you often go to town to take on work? And your man goes to the clinic in town for work every day too—you two had better be careful. I heard from my husband that some demonic cultivators are killing people randomly, and the town is under strict lockdown now.”
Murong Ran’s expression changed. “That terrifying!”
Strictly speaking, the law of the jungle was the norm in the cultivation world. To become stronger, no one’s hands were entirely clean. There were countless paths of cultivation, and among them were those who cultivated through “slaughter.” Killing for treasure happened often enough that such people naturally came to be called demonic cultivators.
Murong Ran had some cultivation, but not much. That was why, after leaving her family, she and Cang Shubai—who was equally mediocre in cultivation—had chosen to settle in a small village far from conflict.
Aunt Wang said, “The way I see it, you’d better quit your jobs in town.”
Another aunt said, “You’re advising Xiaoran not to go to town, but isn’t your own husband still running errands in town?”
Aunt Wang waved her hand and said helplessly, “If our family hadn’t gone into debt years ago to treat my illness, I really wouldn’t want him running errands in town. Simple tea and plain rice every day would be just fine.”
Mu Ran finished the bowl of porridge. Just as she was about to head back, Auntie Wang pulled her aside and said to her quietly, just the two of them:
“I heard from my man that Squire Chen in town even went out of his way to ask whether the young gentleman at the clinic is married. You’d better keep an eye out—your man is so handsome he could turn heads, so be careful someone doesn’t snatch him away.”
Mu Ran had never heard Cang Shubai mention anything about Squire Chen. She nodded, thanked Auntie Wang, and, carrying the empty bowl, ran back with light, quick steps.
One of the aunties sighed, “That little girl really is lucky. Clothes come to her hand and food to her mouth—why don’t I have luck like hers, finding a husband who dotes on her so much?”
Aunt Wang sneered, “Then why don’t you try being as pretty as this little girl first?”
Mu Ran passed through the fence-built courtyard gate, and when she drew near the door of the main hall, she stopped in her tracks.
Cang Shubai was sitting on the wooden chair in the main hall, his posture upright yet not stiff. The hem of his plain blue robe hung down by the side of the chair, making the white porcelain congee bowl held between his fingertips seem all the more smooth and lustrous.
The morning light fell on his profile, yet it seemed to be held at bay by a faint layer of aloofness—even the way he ate his congee was so elegant that one dared not approach him lightly.
However, when he lifted his eyes and her figure fell into his dark gaze, the corners of his eyes curved slightly, and the aloofness melted into tenderness.
At the doorway, Mu Ran stepped left, shifted right, shook her head and swayed it, now and then stroking her chin and knitting her brows, then fixing her eyes on him without blinking.
Cang Shubai asked softly, “What are you doing?”
Mu Ran put on a stern face. “Don’t disturb me. I’m thinking seriously.”
Cang Shubai set down the bowl in his hand and indeed said no more, his brows and eyes relaxing as he let her look her fill.
After a long while, Mu Ran finally confirmed something, and she said, “My husband really is good-looking!”
Cang Shubai’s gaze flickered slightly, and he reached his hand out toward her.
Mu Ran quickly stepped up the stairs, entered the main gate, and came to stand before him, where he took her hand. He took the empty bowl from her other hand and set it down, and at the same time he drew her to sit beside him.
He said nothing, only raised his hand to lightly touch the green hair tie in her hair, then smoothed the stray strands at her temples that had come loose from her running, his fingertip lingering on her ear without leaving.
“Jinzhi, it tickles so much.”
She couldn’t stand it and tried to dodge to the side, but she didn’t know how he was applying force with his hand—she felt no pain, yet she simply couldn’t break free of his hold, and could only remain encircled in that little world filled with his scent.
He asked, “Are you full?”
Mu Ran shook her head. “I only had one bowl of congee, and I’m only thirty percent full. I want another bowl.”
“No rush.”
Mu Ran tilted her head. “Why no rush?”
A pair of hands gripped her waist, and she suddenly felt her body leave the ground as she was lifted up. In her fluster, she scrambled to wrap her arms and legs around him, like a koala clinging to him.
Cang Shubai supported her bottom with one hand and turned around with ease, stroking the hair at the back of her head and kissing the corner of her lips. “Let’s go take care of something else first. At noon I’ll make you something delicious.”
They entered the bedroom. A gust of wind blew through, the main door shut, and the morning light was sealed off.
Before long, faint murmurs echoed in the dimness.
“What delicious food are you going to make for me?”
“What do you want to eat?”
“I heard… I heard that Eight-Colored Mixed Delicacy is delicious. Even many top cultivators may never get to taste it, especially one of the ingredients—it requires the meat of a Fire Qilin Beast, which is very dangerous and very hard to find.”
“All right, tomorrow I’ll go wipe out the Fire Qilin Beast’s den.”
“You really are joking…” Her voice suddenly changed tone. “Jinzhi!”
“Hm?”
“G-gen-gently!”
“I’ve only eaten until I’m seventy percent full. I can’t be gentle.”
“…Chapter 3, I’ll help you
Cang Shubai had accompanied Doctor Hu up the mountain to gather herbs last night, so the next day he could go to work at the clinic in town in the afternoon.
As always, he had lunch with Mu Ran, then cleared the dishes and bowls, and was about to head out.
When he reached the front gate, he turned back.
Mu Ran, having eaten and drunk her fill, sat in the chair with her hands resting on the table and her chin propped in them, eyes closed, head swaying back and forth, looking drowsy and utterly relaxed and comfortable.
Cang Shubai said, “I’m heading out.”
Mu Ran opened her eyes to a slit. “Oh, go ahead.”
Cang Shubai turned around and said again, “Ranran.”
“Hm?”
“I’m heading out.”
Mu Ran stared at him blankly for a while, then suddenly snapped back to her senses. She got down from the chair, quickly rushed toward him, threw her arms around him, and gently patted his back.
“Jinzhi, be safe out there. I’ll wait for you to come home.”
Cang Shubai bent down, rested his chin on the top of her head, lightly touched her green hair ribbon with his fingertips, and his lips moved slightly. “Wait for me to come back and make dinner.”
Mu Ran obediently murmured “mm-hmm” twice, then stood on her tiptoes and kissed his jaw. “Go on now, don’t be late, or the boss will dock your pay again.”
He rubbed the top of her head and let out a soft laugh.
Not long after Cang Shubai left, Mu Ran tidied herself up as well and hurried out the door.
Aunt Wang was hanging laundry. Seeing Mu Ran come out of the neighboring yard, she said, “Xiao Ran, are you going to town to work again?”
Mu Ran nodded and shook the toolbox slung over her left shoulder. “I promised the workshop owner I’d go help today.”
Aunt Wang said, “Your husband earns quite a bit too. Why do you always have to go to town and wear yourself out?”
“Aunt Wang, didn’t you say so yourself? Things haven’t been peaceful lately. I want to earn a bit more money, then find a chance to tell Jinzhi I’m quitting my job in town. By the way, Aunt Wang, could I ask you to…”
Auntie Wang: “I know. I’ll pretend I didn’t see anything and won’t say a word to that husband of yours.”
Mu Ran grinned, waved her hand, and said, “Thanks, Auntie Wang. I’m off!”
Watching Mu Ran’s receding figure, Auntie Wang couldn’t help but smile and sigh. “Those two really are like a match made in heaven—they’re so deeply in love.”
In the past, whenever Mu Ran needed to go somewhere far, all she needed was a single flying talisman to reach her destination at incredible speed. But now she had to save money—things like talismans were something she couldn’t bear to spend on.
She walked for over half an hour before reaching the town, where people came and went in a lively bustle.
Perhaps what Auntie Wang had said about demonic cultivators killing people more brazenly these days was true—at the very least, she saw far more cultivators on the streets than before, and there was a distinct sense of tension, like a storm about to break.
Mu Ran withdrew her appraising gaze and entered the Song family workshop.
Boss Song was over fifty but still full of vigor. He had been lying bored across the counter, fiddling with his abacus, when he caught sight of Mu Ran and his eyes lit up. “Oh my, my dear Miss Mu, you’ve finally come.”
It just so happened that there were customers wandering idly in the shop, and when they heard the words “Miss Mu,” both men looked over at once.
Mu Ran hurriedly said, “I’m just a country woman from the backwoods, Boss Song, please don’t call me that every time—I really can’t take it!”
The two men who had come together looked at each other and said in low voices.
“I really thought she was the eldest young lady of Biyun Mountain.”
“That young lady was stripped of her cultivation and expelled from Biyun Mountain three years ago for refusing to marry the young palace master of Wuyu Palace, and driven down the mountain. If she’s still alive now, she must be in a sorry state.”
“That’s true. I heard that afterward the second Miss Mu married in her place. If she knew that the young palace master, who had been unconscious and reduced to a useless wreck, has now awakened and even inherited the position of palace master, she’d surely regret it to death.”
Cut off from the Mu clan of Biyun Mountain, a mere woman on her own could certainly not fare well in this world where the weak are prey to the strong.
The woman carving wood here in the workshop before them was quite strikingly beautiful. Although she was working, her skin was delicate and fair—one could tell at a glance that she had been well cared for and had not suffered any hardship.
How could it be the eldest daughter of the Mu family, who had been driven out of the clan and was perhaps still alive somewhere, begging and fawning?
These two cultivators were dressed unusually and looked quite unfamiliar. They must be from out of town again, and likely from some well-known sect.
Cultivators like that usually looked down on everything and would never take a fancy to the goods of these small places.
Boss Song did not expect them to buy anything either, and chatted on and off with Mu Ran, who sat by the workbench carving wood.
“The mirror you made last time—the girls in town love it. One look in that mirror and they turn beautiful… beau…”
Mu Ran said, “Beauty filter.”
“Yes, yes, yes, this is the beauty filter.” Boss Song clicked his tongue in admiration. “I really don’t know where you get all these ideas from, being able to make so many strange and wonderful things. By the way, the young lady of the Chen family said she wants to order a batch of mirrors to give as gifts.”
Mu Ran nodded. “As long as the pay is good enough, I’ll make however many noodles you want.”
Boss Song smiled. “Doctor Cang Shu is truly fortunate to have such a clever and skillful wife.”
Mu Ran smiled. “I think having such a good husband is my blessing too.”
Speaking of it, there was nothing particularly stirring or epic about how Mu Ran and Cang Shubai met.
At that time, she needed a place to stay and didn’t want to attract attention, and she had to use her spirit stones sparingly, so she rented a small courtyard in the sparsely populated outskirts.
At that time, Cang Shubai lived right across from her. Although they were neighbors, more than half a year had passed and they had only caught a glimpse of each other occasionally when going out—they were merely nodding acquaintances who didn’t even know each other’s names.
Their true destiny began on a night of heavy rain.
Mu Ran’s room was leaking badly, almost completely flooded. Feeling sorry for her furniture, she had no choice but to hold up an umbrella and knock on the door across the way.
The gate opened, and the young master stood there in a robe of azure, his ink-black hair unbound. “Is something the matter?”
The raindrops clinging to the folds of the cyan fabric rolled down, adding a touch of fresh moisture that was even more refreshing than the rain curtain hanging from the eaves.
She was soaked through and looked quite bedraggled. Summoning her courage, she asked softly, “My roof is leaking and needs repairing. Do you have a ladder at your home?”
The young master nodded. “I do.”
Her eyes lit up. “Can I borrow this for a bit?”
He said, “The ladder is in the woodshed. I’ll go get it.”
The young man in blue stood beneath the eaves, then suddenly turned to look back again.
The umbrella she held tilted slightly in the wind, one shoulder already soaked through; her light-colored dress clung to her body, making her slender figure even more apparent.
As if sensing his gaze, she looked up. The rain had dampened the tips of her hair, with a few strands clinging to her fair cheeks, and had also misted her dark, liquid eyes.
Later, he said, “Let me help you.”
That rainy night, they exchanged names, and after that, they grew more and more familiar with each other. Another half year passed, and their marriage became a matter of course.