The Blacksmith’s Pretty Husband

My other book, The Spoiled Young Master Opens a Restaurant. So What?, is now underway!

Qing Mu'er grew up surrounded by cheap rouge and face powder, learning by osmosis all the tricks of swaying hips, leaning against pillars, and curling his fingers as he giggled coquettishly.

Those were the only things he knew how to do.

When he was fifteen, a beautiful married man at the brothel stuffed a bundle into his hands and told him to run. Qing Mu'er ran ahead in a daze, dodging pursuers along the way, but he couldn't shake the brothel's thugs. Just as he was losing hope, he came across a wedding procession.

He thought he'd been rescued, but the matchmaker forcibly dragged him into the sedan chair.

“The new groom ran away, so you'll take his place!”

Lying in the sedan chair, Qing Mu'er felt utterly hopeless. He'd let the beautiful man down. He'd escaped one abyss only to be thrown into another. His life had never been easy.

When a tough, fearsome man lifted the sedan curtains, Qing Mu'er thought he was about to be punched to death.

To stay alive, he tucked in his dainty fingers, straightened his pert backside, and tried to imitate the way other men walked, with their toes turned out. He'd heard that the married man next door was as fierce as a tiger, so he copied what he'd seen, planting his hands on his hips and glaring whenever he could.

He thought he'd learned well. Little did he know that even when he stood with his hands on his hips and cursed, he still looked coquettish and alluring.

Somehow, word spread that he was a brothel husband. Then the groom he'd replaced came back. Looking at the black, stony face of his blacksmith husband and those rock-hard fists, Qing Mu'er thought he was going to die.

Everyone watching thought so too. They were already prepared to see the brothel husband beaten to death.

But the people who were beaten were the rumor-mongers and the groom who'd run away and returned from a thousand miles off.

The usually expressionless blacksmith held his new husband and gently coaxed him. “Sweet husband, don't cry. Let's go home and eat. I'll make your favorite braised pork today.”

The blacksmith couple lived happily together, but their home lacked the laughter of children. People wondered whether Qing Mu'er could even have children after coming from such a filthy place.

Only Qing Mu'er knew he'd been drugged and was unlikely to ever have children.

To keep the Zhao family from dying out, he went to the matchmaker and said he wanted to find a concubine for the blacksmith.

He thought the blacksmith would be happy. Instead, the blacksmith pulled the bed curtains shut with a cold expression and dragged him into a daily regimen: forging iron by day, pounding the anvil by night.

After three years of this, he finally conceived their first child.

As long as he pounded deep enough, hit the right spot, and put enough effort into it, that damn drug couldn't do a thing.

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Coming soon. Please add it to your reading list!

[The Dumpling Shop Owner]

After He Rusheng lost the use of both legs, he once thought of ending it all.

In the end, he couldn't give up the dumpling shop he'd worked so hard to build, and chose to keep moving forward.

That winter, he found a battered street kid outside his shop and took him in.

The kid was taciturn, the sort who wouldn't utter a word even if you beat him with three sticks, but he was quick and efficient at work.

With the kid around, He Rusheng no longer had to struggle out on his disabled legs to buy supplies.

When the pain became unbearable on rainy days, someone silently handed him a warm towel and held his legs to keep him warm all night.

He no longer had to worry about cooking too much for one person. Someone was always there to finish everything.

Sometimes, when he saw the tall figure of the kid working away with his head down, he was glad he hadn't given up back then.

The kid could be infuriating at times, too.

“Big Brother, I'm not leaving.” Cong Ye stubbornly lifted his chin. “I'll be your walking stick for the rest of my life.”

He Rusheng sighed helplessly. “You have such a good job. You'd have a better future there than at a dumpling shop.”

Taking advantage of the fact that his big brother couldn't walk, Cong Ye boldly picked him up and arranged his legs around his waist. “Big Brother, stand up. If you can stand up and hit me with a stick, I'll leave.”

He Rusheng rarely lost his temper with anyone, but Cong Ye made him blush with embarrassment and want to hit him.

Later, He Rusheng really did stand up. He had a stick in his hand, but instead of using it, he bent his head and rolled out a round dumpling wrapper. “Dumpling wrappers need to be round so they can hold the filling. Try rolling one out.”

Cong Ye stared intently at his big brother's backside and answered hoarsely, “Oh.”

It was so round. It really could hold the filling.

Theme: Reaping a bountiful harvest.