Chapter 28: Eating Until His Own Heart Trembled

Qin Huairu was ushered into the inner room, feeling dazed and unsteady. She didn’t know what was happening, but as soon as Duan Chengliang touched her, her body went limp, as if he possessed some sort of magic. Still, she murmured, "Chengliang, no, I can't stay long."

At this point, it was no longer up to her to say what was possible. Duan Chengliang had her lean her upper body onto the warm kang, saying, "Sister Qin, it’s freezing outside in the middle of the night. You’re cold; the kang is nice and warm for you."

Duan Chengliang felt as though he had rediscovered the rhythm of blacksmithing—light taps followed by heavy strikes. Under this relentless, varying cadence, the material in his hands soon softened, yielding completely to his touch. He could shape it as he pleased. Strangely, while iron usually hardens as it cools during such work, this "material" only grew softer and hotter with every intense, rhythmic strike.

Duan Chengliang found himself adapting to his own physical state, his movements becoming more fluid and deliberate. He couldn't help but think that the principles of all things in the world were connected: if one could master the art of the forge, one could master anything. His only regret was that the "client" was in such a rush that he couldn't take his time to savor the process. The final result felt a bit rushed, and the experience left him wanting more.

Finally, Duan Chengliang gave Qin Huairu a playful swat on the behind and chuckled, "Stop whimpering. Enough time has passed. Better tidy up and head back, unless you want to stay the night? I certainly wouldn't mind."

Qin Huairu, who had been drifting in a haze, snapped her eyes open, suddenly remembering where she was. She bit her lip, took a deep breath, and summoned the strength to pull her soft, trembling body upright. If she hadn't been leaning against the edge of the kang, her legs might have buckled.

After a moment, she flushed, bent down to adjust her clothes, and whispered, "How long has it been?"

Duan Chengliang smiled. "Long enough to go to the bathroom three times, I’d guess."

"Oh!" Her expression shifted to one of alarm. She didn't dare dawdle any longer, hurriedly smoothing her hair and clothes. Without another word, she stumbled out of the room and scrambled back from the front courtyard to the middle one.

Duan Chengliang shook his head, closed the door, and stretched contentedly. He felt a bit hungry after his "urgent work," but luckily there was still some fish and cornmeal porridge left—enough to fill his stomach before a good night's sleep.

Back in the front courtyard, Qin Huairu’s heart hammered against her ribs as she entered her home. Before she could even turn around in the darkness, a cold voice cut through the air: "What were you doing out so late?"

"I... I went to the bathroom."

"It takes that long to use the bathroom? I’ve been counting the minutes."

"Mom, you forgot? You had diarrhea yesterday and spent forever in there. I think I have it today too. Maybe our bodies aren't used to eating meat after going so long without it. Look at little Banggen—he’s fine because he’s used to it. I’m so weak I can barely walk."

Old Mrs. Jia sat up, watching her daughter-in-law lean against the furniture. Recalling her own misery the day before, she muttered, "Well, you'll get used to it. Just go to sleep; you'll feel better in the morning."

Qin Huairu thought she might be too restless to sleep, but as soon as her head hit the pillow, she drifted off instantly, not waking until dawn.

Duan Chengliang clearly felt his physical prowess had increased significantly—far more than when he had merely fixed a kitchen knife handle. That, he joked, was a twenty-fold improvement, but this felt like a solid third more. In the biting cold, he worked all morning, feeling as energized as if he had two hot water bottles strapped to his waist.

Old Feng, exhausted, shouted at Duan Chengliang, who was shoveling coal under a truck: "Chengliang, what did you drink today? Slow down! You're working yourself to the bone for the same pay. I’m an old man; I can't keep up with your pace!"

Duan Chengliang laughed, "Did your wife make you 'pay the tax' again last night? You chose the easy job on the truck and you're still complaining. I'm the one doing the heavy lifting! If I'm not complaining, you shouldn't be. Looks like she didn't go easy on you last night."

The surrounding workers erupted in laughter. Old Feng, his face masked in coal dust, couldn't hide his embarrassment. He wondered if the kid had finally "opened up"—usually, when a young man changed like this, it meant he’d found a woman. Old Feng made a mental note to keep a close watch; if he could get a hold on the lad's secret, he’d have him under his thumb.

The heavy labor that had left him drained the previous day felt effortless today. His coworkers noticed his vitality, and though they teased him, their eyes were filled with envy. They lamented that youth was truly a blessing, while Duan Chengliang realized his appetite had skyrocketed. After his standard meal, he bought two more helpings of vegetables and eight steamed buns, eating four and saving the rest for dinner. Even he was shocked by his own hunger.