Orchid Heart Longing - Chapter 3

Chapter 3

When I woke up, my entire body was sore and aching, as if I had been run over by a heavy plow.

That brute from last night was already up and getting dressed. He was exceptionally tall and sturdy, with a frame of solid muscle; his thighs alone were as thick as my waist.

Seeing me wake, he gave a fawning smile. “Wife, you stay and sleep. There is no need to get up yet.

“You were exhausted last night. I’ll go get you something to eat.”

I couldn’t help but blush again, whispering my thanks.

He stayed to accompany me during the meal. Whatever I wanted to eat, he would place into my bowl with just a single glance from me, then watch me eat with a smile. The food today was incredibly lavish. Having been locked away for two years, I hadn’t tasted such delicacies in a long time.

As expected, I overate and suffered from indigestion.

Upon realizing I was unwell, he looked deeply distressed. He took a pill from his waist and pressed it into my mouth. I frowned, fearing it would be bitter, but as soon as it touched my tongue, it was sweet and sour-it was actually a hawthorn pill!

These hawthorn pills were so delicious that I shamelessly asked him for more. He laughed and gave me the entire cloth bag. Then, he used his large, warm palms to rub my stomach and my aching lower back.

While washing up, I reflected that marrying a man was really just about finding someone who cared for your well-being and provided companionship in old age. Although I still felt some lingering resentment, the deed was done.

This brute might not have the elegant, vibrant grace of an Immortal, but he certainly had his own brand of consideration and charm. Perhaps Father really did have his reasons for the marriage exchange that had caused me such grief. I decided to let it go; surely my own father wouldn’t harm me.

Besides, this husband of mine was more than just doting; he was truly capable. He plowed and tilled the fields without the need for oxen or tools; he harvested the crops without sickles or staves. One man did the work of ten. Within half a year, our courtyard had expanded, drawing the envy of everyone in the village. They all said we had recruited a most capable son-in-law.

He truly lived up to what he said on our wedding night: hauling bricks and tiles, building walls and tilling soil, sowing wheat and planting rice, and building a household from the ground up.

Our lives grew better by the day. He saw to it that I wore silks and gold, enjoying fresh fruits and flowers in every season and fine vegetables at every festival. Father also transformed from Old Man Gao into Elder Gao, dressed in fine silks and radiating an air of great importance.

I was the second daughter of the family. I was neither as capable as my eldest sister, Xianglan, was before she married, nor as good at acting spoiled and cute as my younger sister, Cuilan. My parents never mistreated me, but they simply didn’t dote on me as much as they did my sisters.

After marriage, I finally learned what it felt like to be cherished and prioritized, where every word I spoke was taken to heart. Aside from being a bit overbearing in the bedchamber, this brute deferred to me in all things. For a time, our lives were as sweet as honey.

After the autumn harvest, he single-handedly cleared over a hundred acres of land. Father was so delighted his smile reached his ears, and he kept calling him a wonderful son-in-law. A feast was set to celebrate the harvest, and my husband sat at the head table.

I looked at him, swelling with pride.

He was clutching a rice bucket and shoveling food into his mouth. My husband worked hard, so naturally, he ate a lot-what was wrong with him having a bit more?

The wine and food were in full swing when someone suddenly screamed, “A pig, a pig!!”

The neighbors all turned in panic toward my side. The people drinking bolted in every direction; chairs and stools toppled with loud clatters.

I followed their gaze. Where was my husband? In his place, there was only a dull-witted thing with a long snout and huge ears, head lowered as it ate. That head and face were unmistakably those of a pig.

I stumbled two steps back and froze, as if a thunderbolt had struck me on a clear day. The one who had shared my bed all these days was actually a pig demon.

Noticing my movement, it lifted its face out of the rice bucket. As it moved, its fan-like ears flapped; its long snout twitched again and again, still stuck with grains of rice.

And it greeted me as if nothing were wrong: “Cuilan, what are you looking at me for? Hurry and sit down to eat.”

My eyes filled with tears. I stared at him and retreated another two steps.

Only then did he react. He reached up to feel his snout and ears. “Damn, damn, damn-careless of me.”

The pig demon fumbled in a panic. He pressed his ears down with both palms, and his long snout popped out; he pushed the snout back, and the big ears sprang upright again.

Seeing me crying, he hurried forward two steps, then-afraid of startling me-covered his face and turned into a gale, vanishing.

Amid flying sand and scattering stones, only one sentence was left behind: “Cuilan, don’t be afraid. I’ll come back tonight.”