Chapter Seventy-Three: The Future Mistress of the Household

Yun Hao dearly wished he could turn his head away and avoid looking at Zhang Miaoke’s radiant, beaming face. Zhao held Zhang Miaoke close, her own face blossoming with happiness like a peach tree in spring. Clearly, this was a mother-in-law so delighted by her future daughter-in-law that she couldn’t stop smiling. Judging by the look of it, Zhao seemed ready to cradle Zhang Miaoke in her arms and feed her like a child.

What kind of fiancée visits her husband’s home before the wedding and even picks out her own betrothal gifts? It’s over! Completely over! My mother must have lost her mind—she hung the agate necklace around Zhang Miaoke’s neck, and the sandalwood box is hers now too. It’s over! It’s really over! My mother must have bathed her brain in acid—she put the key to the family treasury on Zhang Miaoke’s belt, even gave her Yuan’er and Xin’er as attendants. It’s over! It’s over! Yun Hao felt the world spinning, everything shrouded in darkness.

He couldn’t bear to stay in this house any longer. Yun Hao decided to find something delicious to eat and comfort his wounded soul.

The atmosphere in the back courtyard was strangely tense; Qi Biao and Lai Shun were walking with their legs squeezed together, their heads darting left and right, their eyes never settling in one spot—they looked like thieves even if they weren’t actually stealing.

What were those two up to? Yun Hao crept after the pair, puzzled as to why they acted like burglars even in their own home. Apart from the kitchen, there was nowhere else to go in the backyard. Could they be sneaking food? But Yun family’s kitchen was always open to them; they could take whatever they wanted without resorting to theft.

The two glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then slipped furtively into the kitchen. Yun Hao found a stool and perched by the window to watch. The duo went straight to a jar, grabbed a ceramic bowl, and poured out the contents. Immediately, a fragrant aroma of spirits filled the kitchen.

Yun Hao was furious—they were actually stealing the white liquor he had blended himself.

To treat Li Er’s injuries, Yun Hao and Chai Shao had distilled a large quantity of alcohol. But this alcohol was not suitable for drinking directly; it needed to be flavored and blended. Yun Hao, who had once worked at a distillery, had kept the blending techniques secret from Chai Shao. After he was taken by Lei Laohu for those few days, one of the Li family servants had stolen a drink of the raw distilled alcohol and ended up with a twisted mouth and slanted eyes. Since then, no one had dared touch the stuff.

Yun Hao had personally blended a large jar, storing it in a cool corner of the kitchen to age and observe the results. He planned to find a way to produce it himself: in these times, most people drank thick, cloudy wine or sweet fermented rice wine. This blended white liquor was a secret recipe for fortune—a lucrative business with huge profits. The family’s prosperity depended on it, yet these two idiots dared to sneak a taste. Yun Hao was at his limit; even the most patient uncle or aunt would not tolerate this.

“What are you peeking at?” Before Yun Hao could shout, a soft, melodious voice like an oriole startled him from behind. Who else could it be but Zhang Miaoke? Caught off guard, Yun Hao tumbled off the stool. The two inside the kitchen, hearing the commotion, immediately darted out, grabbed hold of the old willow tree by the wall, and clambered up in a flash. Yun Hao stared in disbelief—were they monkeys in disguise?

“Damn it, I pissed in that wine. If you want to drink, go ahead and drink my piss!” Yun Hao grabbed a lump of mud and hurled it over the wall. On the other side, retching sounds could be heard.

“Hmph! Daring to steal from our house—just wait until I deal with them when they get back!” Hearing that the two had stolen their family’s liquor, Zhang Miaoke bristled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, hands on her hips, shouting after the fleeing Qi Biao and Lai Shun. Footsteps quickly receded beyond the wall, accompanied by the sound of something being knocked over and muffled groans.

“Get up, the ground’s cold!” Zhang Miaoke reached out both hands and pulled Yun Hao up, a scent of roses wafting from her. It seemed his homemade perfume had fallen into her hands.

“Look at these hands, as filthy as a monkey’s. Xing’er, go fetch some soap for the young master to wash up.” Zhang Miaoke assumed the airs of a virtuous wife, leading Yun Hao straight to the bedroom.

Child brides in the Sui and Tang dynasties were different from later times. In Ming and Qing, they were adopted young and formally joined the husband only upon his coming of age. But in the Sui and Tang, the child bride lived with her husband from childhood, serving him as though he were a child. As soon as the husband was of age... (Five million words omitted here!)

In other words, Yun Hao’s bedroom would welcome its mistress in a month. Every night, he would have to endure the torment of being embraced by a beauty but unable to consummate the marriage. Utterly inhumane!

Letting Zhang Miaoke hold his hand, Yun Hao watched as Xing’er brought water—but the water was drawn from the well, icy cold.

“There’s a silver flask over there; it has hot water,” Yun Hao pointed to the thermos on the table.

He had asked Chai Shao to find a skilled craftsman to melt silver for the flask. Unable to produce a double-walled vacuum, they wrapped a layer of tinplate around the outside and filled the gap with fine sawdust. The mouth was stoppered with cork, and a filigree flower hairpin adorned the top—anyone unfamiliar might mistake it for a decorative vase.

“There’s hot water in here?” Zhang Miaoke eyed the thing curiously, carefully pulling out the cork. Seeing steam rise from within, her eyes lit up.

Silver flasks were not unknown in these times, but the concept of double insulation didn’t exist in the Sui. At best, the water kept warm for a few hours, but Yun Hao’s flask was far superior to others in use.

Given that the Yun family had many odd inventions, Zhang Miaoke quickly adapted and poured hot water from the flask, pressing Yun Hao’s hand into the basin. She picked up a piece of soap and rubbed it on Yun Hao’s hand, then began to scrub. Whatever this soap was made of, it didn’t produce any lather and even had a faint scent of pig.

“What is this thing?” Yun Hao asked, puzzled, as it was his first time seeing it since arriving in the Sui dynasty.

“It’s called soap—ordinary families can’t afford it,” Xing’er interjected before Zhang Miaoke could answer, her face full of scorn as she looked at Yun Hao as though he were a country bumpkin. She showed no sign of being a loyal servant; Yun Hao was baffled. By rights, since Zhang Miaoke was marrying him, Xing’er would come as part of her dowry—how could she speak to him like this? Did she not fear being sold to a brothel?

“Xing’er!” Zhang Miaoke said, head lowered, washing Yun Hao’s hands with care, her tone devoid of emotion.

“Miss!” Xing’er was utterly perplexed about her mistress’s decision to marry Yun Hao, unable to fathom what madness possessed her to become the child bride of a boy. The young master of the Wu family was handsome and spirited—how had he failed to catch her eye? If only she could marry into the Wu family, she too would be part of the dowry, serving the Wu heir...

“Slap your own mouth! Don’t stop until the young master says so!” Zhang Miaoke continued to carefully wash Yun Hao’s hands, her voice cold and unwavering.