Wen Yan agreed, bringing joy to Lu Dalang.

Due to his wife’s poor health, Lu Dalang refrained from letting her go out in such cold weather, hoping this news would instantly lift her spirits.

With this matter settled, Jiang Zhou presented what he had prepared—a long-life lock with a small, exquisite design. Wary of the weight of a pure gold lock on Xiao Yi’s spine and neck, Jiang Zhou opted for gold-plated foil and embedded various gems, acquired at low prices.

These gems were discarded as toys by people of this time who didn’t understand their value, and Jiang Zhou seized the opportunity.

Children, naturally drawn to colorful items, Xiao Yi reached for the longevity lock with enthusiasm, laughing joyfully upon receiving it.

Setting aside the conflict with Li Wan, Xiao Yi’s 100-day banquet was a success. The child was blissfully unaware of the details, cherishing his new toys and enjoying the company of a new godfather. His silly father, however, continued holding and talking to him, coaxing him to call him daddy—a thought that amused Jiang Rendong with a silly smile on his face.

.

As days passed quietly, Jiang Zhou’s oden cooking business thrived. Lu Xiangxi, having learned about sponge cakes, set up his stall next to him. Despite winter’s reluctance to draw people outdoors, the business remained prosperous.

Time slipped away unnoticed, and preparations for the Chinese New Year were underway. The first step—slaughtering the pig.

As there were no wild boars this time, pigs were purchased from the village chief.

Pigs were raised in Xiaohe Village, and almost every village in the town had their own. However, these pigs were not slaughtered during the year; they awaited the Chinese New Year, making them aptly named New Year Pigs.

Jiang Zhou had tasked Liu Sanlang with this job the last time he slaughtered pigs, and this time was no different.

When Jiang Zhou arrived, Liu Sanlang wiped the sweat from his head, saying, “Jiang Da is here; I’ll keep those pig’s intestines for you.”

Having remembered Jiang Zhou’s preference from the last time, Liu Sanlang saved some pig’s intestines specifically for him. No one else wanted them, so there were no objections.

Jiang Zhou, appreciative, said, “Thank you very much. Come to my place for a drink later.”

After the meat was distributed, Jiang Zhou took the pork offal and ribs home.

Wen Yan had been helping Jiang Zhou prepare for the New Year.

Fish and chicken purchased from the market were either salted or smoked with fire, all hung on rafters to dry.

Apart from the pre-New Year preparations, there was the offering of sacrifices and incense, inviting the souls of ancestors to return and enjoy the fragrance.

Jiang Zhou started early in the morning.

While washing and picking vegetables, he didn’t want Wen Yan to soak in cold water during winter, so he hurriedly had him shape the paper. Though making these shapes was very boring but it was better than dealing with cold water and trembling fingers.

Wen Yan, skilled with his hands, shaped more beautiful than others, incorporating various intricate patterns—easily creating ingots, lotus ingots, and more.

As he sat in the yard shaping paper, he conversed with Jiang Zhou: “Are the dishes ready?”

Jiang Zhou, busy cutting bean sprouts, nodded in response: “Braised flat fish, fried bean sprouts, fried vegetables, braised pork, louvered tofu, scrambled eggs, and two cold dishes—all the ingredients are ready.”

Wen Yan, scratching his hand with the yellow paper, stopped and looked at Jiang Zhou: “Are you cooking this time?”

Jiang Zhou thought for a moment, “You do it.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t feel bad for his wife, but their custom dictated that the hostess of the house prepares the meals, while the male host lights incense and entertains guests. Despite Wen Yan being a shuanger, he still belonged to the hostess category.

Wen Yan nodded, “I haven’t been on the stove for a long time; I guess I’m getting rusty.”

Jiang Zhou suddenly felt concerned, “If you don’t want to do it, forget it. I think our ancestors won’t mind. Your body has always been very weak, and I’m afraid I haven’t taken good care of you.”

“You can’t say I’m that weak.” Wen Yan chuckled. “Besides, you’ve been spoiling me every day since you came back these past few months. I’m almost overflowing.”

“That’s a must to dote on my wife,” Jiang Zhou proudly declared. “My wife is so cute, he must be pampered and taken care of.”

Wen Yan rolled his eyes at him, but the smile on his lips never faded.

In truth, Wen Yan was designated to be in charge of the stove, but Jiang Zhou had prepared everything. Vegetables were washed and cut, the stove was fired up, and even the seasonings were laid out—all that was left for Wen Yan was to stir-fry and serve the dishes.

Wen Yan found this whole process amusing, remarking, “I’m not that delicate. We used to run around all the time when we were young. I’ve burned plenty of fires for the family.”

Jiang Zhou simply smiled at this.

Light snow fell outside again as Jiang Zhou brought out all the food and wine for the sacrifice. He lit candles, lit incense, and invited the ancestors outside the door before inserting them into the incense burner.

In the midst of the process, he kowtowed again and burned paper money, taking two hours to complete the ceremony. After the sacrifice, the house needed cleaning, and despite Jiang Zhou’s objections, Wen Yan helped share part of the cleaning.

Though the room wasn’t large, dust had accumulated, giving Jiang Zhou an opportunity to tidy up. He discarded unnecessary items, adding some new furniture and bedding.

He didn’t add too much, as he planned to change houses after the new year. However, he hadn’t found one he liked yet, intending to ask Lu Dalang for recommendations.

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In the blink of an eye, New Year’s Eve arrived. Jiang Zhou insisted on handling the New Year’s Eve dinner alone to ensure Wen Yan didn’t cook.

Overjoyed, he had two more glasses of wine, but this led to a peculiar situation. Jiang Zhou wasn’t adept at drinking, and though his face didn’t redden, his mind became mushy, relying on instinct.

When Wen Yan reached out to help, Jiang Zhou instinctively took his hand. Candlelight flickered as Jiang Zhou looked at Wen Yan, muttering, “wife,” and asked to be hugged.

Wen Yan, familiar with Jiang Zhou’s drunken habits, obliged, bringing a stool closer. As they embraced, Jiang Zhou’s warm breath on Wen Yan’s neck sent shivers down his spine.

Jiang Zhou mumbled, “Wife, I’m back. I made you wait for so long. Don’t be angry.”

Wen Yan reassured him, “Not angry.”

“Really not angry?”

“Really not angry.”

Amidst the silence, a candle flickered, creating an explosion sound that briefly woke Jiang Zhou. However, his consciousness quickly returned to chaos. He impulsively kissed Wen Yan on the forehead, saying, “Sleep, wife.”

In that quiet moment, Wen Yan looked at Jiang Zhou’s sparkling drunken eyes, pursed his lips, and smiled. “Yeah.”