FDNL CH 06

Chapter 6 – Night Thoughts

Su Lianyi’s shock lasted only a moment.
Almost instantly, she regained her composure, picked up the empty bowl in front of the man, and said gently,

“You’ve worked hard all day. Go rest—I’ll get you another serving.”

Before he could react, she turned and headed back to the kitchen.

Inside, she couldn’t help replaying what she had just seen.

Dahu’s features were sharp and well-defined: a high nose bridge, deep-set eyes, and thick sword-like brows.
By all accounts, he should have been a handsome man—
if not for his skin.

His entire face was covered in sores—layer upon layer of angry red blisters, oozing faintly in some places.
It looked horrifying.

If her medical memory served her right, it might be pemphigus, a severe autoimmune skin disease.
It could be hereditary, difficult to cure, and in serious cases, even life-threatening.

Though she was a neurosurgeon, not a dermatologist,
she’d studied enough in medical school to recognize the signs.
Pemphigus was unforgettable because of how tragic and hard to treat it was.

Then she stopped herself and smiled faintly.
There it was again—her doctor’s instinct kicking in, analyzing every condition she saw.
But she had sworn never to practice medicine again.

Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself:
No diagnosing, no healing—ever again.

She carried another bowl of dumpling soup back to the room.
Her gaze toward Dahu was calm now, even gentle.

“Dahu, there’s still some left in the pot.
If you’re still hungry, I’ll get you more later.”

The man couldn’t hide his surprise anymore.
Today’s Su Lianyi was acting completely unlike herself.

The real Su Lianyi never spoke to him kindly, never even looked him in the eye.
She’d once accused him of “infecting” her with the pimples on her face and refused to let him step inside the yard.

Now she was smiling, polite, even caring.

She set the bowl down and pointed at the plate of greens.

“Eat some vegetables too.”

He hesitated for a moment, then picked up a few leaves with his chopsticks.
The crisp freshness of the vegetables mixed with the rich sesame flavor—surprisingly delicious.

He was stunned.
What he had assumed to be another round of “pig food” turned out to taste far better than expected.

Across from him, Lianyi quietly continued eating, her movements refined and graceful.
Hunger gnawed at her, but she still ate with poise.

Dahu ate slowly, but his sharp eyes kept flicking toward her, watching.
The more he looked, the less he understood.
Was this really Su Lianyi?

***

Dinner ended.
Lianyi gathered up the bowls and chopsticks, washing and wiping the table clean with one of her newly cut cloths.

The man sat silently in a chair nearby, saying nothing,
but his cold gaze followed her every move.

When the chores were done, silence filled the room—
the kind that felt strangely awkward, almost charged with tension.

“Dahu, you should sleep first. I still have some clothes to wash,”
she said, keeping her tone as natural as possible,
though her heart began to race.

It wasn’t that she found him disgusting—
but she simply couldn’t share a bed with a man she didn’t know.
She still hadn’t fully processed where she was,
so she needed time to think—and an excuse to stay busy.

Dahu pointed toward the neatly made bed.

“You mean… you want me to sleep on the bed?”

He had actually spoken a whole sentence—two, if you counted the earlier one.
For someone usually as silent as a mountain, that was a lot.

What he meant was simple:
Was she really letting him sleep in the bed?
Because in the past, she had always claimed she was “keeping herself pure for the Li family’s Second Young Master.”
Naturally, she refused to share a bed with him.
Of course, even if she had wanted to, he likely wouldn’t have agreed.

So he had always slept in the kitchen while she took the bed.

But Lianyi misunderstood completely.
Her modern brain automatically interpreted his words as:
“So, you’re leaving me alone tonight?”

Her instincts screamed: Danger!

Even if he’d been a stunningly handsome man,
she wouldn’t have agreed to share a bed—not tonight, not ever.
Though she lived in the modern era, she was more old-fashioned than most ancient women.
Otherwise, she wouldn’t have made it to thirty-one still single.

“Yes,” she said smoothly. “You’ve worked hard today, you must be tired. Go ahead and sleep—I’ll join you tomorrow… after I finish my work.”

(And tomorrow, she thought, I’ll find another excuse.)

Dahu blinked.
That wasn’t what he meant at all.

Before he could say another word, she dashed out of the room,
grabbing the laundry and heading for the yard like a woman fleeing from danger.

***

The wooden washbasin was large and heavy.
She filled it with water, added soapberry powder,
and tossed in a few pieces of clothing suitable for the season.

The moment the clothes hit the water,
the clear liquid turned pitch black—
a sign that they probably hadn’t been washed in months.

Under the silvery moonlight, the soap water shimmered faintly,
and Lianyi couldn’t help twitching her lips.
This water could be used as ink, she thought wryly.

Finally, she kicked off her shoes, climbed into the basin,
and started stomping on the clothes barefoot.

Her pale feet moved up and down in the murky water,
and for a brief moment, the scientist in her became a poet.
She smiled to herself.
So this is what they mean by “rising clean from the mud.”

As she scrubbed, she looked up at the moon.
The sky was a deep, pure blue-black, breathtakingly beautiful—
a sight she had never seen in the smog-filled modern cities.

Peaceful or chaotic, rich or poor,
ancient or modern—
the moon was always the same.

A gentle night breeze brushed her cheeks.
A strange feeling wrapped around her heart—
a mix of loneliness and longing.

She had never been an emotional person.
At school, they called her a bookworm;
at work, a workaholic.
But now, she missed her family and her world deeply.
The sadness pressed heavy on her chest,
and she didn’t even know how to release it.

The ancients believed the moon hung above the heavens,
but the modern scientist in her knew—
the moon and the Earth were far apart, separated by vast space.
And yet, tens of thousands of years ago,
the moon must have shone exactly the same way.

Compared to the vastness of the universe,
a human life was so brief, so fragile.
We endure illness, separation, death, and sorrow—
so why not find a little joy in between?
Even a small smile was a kind of defiance.

Her heart softened.
Though she had died,
she still had siblings in her old world who could care for their parents.
That was her only comfort.

She stepped out of the basin,
forcing herself back to work to silence her thoughts.

The clothes were filthy—so filthy it almost made her laugh.
It took five changes of water and handfuls of soap powder
before the original colors finally emerged.

By the time she wrung them out and hung them on the line,
she was drenched in sweat, her waist aching, her legs sore.

When she finally looked up,
the moon was already sliding toward the east.
The sky that had been deep blue now glowed faintly purple.
She had washed clothes the entire night.

But unlike before, her heart felt light—almost joyful.

A memory surfaced suddenly—
a line from an old Zhao Benshan comedy sketch she’d seen as a child:

“I think the working people are the most beautiful people!”

She pictured Zhao Benshan in his ridiculous “modern farmer” outfit,
his thick northeastern accent making the line both hilarious and touching.

A clear, silvery laugh rang out through the yard—
bright and melodious like wind chimes,
washing away all the gloom from earlier.
The little farmhouse yard was filled with warmth and peace.

Inside the darkened room,
the lamp had long been blown out.
No one saw the tall figure standing silently at the window—
his cold eyes thoughtful,
his sword-like brows drawn together in a deep frown.