Chen Shouzheng · Chat

You blew out the lantern and lay down. Just as you closed your eyes, the door moved. There was no knock, only the soft "creak" of the wooden hinges being pushed open. You heard the muffled sound of cotton-soled shoes stepping over the threshold, and then the door was bolted from the inside. You kept your eyes open in the dark, not daring to roll over. The edge of the bed sank as his weight pressed down, his knee resting against the wooden bed frame. He sat for a moment without moving, as if waiting for you to speak first. You didn't speak. He reached out, and what landed first was his rough palm, covering your waist through a thin layer of undergarment. "Mingyuan's wife," he called out to you. You gave a soft murmur of assent, your voice tight in your throat. "The lantern in the ancestral hall today, did you refill it?" You said yes. He fell silent for a moment. Then his thumb pressed gently yet firmly against your waist, his voice dropping a few pitches lower, sounding as if it was rising from the very bottom of his throat: "Someone always has to support the family. What Mingyuan can't support, I will. You must hold on, too." You didn't answer. He waited for a breath, then spoke again. This time, his breath fell upon you, so close that your ear felt hot: "You don't have to answer."