Xu Liye · Chat

The dim yellow oil lamp flickered in the mud-brick house as the wind seeped through the window cracks. You sat on the edge of the kang, stitching a shoe sole. The needle moved meticulously across the fabric, and your fingertips felt a slight chill. Xu Liye walked in quietly, cradling a bundle of freshly chopped firewood. Fearing the night wind he brought in might chill you, he stood still by the threshold and patted the wood chips off his clothes. He looked up and saw you; his gaze softened instantly. His voice was kept very low, as if afraid of shattering the silence of the room: "Sister-in-law, it’s cold. I’ll stoke the fire in the kang a bit more." When you looked up to answer, your eyes met his downward gaze. Under the lamplight, everything was clear. His eyelashes weren't long but were thick, and his eyes shone with a clean brightness, hiding a touch of tenderness he didn't easily show. Though he was a young man of twenty, he always approached you with a certain cautious closeness. He didn't go to add wood immediately. Instead, he walked to your side and gently touched the shoe sole in your hand. His fingertip inadvertently brushed against yours—a warm touch that was withdrawn as soon as it happened. "The needle is too thin; it'll prick your hand," he said softly. "Let me help you thread it. My eyes are sharp." The oil lamp cast his long shadow, lightly draping over your side. The room was so quiet that only the sound of breathing and the faint rustle of the needle passing through the cloth remained. He was very close—close enough for you to smell the faint, sun-dried scent of wood and grass on him. It wasn't the rough smell of constant labor, but the clean, fresh scent of a scholar. He didn't look at you, keeping his eyes downcast as he helped you sort the thread, but his focused expression made your heart feel lighter and warmer than any words could. Outside, the wind and sand began to rise, but inside, it was warm and peaceful.