Chapter 3: Smoke from the Same Roof

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The house next door was barely six steps away. In fact, Shi Yue could hear every shout, every gossip, every banging pot from that direction.

Han Liang’s family lived there — and from the noise, they were as quiet as a market square during festival week.

Shi Yue stood by the window, drying his hands on his sleeves. “Is it always this loud?” he asked flatly.

Han Liang stirred the pot slowly. “…Yes.”

Just then, the door banged open.

A shrill voice rang out, “Ah Liang! Come carry the firewood! Your second brother’s leg is sore again!”

Shi Yue blinked.

Han Liang set down the spoon, wiped his hands, and moved to go.

Shi Yue grabbed his arm gently. “You’re cooking. Let them carry their own firewood.”

Han Liang hesitated.

Shi Yue narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me this is every day.”

“…Every day,” Han Liang admitted, embarrassed. “They say I’m the youngest, and unmarried… or was.”

“Hmm. And now that you're married, I suppose they think I’ll carry firewood too?”

Han Liang didn’t answer.

Shi Yue smiled coldly. “Let’s go see.”

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Next door, chaos reigned.

Han Liang’s mother, Madam Li, was sharp-tongued and sharp-eyed. His father, Old Han, died amost a year .

He had four brothers:

Eldest Brother: A butcher. Blunt and sweaty.

Second Brother: Always “injured.” Lazy.

Third Brother: Smiles too much. Sells rumors more than rice.

Fourth Brother (a Ger): Named Han Qing, delicate and kind-hearted, but soft-spoken. Married and often ignored, live with Liang's.

Their wives were busily sorting beans, shelling peas, and gossiping in the courtyard — but none lifted a finger for housework.

When Han Liang entered, his eldest sister-in-law called, “Ah Liang, wash the laundry too, hmm?”

Shi Yue followed in quietly, arms crossed.

They noticed him.

“So this is the little wife?” one wife smirked.

“Looks like a sick chicken,” another whispered not-so-quietly.

Madam Li looked him over. “You fainted the first day? Hmph. Hope you’re not as useless as you look.”

Shi Yue smiled politely. “Hope your eyesight’s sharper than your tongue, Aunty.”

A silence fell.

Han Liang looked horrified.

But Shi Yue continued calmly, “I’m his husband. Not a free servant. And Ah Liang is not your mule.”

Madam Li gasped. “He dares speak back?!”

Shi Yue turned to Han Liang. “Let’s go. You’re not cooking today.”

He turned and walked out without waiting. Han Liang paused, then followed.

Behind them, the courtyard exploded in indignant whispers.

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Back home, Shi Yue stirred the stew slowly, fingers tapping the spoon like a drumstick.

“You let them treat you like that every day?” he asked without looking up.

Han Liang lowered his head. “They’re family.”

“No,” Shi Yue said sharply, “they’re leeches. There’s a difference.”

He tasted the soup and added a pinch of salt.

“Starting tomorrow,” he said, “we work for ourselves. If we give, it will be because we choose to — not because they demand it.”

Han Liang stared at him.

Shi Yue gave a small smile. “You married me, remember? I’m yours now. And I take care of what’s mine.”

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That night, Shi Yue sat alone, combing his hair with an old wooden comb.

He looked into the copper mirror.

This face wasn’t his. It belonged to a Ger named Shi Yue, who had no parents, no siblings. He was raised by an old widow in the corner of the east district.

She had passed away quietly one winter night — her only family.

And shortly after… the town registry married him off to Han Liang.

Why? He still didn’t know. Maybe someone paid for it. Maybe it was fate.

But now this body was his.

And this life… he was going to live it differently.

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