Chapter 4: Borrowing a Bowl of Noodles, Only to Get Myself Entangled

Duan Chengliang had been transmigrated for a week, yet he had not once laid eyes on Qin Huairu.

He had initially been quite puzzled, assuming this world didn't feature such a character, which had actually brought him a sense of relief. It turned out, however, that Qin Huairu had simply returned to the Qin Village. Apparently, there was some matter at her maiden home that required her assistance.

Now, Qin Huairu was back.

"Chengliang, Chengliang, are you in there?"

Qin Huairu kept knocking incessantly, seemingly certain that Duan Chengliang was inside.

Duan Chengliang shook off his stupor, stood up, and steadied his emotions. Assuming the mindset of a holy monk entering the mortal world, bracing himself for the trials of worldly desire, he walked to the outer room and opened the door.

Oh my. All his mental defenses and preparations collapsed in an instant. She was, in truth, far more beautiful and youthful than the version of Qin Huairu he had seen on television.

Right, of course. It was only 1958; Qin Huairu was only twenty-four or twenty-five years old. She should only have had her son, Bang Geng, and Xiaodang had likely not been born yet. Although she had married in '51 and already had a child, it hadn't diminished her beauty in the slightest; if anything, it had added a touch of mature feminine allure.

It seemed her life in the city over the past few years had been quite comfortable. Her skin was fair, tender, and delicate, completely devoid of the wind-blown, sun-baked traces one would expect from a rural peasant working in the fields. As for her figure, it was slightly voluptuous yet shapely, particularly her chest, which was breathtaking to behold. She was like a perfectly ripened peach.

*My, oh my,* he thought, *in the middle of winter, with the heated kang burning, taking a bite of such a peach—the taste must be exquisite.*

What made Qin Huairu most alluring were her eyes and her lush, full lips. No wonder she could keep Sha Zhu so tightly under her thumb; she certainly possessed significant natural assets. Back when he watched the TV series, he had muttered to himself that she didn't seem all that stunning, wondering why she was described as so formidable. But seeing the 1958 version of Qin Huairu in the flesh, he finally understood the extent of her lethality—especially to a hot-blooded young man or a bachelor who had been suffering for years.

Duan Chengliang couldn't help but want to shout at her, "Stop, you vixen! Withdraw your sorcery! The reinforcements sent by the Monkey King will be here soon!"

Duan Chengliang was momentarily lost in his appraisal of her, and Qin Huairu took the opportunity to walk right into the room as if it were her own. Furthermore, she navigated with practiced familiarity, turning right and heading straight into the room at the south end.

Duan Chengliang was baffled. Why did she dash for the south room the moment she entered?

Then, he heard her let out a cry of surprise: "Chengliang, where is your flour vat?"

Hmm? A flour vat? Duan Chengliang suddenly remembered that when he was testing his spatial ability earlier, he had deposited the cabinet and the flour vat inside and forgotten to take them back out. In other words, the room was now empty, save for a single wooden bed—there was nothing else left.

"Oh, Chengliang, why is your double-door wooden cabinet gone, too?"

Duan Chengliang couldn't help but purse his lips, unsure of how to explain this. Before he could formulate a response, he saw Qin Huairu emerge from the south room, staring at him intently. She asked, "You didn't go and sell both the flour vat and the cabinet, did you?"

For some reason, Duan Chengliang saw a flicker of emotion on her face. This left him completely bewildered. Was there some history between them he wasn't aware of? He felt a shiver run down his spine and hurriedly searched his memories for any forgotten corners.

He did manage to dredge up quite a few details, realizing that the two of them had indeed interacted often. In the past, Qin Huairu liked to borrow a bowl of flour or a few cents from him from time to time, though she mostly returned what she borrowed, making it easier to borrow again. This was quite common in the communal courtyard; when neighbors were in a pinch, they would often lend a hand.

Duan Chengliang breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully, their relationship was limited to that—just the occasional exchange of goods and small talk, making them slightly closer than average acquaintances. *Well,* he thought, *the Qin Huairu of this time still had standards; at least when she borrowed things for emergencies, she generally paid them back. It wasn't the marrow-sucking, soul-draining style she displayed later on.*

Truth be told, Duan Chengliang had been genuinely startled, fearing he had become another Sha Zhu. Thankfully, it was just a false alarm.

***

At this moment, Qin Huairu continued her questioning: "Tell me, did you really sell the flour vat and the cabinet?"

As she asked, she walked right up to him. They were now close enough that Duan Chengliang could smell the scent of soap and cold cream on her—it was very pleasant. He couldn't help but twitch his nose. Qin Huairu clearly noticed his reaction but didn't pull away; her face reddened slightly, but she remained focused on him, waiting for an answer.

In Qin Huairu’s impression, Duan Chengliang was usually quite shy, a delicate young man she found somewhat endearing. Although he worked as a loader at the coal yard, he lacked the roughness of a typical manual laborer. Furthermore, whenever she needed help, Duan Chengliang had never refused her.

Of course, there was another reason. Qin Huairu had married into the No. 95 communal courtyard in 1951 at eighteen, and Duan Chengliang had only moved to the city later to be adopted by his uncle. In her mind, she could still clearly remember the first time a ragged, timid Duan Chengliang had entered the courtyard, snot running from his nose. In a sense, she had watched him grow from a clueless little kid into the young man he was now. Often, she truly looked at him like a little brother, which was why she felt so uninhibited in her words and actions toward him.

Duan Chengliang, having just arrived, lacked the emotional nuances of his predecessor. Coupled with his knowledge of her from the television show, his mindset was vastly different. However, Qin Huairu didn't know the "operating system" had changed and continued to interact with him in her usual way.

Under her questioning, Duan Chengliang scratched his head. He tried to find an excuse: "A week ago, I took a spill at the coal yard. By some coincidence, I can't quite remember the events of those two days. I don't know what happened to the cabinet and the vat either. I was just as puzzled—I remember having them, but after I woke up from the fall, they were gone."

Duan Chengliang had transmigrated precisely because his predecessor—perhaps due to hunger, hypoglycemia, or sheer exhaustion—had fainted and fallen off a coal truck. When he woke up, he was the new Duan Chengliang. The hardware was the same, but the software had been replaced.

Qin Huairu, hearing this, looked concerned. "You fell that hard? Did you get a wound?"

Duan Chengliang shook his head. "No, just a big bump on the back of my head."

"Oh, let me feel. Let me see if it's serious."

Before he could say that the swelling had long since gone down, Qin Huairu had already reached out, cradling his head with one hand and gently touching the back of his scalp with the other.

Duan Chengliang’s body was that of a hot-blooded young man, while his inner soul was that of a mature adult who had spent years on film sets. His body was incredibly sensitive. Since Qin Huairu had just returned from the countryside and had likely bathed, her scent was fresh and alluring. With her hand caressing his head and the two of them pressed so close—practically in an embrace—Duan Chengliang was caught off guard.

*To hell with what she wants,* he thought. *Stop touching the bump on my head; I have bigger 'bumps' elsewhere.*

Unable to hold back, Duan Chengliang pulled her into a tight embrace, his hands moving instinctively, and began to kiss her neck and earlobes.

***

Qin Huairu stood with a flushed face, breathing shallowly, her hands subconsciously smoothing her clothes, her gaze slightly dazed. She couldn't believe it, nor could she bring herself to reflect on what had just happened. She couldn't fathom how she had come to borrow a bowl of flour, only to end up giving herself instead.

She couldn't help but curse Xu Damao under her breath.

Earlier that day, upon returning from the village, she discovered they were completely out of cornmeal. Looking at her mother-in-law, Mrs. Jia, and her fat, oblivious face, she hadn't known what to say. *How much can one person eat? That was supposed to last the whole family until the end of the month, and you finished it in a week!*

With over a week left until the end of the month, the family would be starving. She had no choice but to borrow some flour.

Just then, Xu Damao had passed by on his bicycle. He was usually generous, but today, when she asked to borrow a bowl of flour, he had rolled his eyes and said, "My appetite has been big lately, I don't have much left. Go ask Duan Chengliang in the front yard. That kid is thrifty; he always has enough flour saved up."

Qin Huairu had been hesitant, but Xu Damao had insisted, "Don't worry, he's back. We entered the courtyard one after the other."

After Xu Damao walked away, she had looked at Sha Zhu’s dark room, sighed, and went to the front yard to find Duan Chengliang. She hadn't thought much of it—it was just a routine favor. But when she saw the cabinet and vat were gone, she had remembered a passing comment Duan Chengliang had made about selling his furniture to help her out. She had been so touched that she had let her imagination run wild, and in her state of emotional vulnerability and physical longing—having been away from her husband for over a week—the situation had spiraled into that absurdity.

Now, she felt a profound sense of panic.