After work that evening, Mr. Han carefully carried the braised pork Shen Anran had prepared and headed home.
It had been a long time since he had tasted braised pork this fragrant and rich. The sauce was thick but not greasy, the meat tender enough to fall apart at a touch. More importantly, his wife had been craving braised pork for weeks. Ever since her pregnancy reached the sixth month, the smell of raw pork made her nauseous. She could barely step into the kitchen, much less cook.
Mr. Han worked long hours at the bank. By the time he returned home every day, it was already dark. Even if he wanted to cook for her, he never had the energy.
That was why, the moment he tasted Shen Anran's braised pork at noon, he knew—this was something his wife needed.
He got off the bus and walked briskly for three minutes before reaching a slightly yellowed apartment building. The building had three floors and was one of the twenty-four residential blocks arranged neatly in the compound. It wasn't luxurious, but it was clean and orderly—much better than the village houses they grew up in.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside.
Soft piano notes floated through the living room.
His wife sat beside their six-year-old daughter, patiently guiding her fingers on the keys.
"Daddy!" the little girl shouted the moment she saw him.
Her name was Han Yao, a delicate and lively child with bright eyes and neatly braided hair. She ran toward him and immediately tugged at the leather bag in his hand.
"What did you bring?" she asked curiously.
Mr. Han laughed and handed the bag over. Han Yao carried it with both hands as if it were treasure and ran back to her mother.
Lin Wanru looked up, smiling gently. She was only twenty-four years old, married at seventeen, with soft features and a temperament that still carried traces of her village upbringing. Pregnancy had made her cheeks fuller and her movements slower, but her eyes were bright with warmth.
"What's this?" she asked.
"You'll see," Mr. Han replied.
He washed his hands, then gently held his wife's hands, placing one over her round belly.
"How was today?" he asked softly.
"The baby kicked a lot," Lin Wanru replied with a smile. "Maybe he's hungry like me."
Mr. Han chuckled, bent down, and murmured a few words to the baby before heading off to bathe and change his clothes.
When he returned about twenty minutes later, the dining table had already been set.
A small charcoal brazier burned quietly under a metal warming rack, keeping the dishes hot. On top sat a bowl of braised pork, glistening under the light, beside freshly steamed white rice still releasing curls of steam.
The aroma filled the room.
Lin Wanru picked up her chopsticks and took her first bite.
Her eyes widened.
She chewed slowly, then took another bite. And another.
"This… this is so good," she said in disbelief.
She had eaten four full bowls of rice before she finally stopped, satisfied and sleepy. Han Yao wasn't far behind, proudly finishing two bowls herself.
Mr. Han stared at the empty bowls in amazement.
He hadn't seen his wife eat this much since she got pregnant.
"This only cost ten yuan," he thought silently, already making plans to buy more tomorrow.
After dinner, Lin Wanru helped clean up and finally asked, "Where did you get this braised pork? The packaging was neat, and the taste… it's better than the restaurant we went to last year."
Mr. Han told her about the newly opened stall near the county market.
"It's run by a young woman," he added casually. "From our village. Her name is Shen Anran."
Lin Wanru paused.
"Shen Anran?" she repeated.
"Yes."
She smiled faintly. "She was quiet back then. I didn't expect her to be this capable."
That night, Lin Wanru dreamt of braised pork—soft, fragrant, endless.
The next morning, at 5:30 a.m., Shen Anran and Liu Meilan dragged their drowsy bodies out of bed.
The sky was still dark as they prepared ingredients, packed supplies, and locked their door. By the time they were done, it was already 6:40 a.m.
They hurried to the roadside just in time to meet Mr. Niu, the ox-cart driver.
"Good morning," Shen Anran greeted politely.
Mr. Niu's reaction, however, was strange.
He stared at the mother and daughter with an undisguised look of scrutiny, his gaze lingering too long on their clothes, their faces, their slightly powdered skin.
Shen Anran had noticed such looks since last night. Villagers had watched them return with bags of goods, whispering among themselves. They had been too tired to care.
But Mr. Niu's gaze was different—sharp, judgmental.
"Mr. Niu," Shen Anran asked calmly, "is there something wrong with me and my mother?"
Caught, Mr. Niu laughed awkwardly. "No, no… nothing. I just think you two look… different these days."
Different.
The word echoed in Shen Anran's mind.
Was it wrong to wear clean clothes? To apply a little makeup? She had only wanted her mother to look confident and presentable. They had even used part of the three hundred yuan she once planned to give Zhao Jianwei—money that would never leave her hands now.
Around them, the women on the ox cart exchanged subtle glances.
No one spoke.
But the gossip had already taken shape.
In their minds, Liu Meilan and her daughter were no longer honest women running a stall.
They were women who went to Yuxi County every day, returned late, wore new clothes, and suddenly had money.
In the countryside, that was enough.
They must be selling their bodies at the inn.
Shen Anran sat quietly, unaware that while she was planning a better future, the village was already sharpening its tongue.
And this time, the rumors were far dirtier than before.