WSMTATMC C43

Chapter 43

These days, Chen Qingyan lived on edge, fearful that the matter might be uncovered and drag Wang Ying into peril. He ate little, slept poorly—this New Year felt hollow.

Wang Ying perceived his unrest. That night, as they lay together in the experimental field, he pulled him close to speak.

“I know you worry for me. But regret at this point is pointless. And know this—I do not regret what I did.”

Qingyan sighed softly, his eyes shadowed. “It was my fault. That day, I should not have lost my temper.”

Wang Ying lifted his chin gently. “Do you think swallowing your anger ensures peace? Even if you left him be, such a petty man would have troubled you still. Remember, we have Qingsong too—what if he were struck down, barred from the examinations one day? Would we not regret our silence then?”

“You are right, Brother!”

Wang Ying rubbed his thumb against Qingyan’s lips. “Next time, share with me first. Promise?”

“…Mm.” And he leaned in, kissing him deeply.

Just then—

Ding! “Congratulations, Host. The experimental field has advanced to Level Three.”

Wang Ying’s brows arched. So it was true! No wonder the field linked to them both—the path to upgrading lay in their intimacy.

Moments ago, he had glanced at the gauge—91%. After that kiss, it shot upwards, and swiftly surpassed 99%, prompting the upgrade!

Pushing back a still‑hungry Qingyan, he opened the luminous screen eagerly:

[Experimental Field Lv. 3]

• Usable land: 2000 m² 
• Time limit: 2 hours / day 
• Bound Hosts: Wang Ying, Chen Qingyan 
• New features: … 

The time limit doubled, and now entry was free—during those two hours, they could enter or leave any moment so long as together. This meant harvesting became easier; and if trouble loomed outside, they could vanish into safety instantly.

Next: plant growth speed could be accelerated up to 2.5x (but consumed field experience—caution required).

Finally, an “Auto‑Weeding” function. Somewhat trivial, for their three mu barely occupied their evenings anyway. Still, this freed them entirely—leaving time for… other “experience‑earning” pursuits.

They tested beneath the peach trees once—experience rose 3%. Then by the field edge again—it gave only 1.5%. Clearly, the cursed system capped experience daily. To climb from Lv. 3 to 4 required such oceans of points it seemed the system meant to exhaust them to husks!

By the second day of New Year, the sky was bright and clear. At dawn, Wang Ying directed Chen Bo to thaw the mutton—today they would have barbecue with the children.

The brazier, commissioned from the smith before the holiday, was three feet long, half a foot wide, very like the grills of Wang’s previous life.

He taught the children to skewer meat with bamboo picks: mutton, pork, chicken, and fresh vegetables.

“See—you thread three or four lean slices, slip one piece of fat between. Roasted, the lamb will be fragrant but not greasy—delicious!”

Lin Sui cocked his head curiously. “Cousin‑in‑law, how do you know everything?”

Wang coughed lightly. “I’ve… read it in books. Your cousin knows as well.”

“What do I know?” asked Qingyan, just then returning from the rear.

Aunt Chen laughed. “We were saying how learned you are.”

Smiling, Qingyan sat beside Wang and joined in skewering.

Madam Li marveled: “Never in life have I seen food strung on sticks and roasted. How novel.”

Qingyan chuckled: “Such methods have long existed, chiefly among the Hu nomads beyond our borders—traveling merchants roast meat upon twigs over open fire.”

Wang lifted a thumb in praise. Truly, his husband knew all.

Soon the skewers were ready. Chen Bo set blazing charcoal into the iron box.

Wang mixed the seasoning: pepper, fennel, pounded peanuts and melon seeds. The blend was so good, he thought it could season even shoe leather.

Alas—no chili powder. Without spice, barbecue lacked its soul. Yet even so, the aroma stunned them all.

Laid over grill, the meat hissed. Wang fanned the flames—soon, fragrant smoke wafted across the courtyard.

Children surrounded him, mouths watering. Even the solemn Lin Qiu drifted close, murmuring, “When will it be cooked?”

From under the veranda, Madam Li and Aunt Chen smiled. “What a marvelous scent. I too wish a bite.”

“Who would’ve imagined Wang could devise so many delights. Since he came, this house is ever livelier.”

Chen Rong added with a laugh, “A good husband prospers three generations. This boy is blessed indeed.”

At last the skewers crisped perfectly. Wang sprinkled spice atop, the aroma piercing every nose.

“Here—taste first!” He handed them each two.

The moment Qingsong bit down, his eyes burst round—the tender lamb flooding flavor, rich within the spices. “This is too delicious!”

All dove in with glee. Wang did not forget elders, delivering skewers to them as well.

“Marvelous!” praised Madam Li. “We smelled it from afar already.”

“Eat more—lamb’s plenty today!” Wang said brightly.

Qingyan had watched long, soon mastering the motions. “Let me roast now. Go eat with them.”

“You sure?”

“I’ll manage.”

So Wang rejoined the children, sun warm, snow dripping from eaves. Warmth of spring seemed to hover in winter’s heart.

The little ones gossiped happily. Wang slid a stool beside Lin Qiu, and in a whisper spoke:

“Cousin, do you recall Boss Cao from the shop?”

Qiu blinked. “Of course. Why?”

“The other day he came—not truly for me, but for you.”

“For me? But I hardly know him…”

“He wishes to wed you.”

Lin Qiu flushed crimson, shamefaced. “Cousin, don’t jest so.”

“I jest not. He confessed he favored you since first meeting in the county. After New Year, he’ll send a matchmaker. I tell you early—so you’ll have thought, and so Aunt won’t be caught unprepared.”

Qiu’s heart raced. They had seen that man only thrice, yet already talk of marriage? He bowed his head, whispering, “Thank you, Cousin. I shall discuss with Mother.”

Wang left it there. After all, he knew little of Cao; force not fate, else mis‑match would yield blame.

Later, feeding the grill, Wang passed a skewer to Qingyan. “Taste.”

“I ate two just now—delicious.”

“Next time, we’ll try hotpot lamb. Better yet.”

“Good.”

By dusk, stomachs full, they put away the fire and gathered inside.

In Madam Li’s chamber, with brazier glowing, the family sipped tea and cracked melon seeds. Chen Rong, smiling, began recounting the Chen ancestry.

“Our clan records say we first dwelt in Nanyang. Our forebears tilled fields, great landholders there. At the chaos of the last dynasty’s fall, our old ancestor led kin to Jizhou to escape war.

“They settled first in Yangting County. But in my great‑grandfather’s days came drought. So we went further east, to this land. Do you know why this place is called Qingshui Town?”

Children shook their heads.

“Because in those parched years, this town’s river never dried—a stream forever clear. Thus, its name.

“When first we came, days were bitter. Natives bullied us for outsiders. But Great‑Grandfather had skill—pig‑butcher and stock‑raiser. With work, the family thrived.

“By my Grandfather’s day, the court declared amnesty—three years no tax! With heaven’s good harvests, we bought fine lands. That was the start of Chen’s estate today.

“In time, wealth grew, until by my father’s generation, our ancestors’ graves smoked blessings—at last, one of us passed as juren.”

At that, even the county celebrated. Envoys came with gifts of land and coin. Some my grandfather refused, some he took—that made our present hundreds of acres, the manor itself.”

Children listened wide‑eyed. Such stories were meant to be passed from father to sons—yet as fate robbed them of father, Aunt gave the tale instead, so they should know their roots.

Suddenly, the calendar slipped to the eighth of the First Month. Ershun and Dunzi returned, carrying local goods stuffed in great baskets—the villagers’ gifts, a token of goodwill.

The town’s shops reopened. So too, Wang Ying’s. The field brimmed with greens—why waste them?

At dawn, they hauled baskets to the stall. Qingyan, no classes until after the fifteenth, joined the shopwork.

As always, they opened with fire warm, goods arrayed. Soon came the first customer—the wonton vendor’s wife.

“Shopkeeper Wang, so early!”

“Home idle, so we open sooner—why not earn coin?”

“Give four tomatoes! Over New Year, my girl tasted them, kept asking for more. Seeing you open, I ran at once!”

He picked four fine ones, added a handful of chives. “Take these too. Next time come again.”

“Oh, thank you, Shopkeeper!” she went off delighted. Always he included a little gift—cheap, but enough to make folk glow with joy.

But scarcely had she stepped outside when six or seven half‑grown ruffians blocked her path.

“You dare buy from that family? Afraid your guts rot?”

She gasped. “What are you saying?”

“He, that Chen Qingyan, cheated at the county exam. Barred for life! Jealous of another passing, he even sent men to break the fellow’s leg!”

“What—such a thing?!”

Within the shop, Qingyan heard clearly—his face drained white.

Wang Ying grabbed a bamboo pole and stormed out. “Your mother’s animals—spreading filth at our very door?!”