The Guide to Faking Innocence to Win His Wife - Chapter 3

The sky paled as the red sun broke free from the mountain ridges. A flowing stream was shrouded in white mist, and the small town, steeped in the morning chill, remained deathly silent.

The door was pushed open ever so slightly, the old wooden hinges letting out a piercing creak.

Jiang Zhongmu was draped in yesterday’s school uniform jacket. The neckline of her white T-shirt had grown loose and shapeless, revealing her straight, prominent collarbones. Traces of exhaustion lingered in the corners of her eyes; she looked like a sleep-deprived stray cat, leaning against the doorframe as if she had no bones to support her.

She stood still for a moment to clear her head before gripping the handrail and padding downstairs with light, careful steps.

The person downstairs had long been awake. She turned toward the staircase, a loving smile spreading across her face as she whispered, “Zhong-Zhong, you’re up?”

“I’m up,” Jiang Zhongmu replied. Still groggy, her speech was slow, the ends of her words trailing off.

A second later, she added, “Didn’t I tell you to sleep in? Why are you up already?”

“I’ve been awake for a while. I just couldn’t stay in bed any longer,” Grandma replied with a helpless smile, holding a long broom made of dried bamboo stalks.

Jiang Zhongmu nodded and said no more. The elderly slept lightly; tossing and turning with little rest, they often rose before dawn. Jiang Zhongmu could only urge her to rest as much as possible, taking over the responsibility for breakfast and lunch so she wouldn’t have to worry. But if Grandma truly couldn’t sleep, there was no forcing her to remain lying down.

“What do you want to eat today? I’ll go buy it,” she said, stepping forward to take the broom. Naturally, she made her way toward the small courtyard outside.

“Douhua (Tofu pudding)?” The elderly woman followed behind, chuckling. The morning sunlight cascaded down, gilding her silver hair with a golden veil.

“You want Douhua today?” Jiang Zhongmu asked casually as she reached the white champaca tree.

In small towns like this, every household had a courtyard with trees and flowers. They looked beautiful and fresh, but in reality, they dropped a constant mess of withered branches and leaves. If not swept clean, the place would soon look derelict and unkempt.

With her back slightly curved, she gripped the broom with both hands and swept the grey brick ground with firm strokes. Slender petals and green leaves were churned into a heap, pushed toward the soil. The elegant fragrance mingled with the cold mist, lending the scene a touch of desolation.

“Didn’t Zhiyi use to love Douhua the most? It was too late for her to have some yesterday. Go a bit earlier today so they don’t sell out again,” Grandma instructed.

Hearing the familiar name, Jiang Zhongmu paused. The force behind her sweeping faltered, and a few leaves escaped from the messy pile of twigs.

Grandma was always thinking of Xie Zhiyi, remembering even her smallest preferences.

“That’s right, you remember her too, don’t you? Why were you so quiet with Sister Zhiyi yesterday? Did going to school turn you into a mute?” Grandma’s comment was casual, born of no ill intent, yet it poked directly at the secret thoughts tucked away in Jiang Zhongmu’s heart.

The elderly woman didn’t think much of it; she simply rambled whenever someone came to mind. Without anyone to encourage her, she usually wouldn’t bring it up often, but she noticed that whenever she mentioned Xie Zhiyi, Jiang Zhongmu would say a few more words than usual. Thus, Grandma spoke of her frequently.

Startled, Jiang Zhongmu instinctively looked up at the third floor in a panic. Only after seeing the window remained tightly shut did she breathe a small sigh of relief. She grumbled to Grandma, “What kind of nonsense are you talking about?”

Grandma, not understanding her hidden motives, found the reaction bizarre and retorted, “How is it nonsense?!”

“Back when you had that high fever and I was busy in the fields, it was Sister Zhiyi who stayed home to look after you. You were so clingy afterward, following her around like a little shadow every single day.”

At the mention of the past, Jiang Zhongmu gripped the bamboo broom handle tightly. An obscure, complex emotion flickered in her eyes as she muttered, “When was I ever clingy?”

“Oh, I wonder who it was that waited at the door every day for her to come back,” Grandma said, showing no mercy.

Jiang Zhongmu’s lips twitched. Finally, she gave the leaves a hasty, final sweep and made a quick excuse before bolting for the gate as if she were escaping.

By the time Xie Zhiyi came downstairs, it was already noon.

The white mist had dissipated, replaced by the sweltering heat of summer. The white champaca in the courtyard hung its leaves low; even the neighbor’s large yellow dog had stopped barking, sprawling in the shade with its tongue out.

The spacious first floor was silent, the owners nowhere to be seen.

She stood at the foot of the stairs, a look of hesitation and awkwardness on her face. For the past half-month, she had been plagued by a heavy heart, tossing and turning in fitful sleep. Yesterday, exhausted from the journey, she had fallen into a deep unconsciousness the moment she hit the soft mattress. She hadn’t even heard her alarm. By the time she woke up, she had completely missed the mealtime.

She didn’t want to trouble them to cook for her again. Sighing, she was about to head out to find a random restaurant when she heard a creak. A person in a thin shirt appeared at the door.

Her shoulder-length black hair was tied back in a small braid. Her long bangs were dusted with stone powder, and her white T-shirt remained loose and slouchy.

Seeing Xie Zhiyi, the girl froze for a moment before blurting out, “You’re awake?”

Xie Zhiyi pursed her lips, her chestnut curls falling forward as she tilted her head down.

The “someone” with questionable social skills finally caught on. She scratched her head and shifted her gaze elsewhere.

Perhaps due to the heat, Xie Zhiyi had changed into a light summer dress. The style was simple yet form-fitting; the avocado-green silk fabric accentuated her slender, delicate waist. The hem reached mid-calf, revealing her fair, dainty ankles. Though she was modestly covered, she exuded a soft, alluring grace that felt out of place in this remote town.

Jiang Zhongmu reached up to touch the back of her head. Sunlight filtered through the dense leaves, casting dappled shadows over her thick eyelashes.

The stifling silence didn’t last long before a slightly raspy voice spoke: “Wait a moment…”

Without looking at her, Jiang Zhongmu strode over to the faucet. She caught the rushing water in her hands and splashed it over her dusty head.

She lacked the fastidiousness of city folk. At most, she grabbed a bar of soap from the side and rubbed it over her face. Her calloused knuckles and palms slid against her cheeks, scrubbing her tan skin until it flushed red.

Before Xie Zhiyi could speak, the girl turned off the water and headed toward the kitchen, explaining as she went, “Grandma is a light sleeper; she wakes up early. Since she takes a nap after lunch, we tend to eat both breakfast and lunch quite early in this house.”

Xie Zhiyi instinctively followed behind her.

“Grandma remembered you liked Douhua, so she bought some this morning. Eat some to tide you over,” Jiang Zhongmu said, picking up a small bowl from the cabinet and handing it back.

Xie Zhiyi reached out to take it.

Chunks of milky-white tofu pudding wobbled in the porcelain bowl, garnished with scallions and chili oil. A seemingly simple dish, yet it was the most appetizing snack for a sweltering summer day.

“From the shop at the end of the alley?” she asked casually, holding the bowl as she moved toward the dining table.

Many families in Jiang Town made Douhua, but the best was undoubtedly from the shop at the end of the alley. It was said their well water was superior, giving the pudding a faint, sweet aftertaste. However, they only made one barrel a day, so people lined up at the crack of dawn. If you woke up late, you’d be left staring helplessly at an empty iron bucket.

Xie Zhiyi had tasted Douhua in many other places over the years, but if she had to rank them, the bowl from Jiang Town reigned supreme.

When she set her alarm last night, she had intended to wake up early for a taste, only to end up sleeping until the shop had long since closed.

Jiang Zhongmu gave a hum of affirmation before asking, “I saved half of the lunch dishes for you, but they’re cold now… Shall I make you some egg fried rice?”

“It’s okay, the Douhua is enough,” Xie Zhiyi replied. Waiting in line for the pudding was already enough of a hassle; she didn’t want to trouble the girl further.

“Do you want ham in it?” But the young woman was stubborn. Ignoring the answer, she briskly started the stove.

“There’s really no need for fried rice…”

Before the words had even left her mouth, Jiang Zhongmu scooped a spoonful of lard into the hot wok. It was high-quality lard from local pigs. Grandma was an expert at rendering oil; as soon as the lard melted, a rich aroma wafted through the room.

Xie Zhiyi fell silent.

Because her parents had passed away early and Grandma was always busy, Jiang Zhongmu had learned to cook at a young age.

With one hand, she cracked an egg into a small bowl and whisked it with wooden chopsticks. When the oil began to bubble, she poured the egg into the wok in a circular motion. It looked like a simple gesture, but it required precise technique; only the right amount of force would spread the egg neither too thin nor too thick, perfectly coating the surface of the oil.

Xie Zhiyi’s gaze drifted over the girl’s sweat-soaked shirt. Her lean, straight neck and shoulders, and the way her shoulder blades moved with her actions, all radiated the clean, sharp efficiency of youth.

The flames licked the bottom of the black wok. Leftover cold rice was tossed in. With one hand tossing the wok and the other stir-frying, the muscles in Jiang Zhongmu’s forearms bulged slightly. The golden egg liquid evenly coated every grain of rice.

Scallions were tossed in, seasoning added, and the dish plated. A dense, savory aroma filled the cramped kitchen.

As she clicked off the stove, Jiang Zhongmu turned around with the plate. Seeing the untouched Douhua, she looked puzzled. “Why aren’t you eating?”

She set the fried rice on the wooden table and sat down, assuming Xie Zhiyi was just being polite. She offered a blunt comfort: “It’s just fried rice. It didn’t take much effort.”

Indeed, it hadn’t taken long—it was all high-heat tossing. Xie Zhiyi wondered if she had picked up the technique from a roadside barbecue stall.

She didn’t ask, however, and simply said, “Thank you.”

Jiang Zhongmu’s thin lips pressed into a straight line, and she reverted to being a “silent gourd.” She merely nodded to show she had heard and sat facing the door in silence.

The clink of spoons against bowls echoed; the familiar, stiff atmosphere surged back once again.

This was the most awkward of situations. If they were complete strangers, Xie Zhiyi could have made small talk about names or ages. If they were closer, they could have discussed school, ambitions, or college plans.

But they were stuck in the uncomfortable limbo of being semi-acquainted.

Xie Zhiyi opened her mouth to speak, but ended up merely swallowing a spoonful of the smooth Douhua.

Back then, she was young and had come here for a vacation, wandering from one spot to another, eager to explore every hilltop in the area.

Jiang Zhongmu, meanwhile, was just a middle schooler who had dropped out and stayed home, brooding in her room all day. On the rare occasions they met, the girl wouldn’t speak. Her hair obscured her eyes, and she radiated a gloomy, lifeless aura that made her difficult to approach. After two failed attempts at conversation, Xie Zhiyi had given up entirely.

If it hadn’t been for Jiang Zhongmu’s unexpected fever and Grandma’s plea for Xie Zhiyi to help look after her, the two might never have crossed paths again.

And the “clinging” Grandma spoke of was nothing more than Jiang Zhongmu following behind Xie Zhiyi whenever she returned from her outings. Their brief, sparse exchanges would always end the moment Xie Zhiyi returned to her room.

“I have things to do this afternoon. Just leave the dishes on the table when you’re done; I’ll clean up when I get back,” Jiang Zhongmu muttered. A second later, she stood up and left.

Left alone in the kitchen, Xie Zhiyi sat in thought for a moment before picking up her spoon again.

Bright sunlight poured down, and a pair of white canvas shoes crushed the dappled light into fragments.

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