Everyone's been reborn, so who would bother finding a wife on their own?

Chapter 97 Sleep

Because there weren't many rooms in their old home, and several of them were damaged by the typhoon, Song Huan and Xiao Yunqing had to temporarily squeeze into one room.

Xiao Yunqing walked over, pushed open the door, and glanced inside.

The room was small, with an old-fashioned wooden bed against the wall. The bed frame was dark red, with peeling paint that revealed the original color of the wood underneath.

The bed was covered with a blue floral-patterned quilt and pillows, neatly folded, and the quilt had a warm, sun-dried scent.

There was a pile of straw in the corner, and a hen with brownish-yellow feathers was sitting on it, her tail held high, lying there motionless.

Xiao Yunqing was stunned for a moment, then leaned closer to take a look.

The hen tilted its head to look at her, its eyes round and bright black.

Several eggs peeked out from under the wings, white and round.

"Is it incubating eggs?" she asked in a low voice, as if afraid of disturbing it.

Grandma responded from the main room, "Yes, those chickens will hatch in about ten days. Don't touch them, they won't peck people."

Xiao Yunqing nodded, took a step back, and glanced at the hen again.

The hen had turned her head back and nestled on the straw, her eyes half-closed, quietly.

She sniffed.

There was a faint smell of chicken in the room, not strong, mixed with the scent of straw and wood.

It doesn't smell particularly pleasant, but it's not unpleasant either.

"How are you? Are you settling in?" Song Huan walked over and leaned against the doorframe, looking at her.

Xiao Yunqing turned around, "Of course I'm used to living here, it's just..."

"What is it?"

"This bed is so high!" She pointed to the bed; the bed frame was almost waist-high off the ground. "How did you get up there?"

Song Huan laughed, "Step on that."

He pointed to the low stool in front of the bed, made of wood with four legs, the surface of which was polished to a shine.

Xiao Yunqing looked at the low stool, then at the bed, and nodded to indicate that she understood.

She walked to the bedside and reached out to touch the blanket.

The quilt cover is made of cotton and has faded from washing, but it feels very soft to the touch, and the smell of being sun-dried is even stronger.

"You'll sleep in the bed tonight," Song Huan said.

Xiao Yunqing turned to look at him, "And what about you?"

"I'll sleep on the floor." He first laid a straw mat on the ground, then took out two old cotton quilts from behind the door, stacked them together, put them on the straw mat, and then took a thin quilt to cover himself with. "That'll do."

Xiao Yunqing looked at the two quilts on the floor, then at him, and asked, "Is the floor hard?"

"It wasn't hard. When I was little, I would come back for summer vacation and it was hot, so my grandma would make me sleep on the floor. I slept very well."

Xiao Yunqing didn't say anything more, lowered her head, and drew circles on the quilt with her fingers.

After drawing for a while, my inner voice drifted over, softly.

He was sleeping on the floor...

[Will I catch a cold?]

Should we let him sleep in the bed?

[No, no, how can I sleep like that?]

[Never mind, I'll just ignore it.]

Song Huan pretended not to hear and turned to go out to move her things.

When it got completely dark, a light was turned on in the yard.

It wasn't one of those bright electric lights, but an old-fashioned incandescent bulb, hanging under the eaves of the main room, casting a dim, yellowish light that made the courtyard appear shadowy.

The chickens have gone back to their coop, the ducks have gone into their shed, and the geese are lined up at the entrance, their heads tucked under their wings, looking like lumps of white stones.

Frogs croaked in the distant fields, their calls rising and falling in waves.

There were insects chirping in the corner, like a concert.

After taking a bath, Grandpa sat in the main room watching TV.

The TV was one of those old-fashioned, bulky CRT models, 21 inches in size, with a hazy, gray screen and a slightly distorted sound.

He was watching some kind of war drama, and the sounds of gunfire and artillery were coming from the loudspeaker, muffled and strained.

Song Huan turned his head and just happened to see the scene of the soldier tearing apart the Japanese soldier with his bare hands.

Song Huan's lips twitched slightly.

Awesome!

Grandma heated up a few dishes in the kitchen: leftover braised pork from lunch, stir-fried some greens, and cooked a pot of seaweed and egg drop soup.

The four people sat around the eight-immortal table in the main room to eat.

The light bulb on the table flickered, dimmed for a moment, and then brightened again.

Xiao Yunqing held the bowl, picked up a piece of braised pork, put it in her mouth and chewed it, then narrowed her eyes.

"It's delicious," she said, her cheeks puffed out.

Grandma smiled, "It's leftovers from lunch, Huanhuan made it."

Xiao Yunqing turned her head to look at Song Huan, then picked up another piece.

After finishing her meal, Song Huan washed the dishes and then found a kerosene lamp behind the stove.

It's made of sheet metal, with a rusted base and a layer of dust on the lampshade.

He wiped it clean, unscrewed the cap, added kerosene, trimmed the wick, and lit it.

The flame flickered, then stabilized, and a golden light shone through the lampshade, casting a halo around the wall.

He carried the kerosene lamp into the room and placed it on the table.

Xiao Yunqing had already taken a shower and changed into clean clothes: a white T-shirt, athletic shorts, and her hair was down, draped over her shoulders, still damp at the ends.

She sat cross-legged on the bed, leaning against the wall, with the blanket covering her knees.

The hen was still squatting in the corner, her eyes closed, breathing very lightly. The eggs under her wings were warmed by her body heat, and there was a thin layer of water mist on the eggshells.

Xiao Yunqing glanced at the hen, then at Song Huan.

"Aren't you cold sleeping on the floor?"

"It's not cold, the blanket is thick enough." Song Huan rummaged through the closet and took out a pillow, threw it on the floor, and then took a thin blanket to cover herself with.

He yawned, turned down the flame of the kerosene lamp a little, and as the light dimmed, the shadows in the room became heavier.

"Go to sleep." He lay down, his face turned towards the ceiling.

The room was quiet for a while.

Xiao Yunqing lay on the bed, the blanket pulled up to her chin, her eyes open, staring at the roof beam above her head.

The roof beams were made of thick wood, laid horizontally overhead, and blackened by smoke.

Several strings of dried chili peppers and a bundle of straw hung on it, their shapes and sizes indistinct.

"Song Huan," she said.

"Um?"

When was this house built?

Song Huan thought for a moment, "My grandfather said he was there when he was a child, probably... during the Qing Dynasty."

Xiao Yunqing paused for a moment, then looked up at the roof beam again.

The wood has deep grain, in concentric circles, like wrinkles on an old person's face.

"Things from the Qing Dynasty, that's several hundred years old, isn't it?"

"More or less, I heard it's been repaired several times."

She didn't speak, but stared at the roof beam for a while.

That log lay there quietly, cut down, leveled, and placed there hundreds of years ago, and it's been there ever since.

Watching generation after generation being born, growing up, getting old, and leaving.

She suddenly realized that the room wasn't dilapidated at all; in fact, it seemed rather impressive.

Song Huan turned over so that she was facing her.

The light from the kerosene lamp was dim, only illuminating his outline, not his expression.

"Still not asleep?" he said, his voice a little hoarse, sounding sleepy.

"I can't sleep, let's chat." She pulled the blanket up a little, turned to face him.

Song Huan yawned. "What are you talking about?"

"Whatever. What did you do in the village when you were a kid?"

"Climbing trees, catching fish, stealing other people's papayas."

"Stealing papayas?" Xiao Yunqing's voice rose a half-octave. "Aren't you afraid of getting caught?"

"What's there to be afraid of? All the kids in the village steal. Whenever someone has fruit trees, the area under the trees is full of children when the fruit is ripe. Adults might scold them a bit, but they don't really take it seriously."

Xiao Yunqing laughed, making the blanket shake. "You were quite naughty when you were little."

"That's called being naughty, not bad."

"Being naughty is bad."

"Okay, okay, I'm a bad guy."

"Still an idiot!"

"Depend on."

The two talked for a while, then their voices grew softer and softer.

Song Huan yawned again, her eyelids too heavy to keep open.

"Go to sleep, you have to go to the market tomorrow. The rooster will crow very early, you won't get much sleep."

Xiao Yunqing hummed in response, but did not close her eyes.

"Is going to the market fun?"

"It's alright. There are food vendors and toys available. It's quite lively."

"Then I need to get up early."

"Um."

The room fell silent.

The flame of the kerosene lamp flickered, and the halo of light swayed on the wall.

Song Huan waited for her to continue, but after more than ten seconds, there was no response.

He turned his head and glanced at the bed.

Xiao Yunqing lay on her side, her face turned toward him, her eyes closed, her breathing light and even.

The blanket was pulled up to his shoulders, and one hand rested on the edge of the pillow, his fingers slightly curled, as if he were grasping something.

Fell asleep.

She was just saying she couldn't sleep, but she fell asleep after only a few words.

This girl.

Song Huan smiled, covered her feet that had been kicked out of the blanket, then lay back down with her face towards the ceiling.

The room was dimly lit, and the flame of the kerosene lamp flickered inside the glass shade, casting swaying shadows on the wall.

The hen in the corner was making a very soft clucking sound, like she was talking in her sleep.

It must have been a dream about a handsome rooster.

Could it be... Brother Kun?

The chirping of insects outside the window came in bursts, and in the distance, the croaking of frogs could be heard.

He closed his eyes and slowly calmed his breathing.

Listen to the breathing so close to me, the chirping of insects outside the window, and the croaking of frogs in the distant fields.

These sounds blended together like an old song I've listened to for many years—not noisy, and very reassuring.

My consciousness slowly sank, like being soaked in warm water.

Goodnight, world.