Chapter 11 Don't sleep here. After dinner, let Song Qingshu put on more clothes...

After dinner, let Song Qingshu put on more clothes, and then the two of them left home with a black umbrella.

He Feng said that there was no other umbrella at home, so they could only use this one. After a while, he put on his raincoat and Song Qingshu just stood on the bridge and watched.

Rain is always unpredictable. When they walked to the bridge, the rain stopped.

Daheyan is located in the south of Hejia Village. The bridge connects the two cities. The water flow under the bridge seems to be slow, but the actual flow rate is fast and deep.

It is no longer foggy in the morning. Because it is not raining, the sky is bright. Song Qingshu stood on the bridge and stared at He Feng's direction.

He put away the umbrella and held the umbrella handle with one hand and put it on the ground.

His eyes never left the back of He Feng in the military green raincoat, just like a husband waiting for his wife.

He Feng was happy to receive Song Qingshu's advice along the way. He was really much more cautious and found the landing point for each step in advance.

The green grass under his feet was trampled, and the branches and leaves next to it hit He Feng's legs, leaving wet marks.

Although there was no rain, he still put on his raincoat under Song Qingshu's watchful eye, so that when the river water and fish splashed on his body, he would not be stained by the fishy smell.

The duckweed was blown away by the rain, and the fishing net rope floating on the river was found by He Feng at a glance. He bent down and quickly took a horse stance.

After all, Zizi fell because of slipping in his dream, and he couldn't really fall because of this, otherwise it would scare people to death.

The action of collecting the net was done in one go. The bucket he brought was half filled with water in advance. He first waved to where Song Qingshu was standing to reassure him.

Then he squatted down and picked out the small fish stuck to the net, throwing the very small ones into the river and leaving the ones that were big enough.

He didn't want to keep Song Qingshu waiting too long, so he quickly removed all the fish, put away the net, and walked towards the exit of the forest with the bucket.

Song Qingshu watched him treading water, one foot deep, one foot shallow, and then he stood guard at the exit. When He Feng came out, he offered his hand to catch him, but He Feng refused.

He was still wet from rain and river. "Son, check on the fish first. I'm dirty."

The bucket contained not only small fish, but also two black fish. Song Qingshu couldn't identify their species, but he knew they were much larger than the small fish.

Because the bucket was filled with river water, the fish were still alive and kicking. As soon as Song Qingshu squatted down, it splashed onto his face.

Fortunately, he closed his mouth quickly, otherwise he would have drunk the fish's bath water.

He Feng changed his raincoat and hung it over his arm along with the fishing net, holding the bucket of fish in one hand.

Song Qingshu, who was beside him, held an umbrella. He couldn't help but say, "Brother, let me help you with your raincoat and fishing net."

"Dirty," He Feng spat out. The weather was getting darker. "Son, let's hurry up. It's going to rain again soon."

They walked quickly, and even when He Feng met acquaintances along the way, he nodded politely and didn't dare to linger.

But it still rained when they were almost home. Song Qingshu held up an umbrella and tried to get closer to He Feng, tilting the umbrella towards him.

The fishing net in He Feng's arm was a little close to Song Qingshu. Seeing that his clean clothes were about to touch the fishing net, He Feng immediately said, "Hold the umbrella straight and hold it for yourself."

Song Qingshu did hold the umbrella straight, but he didn't hold it for himself. We are all human beings, and no matter how healthy we are, we can't let it rain.

Fortunately, it was only a few steps away from home. The drizzle seemed to be as heavy as needles, but I didn't expect that these few steps would wet my trouser legs below the knees.

"Go and change your clothes quickly. I'll go make ginger candy tea."

Song Qingshu held his arm. The clothes under his palm were also wet. "Brother, change too."

After changing clothes, the rain outside the house fell harder, and the sound of the rain was accompanied by the whistling wind. Today was even colder than yesterday.

He Feng frowned. If it continued to rain like this, the river would definitely flood again.

It was cold, and He Feng would not refuse Song Qingshu sitting next to the stove. He put water and a few slices of old ginger in the pot, brought it to a boil, then put a spoonful of brown sugar in a bowl, stirred it evenly, and handed it to Song Qingshu.

"A-choo." Song Qingshu rubbed his nose and took the bowl which was a little hot.

"Blow it, and then drink it while it's hot." He Feng said, blew on his ginger tea, and drank it all in one gulp while Song Qingshu took small sips.

In the past, the faster the meal, the better, so he was very resistant to heat.

The sound of plops could still be heard in the bucket under the eaves. He Feng walked over, took out a large iron basin, and poured out all the fish.

He took a knife and a pair of scissors, and just as he squatted down, he heard movement at the door.

It was the village chief, holding a black umbrella, a smile on his face. "Did you go fishing along the river?"

He Feng hummed. "Just got back. Bring some back later."

"Okay, let's get down to business first."

Song Qingshu brought the small stool He Feng had nailed for him from the kitchen and asked him to sit down. He then returned to the east room of the main hall.

After all, he hadn't read the novel He Feng had lent him yet.

He hadn't read for long before he was startled by a rumble of thunder. He walked out the door. Lightning flickered in the dim sky, as dark as night, but it was noon.

The old-fashioned clock on the wall chimed twelve times.

Smoke rose from the kitchen chimney. Two large fish were left in the bucket. Song Qingshu stood at the kitchen door. "Didn't the village chief take the fish?"

"The village chief knows how to make pickled fish. He asked him to take it back."

He had already scraped off some of the fish scales, so when the village chief brought them back, he could give them to Song Qingshu to try.

If he wanted fried fish again, he could go and get another net.

Song Qingshu seemed to remember something, went back to his room, got the book, and ran back.

He Feng took his small wooden stool to the kitchen and placed it behind the stove. Behind him was a pile of firewood. Lightning struck again, but the thunder was a step behind.

This time the lightning struck closer, and the tungsten filament light bulb in the room suddenly went out.

He Feng walked into the main room to check the switch, but it didn't trip, proving that the problem was with the electrical box and he needed to wait for the electrician to fix it.

It was raining now, and a strong wind started to blow outside. I wonder if it was some immortal Taoist priest who was undergoing a tribulation.

Persimmons and pomegranates hit the ground with a thud. Song Qingshu stood at the kitchen door, frowning and watching, feeling a little sorry.

"It's okay, these ones fell. There's another family in the village that has a good harvest of pomegranates and has even set up a net."

"We can buy from theirs."

Song Qingshu didn't feel relieved, he just hoped that the rain would end soon. He remembered that Hejia Village was flooded last summer because of the big river in the south, but the water was not much, and every household only had a table leg flooded.

But the crops in the fields couldn't withstand the flooding, so he sighed.

"That's not our home."

He Feng was actually happy when he said that. He walked over and patted Song Qingshu on the shoulder. "We rely on the weather for our livelihood. It's all up to God

." He was telling the truth.

"I hope the rain will stop tomorrow." He whispered.

The light was dim, and he put down the book without He Feng saying anything. "Hey, brother, is there a primary school in our village?"

"There's one on the street, not far away."

"The books are borrowed from the old teachers. There used to be a middle school, but it was abandoned in the past two years."

"When I was little, I thought going to school was a dead end, and I didn't like studying. My dad beat me up several times."

Song Qingshu's eyes widened. "Really?"

He Feng wasn't embarrassed. "Really? I didn't go to junior high school. I only knew a few words and ran around the village."

"Because I often fought with my peers, when I got older, I joined the army."

Song Qingshu nodded. Given He Feng's circumstances, not joining the army would be a shame.

"It's okay, I can read." After all, he was a modern college student. He might not remember a lot of things, but he could still recognize words.

"Why are you asking that, kid?"

"My brother doesn't let me do anything at home, so I wanted to find something to do." Song Qingshu scratched on the brick floor with a firewood stick, writing the word 'teaching'.

He Feng heard a hint of complaint in his voice.

He wasn't angry. "Sure, I'll ask the village chief and Teacher Zhu in a couple of days."

This village was next to a market, and the crossroads led to other villages. So there were both junior high schools and elementary schools on the street, and there was a real shortage of teachers.

When He Feng was in school, there were fewer students. In recent years, conditions have improved and there are many more children in the village.

A few teachers would definitely not be able to teach them all.

In addition, considering what the village chief came to discuss with He Feng today, Song Qingshu would definitely not be able to do that job. It would definitely be much more comfortable to be a teacher in a primary or middle school.

Seeing that he agreed, Song Qingshu was also happy.

After lunch, the two of them were about to take a nap. When Song Qingshu lifted the curtain, he heard a soft dripping sound. He walked over to see that the roof was leaking.

It flowed down the wooden beams above his head and hit the quilt, which was already soaked.

It must have been leaking for some time.

Song Qingshu came out again with the book.

"What's the matter?"

He Feng walked over. He was tall and had good eyesight. He could see the quilt wet by the rain on the wet bed.

"Don't sleep here. It's already damp from the rain, and don't let it get you sick."

He grabbed Song Qingshu's wrist and dragged him over to his side. This room had larger windows, which seemed to let in more light. The bedside cabinet was also larger.

It was a square table with drawers and cabinets underneath, perfect for storing miscellaneous items.

"I'll go up and take a look. When it's fixed, you can sleep in this room, and I'll sleep over there."

Song Qingshu couldn't agree. "No, brother, that's fine too."

He Feng was about to say something to refuse, but he interrupted him with a single sentence. "Be good, it's brighter here, so you don't have to strain your eyes while reading."

His dark eyes held no room for argument. Song Qingshu opened his mouth, then closed it again.

The quilt He Feng had prepared for Song Qingshu was in the cabinet. He pulled it out, shook it, and spread it out on the bed.

"Cover yourself up and rest for a while."

After walking so much this morning and getting up earlier than usual, Song Qingshu was indeed feeling sleepy.

He yawned and closed his eyes. It was not the first time he slept next to He Feng. Now he did not feel any rejection towards He Feng. Instead, he wanted to get close to him.

Because he felt warmth from He Feng.

This was the only person who could comfort him in this strange world. When he fell into a deep sleep, the corners of his mouth were slightly raised.

He Feng thought he just had a good dream. He could smell a very light smell of medicine when he slept next to Song Qingshu.

He carefully turned sideways and stared at Song Qingshu's long and thick eyelashes. His eyes gradually became uncontrollable. After looking at the man's face carefully, he could only think of one adjective: good-looking.

No one in the village could compare with Song Qingshu's looks. Just his fair and delicate skin was something that not many people could compare to.

He reached out and touched Song Qingshu's hand on his chest. It seemed that this man's hand had never been warm since he met Song Qingshu.

He Feng held it and warmed it before helping him put his hand into the quilt.