Chapter 18: Apple Porridge Back home, Song Qingshu's task was...

Back home, Song Qingshu's task was to put sugar, red dates, longans, and fruit into the house, then pick out some and place them on a small bamboo tray for fruits and nuts.

He Feng placed the noodles, sacrificial paper, and firecrackers into the small south hut. Xiao Hei, who had been sleeping inside, suddenly emerged, perhaps smelling the meat and running to the main room.

Sure enough, Song Qingshu was placing the braised meat and cold dishes on the small table.

Xiao Hei couldn't wait and tiptoed to climb onto the table, but Song Qingshu slapped him on the head. Xiao Hei raised his head and let out a "wooo" before falling back to the ground.

He was a large dog, easily able to reach anything on the table with his nose. Hei

was still whimpering with a hint of grievance. Song Qingshu looked at him and couldn't help but scratch his chin. "I'll feed you after dinner."

He Feng walked out the door and came back after putting his things away.

"Brother, do you want to return the car first? Or should we eat first?"

"Are you hungry?" He Feng asked after washing his hands.

Song Qingshu shook his head, pointing at Xiao Hei, fluttering around at his feet. "He must be hungry."

He Feng smiled. "He's pretending. He hid a bone in the yard yesterday."

"He just smelled some meat and got hungry."

"Let's pick the persimmons first and put them in the foam box with the apples."

Song Qingshu nodded. He Feng placed the bamboo ladder he had used before under the persimmon tree and climbed up.

Sunlight streamed through the treetops, casting dappled shadows on He Feng's body and the ground.

Song Qingshu held onto the ladder, a spot of light flickering on his hand. Like a kitten, he stared at the spot, his eyes following it.

"Baby," He Feng handed down two orange-red persimmons. Song Qingshu reached out to take them. He Feng's voice came from above, "No need to hold the ladder. Just lay the persimmons flat, stems down, in the box."

"Okay."

Following He Feng's instructions, Song Qingshu neatly stacked the persimmons in the rectangular box.

After picking the recent ones, He Feng came down from above and saw the persimmons stacked by Song Qingshu, "So neatly arranged."

A small compliment could make Song Qingshu happy and excited. He smiled and pursed his lips, and the dimple on his face was faintly visible.

He Feng moved the ladder to the front. The ground was under the dense shade of trees and was a bit soft. He Feng pressed the ground hard twice, and the bottom of the ladder dug into the mud a little.

He climbed up again. Song Qingshu subconsciously supported him. When he handed over the persimmons, he raised his hand to grab them. A beam of light fell on He Feng's Adam's apple, and Song Qingshu could only squint and look up.

The strong light made his Adam's apple stand out, and his sharp jawline was very obvious in the shadows. He turned his head, and the beam of light shone through him onto Song Qingshu.

It seemed very warm.

The two picked two foam boxes, and each box was stacked two or three layers. He Feng carried the three-layer one, and Song Qingshu helped him with the two-layer one.

Placed in the shade of the main hall, He Feng picked and chose, and put the ones that were soft when pinched but not red enough on the kitchen windowsill to dry.

There were also pumpkin seeds on it.

They were old pumpkins grown by He Feng himself. The pulp was used to cook rice porridge, and the seeds were placed on the windowsill. After drying, peeled and eaten, it was the aroma of the pumpkin seeds themselves.

He turned the pumpkin seeds over, and when the persimmons were almost done drying, the pumpkin seeds were ready to eat.

Song Qingshu went to wash the apples, and before putting them in, he asked: "Brother, after using these, can the apples still be eaten?"

"No, so buy a few more. You can eat them or make porridge with them."

Song Qingshu was a little stunned, "Ah?"

What is apple porridge... Are you sure it's not a dark dish?

"My mom made it for me before. The apples had been sitting around for ages, so the skin was wrinkled and it didn't taste very juicy."

"But porridge has that sweet apple flavor."

He seemed to have thought of something interesting, a childish smile on his face. "I'll make it for you tonight."

Song Qingshu seemed interested and agreed with a yes.

The two of them worked quickly, putting three apples in one box and two in the other. Before sealing the boxes, He Feng sprinkled some transparent liquid inside.

"Open them every two days to check, otherwise some of the soft ones will get crushed." He Feng stood up and told Song Qingshu to go wash his hands, saying that if he didn't eat, Xiao Hei's saliva would soak the floor tiles.

Sure enough, Xiao Hei, who had collapsed at the door, stood up immediately upon hearing the news of dinner and squatted down at the dining table, not moving.

Even if it wasn't hot, he would still stick out his tongue to breathe.

The puppy stared at the meat on the table, looking genuinely greedy.

He Feng handed the chopsticks to Song Qingshu, "Eat."

...

In the afternoon, Song Qingshu stayed at home to read the teaching materials and lesson plans given by Teacher Zhu. He had taught children and also looked after children in an orphanage, but he was still a little worried. Fortunately,

there was still some time before he really started teaching, so Song Qingshu planned to take a serious look and learn.

When he was tired, he turned two more pages of "The Legend of the Condor Heroes" that He Feng had borrowed from him.

Before he knew it, He Feng came back from the fields. Maybe he had done a lot of work today and was tired. When He Feng came back, he took off the clothes he was wearing and put them on his shoulders.

His wheat-colored skin was exposed. He went to the fields directly after returning the motorcycle in the afternoon. He plowed the remaining land, helped Old Jintou pull out the vegetable seedlings, leveled the road between the two fields, and pulled out some weeds.

Although there was not much work, he was busy all afternoon.

He Feng wiped the sweat from his forehead with the clothes hanging from his shoulder. As the sun set, the ducks he had released into the backyard at noon quacked back in, scaring the chickens away.

He Feng, fearing an upset stomach, steamed the leftover braised pork and pork heart before bringing them out.

Dinner was simple: steamed eggs with minced tofu and minced pork, and leftovers from lunch. He Feng had wanted to stir-fry something, but Song Qingshu said there would be too much leftovers, so he didn't make more.

Song Qingshu also tried the apple porridge. He Feng placed a small white cube, no bigger than a grain of salt, in his bowl.

But the porridge took on a sweet taste. He Feng said it was saccharin, and that only a small amount could be put in at a time; any more would be inedible.

It sounded like an industrial product, so Song Qingshu nodded and finished his dinner to the fragrance of apples and the smooth steamed eggs.

After dinner, He Feng went back to the kitchen, boiled a large pot of water, and came in to let Song Qingshu take a change of clothes and take a bath.

The main hall faces south, is three rooms wide, and is connected to a small room, and then to the main door.

Song Qingshu usually never opened the curtain, but today he learned that it was a bathroom.

The few times he took a bath before, he had to scrub himself, either because he was sick or injured. He Feng always prepared two basins of warm water for him to scrub.

The weather was cooler than before, but He Feng didn't care, as he was afraid that he would get hotter if exposed to the wind.

He poured most of the hot water into the long wooden barrel, then brought over a bucket of cold water with a gourd ladle in it, poured some into it for him, and stopped when it still felt a little hot.

"The water is hot now. If you think it's too hot, add some cold water. But only add two buckets, otherwise it will be too cold." He didn't say that he was prone to illness.

Song Qingshu could also hear it. He lifted the curtain and walked in. Facing the steaming bathtub, he took off his clothes bit by bit.

He didn't actually say that when he fell yesterday, his buttocks hit the ground. He didn't feel much pain at first, but now he thinks that there must be a stone stuck in the bone. It's not very comfortable to sit and read today.

He sat for a while this afternoon, and then lay down to study and read.

Because his buttocks hurt.

This position is very awkward. Song Qingshu thinks that at most there will be red marks or bruises on the buttocks, but there is definitely no problem with the bones. It should be fine in a few days.

But now that he has taken off his clothes, he turned sideways to take a look.

The light bulb in the bathroom is also tungsten filament. The tiny crackling sound of electric current rang in his ears. Song Qingshu turned his waist to look down.

The wind came just in time. He Feng moved a stool over and prepared to put it in for Song Qingshu to put his clothes, but he didn't expect to see a purple mark on the round, white and tender skin.

Even though the light was not very bright, He Feng still saw it at a glance.

It was like a dead leaf suddenly appeared on the snow-white cotton, very eye-catching.

He tried to control himself and stop staring there like a hooligan who had never seen anyone before. He moved his eyes upwards and saw the wound that was being looked at from top to bottom. Because of the firm and round skin, he even put a thin white hand on his waist...

His waist was very thin, and He Feng could wrap his arm around it with one hand. In this bad posture, it looked even more slender and soft.

He Feng's eyelids twitched and he lowered his head. The wind was still blowing the curtain, and the edge was swaying like the waves.

He Feng, thirsty, swallowed twice before speaking, his voice still a little hoarse, "Hey, I'll put the stool in there. You can keep it for your clean clothes, and put the dirty ones in the small basin next to it."

Song Qingshu tried hard for a long time but could only see a little bit, but he did get a clear view of a red mole on his tailbone.

He cleared his voice, took a half step back, and hid behind the curtain, "Pass it to me from here."

One hand grasped the curtain, only his knuckles like scallions showing, and the other hand reached out to take the wooden stool from He Feng.

Soft black hair hung on her forehead, and the shy person hid half of her face, revealing only her beautiful eyebrows and eyes.

"Hurry up and wash, don't catch a cold,"

He Feng instructed, walked towards the door, and shouted outside in a neither-too-low-pitched voice, "Xiao Hei, it's time to go home."

Song Qingshu didn't see He Feng when he finished washing. He was wearing a loose T-shirt and a pair of knee-length shorts, made of pure cotton, which the original owner had worn when he lived in the place where the educated youth lived.

Later, after hearing someone say he was too picky, he stopped wearing it.

Song Qingshu had found it just now while rummaging through his clothes; soft, loose-fitting clothes like this were perfect for sleeping.

He covered himself with the quilt with satisfaction and flipped back two pages of his novel. Drowsily, he heard He Feng close the main room door.

He Feng had just asked Mr. Wang Dehui for an ointment. It had no color, but it would invigorate blood circulation and dissolve blood stasis, so it should work for Song Qingshu.

He was still a little warm from his shower, and the image of his fair, plump skin kept flashing before his eyes, making it hard to sleep.

In the middle of the night, he tiptoed over.

Song Qingshu's door wasn't even locked properly; it could be opened with a gentle push. He Feng walked over to him, lifted the book from the pillow, and placed it upside down on the table.

The frail man lay on his side, and from He Feng's perspective, he could only see a slender, white neck.

He always lifted the quilt; he'd gotten so used to it.

The quilt folded over the concave waist, and He Feng felt a little guilty, but he didn't stop.

The injury was on the buttocks, and Song Qingshu was so thin-skinned that he certainly would not want to speak out.

He found excuses for himself, but he had to admit that he had selfish motives.

Song Qingshu's shorts had been worn many times, and the elastic at the waist was not very tight, so He Feng could easily pull them down along the edge.

Together with the thin layer of fabric inside, they were almost completely taken off.

He Feng gritted his teeth and warned himself that he was just applying medicine.

A layer of ointment was applied on the rough fingertips, and the hazy moonlight cast a light silver light on the ground. He moved closer and gently applied the slightly cool ointment on Song Qingshu's purple skin.

The already delicate and fair skin seemed to tremble, and He Feng thought it was hurt, so he blew on it.

Suddenly, he felt that this was not right, and he almost held his breath while applying medicine to Song Qingshu.

The person who was sleeping soundly was unaware of his torment, and stretched his legs. The soft flesh of his calves stuck to the sheets, looking soft.

He Feng's hand that was pressing on the wound suddenly opened, almost laying flat on the delicate skin.

It felt like dough, warm and soft.

He was used to doing the work, and the dough must be kneaded to make it firm, and finally steamed into fluffy buns.

So he followed his heart and kneaded it.

Xiao Hei outside the window suddenly whimpered, and he woke up completely, staring at his hands and Song Qingshu's exposed skin, standing there like a stone statue.

He looked at the back of Song Qingshu's round head, and after a while, he sighed.