Chapter 44: My dear child, winter is coming sooner than expected…

Winter is coming sooner than expected. This year's weather has been unusually cold. Before the temperature even dipped into the single digits, He Feng took Song Qingshu out to buy some cloth. The cotton he grew on his small plot of land wasn't enough, so he bought more.

He Feng wasn't a great needleworker; he could mend clothes, but making cotton-padded clothes wasn't for him. So he asked Sister Liu to help make two sets of winter cotton-padded clothes for Song Qingshu.

This year's cotton harvest was good, each one a snow-white. She tore the cotton apart and dried it in the sun until it fluffed and soft, and then packed it away.

Sister Liu asked him to bring all his belongings home. She was free after autumn, and making a couple of sets of clothes was a bit of work.

He Feng wanted to pay her, but she refused, saying they were making clothes for the children and there was no reason to ask for money. Since then, He Feng wouldn't let him cook, and the three of them ate lunch and dinner together.

He had no experience making clothes himself; his previous cotton-padded clothes were issued by the army, so he bought a lot of cloth and cotton.

Mrs. Liu knew he doted on Song Qingshu; it was obvious. He wouldn't let him do anything at home. At most, he'd let him put his bowl in the kitchen after dinner.

Sometimes, he wouldn't even be allowed to carry the bowl, just left to do his own thing.

He was even more doting than Mrs. Liu had been with her grandchildren. She never spoiled them, never letting them learn anything they were supposed to. They were expected to eat by themselves, carry their own bowls, and return them to the kitchen afterward.

This was fundamental to her, and so the children grew up independent.

But when it came to Song Qingshu, she didn't think He Feng was doting too much. After all, he was such a thin boy, a bit frail, and seemingly unable to do much work.

Plus, Song Qingshu was so likable; just sitting there, reading a book, or talking to someone in a gentle voice was a comforting experience.

The first cotton-padded jacket was finished, and the next day, a light snow fell, and a few flakes did. Song Qingshu sat inside, warming himself by the fire, and told He Feng not to close the door tightly, as it could easily lead to poisoning.

He Feng knew this bit of common sense, but he still complimented Song Qingshu on his knowledge before cracking the door open a crack.

Winter was cold, and Xiaohua and Xiaohei would sneak inside without anyone stopping them. After all, even a thick coat of fur would shrug off the cold.

A few days ago, he'd found some discarded clothes and made a little nest for each of them.

As he did so, he complained, saying that when Xiaohei was little, he looked so round and black, but now he'd grown so big that even making a nest was a waste of clothes.

Xiaohei ignored him, pinning Xiaohua to the ground and nudging her belly with his long snout. The soft, steaming creature was cuddly.

Xiaohua meowed twice, then stretched out her yellow paws and patted Xiaohei, causing him to back off and look outside.

Two heavy snowfalls had fallen before the winter solstice. Principal Luo had been watching the TV every day to watch the weather forecast, announcing that classes would be suspended for two days.

The children were so far away, and the days were so short in winter, so even if the class time was changed to 8:30, he still felt uneasy and said he'd return to school when it didn't snow.

During the winter solstice, He Feng and Mrs. Liu made dumplings together. Song Qingshu didn't know how to make dumplings, but wanted to help, so He Feng asked him to roll out the wrappers.

They made two fillings: one with chives and eggs and some sweet potato vermicelli, and one with celery and pork. He Feng

chopped the fillings, while Mrs. Liu fried them. The flavor was just right, and you could smell the fragrance as they made the dumplings.

They each made different shapes. He Feng only made plump dumplings, while Mrs. Liu could also make fancy ones, like wine cups, with lace, with pleats, and without.

Song Qingshu couldn't keep up with the dough, and when only half of the filling was left, He Feng and Song Qingshu switched places.

Song Qingshu happily took the wrappers and learned how to make dumplings from Mrs. Liu. At first, he didn't know how to make dumplings, and he didn't dare to put too much filling in, because they looked flat.

Mrs. Liu rolled the dumplings more slowly, asking him to watch carefully, and then pinched them a little more.

He learned quickly, and Mrs. Liu couldn't help but smile and praise him, "Young people are just so skillful, they learn quickly, and they make beautiful dumplings."

Actually, those dumplings were different from the ones He Feng and Mrs. Liu had made. Song Qingshu was afraid they wouldn't be tight enough and would fall apart in the pan, so he pinched the outside edges longer. Mrs. Liu then made them into pleated lace, which looked even better.

As a result, Song Qingshu could only make dumplings with this pattern.

But he was still very happy, his chubby lips curled up a little, and his eyes were full of smiles.

He Feng rolled the dumpling wrappers quickly, and soon he turned around. The three of them gathered around the bamboo weaving to make dumplings.

Mrs. Liu pretended to be casual and asked, "Xiao Song, when does school let out for the holidays?"

"Missing your daughter again?" He Feng asked, pinching dumplings.

"Why do you say that? I miss my grandchildren too. I'm so balanced." Mrs. Liu's expression was serious, as if she was afraid He Feng would think she was biased.

He Feng smiled and said nothing more. Song Qingshu continued, "It's almost here. It feels colder this year than in previous years. I heard from Principal Luo the day before yesterday that we'll be on holiday before the New Year." "

Oh, that's not long."

Today is the Winter Solstice, there are still four days left in the twelfth lunar month, and there are still ten days left until the full New Year.

"I saw you were afraid of the cold, so I stuffed a little more cotton into your cotton-padded jacket, which was almost finished. I'll run it through the sewing machine tonight to tighten it, and I'll bring it to you tomorrow."

Song Qingshu replied with a smile, "Okay, there's no rush."

Mrs. Liu is a skilled sewer, and she has a sewing machine at home, so she can finish a cotton-padded jacket quickly. It's just that she went back to her parents' home to visit her brother a few days ago, otherwise she would have brought it to you long ago.

"He Feng, you've pulled too much cotton. I even bought you a cotton-padded jacket, similar to the one Xiao Song is wearing."

"That's enough. I still have a military coat."

Song Qingshu blushed when he mentioned this. He Feng only wore the military coat when he was going out during the day. At night, after taking a shower, He Feng would wrap the military coat around Song Qingshu and carry him back to bed.

Then, the clothes were taken off in a daze, and Song Qingshu, who was still steaming, was held in his arms, holding his waist to prevent him from escaping.

He said it was to keep warm, otherwise the quilt would be cold, and Song Qingshan would not be able to sleep for a while.

The stove fire was burning brightly, and the snow outside was getting bigger and bigger, like pieces of cotton, so big and so light that it didn't make a sound when it fell on the trees or the ground.

Song Qingshu stood at the door and reached out to catch it. He had just washed the flour off his hands with hot water, and now they looked white and tender, but his fingers were a little red.

He Feng was going to go to the main room to get three eggs and put them in the pot. Song Qingshu liked to eat wontons, but they rarely made them at home.

So after making the dumplings, He Feng would put various seasonings in his bowl, add some sesame oil and chopped green onions, and even bought some dried shrimp and seaweed to make his dumplings into a salty soup.

When Song Qingshu ate the dumplings like this, He Feng would give him an extra poached egg.

His fair face looked even whiter against the backdrop of the snow around him. The tip of his nose was a little pink from the cold, and his lips looked soft. The hot air he exhaled spread in the air.

He Feng frowned, "Don't your hands get cold when you catch snowflakes?"

Song Qingshu turned his head and looked at him and smiled, "Brother, these snowflakes fall in clumps, and there are many shapes!"

His eyes were clear, like a fairy child coming down from the snow mountain. He Feng didn't care about that. He saw that his hands were red from the cold, "Go upstairs and put on some gloves and a scarf before coming out to continue watching."

Without waiting for Song Qingshu to nod, he reached out and held his cold hand. The snowflakes in his hand instantly turned into water, dripping from their fingertips to the ground. They sank

into the snow without a trace.

He Feng covered his hand with heartache, "Your hands are so cold, and you still catch snow."

Song Qingshu still looked at him and smiled, "If your hands are hot, you can't see the snowflakes. If your hands are cold, you still have your brother."

What he said made sense. Seeing him like this, He Feng felt warm in his heart. He lowered his head and kissed his pink lips. He didn't dare to go deeper, but just sucked his upper lip.

After the kiss, he poured hot water into the basin and asked Song Qingshu to wash his hands and prepare to eat.

He took three eggs to the kitchen. Mrs. Liu was standing behind the stove, stirring the dumplings in the pot with an iron spoon. For a moment, he thought he saw his mother.

"I'll do it." He Feng walked over with a wink, a smile on his face. "Zizi loves fried eggs. Make three, one for each of us."

Just as Mrs. Liu was about to say she didn't like them, He Feng continued, "One for each of us. We should be fair."

"There's enough eggs at home. Life is better now than it was back then. No need to skimp on anyone."

Yes, it was just like what I saw as a child, eating tree bark and weeds. Even the dogs on the roadside were reduced to skin and bones, and people would peel and eat them.

Life is much better now.

"We'll get better and better in the future." Song Qingshu walked over, his voice clear and melodious, carrying the light of the snow outside and a hint of cold.

"Yes." He Feng cracked two eggs together, broke the shells, and dropped the whole egg into the pot. He cracked three in a row.

There were three bowls on the stove, but only Song Qingshu's was served with salty soup. In Hejia Village, dumplings are always eaten with soup, the original soup and the original food.

Song Qingshu thought the soup had a noodle flavor, but Mrs. Liu and He Feng both thought it was sweet.

As the lid of the pot was lifted, plump dumplings tumbled inside. Three poached eggs were scooped into bowls, each of them finishing their own bowl with some left over.

"It's time to eat,"

He Feng carried to Song Qingshu and Mrs. Liu. He also steamed a few sweet potato buns he'd made the day before, along with three salted duck eggs.

His previous attempt at hatching chicks had failed, and when he checked back ten days later, he saw a pile of eggs in the henhouse, with two eggshells beside them.

It was obvious who had eaten them.

He Feng scolded Xiao Hei and then moved all the eggs from the straw stack to prevent the remaining eggs from being eaten by dogs.

The duck eggs were also pickled after that, and they were ready to eat in about forty days. The eggs laid by their own ducks had a shiny, oily yolk and weren't too salty. Song Qingshu preferred them to boiled eggs.

The snow hadn't stopped all afternoon, and by dusk, a thick layer of snow had accumulated in the yard, making the ground slippery. He Feng didn't dare let Mrs. Liu come over.

He brought the cooked meal over himself and told Mrs. Liu not to take it back, but to put it in the house.

Tomorrow morning he would sweep the snow and come back to get the bowl.

When he came back, Song Qingshu was standing at the gate of the yard again. "Brother, I saw Jin Yan knitting a scarf for Teacher Zhao. She said she was going to the city, so I asked her to bring me two balls of several meters of wool."

"They're white and yellow."

He Feng's wool scarf was knitted by his mother before he joined the army. It had been eight or nine years in a blink of an eye.

"Okay, bring it back and knit for fun when you have nothing to do in the winter."

Song Qingshu never expected that the wool he brought back would be bought for He Feng. He also learned it and got the hang of it faster than Song Qingshu and was less likely to make mistakes.

Mrs. Liu was also surprised that he learned so quickly. Song Qingshu got angry and didn't want to knit the scarf anymore. He thought of something else.

He wanted to learn needlework. He Feng often worked in the fields, and his clothes were easily scratched. The threads he sewed were all thick and ugly.

As soon as he started, he pricked his white, tender fingers twice, drawing a few drops of blood. He Feng, seeing this, kissed him with pity, forbidding him to try again.

Song Qingshu looked up at him with wet eyes, pleading pitifully for something to do.

It was pitch black outside, snowflakes drifting in the air, tumbling down. He Feng cleared the mess from the bed. The hot water bottle by Song Qingshu's legs was still warm, so he placed it in Song Qingshu's hand.

"Then I'll find something for you, babe,"

he moaned, as his lips were engulfed. A hot, wet tongue entered his mouth, kissing him until his waist and legs softened, his slender legs locked around He Feng's waist. After

all this time, he still couldn't fully adapt to this kind of thing, always too shy to even open his eyes, but he didn't like turning his back to He Feng.

Every time, he was like a drowning man clutching at a straw, unwilling to let go. Only when his strength was gone would he release his grip, lying on the bed, breathing hot air from his swollen lips.

He Feng touched his body, and he was like a fish caught on the shore, shivering.

This made He Feng even hotter and more excited. He held his soft waist, pressed him to sit on his taut abdominal muscles, and hugged him tightly around the waist, with their hot chests pressed tightly together, one hard and the other soft.

Song Qingshu trembled from the friction, and his chest was also stimulated. Not only was he sucked by He Feng, but he was also bitten lightly. He could only shake his head and sob, "Well, no, no."

He Feng sat up, and let Song Qingshu stay in his arms in this position, kissing his lips, teasing his soft tongue, and the sound of "tsk tsk" spread in the room.

The room was not cold in the first place because of the coal burning. Song Qingshu had a little sweat on the tip of his nose, which was kissed away by He Feng.

"Baby, are you tired now?" Song Qingshu hummed and groaned in response. "No, I'm not exhausted. I still want to work tomorrow."

Song Qingshu's hand rested on his bulging belly. He Feng pressed it, and his gentle voice changed again, sounding softer and thinner. He frowned delicately and whispered, "It hurts."

"Brother, I'm sleepy."

He raised his eyelids, his little face flushed with lust. He looked beautiful and seductive, but his temperament was innocent and childish. He looked obedient. His thick eyelashes were wet with tears, and they were wisps, making him look even more pitiful.

He Feng became more and more anxious, wanting to roll him into a ball, knead him into a small dough, and rub him into his bones and blood.

Song Qingshu didn't know how he had provoked him. His dark eyes were like the dark night sky on a cloudy day, without even a star to be found, only swirling clouds.

"Baby, baby." He lay down beside Song Qingshu's ear and repeated in a low voice, "My dear baby."

"Yes, it's my brother's." Song Qingshu gasped and cried, and promised him, trying to calm down the manic beast.

But He Feng almost lost his mind when he heard his voice. His rough breath sprinkled on the white neck. Song Qingshu's scalp numbed and his whole body began to tremble.

He couldn't even speak. The saliva overflowing from the corner of his lips was licked by He Feng.

He was really tired to the extreme. After his breathing stabilized, he stared at He Feng aggrievedly, holding the rough hands tightly. The scalding temperature was hotter than the hot water bottle He Feng gave him.

The man with a heavy nasal voice begged him in a low voice, "I'm so tired, brother, let the baby sleep."

"Baby, are you cold?" He Feng asked suddenly.

Song Qingshu shook his head. He seemed to be surrounded by a ball of fire. How could he be cold?

"Okay."

The ambiguous voice sounded again in the room, and Song Qingshu's voice of refusal was deliberately ignored.

The soft voice was unusually clear in the room, "No, no, it will break if you do that."

"No, I can fix anything."

In the middle of the night, He Feng fell asleep contentedly while holding the person.