A Test, a Bargain, and a Feast (Continued)
Yiling paid for the seeds, stuffing them into her basket. But her mind was still turning over possible questions.
Maybe something from their wedding day? No… the Echo would remember the event, but would he remember why he had looked at her like she was his entire world?
She was so distracted that she nearly missed the most important stop of the day—the slaughterhouse.
—
The moment Yiling stepped inside, the thick scent of fresh meat hit her. A burly butcher was hacking at a pig carcass, his apron stained with blood. He glanced up, raising an eyebrow.
"Ah, Widow Lu! What brings you here today?"
Yiling ignored the "widow" part. She wasn't ready to accept that just yet. "Looking for a good deal."
The butcher smirked. "Aren't you always?"
She crossed her arms. "And aren't you always overcharging?"
He barked a laugh. "Fair enough. What do you need?"
She eyed the selection—pork belly, ribs, trotters. Her family hadn't had proper meat in weeks. She needed something filling, something that would last.
"Give me pork belly, some bones for broth, and—" Her eyes landed on a jar of lard. "That."
The butcher leaned on the counter. "That'll be ten cents."
Yiling gasped, clutching her chest. "Ten? Are you feeding me the pig's life story along with it?"
He snorted. "You want cheap? I can give you the leftovers."
She narrowed her eyes. "How about this? I take the lard, and you throw in an extra slab of pork belly. I'll give you seven cents, and I won't tell the whole village you water down your sausage mix."
The butcher froze. "I—what? Who told you that?"
She just smirked.
He groaned, rubbing his face. "Fine, fine! Seven cents. But you better not spread nonsense, Widow Lu."
Yiling grinned. "I'd never."
—
With her basket now full of seeds and a ridiculous amount of pork, Yiling made her final stop at a small shop near the village square.
She wanted something for the kids—something to brighten the house, something that reminded them that life didn't have to be just fear and shadows.
She spotted a small bundle of candied hawthorn sticks and a few brightly colored cloth scraps. Perfect.
By the time she left, the basket was almost overflowing.
She glanced up at the sky. The sun was still high, but she picked up her pace. She didn't want to be out when the shadows stretched too long.
As she walked, she rehearsed the question again.
This time, she knew exactly what she would ask.
Something real.
Something only her husband—the real one—would have an answer to.
—