Chapter 31: Sister-in-law for a Day

“My finger’s dirty,” Zhang Hai Xia said, flustered, pulling it back, saliva still glistening.
Her cheeks flushed faintly—she felt like he was licking a lollipop.

“Wounds need disinfecting.
Saliva kills germs—otherwise, infections are trouble,” Chen Qiao said.

“Exaggerating much?” She hid her hand behind her, embarrassed.
“What’s Abiao here for?”

No one visits without a reason.
Her position was awkward, caught between families, not yet married into his, at odds with her in-laws, drowning in debts to relatives, and shunned—practically alone.

Everyone, including his uncle’s family and the town, knew Zhang Da Fu’s character.
They agreed to the marriage for her diligent, honest nature—a reliable wife, local, known, not like some out-of-town brides who’d bear a kid or two and vanish.

Her slim, oval face was delicate, nose small, with noticeable dark circles from night shifts.
Under her apron, a worn, yellowish, loose T-shirt revealed her collarbone and a hint of pale skin.
Her dark hair was tied in a simple bun.
Tight jeans hugged her shapely hips and long legs—not yet a mature woman’s fullness, but Grandma said her wide pelvis promised strong sons, a key reason she was chosen as a granddaughter-in-law.

Maybe Grandma could nudge Mom about having a sister.
She was already pushing his uncle and aunt to have another kid while young—if Mom set an example, it’d be easier.

Hai Xia’s mother, also surnamed Chen, was a distant relative, partly why they supported this pitiful girl.

“Just here to hang out,” Chen Qiao said.

Kids didn’t need grand excuses—a bit of mischief sufficed.
His sister stayed back because her bond with Hai Xia wasn’t strong.
They’d met twice: once after the engagement, when his cousin, too shy to dine alone with Hai Xia, dragged Chen Qiao and Fei Fei along as third wheels.

He and his cousin sat together, Fei Fei and Hai Xia opposite.
The town lacked milk tea or burger joints, just snack shops and diners.
They ate at a restaurant, Chen Qiao scarfing food, Fei Fei no better, clueless about giving the couple space.
Instead, Fei Fei and Hai Xia whispered girl talk, hitting it off.

Hai Xia was Fei Fei’s senior, same school.

The second meeting was at his cousin’s funeral, where Hai Xia’s status was painfully awkward—some called her a jinx, cursed, widowed, superstitious rural nonsense.

“Nothing fun here,” she said bitterly, her home bare as empty walls.

He moved to help with the broken bowl shards, but she grabbed his hand.

“Don’t.
I’ll do it.
If you cut your hand, how do I explain to your parents?”

She tossed the shards in the trash, swept rice into a slop bucket, and double-checked the floor for strays.

“Had dinner, Abiao?” she asked, shaking water off her hands.

“Ate at home.”

“Want to eat again here?”

Just a polite reflex at mealtime—she regretted it instantly.
Her meager meal, meatless, wasn’t guest-worthy.

She hoped he’d read the room, decline gracefully, and spare the awkwardness.

But Chen Qiao, eager to stay, jumped at it.

“Kinda hungry again.”

He grabbed a bowl and chopsticks, took a small portion, and sat beside her.
“Let’s try your cooking.”

“You don’t have to force yourself.”

“Needs more oil,” he commented, tasting greens.

“I’m too stingy.
Don’t eat if it’s bad.”

Her cheeks burned—she skimped on lard to save.

“Too much oil and salt’s bad, but treat yourself better.
Even adults get malnourished, especially on night shifts.
Don’t wreck your body.”

Especially your chest and hips.

“You’re so short, you need to eat more,” she said, piling greens into his bowl.

Already full from home, the half-bowl stuffed him.

While she washed dishes, he wandered.
The ground floor had two bedrooms.
One, empty, held a peanut milk can ashtray, reeking of smoke—Zhang Da Fu’s, windowless, stuffy.
The other, with pink wallpaper and a girlish scent, was hers.
His sister’s room was similar, but he was nose-blind to it unless close to her.

Her room was sparse: a farmer’s snakeskin bag on the floor, a peeling desk with high school books, a chemistry text open.

The cement plant’s lab job needed chemistry knowledge, right?

For her, that entry exam was a breeze.
Her college entrance score hit second-tier university level—a town first, worth firecrackers.
The school offered a scholarship, but Zhang Da Fu wouldn’t let her go.

She could’ve attended county high school, but with no allowance from him, she stayed at the town’s high school, taught by overworked middle school teachers.
Many classmates were athletes, banking on sports for college.
The high school existed to keep rowdy teens off the streets; with dwindling students, it was down to one class, set to close next year.

“Pretty boring, huh?
No TV,” she said, hanging her apron on a wall nail.

“High school books look interesting.”

“You understand them?
You’re in elementary.”

“I’m in sixth grade, almost middle school.”

“Sorry, sorry—chemistry starts in ninth grade.”

“Can you teach me?
I can’t read these words,” he said, pointing at the periodic table, blinking eagerly.

“Lots of rare characters, not used daily, but I can teach you if you want.”

With one plastic chair, she lifted him onto her lap, pointing at the table, reading.

“Hydrogen one, helium two…”

He leaned into her chest, savoring the soft cushion, nudging it with his head.

Her chest, hidden in loose clothes, was bigger than he’d thought.

“Hard, right?
Took me ages to memorize.
Middle school only needs the first 20—might’ve changed.”

“I got it.”

“Really?”

“Yup, listen…” He recited.

“You’re a genius!
Two reads and you nailed it,” she said, thrilled, hugging him tight, pressing his head into her chest.

“You taught well.”

Just too familiar.
He’d nearly forgotten it, but the mnemonic brought it back.

“You’re smart—it’s not me.
And don’t call me sister-in-law.
I don’t deserve it…” Her voice cracked, teary.

“No way.
You’re my sister-in-law forever,” he said.

He knelt on her lap, facing her.
Calling her sister-in-law wasn’t just for thrills—it tied them together.
Without it, they’d be strangers.

But he didn’t want her married, widowed in his family—not ideal for “enjoying” her.

Eating sister was family drama, contained.
Involving Grandma and his uncle’s family?
Messier.
He wanted her true freedom, redemption, erasing her “Why save me?” moment.

“I… I…” She choked, sniffling, eyes glistening, years of grievances spilling as tears flowed, wailing like a child.

He pulled her into a hug—or rather, clung to her, chin on her shoulder, patting her back.
“Cry it out.
Mom says bottling it up hurts you.”