Ch 14: The Regent’s Farmer Husband

For dinner, Zhao Ru stewed half a chicken with codonopsis and red dates. She had specifically gone to the village doctor’s house to ask about the right ingredients—to help Jiang Yan replenish his blood and energy.

After bringing the soup to a boil, she let it simmer over a low flame for an hour. The rich aroma of chicken broth filled the kitchen.

Jiang Nan and Jiang Bei squatted near the stove, sniffing every few seconds.

It smelled heavenly.

Zhao Ru also made wild-onion omelets and stir-fried cabbage greens.

She ladled most of the chicken, red dates, and codonopsis into a large bowl and brought it to Jiang Yan. “Eat it all. You can eat the red dates and codonopsis too—they’ll help you recover your strength.”

Jiang Yan looked at the enormous bowl. “Auntie, this is too much.”

“It’s not too much. You need to build your strength. Eat it all—and drink the soup too. Xiao Ji, make sure he finishes it.”

“Got it,” Jiang Ji said brightly.

Once Zhao Ru left, Jiang Ji placed rice and vegetables in front of him. “Come on, eat up—get your strength back.”

Jiang Yan looked across the table and noticed that Jiang Ji’s bowl had only an omelet and some cabbage—no chicken or soup. After a pause, he asked, “Did your mother give all the chicken to me?”

“Most of it,” Jiang Ji admitted. “You’re the one who’s hurt, after all.”

Jiang Yan pushed the big bowl of chicken and broth toward him. “You eat too. I can’t finish all this.”

“No thanks. There’s codonopsis in there—I don’t like it. You handle it,” Jiang Ji said with a grin. “It’s my mom’s good will. You’d better finish every bit.”

Jiang Yan picked up a piece of the yellow root-like herb, examined it briefly, then ate it.

“How’s it taste?” Jiang Ji asked.

Jiang Yan chewed thoughtfully. “A little sweet—not bad.”

Jiang Ji gave him a thumbs-up. He himself didn’t even want to smell anything medicinal these days.

Jiang Yan then said, “Why don’t you take half the meat to give Jiang Nan and Jiang Bei, in exchange for that omelet?”

Jiang Ji shook his head. “There are wild onions in the omelet. You shouldn’t eat that—it’ll slow your wound healing. Besides, you already had eggs this morning and at lunch. Too many will be hard to digest.”

Jiang Yan: “…”

Seeing that he was about to argue, Jiang Ji quickly cut him off. “Don’t overthink it. You’re a grown man—you can handle the whole bowl. Eat up.”

Jiang Yan: “…”

He quietly picked up his chopsticks and started eating.

Under the warm, dim lamplight, the sharp lines of Jiang Yan’s face softened. His eating movements were unhurried and graceful—calm, elegant, almost mesmerizing.

What a sight, Jiang Ji thought, lips curving up slightly. Somehow, even the food tasted better.

They’d already shared a few meals together, even had a real conversation once—it all felt more natural now, more familiar.

After dinner, Jiang Ji rested a bit before changing Jiang Yan’s dressing. He had asked his viewers to help find the surgeon from previous time to check the wound’s healing progress.

【The recovery looks good. No reinfection. Avoid contact with water and spicy or irritating foods for now.】

Jiang Ji stepped outside the room to ask quietly, “Doctor, can he get out of bed tomorrow?”

【Yes, but avoid sudden movements. He should still rest as much as possible to prevent the wound from reopening.】

“Got it. Thank you, doctor.”

Back inside, before Jiang Ji could share the good news, Jiang Yan asked curiously, “Who were you talking to just now?”

“Huh?” Jiang Ji blinked.

“You heard me?” He was surprised—he’d gone all the way to the front hall and spoken softly, yet Jiang Yan had still heard?

“Yes. I didn’t catch what you said, though. Did someone come over?” Jiang Yan frowned. “I didn’t hear any footsteps.”

“You’ve got sharp ears, huh?” Jiang Ji said.

“You weren’t that far away,” Jiang Yan replied evenly.

“I was talking to myself.” Jiang Ji shrugged and went back to rewrapping the bandage. “You should be able to get out of bed tomorrow, but unless necessary, stay lying down and rest.”

Hearing that, Jiang Yan’s lips curved faintly. “Then I can finally use the latrine myself.”

“Better not.”

Jiang Yan: “?”

“The latrine’s too filthy,” Jiang Ji explained. “Too many bacteria.”

“Bac… teria?” Jiang Yan frowned slightly—he didn’t always understand Jiang Ji’s strange words.

“It means there are dirty things in places like that—things that could make your wound infected again.” Jiang Ji used words he would understand. “Until your wound’s fully healed, use the chamber pot for urination. As for, uh, the other one—I can get you a portable toilet.”

Jiang Yan: “…I can go to the latrine myself.”

“Suit yourself,” Jiang Ji said. Personally, he didn’t want to go anywhere near that latrine. “By the way, it’s been several days—you haven’t had a bowel movement yet.”

Jiang Yan: “…”

“Don’t be embarrassed. If you’re constipated, I can ask the doctor for medicine. Holding it in is bad for your health,” Jiang Ji added seriously. “That’s what the doctor said.”

Jiang Yan opened his mouth, hesitated, and finally said, “Are you always this… blunt?”

Jiang Ji suddenly laughed. “You must’ve been a scholar before—you talk so properly.”

Jiang Yan said nothing, so Jiang Ji continued, “I’ve always been straightforward. But I’m serious—you know, I’m basically your doctor now. Doctors are supposed to care about every part of a patient’s health.”

After finishing the bandaging, Jiang Ji packed up. “Alright, rest well. I need to talk to my mother about something.”

Zhao Ru had just finished bathing Jiang Nan and Jiang Bei. The two little rascals ran around with wet hair until she called them back to sit by the stove to dry it.

Jiang Ji helped pour out the bathwater, and then the family gathered around the fire.

“Mom, I need to tell you something.”

“Go ahead.” Zhao Ru figured it must be about the immortals—he’d mentioned it earlier when it got dark.

“The thing I gave you,” Jiang Ji said, “it works even better if used with special underpants. It’ll be more convenient. You’re good with sewing—I’ll draw it out for you so you can make it.”

“Alright, draw it.” Zhao Ru kept drying the boys’ hair while watching him.

That sanitary thing really was amazing, and hearing that there were matching underpants made her curious. The current menstrual belt was indeed a bit small and short.

Since there was no paper or ink at home, Jiang Ji took a stick and drew on the ground.

He read the female viewers’ comments—since fabrics in this era weren’t elastic, they’d need to tie the underwear with strings.

Following his understanding and their suggestions, Jiang Ji drew a pair of briefs connected by two strings.

When he finished, even his ears turned red. Why does this look so much like lingerie?

“Something like this,” he muttered, “you can adjust the size yourself—I’m not exactly an expert.”

Jiang Xia leaned over curiously. “What’s that?”

“Underpants,” Jiang Ji said. “You wear them close to your body.”

Zhao Ru studied the drawing, piecing it together with her earlier experience, and immediately understood. It solved exactly what she had been wondering about earlier.

Her eyes lit up. “I see. I’ll try making it.”

“The fabric needs to be soft and breathable,” Jiang Ji reminded her. “Buy some from town tomorrow. Oh, and there’s also something called a brassiere. It looks like this.”

The female viewers enthusiastically shared tips and even uploaded reference pictures. They suggested that since back clasps were hard to make, front ties or buttons would work better, and even mentioned adding soft padding.

“It’s better to use strings—it’s more flexible,” Jiang Ji explained, following their advice.

When Zhao Ru saw his drawing, she understood instantly. This type of brassiere would be perfect for summer—light, breathable, and it spared women from the discomfort of binding their chests.

“This too came from the immortals?”

“Yes.” Jiang Ji scratched his head, his face burning.

Jiang Xia understood as well, her cheeks pink, but she was excited. “Mom, if we make these, we could sell them in town!”

Jiang Ji reminded her, “You could, but it’s not very technical. Others might copy the design quickly.”

“Oh… you’re right,” Jiang Xia said, a little disappointed that it might not earn money.

Zhao Ru smiled, patting her head. “Silly girl, this kind of clothing is made at home. No one would buy it outside.”

Jiang Ji froze for a moment before realizing she was right.

In this conservative era, intimate garments weren’t sold openly, nor even talked about. Even saying “dudou” (chest wrap) aloud could get someone scolded for impropriety.

Still, that didn’t mean they couldn’t earn something—maybe from being the first to introduce it or selling the design.

Even if they made no profit, spreading it would still help countless women.

Jiang Ji comforted them. “It’s fine—we can give it a try. If no one buys it, you can wear it yourselves. We’ll think of other ways to make money.”

Zhao Ru then said thoughtfully, “Xiao Ji, what about that thing you gave me earlier—can we make that too?”

Jiang Ji wasn’t too sure about the sanitary pads, so he checked the audience comments. “We can’t make the exact same thing. A simpler version would need cotton and waterproof fabric—it’d be expensive, and ordinary people couldn’t afford it. The profit would be tiny.”

Cotton hadn’t yet been widely cultivated—it was rare and costly.

“What a pity. It’s such a good thing,” Zhao Ru sighed, wishing every woman could use one.

Seeing her disappointment, Jiang Ji said, “But the immortals gave me high-yield cotton seeds. We can sell those and let people start planting them. In a few years, once cotton becomes common and cheaper, we can try making these products again.”

“High-yield seeds?” Jiang Xia said excitedly. “Then let’s plant all the land at the foot of the mountain with cotton—we can make a lot of money!”

Jiang Nan and Jiang Bei had been listening, not understanding most of it, but the word “cotton” caught their attention. Jiang Bei asked, “Then we’ll have new winter clothes by New Year?”

Because cotton was expensive, ordinary farmers could only grow enough for one or two padded garments a year. Some even sold their cotton for grain instead. Most people wore padding made from kapok, willow fluff, reeds, or animal fur—or just thick hemp cloth.

Jiang Ji’s coat was an old one left by their father, and Jiang Nan and Jiang Bei’s were refitted from his older ones.

“If the cotton harvest is good this year,” Zhao Ru promised with a smile, “I’ll make you both new padded coats.”

After chatting for a while, Jiang Ji went to bathe, while Zhao Ru took out her sewing basket and began experimenting with making the underwear and bra.

Once he finished washing, Jiang Ji took Jiang Nan and Jiang Bei to bed.

With the new beds and blankets, the two little ones were thrilled—they rolled around giggling before finally settling down.

Each took a side of the bed. As Jiang Ji tucked them in and turned to leave, Jiang Bei asked curiously, “Brother, aren’t you sleeping yet?”

“I am,” Jiang Ji replied. “I’m sleeping with Jiang Yan.”

Jiang Bei poked his head out from under the blanket. “You’re not sleeping with us anymore?”

“There are two beds now. No way I’m sleeping with you two again—you sleep like you’re boxing. I keep getting kicked awake.”

Jiang Nan huffed. “I never kicked you. I don’t even remember doing that.”

Jiang Bei murmured, “Me neither.”

“You two sleep like little pigs—how would you know?” Jiang Ji said, tucking in their blankets. “Keep yourselves covered, don’t kick the quilt off tonight.”

“Okay.”

Jiang Ji walked over to the other bed and looked at Jiang Yan. “We’re sleeping here.”

“Alright.” Jiang Yan was still awake; he’d heard their conversation and couldn’t exactly refuse.

He started to move inward, but Jiang Ji stopped him. “Don’t move. I’ll take the inside.”

He took off his outer robe, climbed into bed, and leaned over Jiang Yan to blow out the oil lamp on the table.

The bed was about a meter and a half wide, but with two grown men, they couldn’t help brushing against each other.

Jiang Ji glanced at the streaming comments floating in his vision, posted a short notice to end the broadcast, and closed it.

He now had the right to open and close his livestream freely—saving himself from a lot of awkward moments.

“What are you doing?” Jiang Yan asked quietly, watching him gesture at thin air.

“Nothing,” Jiang Ji replied, turning toward him. “You’re still awake?”

“Slept too much during the day.”

“Not used to sharing a bed with me, huh?” Jiang Ji asked outright.

Jiang Yan: …

Truthfully, Jiang Ji wasn’t used to it either. But after a few days in this world, he had gradually adapted.

After all, working hard all day left him exhausted—by the time night came, he fell asleep the moment he lay down. No time to think about anything else.

He figured Jiang Yan was just unaccustomed to company, and maybe too well-rested from the day to fall asleep easily, making him more aware of someone beside him.

Jiang Ji smiled faintly. “You’ll get used to it. Don’t worry, I sleep very quietly. Won’t bother you.”

He wasn’t lying—he didn’t thrash in his sleep. But he did curl up, hook an arm around whoever was next to him, and nuzzle his head into their chest.

Jiang Yan felt the soft, warm weight of a head nestling against his neck, the man’s breath brushing against his skin, tickling faintly.

He shifted slightly, but Jiang Ji soon rolled right back against him.

Jiang Yan gave up moving—any farther and he’d fall off the bed.

With a quiet sigh, he stared up at the pitch-dark ceiling for a long time before finally drifting off to sleep.

🌾🌾🌾🌾🌾