Chapter Seventeen: Are You Teasing Me?

Worried that in his absence his mother and Yanalie might clash again—after all, both women were strong-willed and neither would yield—Lu Hu excused himself from An Shizhu and hurried home, nearly slipping several times on the snowy ground. He rushed through the door, finally letting out the breath he’d been holding.

The scene inside was unexpectedly harmonious, almost festive. The dining table was set with steaming, fragrant dishes. His father and younger sister sat at the table, eagerly awaiting the meal. His father looked much better, the pallor gone from his face; after all, a veteran martial artist of his level could recover most of his strength with a single good night’s sleep.

“Where’s my mother? Where’s Yanalie?” The delicious aroma wafted from the kitchen on the right. As Lu Hu called out, he ducked his head in.

“People always say that once a man marries, he forgets his mother. But you, boy, haven’t even married yet and you already ignore your old man.” His father’s grumbling voice drifted over from behind.

It seemed to be a universal trait among humans: for most children, the first question upon entering the house was always, “Where’s Mom?”

Fathers always came in second, or even lower.

His mother was bent over the stove, her spatula ringing as she stir-fried. Yanalie was crouched by the hearth, feeding wood into the flames. They worked together seamlessly, their gestures warm and congenial.

But all their communication was through exaggerated gestures and facial expressions. His mother would squeeze out a smile and pass it along; Yanalie would respond with an exaggerated grin. His mother patted Yanalie’s shoulder in appreciation; Yanalie responded with a big thumbs up.

Lu Hu couldn’t help but chuckle. His mother didn’t speak Yanalie’s tribal tongue, and Yanalie knew only a scattering of Central Plains dialect. Their attempts at communication were like a cock crowing at a dog… or rather, a chicken talking to a duck, forced to invent their own sign language.

Now Lu Hu realized he was a bit hungry. He turned back to the table, snatched a piece of meat from a dish and tossed it into his mouth, chewing it hastily.

He reached for another piece, but his father rapped his hand with a pair of chopsticks. “The meal hasn’t even started and you’re already stuffing your face? What did I teach you growing up? Are you a rat, that you forget the rules the moment you see food? Where are your manners? This is disgraceful.”

Lu Hu was unfazed, shamelessly popping the meat into his mouth anyway. No matter how many beatings he’d taken from his father over the years, the bond between them was indestructible, and in his father’s presence, he could always relax.

It was different with his mother; the affection was maintained on the surface, but a sense of distance persisted beneath, making him wary of overstepping even slightly. If she were nearby, he wouldn’t dare touch the food no matter how hungry he was.

Yanalie walked in carrying a dish of eggs and mushrooms, setting it gently on the table. “You must be hungry after being busy outside. If you’re hungry, go ahead and eat. Don’t wait for us.”

The Elront people had none of the fussy etiquette of the Da Sheng Dynasty.

Lu Li stared at Yanalie, trying to guess what this beautiful and capable girl was saying.

“Big Donkey, my sister Xue Xia,” said Lu Li, nine years old and tall for her age, though her speech still had a childish lisp. Her parents would seize any free moment to help her straighten her tongue, drilling her on tongue-twisters: “Four is four, ten is ten, fourteen is fourteen, forty is forty.” But what came out was: “Xi xi xi, xi xi xi, xi xi xi xi xi, xi xi xi xi.”

It left her parents speechless and teary-eyed, their ears haunted by endless “xi xi xi…”

As the family’s only daughter, she’d been sheltered by her parents and brother since birth, seldom leaving the courtyard and knowing little of the ways of the world. Having grown up at home, she was used to hearing the family call Lu Hu “Big Donkey,” and so she called him that too.

Lu Song glanced cautiously toward the kitchen door and, almost whispering into his daughter’s ear, said, “Little girl, you’re getting older now. From now on, you have to call him ‘Brother,’ not ‘Big Donkey’ all the time. If outsiders hear, they’ll think we’ve no manners.”

“Brother,” Lu Li squeezed the word from her throat, clearly uncomfortable and awkward.

Hearing his sister call him “Brother” felt strange to Lu Hu—“Big Donkey” just sounded more natural after all these years.

Old habits die hard.

“From now on, don’t call her ‘sister’—you should call her ‘sister-in-law.’ Just now your sister-in-law scolded me for sneaking food and threatened to beat me up,” Lu Hu said with a mischievous grin.

“Mother said she’s my sister, so why should I call her ‘boy’? Isn’t she a girl?” Lu Li understood that “boy” meant a male, but had no concept of what a “sister-in-law” was. With Lu Hu’s mouth stuffed with meat, his words weren’t clear, so she heard “sister-in-law” as “boy.”

Lu Song shot his son a glare, sneaked another look toward the kitchen, and whispered to his daughter, “She’s your brother’s wife, so you should call her ‘sister-in-law.’”

“Oh, so my brother is Big Donkey, and ‘boy’ is Big Donkey’s woman,” Lu Li concluded, recalling what she’d seen of neighbors’ weddings and knowing, at least, what a wife was. Around here, people generally didn’t bother learning a wife’s name, simply referring to her as “so-and-so’s woman.”

Lu Hu figured it was pointless to explain further, especially with his mouth full of meat, so he ignored Lu Li.

“Big Don… er, son, Lu Hu, how long will you be home this time?” Bowing to Sun Guiying’s matriarchal authority, Lu Song had also grown used to calling him “Big Donkey,” and now even calling him “son” felt awkward, so he just used his given name.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Lu Hu replied. He had no desire to linger long under his mother’s roof.

Lu Song’s face darkened. “So soon? Can’t you stay a few more days?”

Having suffered so much from childhood, his son deserved some compensation; even a few extra days at home would be a blessing.

“I’ve been promoted to Life-Catcher, Father—a post of great responsibility.” Lu Hu couldn’t resist showing off a little. Life-Catcher was a sixth-rank military officer, even higher than his father. No father could help but hope for his son’s success.

“Life-Catcher?” Lu Song was shocked, his voice rising sharply. “That’s a job where you’re putting your head on the line—ten go out and only one comes back alive. You, you… ah!”

“If you don’t enter the tiger’s den, how can you catch a tiger cub? Fortune favors the bold, Father. Don’t worry—I know my own limits.” Lu Hu tried to reassure his father with a look of quiet confidence.

Lu Song lowered his head in silence, lost in anxious thought.

In Da Sheng, generals died on the battlefield; if one deserted or hesitated at the front, military law would deal with him harshly, and the consequences for his family could be dire.

To be a soldier was to risk one’s life: promotion or death, with the possibility of a generous pension for the wounded. Yet no father wished to see his son maimed, much less crippled for life.

Damned Life-Catcher post—his son already had one foot in the grave!

“Always think before you act, be extremely cautious, never act rashly.” Lu Song admonished him with heartfelt concern.

Suddenly, his eyes brightened and a smile crept onto his face. He beckoned Lu Hu with a conspiratorial wink, then got up and headed to the bedroom.

Lu Hu’s heart leapt with delight, a wide smile on his face as he followed. What could be so secretive? Was his father about to give him some rare treasure—or, better yet, a peerless weapon to sweep all before him?

He’d read enough web novels in his previous life to know that every transmigrator amounted to something—at the very least, a god.

His father closed the bedroom door behind them, opened the big wooden chest that held the family’s clothes, and rummaged around for a while with his left hand before pulling out a tattered bundle.

The bundle was tied with a tight cross-knot that took Lu Hu quite a bit of effort—and sore fingers—to undo.

Inside was another bundle, this one with its knot underneath.

A Russian nesting doll, he thought—layer upon layer. This must be some rare treasure. Was he about to strike it rich?

His heart pounded, his hands trembled as he untied four layers—only to find a pile of old clothes.

He was instantly crestfallen, looking at his father with watery eyes. “Oh, come on, Dad! Are you messing with me?”

He remembered his early days of martial training, when he’d whined about being tired and slumped to the ground. His father would throw off his own shirt, baring a solid, muscular body. “What do you think, sturdy enough?”

He’d peel off his own shirt and toss it to the floor in imitation.

His father had a slim waist and broad shoulders—a perfect inverted triangle. He himself had sloping shoulders and a round belly—a regular triangle.

His father’s arms and legs were thick, muscles knotted like cables. His own limbs were thin and bony.

His father’s abdomen boasted eight gleaming abs. His own was a soft, doughy belly.

His father would hand him the little wooden stick he used to supervise his training. “Go ahead, hit me in the stomach as hard as you can.”

He’d hesitate—this stick seemed like a weapon of mass destruction. When he’d been naughty or lazy, his father would smack his hands or backside with it, and even a gentle tap would sting for ages.

If he hurt his father, there’d be hell to pay.

Seeing his hesitation, his father would glare and say, “Don’t hold back. Swing as hard as you can.”

Well, you asked for it, he’d think, bracing himself before bringing the stick down.

It was like hitting a rock, jarring his hands painfully. After a few swings, there was a crack—the stick broke.

A wave of respect washed over him. “Dad, you really are tough!”

“Impressive, eh?”

“Very impressive! Dad, when will I be as strong as you?”

“Train hard and you’ll be strong. Slack off, and you’ll grow up weak and soft, just like your Uncle Cui—how ugly is that?”

Uncle Cui was a civil official, a good friend of his father’s who visited often.

He was so fat that his face and body seemed to be made of nothing but pudge, barely able to walk.

Who’d want to end up like that? So he’d grit his teeth and get back into training with his father…

Lu Song pushed aside the old clothes and pulled out a backpack.

Lu Hu’s eyes lit up. It was a two-strap backpack, common enough in his former life—students used them, office workers too, and you’d see them everywhere.

But in this world, such an item was rarer than a scorpion’s tail—a one-of-a-kind treasure. The technology of this era couldn’t produce nylon, let alone zippers; anyone seeing it would be utterly puzzled.

He unzipped the bag and found a gleaming rectangular object inside, about as long as a forearm, as wide as a hand, and as thick as a fist, with a black cylindrical piece of the same length attached to one side.

It looked very much like a flashlight from his previous life.