Underneath A Thousand Skies ✔️

78 Foster Son, Don't Be So Crazy (15)

After Xiang Feng left for school, Song Jia gathered the laundry in quiet routine. Sunlight pooled across the courtyard stones like warm honey, and the air smelled faintly of wet grass.

In one corner of the yard, the washing machine—her own "miracle contraption"—sat waiting. It had been built by Nian Shou under her direction, its wooden drum and iron crank pieced together from the fragments of a design she half-remembered from an old book. It was a humble imitation of a French design that would not exist for centuries yet, but here, it seemed nothing less than witchcraft.

She pre-treated the garments using sifted wood ash, then fed them into the drum. The wheel turned, back and forth, sloshing and churning until the water ran clouded and gray. When the washwater drained off through the gutter, Song Jia leaned against the warm stone wall and watched the clothes flap like surrendered banners in the light.

One had to say, Song Jia's ability to memorize useless information would be considered a waste of brain space for a normal person. But for a transmigrator, it was a necessary ability.

When she finished washing the laundry, the sun was still high in the sky, and there was nothing else to do. All the house chores had been finished. Song Jia thought about it for a bit, and finally brought out an empty canvas from the pantry. Oil pigments had long existed in this era, where it was mixed with linseed, pine soot, and minerals.

When she was Zhao Wang Fei, due to the lack of anything to do inside the wangfu, she became very proficient in the four arts.

Due to this, her painting skills had already passed the simply 'good' barrier, drawing close to the term 'excellent.'

Her brush dipped into blue—deep, lake-dark, luminous—and blended it slowly on a small wooden palette. Oil paints in this era dried slowly, which meant a stroke could be pushed, softened, or reshaped long after it touched the canvas. Song Jia liked this. Ink dried too quickly, but oil listened to her.

She began with the underpainting, a wash of muted ochre to set the shadows. Only when the forms were anchored did she build the colors, layer by layer.

She painted the lotus pond behind the estate. Lotus blossoms drifted across the surface like small, sleeping lanterns. A pavilion rose beside them, veiled in quiet shade. Within it, a woman sat at a qin, her hair falling like ink along her back.

The woman's expression was serene, timeless...painted with thin, delicate glazes that allowed the skin to look as if it glowed from within.

Song Jia smiled in a smug manner.

Even when captured in strokes of pigment and oil, this grandma remained effortlessly magnificent, oh~

"What are you doing?"

Nian Shou had returned home, smelling like blood and raw meat. He peered over her shoulder, trying to look at what she was painting.

Song Jia wrinkled her nose and before he could even sit beside her, she stood up and pushed him towards the bathhouse.

"Go and take a bath, you stink!"

Nian Shou sniffed at himself. Then he grinned and opened his arms, trying to hug Song Jia. She pinched her nose and quickly evaded him with a light turn of her heels, before her hand caught his ear and pinched it.

"Ow—! I labored all day to feed this household! And this is my reward?"

"And I washed all your filthy clothes," she countered. "Why is it that Xiao Feng returns spotless, but you smell like a pigsty?"

"He sits under a roof all day. I handle blood and bone. Don't compare a scholar to a man of labor!"

Song Jia ignored his whining. She only gave him a look and pointed to the bathhouse again. Nian Shou threw up his hands in defeat and started taking off his clothes as he walked away. Song Jia ignored his half-naked body and started preparing the kitchen table for dinner. She had seen his body too many times to even be embarrassed at the sight of it.

Finally, Xiang Feng arrived home. In comparison to how she treated Nian Shou, Song Jia was all smiles as she put food on his plate and asked him about the things he did at school.

"It's always the same thing," Xiang Feng replied as he took a sip of his water.

Song Jia thought he was going through the 'school is boring' phase and understandingly nodded her head, "I know, but you still have to study hard and make good friends."

Wanting to tease him a little, she asked, "Is there any girl that you like at school?"

Xiang Feng choked on his water. After sputtering a bit and wiping the clear liquid that trickled down the corner of his red lips, he hastily denied, "I don't like any of them!"

Song Jia was amused. "You don't have to be so defensive. I'm only asking. Anyway, it's good to indulge in puppy love now and then."

"I don't like any of them. I'm not interested in any of them." Xiang Feng's expression was tense. His small face looked up at Song Jia. "Jia, please believe me."

Nian Shou delivered a piece of meat to his mouth and said while chewing, "She's only asking, no need to be so serious."

Nian Shou lowered his head and continued eating, not paying any more attention to the two of them.

Song Jia patted Xiang Feng's head. His black hair was silky and soft, and she couldn't help but touch it a couple more times. Since he seemed so upset about this matter, she comforted soothingly, "It's okay, I believe you."

Xiang Feng's face continued to look upset. He put his head closer to Song Jia's hand like a kitten seeking his owner's affection. Song Jia continued patting his head, until the child's forehead stopped wrinkling.

Almost inaudible, she heard him mumble, "No one is as good as Jia."

Song Jia shook her head while smiling. She was really blessed to have a child that thinks too highly of his mother, ah.

After dinner, Song Jia poured Xiang Feng a cup of milk. She was always telling him to drink more milk these days, as his body was too scrawny and short. She was afraid that his classmates would bully him.

The two of them were still sleeping together on the same bed. However, Song Jia transferred the main bed to the study, since the day bed was too small for both of them. Even though their bed was now spacious, Xiang Feng continued to stick close to Song Jia, telling her that it was easier for him to sleep that way. Song Jia knew he was having bad dreams, so she allowed him to do as he liked.

Sometimes when she left for the bathroom during the night, she would come back to Xiang Feng curling up his body underneath the blanket, his forehead soaked with sweat. He would either wake up screaming not to touch him, or pleading for somebody not to leave him. 

Song Jia never woke him.

She simply laid her hand on his back, light as a falling petal, and waited for his breathing to become steady.

He always quieted when she did.