AGN -Chapter 224 Parental Affection (Part 3)

Qu Jing spent her first night at the village chief’s house squeezed onto a heated kang bed with several of his granddaughters.

Although there were no proper quilts and they could only cover themselves with straw, at least there was a kang and a roof over their heads to shield them from wind and rain—far better than sleeping in a tree. Qu Jing happily ate her fill of sweet potatoes and an egg before going to sleep, and slept soundly until morning.

The next morning, everyone had gruel with half a sweet potato. Only Qu Jing received a full breakfast—sweet potatoes and gruel as much as she wanted, with more cooked if she ran out.

Watching Qu Jing squat in the yard just like the day before, staring at the chickens while eating sweet potatoes, the village chief’s wife whispered to her husband, “I think she really just has a big appetite.”

The village chief didn’t mind since it wasn’t his grain: “It’s fine. Old Qu can afford it.”

“Is she slow?”

The wife wasn’t sure. She stared at Qu Jing for a while. “Probably not very.”

“That’s good enough,” the chief said. “Teach her more. Old Qu brought two rabbits this morning in that basket of grain. When the hens lay eggs later, boil one for her. He said he’ll trade pelts for it.”

From far away, Qu Jing heard “egg” and eagerly ran over to wait.

The chief laughed. “Doesn’t look stupid at all—smarter than our Gou Dan.”

Gou Dan, chewing sweet potatoes: ?

Just like that, Qu Jing stayed at the village chief’s house for over a week.

The chief’s wife was clearly skilled at raising children. She taught Qu Jing everything like she would a small child—how to wash her face, wash her hair, get dressed, what not to eat, what not to touch, and how to use chopsticks.

Qu Jing was only inexperienced at being human, not actually foolish. She learned everything quickly. Aside from not speaking and appearing about ten years old, she was basically just a clever child.

Eventually, even the chief’s wife became confused, often muttering:

“Is she actually stupid or not?”

“Is this smart or dumb?”

“Why does she feel like a clever kind of stupid?”

Finally, just as the chief’s wife was puzzling over whether Qu Jing was a prodigy or simply brain-damaged, the bed at the hunter’s house was finished.

The hunter came to take his granddaughter home.

It was his first time raising a child—skipping straight to raising a granddaughter—so he was a little excited.

He brought a small treat: malt sugar.

Not much, just a piece the size of a little finger, but in those times it was a rare luxury. The chief’s grandchildren stared at it with envy, practically drooling. If their grandfather hadn’t been present, they might have hugged the hunter and called him “Grandpa” themselves.

“Jingjing, do you remember me? I’m your grandpa,” the hunter said nervously but expectantly.

Qu Jing nodded, staring fixedly at the sugar.

The hunter grinned happily and handed it to her. She immediately popped it into her mouth.

The chief’s wife packed up all the clothes Qu Jing could wear—only three sets, but that was already more than most children her age had. Most kids in the village had just two sets of inner clothes and a thin outer layer.

Pants were another matter—they wore out quickly, which explained why the neighbor’s children had none.

The chief’s wife also gave Qu Jing’s eating bowl to the hunter and carefully explained how much she ate per meal. She rambled on, saying the child was a bit slow but not too much—“a bit foolish but also a bit clever.” At least she knew when she was full and would stare at people when hungry.

She could recognize food, start a fire, and cook sweet potatoes herself.

She told the hunter not to worry when going hunting—the child could cook if she got hungry.

Finally, she said she didn’t feel safe bringing her own children to the hunter’s place since it was too close to the mountains. But if Qu Jing wanted to play, she could come to the village—everyone already knew her.

After all, she was the village’s only “fool,” quite famous.

The hunter led Qu Jing back to his wooden cabin at the foot of the mountain.

His house was small but filled with things—mostly prepared animal pelts. Only after staying in the village did Qin Huai realize how rare beds were; most homes used kangs.

Compared to village conditions, even “a cold quilt like iron” from poetry seemed luxurious—at least that meant having a proper quilt. Many villagers only had half a quilt, stuffed with cotton mixed with straw.

The hunter had made Qu Jing a small bed.

It looked ordinary—but also incredibly imposing.

Because it was covered with a tiger pelt.

Besides that, there was a newly made quilt, and other furs layered underneath. It looked extremely warm.

Because he lived alone, the house was messy—tools, firewood, and supplies scattered everywhere. But it also showed how wise it was that the chief’s wife had taught Qu Jing how to cook.

The hunter showed her around, then handed her the key and gave her two wooden carvings before going to cook.

Qu Jing loved the carvings, clutching them like treasures. After he left, she carefully examined the house, avoiding the weapons, then sat on the bed happily.

Dinner was cornmeal with wild vegetables and cured meat.

Compared to before, this was a feast. Qu Jing ate three large bowls, then stopped once full.

Seeing she knew when to stop, the hunter was relieved and praised her: “Our Jingjing is so smart.”

She didn’t respond, just washed her bowl and sat on the bed playing.

He praised her again: “Our Jingjing is very capable.”

She still didn’t reply, but Qin Huai noticed a faint smile at the corner of her lips.

Over the next few days, life continued normally.

The hunter went into the mountains daily. Sometimes he caught nothing; other times rabbits, eggs, or occasionally foxes or pheasants.

Villagers came to trade goods for pelts. Each one would glance curiously at Qu Jing and whisper how lucky this “foolish girl” was to be adopted.

On the fifth night, someone left a baby at the hunter’s door.

Hearing the cries, the hunter immediately picked it up and carried it to the village chief’s house.

Qu Jing quietly watched from her bed, then got up and waited at the door.

When he returned, he was startled to see her outside.

“It’s cold out here. Let’s go inside.”

He led her in, lit a lamp, and began preparing food.

“Hungry? Grandpa will cook for you.”

“Why didn’t you keep him?” Qu Jing suddenly asked.

The hunter froze in shock.

“I heard people say it’s better to adopt babies. He eats less than me. Wouldn’t raising him be easier?” she asked.

Overjoyed, the hunter exclaimed, “Jingjing, you can talk!”

After calming down, he explained gently, “I don’t have fate with that child.”

“Do you have fate with me?” she asked.

“I found you in the mountains. Of course we do.”

“Will you sell me?”

“Of course not.”

“Will you eat me?”

He frowned. “Did your parents scare you with that? Unless it’s a famine, who would eat their own child?”

She fell silent.

After a pause, he asked shyly, “Jingjing… you know I’m your grandpa now, right?”

She nodded.

“Can you call me ‘Grandpa’?”

She didn’t answer.

He looked disappointed and turned to cook.

“Grandpa,” she called out clearly.

He froze.

“I heard you adopted me so I could take care of you in old age,” she said.

“I will. I promise. As long as I live, I’ll take care of you.”

The hunter smiled so wide his mouth couldn’t close.

“You silly child, don’t say things like ‘as long as I live.’”

“You’re my granddaughter now. I don’t need you to take care of me. I’ve saved some silver. In a few years, I’ll prepare a dowry for you and marry you into a village. That’ll be better than living here.”

“Jingjing… can you call me Grandpa again?”

“Grandpa.”

“Yes!”