The wife's warm bed

I recently went back to my hometown. It's in northern Shaanxi, a godforsaken place, dirt poor, with mountains and fields covered in barren rocks. Nothing grows there; it's utterly devoid of any redeeming qualities. If there's anything I cherish about this godforsaken place, it's my wife and our warm kang (heated brick bed).

A while ago, my wife called, saying that everyone in the village was following the trend and had replaced their kangs with beds, asking if we should also demolish ours. I quickly said, "Keep ours! Even if we have to demolish the house, we can't demolish the kang!" Our kang, in our 60-square-meter room, takes up half the space. I imagine going home, sprawling on the warm kang, rolling around, doing somersaults, playing however I want, having fun however I want—horizontally or vertically, lying down or standing up—it's much more spacious than a bed.

Even when making love with my wife, I can roll around without worrying about falling off this 30-meter-long bed.

I walked to the grassy area in front of my house, where my pretty wife stood on the stone ridge, watching me. My wife is an ordinary farm woman, wearing a red cotton-padded jacket, like a ball of fire burning on the stone ridge. I took three steps at a time, my long legs whistling through the air, and in the blink of an eye, I was standing in front of my wife, staring at her intently, wishing I could see her as a pool of clear water, holding her in my hands and cherishing her in my heart. I stared until my wife's fair face was flushed like a rosy dawn. My wife gave me a reproachful glare, her charming eyes sweeping across the ground.

She said, "What are you looking at? It's not like I haven't seen you before." I pulled her into my arms, holding her tightly on that desolate stone ridge, my mouth smacking her cheeks, sucking on her soft, warm lips like a pacifier. Then my wife shoved me away: "If you keep acting like a hooligan, I won't let you sleep on the warm bed tonight!" My wife, being from the countryside, considers kissing and smacking to be shameful things, only to be done on a warm bed. So I cast loving glances at her: "Wife, is the bed warm?" Her face turned as red as a pig's liver, and she pinched my nose with her finger: "You're so shameless!"

Look at her, I just asked if the bed was warm, and she thinks I'm thinking about *that* again. Who's shameless here? Who's got a lewd mind?

Back home, as soon as I opened the door, I smelled the delicious aroma of meat. "What are you cooking, wife?" I asked. My wife called me a glutton and worried I wasn't eating well outside, so I stewed three pig's trotters for me. The aroma of the trotters made me even hungrier. But my wife said they weren't cooked enough yet. As the saying goes, when the body is soft, the penis is hard, perfect for getting things done. So, I eagerly pulled my wife into my arms, ready to devour her like a trotter. Unexpectedly, she pushed me away, saying, "There's no rush, we have plenty of time tonight."

I held her tightly, reaching into her coat and grabbing a warm, large breast. She pulled my hand away: "Your hands are so cold, they're going to freeze me to death!"

This time, her face turned a little pale, clearly angry. Sigh, in our village, even being a little lewd with your wife is forbidden.

In the afternoon, the sky darkened, the wind howled, and the trees behind the house rustled.

Soon after, it started snowing, the world turned white, and the air suddenly turned cold. My wife carried a basket of sheep dung into the kang (a heated brick bed), added some firewood, and lit it. The fire roared and sizzled in the stove. Soon, the kang was warm, and the house was cozy. My wife busied herself, finally managing to cook the meal, which she then brought to the kang. I sat on the kang and said, "Wife, is there any wine?" My wife took out a bottle from a mahogany box and said, "I bought this in town when I saw you off that day; it's been sitting here for a year."

She took out a small wine cup, filled it with wine, and presented it to me with both hands: "Shopkeeper, you've had a hard time out there, you've worked so hard.

" I took it and slurped it down. This wine was definitely a year-old vintage; it burned my throat and my stomach, but it was also quite sweet and fragrant. I poured her another cup and presented it to her with both hands as well: "Wife, to be honest, it's even harder for you, a woman, to stay at home. Here, let me toast you." She silently took the cup, tilted her head back, and turned it upside down, leaving not a drop of wine. My wife seems shy, but she's actually quite fiery; you can tell from her drinking habits. After

she got on the kang (heated brick bed), I cupped her face and said, "Wife, tell the shopkeeper what you've been up to this year." She looked at me proudly, pouting her rosy lips, and began to chatter: "Our scallions had a bumper harvest this year thanks to good rain, and the price was good too; we sold them for over five thousand." I kissed her: "Wife, you're so capable." She continued, "When you left, how many sheep did we have?" I thought for a moment and said, "Five, I guess."

She said, "No, it was seven! After you left, all five ewes gave birth, and the dairy goat had three at once. Now we have eleven sheep." I poured her another cup of wine: "Wife, while I was away, you worked so hard." My wife took the wine and downed it in one gulp. She counted on her fingers, telling me how many pounds of potatoes we harvested, how much they sold for, how many bags of buckwheat we produced… I took her hand and gently stroked this precious hand that had been the source of our household chores, only to find that her palms had become thick and hard.

I remembered that before she married me, she was pampered at home, her fingers never having touched the ground. Back then, her hands were delicate and slender, but now, her palms were rough, feeling like sandpaper, with a very rough texture. I took her hand and examined it closely. Near the base of her fingers, there were five small, round bumps, and the edges of her palms were covered with a thick layer of calluses. My eyes welled up, and tears threatened to fall. In the countryside, a woman has to farm, herd sheep, and manage all the household chores—it's truly hard on her. I couldn't help but take my wife's hand to my chest, lower my head, and kiss her breast deeply. I looked up, gazing sincerely at her, and said, "Wife, my darling."

Seeing me lost in thought again, she picked up her wine glass and poured me a drink: "Come, a toast to our happy life." I smiled

through my tears: "Cheers." That night, my wife boiled a pot of water, washed herself, got into bed, and snuggled into my blankets. Her body was as smooth as a fish's, and my hands gently caressed her back; this year, she seemed to have grown taller, her muscles more defined, her frame broader. I got up and kissed every sensitive spot of hers again and again—her earlobes, nipples, labia, finally licking her most sensitive clitoris. My wife, every inch of your body is my love. Such caresses and kisses were pure love, devoid of greed. After a while, I joked: "Wife, when I'm not around, have you been seeing other men?" Upon hearing this, she sat up abruptly, stunned for a long while. Two small streams of tears streamed down her face, which had been as hard as a rock.

I grabbed her hand and asked anxiously, "What's wrong? Honey? Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry, how could you do such a thing? I believe you." She said, "Boss, I was almost raped by a beast." I sat up and said, "Who? Tell me, I'll go kill that son of a bitch." She said through tears, "You know, grazing is prohibited here now, and everyone secretly herds sheep at night. One night, a car drove up to the grassland, and a man got out, saying he was from the county forestry police station. He shone a flashlight in my face and said he'd fine me a thousand, and if I complied, he wouldn't. Of course, I didn't comply. Then he started groping me, so I kicked him to the ground and herded the sheep back." I breathed a sigh of relief, hugged my wife tightly, and said, "That son of a bitch should really be kicked to death! This year, let's heed the country's call, fence off the sheep, and plant grass to feed them." My wife nodded. Once she calmed down, she snuggled into my arms, and I held her, rolling from the front of the bed to the back, and then back again, until dawn was almost breaking. Even when we were tired from making love, we didn't want to separate and fell asleep in each other's arms.

In the morning, I got up early, opened the door, and the whole world had changed. Just like in Chairman Mao's poem, it was covered in silver snow; even this desolate place had become enchanting. Looking back at the bed, my beautiful wife was still fast asleep.

[The End]

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