The Emperor’s Beloved Ugly Girl

21. The Definition of Home

Translator: Iris Guo

A’Chou was good at doing laundry, but she found it difficult to clean the clothes for the disgusting mildew on them and lack of soap. She exerted herself to scrub them for nearly four hours before they finally became clean. Afterwards, she began to wash Zhong Mingwei’s dirty blanket and sheet that she changed in the morning. His bedding was really filthy, but she still didn’t want to throw it away. According to Lao Jiang, they had no one to rely on, so now she was very frugal. She had to make long-term plans for their life in the future.

While doing laundry, A’Chou planned to clean up the chamber and make Zhong Mingwei more comfortable, but it was almost dusk when she finished. She hung the clothes on, and hastened to rub her sore waist and make porridge. She thought that she had become delicate, perhaps because she hadn’t done so many chores for a long time. Besides the painful waist and back, she even got two blisters on her fingers.

A’Chou entered the chamber with porridge and pickles, and happily found that Zhong Mingwei opened his eyes. She put the bowl on the table and rushed to the wing-room, where she found forty candles in the afternoon. She took out a candle, lit it up, and brought it to the chamber.

“We’ll still have porridge for dinner. Sorry I didn’t have time to make something else. After I finish cleaning up our home, I’ll make noodles for you. I’m really good at making wheaten food.” A’Chou sat on the edge of Zhong Mingwei’s bed, blew into the porridge, and put the spoon near his mouth, “It’s not hot. You could eat.”

After listening to A’Chou, Zhong Mingwei lost his appetite. He curled his lips and stared at the flickering flame: “Home? Are you kidding me?”

A’Chou looked at the porridge that he refused, and took the spoon back embarrassedly. While stirring the porridge, she asked softly: “What do you think is home?”

Zhong Mingwei froze. What was home?

Was the magnificent palace his home?

No.

Although all his families lived there, the palace was definitely not his home. How could a home be so turbulent, full of conspiracies and fights? How could a father drive his son to death?

…

So, what exactly was home?

“Could you eat?” A’Chou put the spoon near Zhong Mingwei’s mouth. He felt that the thick and fragrant porridge warmed both his stomach and cold heart.

After Zhong Mingwei finished the porridge, A’Chou removed the wet sheet and put a clean one under his body. She suddenly paused and looked at him when she was about to leave with the bowl. In the dim light, she couldn’t figure out what he was thinking. He was just staring at the flickering flame without blinking.

Zhong Mingwei’s eyes were attractive. They might not be as attractive as the bright stars dazzling everyone, but they could be compared to quiet spring in the moonlight, silent but enchanting. A’Chou couldn’t help looking at them until there was suddenly a flickering sound of the burning candle.

“What?” Only then did Zhong Mingwei find that A’Chou was still standing in the room.

“No… Nothing,” A’Chou shook her head hurriedly and looked away. She pointed at the candle on the table and asked: “Do… Do you want me to put it out now?”