When the moon climbed to the tips of the old locust trees at the east end of the village, the very last notes of flute music drifted out from the mud-walled courtyard. Su Qingxue lifted her fingertips away from the bamboo flute's holes, the lingering echoes still dancing around the strings of corn hanging beneath the eaves, when she saw Ye Fan standing at the courtyard entrance, nodding gently toward her.
"The little ones are all asleep," Chǔ Hóngzhuāng said, sauntering out of the kitchen with the Gu Insect bottle in her hand clinking musically—she had just coaxed the last bed-wetting toddler into drinking a calming soup.
On the straw mat beside the stone mill, seven plump little heads were huddled together, their drool leaving a crescent-shaped stain on the mat.
Chapter 375