The next morning, Li Xiu got up early as usual to tidy the room, do the laundry, and make breakfast. By the time Zhou Lian woke up, the sun was already high in the sky.
After they ate, Zhou Lian was half-lying on the kang bed, resting. With a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes, she took the love letter Li Xiu held in his mouth and gave it a look. Her face quickly flushed red, then went pale, then darkened. Zhou Lian was furious. 'What kind of man writes a love poem to tease his own wife?'
'This wasn't a love poem at all—it was a scoundrel's verse! When had this wretched man become so improper?!'
Li Xiu didn't know what his wife was thinking. If he did, he would have surely argued that since his wife had so much fun setting him up day after day, why couldn't her husband tease her back a little?
