Cherpa was a vegetable vendor in a corner of the marketplace. In this small, unremarkable rural village, some people lived without meat, but everyone lived with vegetables, so Cherpa knew almost everyone.

He liked chatting and spreading news, and had recently become particularly interested in a newlywed couple.

They were the newlyweds who had moved to the village not long ago.

They had arrived just as the frost began setting in during the mornings and evenings, and had settled into a small, cozy house near the village entrance.

The dark brown log cabin had originally been intended as a holiday home for a wealthy man, but when those plans fell through, it became the newlyweds’ first home.

Cherpa lived right next door. In a village where ‘next door’ meant houses spaced far apart, to the point where one rarely glimpsed neighbors’ faces, what mattered was that Cherpa passed the couple’s house on his way to and from work.

Like most merchants, he left at dawn and returned late in the evening, at times when ordinary people were either sleeping or preparing for bed.

But the couple was different.

Eager to flaunt their newlywed status, they filled both morning and night with sticky, lingering m*ans that embarrassed Cherpa. The log cabin didn’t seem to be very soundproof, so whenever Cherpa passed by, he loudly cleared his throat or deliberately crunched a twig underfoot to announce his presence. The indecent noises vanished soon after.

However, these strange incidents weren’t the reason Cherpa was interested in them.

“Hello.”

“Welcome. What can I get you today?”

Having just finished with a customer, Cherpa greeted the next one warmly. The woman who entered the shop was a gentle beauty—sweet-faced, like a newborn lamb. Cherpa’s eyes briefly turned sly before snapping back to normal.

“Hmm… pumpkin, please. Is this easy to cook?”

“Oh, sure. Just slice it up and steam it, stir-fry it, or scoop out the inside and make porridge. It cooks quickly no matter how you do it. Now then, how much shall I give you?”

“Um… the small one, please. I’m not sure if Eshi—I mean, my husband—will want to eat it.”

From that single line, Cherpa learned that this ‘Eshi’ character was a fussy eater. However, he acted as if he hadn’t heard anything of interest, simply choosing a small, firm pumpkin and handing it over.

After paying, the woman offered a sweet smile and fluttered off.

It looked heavy enough to be a burden. Cherpa worried for a moment, then quickly dismissed the thought. Surely someone would be along to help her soon enough?

‘Honestly. Just look at that.’

Cherpa clicked his tongue when he saw a man running towards the market entrance with a drained complexion.

The man, with black curls brushing his nape, was tall and strikingly handsome. However, his sharp, tense features made him anything but approachable. He looked like the complete opposite of his gentle wife.

This was the woman’s husband, who had just bought the pumpkin. Unfortunately, he seemed to suffer from a touch of jealous paranoia.

Whenever his wife came to the market and left, he would rush in after her shortly afterwards, acting nonchalant and asking in a hoarse voice if a woman “about your height with green eyes” had passed by.

At first, Cherpa didn’t understand their relationship and was wary of the man, but later on he would respond depending on his mood.

The man might have been jealous, but he wasn’t the type to hit or shout at his wife.

Even after running frantically through the market in search of her, he would only whine like a child once he found her.

Sure enough, Cherpa eventually saw the two of them walking home together. The husband was carrying a pumpkin and several other bags and leaning towards his wife as he scolded her, telling her that if she didn’t want to drive him crazy, she should at least tell him when she went out. Her eyes drooping further, the wife apologized meekly, saying she had simply forgotten.

Cherpa clicked his tongue again.

How had she ended up with such a suspicious, clingy man? He only whined now, but who knew how his behavior might change later?

To make matters worse, the man didn’t look healthy at all. If the woman didn’t appear at the market for two consecutive days, it meant that her husband had fallen ill again.

Cherpa was the first to notice this pattern, thanks to his proximity to the market and his many connections in the village.

Initially, word spread that the newlyweds had moved there to recuperate, but this rumour died down quickly.

However, Cherpa himself had been unable to resist asking the woman directly one day when she stopped by as a customer.

“Recuperating? Oh, no, not at all. We just moved here. The air is clean, the water is good, and everyone is so kind.”

As Cherpa recalled the young wife’s wide, gentle eyes and the way she shook her head, he felt genuinely sorry for her.

How could someone so decent have ended up marrying a man who needed so much looking after? It was impossible to understand.

‘Still… he did buy her a good ring.’

Perhaps the man was wealthy. He certainly looked the part, being handsome in a flashy, polished way. As he clicked his tongue, Cherpa decided that next time he saw her, he would casually ask her about the ring. He began packing up his stall.

***

“You’ve got a high fever…”

Meanwhile, having wandered through the winter market without a scarf or gloves, Ersian had unsurprisingly caught a cold.

Moed, who had just taken his temperature, sat anxiously on the chair beside the bed, on which Ersian lay weak and shivering under the blankets.

Having arrived home drenched in sweat and coughing, the groceries they had bought remained untouched on the kitchen table.

Whether this was fortunate or not, it was a familiar sight. Back when they lived in Moed’s house, Ersian would fall ill at the slightest opportunity.

Initially, Moed wondered if the house itself was somehow unhealthy, but he soon realised that this was not the case.

Ersian’s illness was not caused by physical weakness, but by stress.

Even on the first day of moving to the peaceful countryside he had dreamed of — a place with clean water, fresh air, warm sunlight and hardly any people — Ersian collapsed.

Moed had been too distracted by the new house to dote on him, and after sulking, Ersian’s emotions had spiraled into physical exhaustion.

Simply put, it was an illness brought on by pent-up frustration.

“I didn’t know before, but now I’m sure. When you get sick, it’s not your body, it’s your heart.”

“You’re talking like some doctor.”

“I can at least figure out that much. Your body’s healthier than before.”

“So you’re using words like figure out now. Guess those books were worth reading.”

Moed shot him a glare. At the rare sharpness in those eyes, Ersian looked away and coughed again,
as if that might help him escape the reproach.

“But this time I really am sick. Look, I’m coughing.”

“That’s why you should’ve dressed properly before going out. I told you—I’m not going anywhere anymore. Why are you still anxious?”

“When I can’t see you, what do you expect me to do?”

“And I did dress properly.”

With a red face and a damp forehead, Ersian mumbled excuses and looked utterly pitiful. Moed glanced down at him with mild exasperation, then pressed a kiss onto his flushed cheek.

Honestly, Ersian smelled sweeter than usual while lying there with a fever: warm and tempting enough to make Moed’s mouth water.

But she restrained herself, stopping after a single, quick lick. She wasn’t an inexperienced succubus anymore; she didn’t lose control and devour a sick partner just because she could.

“Give me a real kiss.”

“I just gave you one.”

“That wasn’t a kiss—that was a peck. I said I want tongues.”

Moed stared at the shamelessly demanding Ersian, then fled into the kitchen. For a moment, she even missed the stiff, easily flustered young master she had first met — the one who had frozen the moment their lips touched.

Trying to ignore the dampness growing in her underwear, Moed gathered a pot and a pumpkin. If Ersian was really unwell, she should make him some soup.

“…Eshi, do you know how to make pumpkin soup?”

However, Moed was a succubus who knew nothing about human food.

Although she had learned how to make pumpkin pie and pudding from the dessert books that Ersian had brought home on occasion, she could not feed those to a sick man. Knowing a recipe didn’t mean she could cook it.