The sun gradually dimmed until not a trace of twilight remained, and the snow piled outside the window was slowly illuminated by moonlight.
No lamps were lit inside the room, leaving only the faint moonlight to reveal Song Jin curled into a ball beneath the quilt on the wooden bed.
Xie Qiao called her name twice, but she did not respond.
His voice was not loud, but the surroundings were so quiet that she could not have failed to hear it.
The sobbing beneath the quilt grew softer and softer, until only occasional sniffles remained.
Xie Qiao frowned: Could it be that she was deliberately ignoring him?
No.
Although he had not spent much time with Song Jin recently, he knew she was a well-behaved and courteous girl who would not intentionally ignore someone.
Thinking this, Xie Qiao furrowed his brow and reached out to pull back the quilt covering Song Jin.
The quilt was large, and Song Jin had curled herself tightly into a ball. He had to tug twice before he could see the small figure huddled within.
Her cheeks were flushed, whether from being smothered or from crying, it was hard to tell.
The small girl lay curled under the covers with her eyes closed, fast asleep. Even when the quilt was pulled back, she did not wake, only unconsciously sniffling a couple of times.
For the past two days, Song Jin had been sleeping in his room.
They were separated only by a bed curtain, yet Xie Qiao had never seen her sleeping face.
But during the day, when he lay on the bed to rest, breathing in the scent she left behind, he would sometimes close his eyes and imagine what she looked like asleep.
Now he saw her, and indeed, she looked much as he had imagined.
Even more so, with tears still clinging to her chin, she appeared even more pitiful and endearing.
Xie Qiao was momentarily stunned, while the cold wind continued to swirl around the room.
He tried calling her name twice more, but Song Jin still did not wake. Finally, he bent down and lifted her, quilt and all, into his arms.
Xie Qiao’s shoulders were broad, and as soon as she was in his embrace, Song Jin seemed to sense something.
She reached up and wrapped her arms around Xie Qiao’s neck, not requiring him to exert any extra effort.
Even though Xie Qiao was injured, carrying Song Jin was not a strenuous task.
Moreover, Song Jin was even lighter than he had imagined.
Held in his arms, Song Jin was like a docile kitten—still beautiful despite her tear-streaked face.
He bent down and picked up the neatly placed embroidered shoes by the bedside.
In the darkness, the corners of Xie Qiao’s lips lifted slightly as he thought to himself—
Even in such distress, this little girl had remembered to arrange her shoes neatly before crying.
Their rooms were not far apart.
In just a few steps, Xie Qiao carried her back.
He settled her on the bed, carefully tucking the quilt around her, and meticulously drew the bed curtains closed.
Only after ensuring everything was in order did Xie Qiao sit down at the square table.
The candle flickered in the night, and Xie Qiao held a book but did not turn a single page.
His fingers traced the edges of the pages, his expression somber.
Song Jin had been bullied today, yet she had not wanted to tell him.
How many times had she suffered such mistreatment in Chongzhou? How many more scoundrels lurked in the shadows, coveting her?
And how much had she silently endured on her own?
Today, her stall had been overturned. If she had been forcibly taken away, he might not have been able to rescue her in time.
Xie Qiao was suddenly struck with a sense of dread.
The candle slowly burned, and as it neared its end, a faint tapping sound came from outside the window.
Xie Qiao snapped back to attention, first glancing back at the still-sleeping Song Jin, then throwing on an old coat and stepping outside.
The Xie Family was an old and established clan, with many branches and offshoots scattered across the land.
As the head of the Xie Family, Xie Qiao should have gone to recuperate at a branch of the family, but he chose to remain in Chunliu Lane to conceal his identity.
Fu Cang, being Xie Qiao’s trusted aide who had handled affairs for him in the capital for many years, naturally acted with swift efficiency.
Fu Cang stood waiting outside the window, and only when Xie Qiao emerged did he bow his head and say, “Young Master, the Fan family has been thoroughly investigated. Please give your instructions.”
Xie Qiao replied calmly, “Speak.”
“Three generations ago, the Fan family held an official post in the capital but later resigned and returned to their hometown. Since then, the family has relied on ancestral wealth, and the younger generations are all debauched and lawless individuals. Most of their murders have been kept within the household, but a year ago, the eldest son of the Fan family beat someone to death in the street and later forced the victim’s family to leave Chongzhou. This incident caused quite a stir.”
Xie Qiao’s voice deepened. “How was the matter handled?”
“The local county magistrate ruled it as an accidental killing by the eldest son of the Fan family, with only a monetary compensation.”
On the surface, the Fan family still clung to their identity as an official household, refraining from overt misconduct, but in private, they were involved in numerous schemes of murder and extortion.
Xie Qiao knew that such families were bound to have blood on their hands, but he hadn’t expected the Fan family to be so brazen as to kill someone openly in the street.
Even the county magistrate was colluding with the Fan family!
Now, the Fan family was even attempting to take his life at will. They treated human life with such contempt—such a family could no longer be allowed to exist.
As Xie Qiao listened, his brow furrowed deeper and deeper.
By the time Fu Cang finished speaking, Xie Qiao’s expression had turned grim.
After a moment of contemplation, he said, “Use the name of the Xie Family in the capital to notify the branch families: sever all business ties with the Fan family and deal with them.”
Fu Cang bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Yes.”
A cold wind swirled in the courtyard.
Light snow on the ground was swept up, and the window rattled slightly.
Song Jin, who should have been peacefully asleep in the bed curtains, was suddenly startled awake.
Song Jin usually slept soundly, often sleeping straight through until dawn, but in her deep slumber, she was grabbed in her dream by that lecherous hand!
She struggled fiercely and woke herself up.
Waking so abruptly left her momentarily disoriented.
That detestable Master Fan—she had been having nightmares for two nights in a row!
Song Jin rubbed the back of her hand against the quilt.
She knew it was just a dream, but the greasy sensation on her hand wouldn’t rub away.
As she rubbed, she suddenly became aware of something.
She widened her round, almond-shaped eyes—
This was her room.
No, no—this was now her husband’s room!
She had clearly been hiding under the quilt, crying in the main room. How had she ended up here?
Had she grown legs and walked over herself?
Had she really become so forward?
But she truly couldn’t remember. Had she cried herself silly?
As she pondered, she sat up and glanced at the neatly tucked bed curtains around her, suddenly understanding.
She hadn’t come here on her own!
Her husband had brought her back!
He had covered her with the quilt and tucked in the bed curtains!
She had always said it—her husband might be overly proper at times, but he still had a caring heart!
A slender, pale hand reached out from the bed curtains, pulling open a small gap.
Song Jin peeked out.
Huh?
Why wasn’t her husband in the room?
Hadn’t he been sitting at the square table earlier?
As Song Jin wondered, the door was gently pushed open.
A somewhat slender figure entered with the moonlight streaming in from outside.
Moonlight drifted over his shoulders, and as Song Jin looked at that silhouette, her heart felt as if filled with sweetness.
Seeing him, she called out politely and sweetly, “Husband.”
Xie Qiao pushed open the door and saw a small head peeking out from behind the bed curtains. He was slightly taken aback, having assumed Song Jin would sleep through the entire night.
It must be because of that scoundrel that she couldn’t rest peacefully.
By the dim candlelight, Xie Qiao met the gaze of that little face.
The tear stains on her face had already dried, leaving only slightly swollen, red-rimmed eyes.
Her expression showed no displeasure; in fact, when she saw him, the dimples on her cheeks began to faintly reappear.
Xie Qiao concealed the somber expression he had worn outside and sat down at the table as usual. “You’re awake?”
“Mm-hmm, husband, is it time for you to take your medicine? I’ll go brew it for you.” Song Jin began to climb out of bed as she spoke.
“No need. It’s just a tonic—missing one day won’t matter,” Xie Qiao replied calmly.
Observing Xie Qiao’s expression, Song Jin nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
Actually, Song Jin had already noticed earlier—her husband seemed a bit unhappy.
His usual demeanor was also serious, but not like this. He hadn’t lost his temper with her or spoken harshly, yet Song Jin knew—her husband was angry.
Song Jin glanced at the neatly placed embroidered shoes on the footrest.
The bed curtains were so warm, and her husband had just returned from outside—he must be freezing!
Song Jin blinked, still staring at her embroidered shoes, but extended an invitation: “Husband, why don’t you come up and warm up?”
Xie Qiao instinctively replied, “No need.”
Song Jin stiffened.
Today was already the third day.
It was her third night sleeping here, yet her husband still had no intention of sharing the bed with her.
This was no longer just about propriety.
Could it be that her husband disliked her?
At this thought, Song Jin’s heart ached, and tears welled up in her eyes again, threatening to fall.
Still keeping her head down, she asked softly, “Husband, do you dislike me?”
She tried her best to hold back, but her voice still carried a sob.
“That’s not it,” Xie Qiao frowned.
He had intended to clarify things with Song Jin tonight, but now it seemed today wasn’t the right time.
Besides, he still needed this identity for now.
And in Chongzhou, everyone knew she was married—this could also help ward off unwanted suitors.
He was about to explain further when Song Jin’s tears fell first, splashing onto the bed curtains.
Large teardrops instantly soaked a patch of fabric.
The young girl kept her head down, not letting him see her tears.
He didn’t understand—he was merely observing propriety by not sharing the bed with her, so why did she interpret it as him disliking her?
He closed his eyes briefly.
Forget it.
“That’s not what I meant. I just have the chill on me,” Xie Qiao said as he removed his slightly worn coat, leaving only his inner robe, and walked to the bedside. “This should be fine now.”
Song Jin quickly wiped her tears, withdrew her head behind the curtains, and left only these words: “Alright then, husband, come in.”
She couldn’t just lift the bed curtains and invite her husband in, could she?
She was a modest girl, after all.
Xie Qiao stood outside the bed curtains for a moment before solemnly lifting them, pulling over his own quilt, and lying down on the outer side of the bed.
He lay stiffly, not overstepping any boundaries.
Meanwhile, Song Jin lay on the inner side of the bed, equally proper.
This was Xie Qiao’s first time sharing a bed with a young woman.
Among the noble sons of the capital at his age, even if they weren’t married, they would have concubines or maidservants, but he had never wanted such arrangements.
All these years, he had lived alone.
Now, lying on the same bed with a young girl like this was somewhat unexpected for him.
He actually felt no aversion at all.
Perhaps it was because he had already grown accustomed to Song Jin's scent over the past two days.
He lowered his gaze, listening to Song Jin's breathing.
If she was still awake, he wanted to ask whether she had suffered any other grievances today.
But before he could find the chance to speak, he heard a familiar voice—
"Wuwuwu, so wonderful! My husband doesn't dislike me! I love my husband the most!"