September. The wild geese fly south.
The light cavalry whistled past in their soft armor. Beneath their chainmail, the Flying Fish Robes flickered with every movement of their horses, the gilded patterns reflecting a brilliant, shimmering light.
Amidst the sea of black horses, a flash of white suddenly appeared—it was the Lion Steed, a gift from the Emperor himself.
On the balcony of a high building by the roadside, a young man leaned out to look, shouting to the private room behind him, “Lord Zhan has returned to the capital!”
Upon hearing this, the group of noble youths, dressed in fragrant and elegant silks, broke into a flurry of excitement. They poked their heads out to watch, shouting occasionally and breaking into laughter.
“My Lord.” A new horse joined the side of the guard, drawing close to the Lion Steed. The rider whispered something.
The Lion Steed’s pace faltered almost imperceptibly. The man on horseback pulled the reins, turning his horse toward another direction.
The noble scions’ laughter grew louder. “Why is he heading toward Zhuque Street!”
“Zhuque Street? That’s where the Princess Royal’s manor is! During last month’s hunt, the Princess Royal was startled by her horse and fell off a cliff. As her Imperial Son-in-law, Lord Zhan must naturally show his loyalty as a subject and a husband. He’s going to ‘visit the sick,’ isn’t he?”
“‘Visit the sick’? More like visiting a knife! Last time the Princess Royal was ill, didn’t she smash a teacup against his forehead, leaving him wounded and unable to attend court for days?”
The jesting continued, as if they wished they could shove their eyes and ears right into Zhuque Street.
It was common knowledge in Yanjing that the Princess Royal and her husband had been at odds for a long time.
Zhan Qin pulled his horse to a slight halt when he reached the gates of the Princess Royal’s manor.
Xieyue, the female official and Chief Steward of the manor, was already standing at the gate as if she had long known he would come.
Zhan Qin had met Auntie Xieyue, who had followed the Princess Royal, Rong Li, since childhood, many times.
Every time he came to the manor to pay his respects as a matter of routine, this auntie would usually block him at the door. She would then relay, with mechanical precision, that the Princess—the one the Empress held in the palm of her hand and spoiled with every luxury—was too lazy to see him.
Her thin face never showed any expression; she was as impenetrable as an iron wall. Today, however, she seemed exceptionally tense. His attendant had just reported that the Princess Royal had been injured in a fall a few days ago. Xieyue had always loved her mistress as if she were her own life, so she was likely anxious because of this.
Zhan Qin dismounted. His attendant handed over the pre-prepared gifts to the porter’s lodge as usual. He respectfully cupped his fists and bowed toward the main courtyard of the manor. Just as he was about to ask about the Princess Royal’s injuries before departing, he saw the corners of Xieyue’s mouth droop slightly. She actually stepped aside, clearing the entrance, and bowed slightly. “Imperial Son-in-law, please enter the manor.”
Zhan Qin’s brow furrowed slightly. He didn’t understand what this meant. Detecting the irrepressible irritation beneath Xieyue’s tense expression, he realized things might not be as he thought. As he walked into the manor, he lowered his voice and asked, “Is Her Highness unwell?”
“…The Imperial Son-in-law will know once he sees Her Highness,” Xieyue choked out, leading him forward with hurried steps.
Seeing her state, he suspected this was no small matter. Zhan Qin followed.
The number of times he had entered the Princess Royal’s manor could be counted on one hand. He had probably only truly walked this path on their wedding day. However, Her Highness was the priority right now. Following the path in his memory, he walked even faster than Xieyue.
Though there was no affection between them as husband and wife, if something truly happened to Her Highness, it would be troublesome for him as both a subject and her husband.
They entered Rong Li’s Qiwu Courtyard, where her other confidante, the female official Fuyun, was waiting.
Fuyun was usually smiling, the type who wouldn’t lose her composure even if Mount Tai collapsed before her. Compared to Xieyue’s tension and anxiety, she still wore that smiling face, though she added a sentence after her greeting: “Imperial Son-in-law, please be patient and understanding.”
Patient?
Zhan Qin’s heart sank, but the two aunties had already withdrawn.
The courtyard gates closed, leaving him there alone.
Zhan Qin’s hand was already resting on his waist, his entire aura dark and oppressive. He didn’t know why things were so abnormal today. He walked a few steps into the courtyard until he was beneath the lattice window of the bedroom. He was about to raise his voice to pay his respects when the window suddenly flew open with a “clatter,” and a small head popped out.
He had never seen such an… undignified Princess Royal.
As the eldest daughter of the Emperor, Rong Li was pampered to the extreme and had possessed a haughty and precious disposition since childhood.
Whenever she appeared, she was always surrounded by attendants, dressed meticulously in her formal regalia, radiating grace and authority that screamed “Princess Royal.”
But now, her face was devoid of makeup, and her complexion was somewhat pale. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, slightly curled at the ends. With the soft flesh on her cheeks visible, she finally revealed a bit of the softness and innocence someone of her age should have.
Fortunately, while undignified, she didn’t seem to be wounded.
But…
Zhan Qin had only ever seen arrogance and impatience in those phoenix eyes; he had never seen her in a state of weeping like a fallen pearl.
The moment Rong Li’s gaze landed on him, her eyes turned red.
Then, not only did her eyes redden, but her long lashes fluttered, and her eyes welled up with moisture.
Her Highness… was about to cry.
All of Zhan Qin’s thoughts and words came to a sudden halt, leaving only silence.
In the two years since their marriage, Zhan Qin had never seen Rong Li show any emotion toward him other than cold loathing, let alone tears.
Before he could react, those tearful eyes flashed before him—or rather, into his arms.
Like a fluttering butterfly, Rong Li suddenly crashed into his embrace.
She was petite. When she hit him, Zhan Qin felt almost no weight at all. His instinct was to catch her, but then he remembered how on their wedding day, he had accidentally touched the hem of her skirt and was nearly thrown out of the manor. So, his hands hung loosely between them.
Seeing this, tears rolled down Rong Li’s jade-white face. Her mouth pouted with immense grievance, as if the sky had fallen. “A-Li’s head hurts so much.”
The Princess Royal, who had never suffered a day in her life, even felt that the chainmail on his body was terrifyingly hard. While crying and demanding a hug, she stood on her tiptoes, struggling to reach for his armor buckles. “It’s so hard, it hurts me. Take it off.”
Zhan Qin: “…?”
Had the heavens of Yanjing truly collapsed?
“So, what you’re saying, Auntie, is that when Her Highness fell off the cliff, she hit her head and fell into a deep sleep, only waking up at dawn today. She woke up acting normal, but she doesn’t remember anything about our past?”
Zhan Qin spoke quietly with Xieyue and Fuyun in the outer room, avoiding the newly recovered Rong Li. He had just heard a brief yet earth-shattering explanation of the situation.
Xieyue’s face was as cold and hard as iron. Fuyun, still smiling with her dimples showing, nodded cheerfully. “Exactly. To be more precise, it’s not that she doesn’t remember the past, but that as soon as Her Highness woke up, she began clamoring for her Imperial Son-in-law.”
Clamoring.
For her Imperial Son-in-law.
Zhan Qin still didn’t understand what those words meant when put together. He stood slightly stiffly, avoiding eye contact with Rong Li, who was sitting behind the bead curtain in the distance.
Rong Li just sat there quietly, tears pitter-pattering down, looking at him with a pitiful expression.
Zhan Qin had no choice but to turn his head and glance at her. Rong Li still had tears in her eyes, but seeing him look at her, she broke into a soft, warm smile. “Fuma.”
“…”
Xieyue probably couldn’t stand the sight anymore. She held it in for a long time before finally forcing out, “I’ll go to the kitchen to check on the medicine stewing on the stove.” Fuyun’s smile grew deeper. “The imperial physician came this morning and said Her Highness is recovering well and is very healthy. It’s just that there might be some lingering blood stasis somewhere, causing her memories to be muddled. Her Highness believes that she and the Imperial Son-in-law are deeply in love.”
Deeply in love.
Out of the corner of his eye, Zhan Qin watched the petite figure who had been sitting quite obediently behind the bead curtain, resting her chin on her hand and watching him. For the first time, he felt he didn’t quite understand the official language of the Yan Dynasty.
“…When will she recover?”
“The physician has never encountered such a situation and doesn’t know when she will recover. He only said to keep Her Highness happy and satisfied; perhaps she will get better one day.” Fuyun lowered her eyes and signaled the other maids in the room to withdraw. “Her Highness doesn’t want us accompanying her now, so I shall take my leave. I must trouble you, my Lord, to look after Her Highness.”
As Fuyun reached the door, she turned back and reminded Zhan Qin with a smile, “The physician said one must not provoke or oppose Her Highness, as it may worsen her symptoms. Surely the Imperial Son-in-law does not wish for His Majesty to worry over Her Highness’s condition.”
With that, she curtsied and left.
The room suddenly fell silent.
Rong Li hadn’t heard what they were saying. She sat behind the bead curtain with her chin in her hand, watching Zhan Qin, wondering why he was standing there so stiffly.
After waiting for a long while without him coming over, Rong Li stared dejectedly at her phoenix-headed shoes adorned with pearls, her face void of expression.
When Zhan Qin turned back to look at her, he felt that this expressionless look was more like the Princess he remembered.
However, Rong Li looked up and caught his eye. Though she didn’t lunge at him like before, she still called out to him in a muffled voice, “Fuma, Fuma.”
Zhan Qin realized he did, after all, understand the Yan Dynasty’s official language. He lowered his eyes slightly and didn’t answer her call.
Rong Li kept watching him, feeling instinctively that she should be throwing a tantrum.
But when he took off his travel-worn hood, unbuckled his light armor, lifted the bead curtain, and walked in, Rong Li’s gaze fell upon his body and face, and her temper vanished instantly.
Zhan Qin was tall and slender, possessing a top-tier countenance.
Rumor had it that the Imperial Son-in-law Zhan had some Hu barbarian blood in his ancestry. He indeed had a high bridge to his nose, slightly deep-set eyes, a well-defined face, and long eyelashes.
At this hour, the room wasn’t very bright, but his skin was so pale it was almost dazzling. Rong Li could almost see a tiny red mole on the bridge of his nose, and for some reason, her heart felt a bit restless.
The room was too quiet, so even distant sounds from outside were audible.
Moreover, Zhan Qin had extraordinary hearing. He heard several small eunuchs outside gossiping about how the sun must have risen from the west today, wondering why the Imperial Son-in-law had come.
He glanced in that direction, his pale pupils devoid of warmth.
He was too cold, his lips pursed and eyes lowered, like a gloomy pile of snow—beautiful, but without a trace of human warmth, even a bit frightening.
That gaze now fell upon Rong Li, quiet and searching.
Rong Li was slightly dazed but wasn’t frozen by it. She met his gaze, somewhat confused by his coldness.
“What did Your Highness just call me?” Zhan Qin spoke, his voice slightly raspy and airy, like the hiss of a viper.
“Fuma,” Rong Li said, confused, calling him that clearly once more. “Is it not right?”
Zhan Qin didn’t speak.
The Princess Royal realized he was likely dissatisfied with the address. She watched the gloomy, jade-like man lean down to look at her, his presence overbearing. “Your Highness didn’t use to call me that.”
Rong Li thought for a moment, searching her memory for her relationship with Zhan Qin…
She suddenly had a realization. “I indeed didn’t use to call you that.”
Zhan Qin watched her, thinking it was exactly as he suspected. The Princess Royal was unhappy again and was seeking some new way to torment him; it was nothing new. However, given her usually impulsive nature, it was impressive she had endured her disgust for him and acted this long.
Then he saw the Princess Royal sitting obediently on the chaise longue. She tilted her head toward Zhan Qin and said, sweet as honey:
“Husband.”
[Teaser: After Seducing the Cold Imperial Brother]
A two-faced, crazed heir apparent x a timid, stuttering princess trying to survive.
Ji Ning’s life was truly difficult. With her mother dead and her father indifferent, she spent her years as a hostage in a foreign land, growing into a pitiful little stutterer. Upon her return, she was to be married off to a bloodthirsty tyrant. To survive, she clung to the only lifeline she could find: her eldest brother, the Crown Prince Ji Yue.
He was a paragon of virtue, yet when she tried to learn the arts of seduction to survive her future husband, she found her “virtuous” brother in her room, pressing her against the bed. “Show me, Ningning,” he whispered, his gentle mask slipping to reveal a dark obsession. “What exactly have you learned?”
[Teaser: Seizing the Brother’s Wife]
A little rabbit with Skin Hunger Syndrome x a cold, traditional older patriarch.
Shen Li had a secret: she suffered from Skin Hunger Syndrome, craving touch like water. Her fiancé, Xie Che, treated her with cold respect while dallying with beauties. After a near-death experience, she woke up with muddled memories and threw herself into the arms of the man she feared most—Xie Che’s formidable elder brother, Xie Chen.
“Cousin,” she sobbed, rubbing against his fingertips. “Hold me…”
Xie Chen looked down at the small hand inside his black sleeve. “Look closely at who I am.”
Through teary eyes, she clung tighter. “You are mine.”
Later, as she trembled in his study, he whispered against her neck, “Is this not what you begged for? Legitimate, physical intimacy.”