Shen Zhou accompanied Wen Ning out the door. The Duke’s household valued her greatly; for this return visit alone, Duchess Xu had prepared several chests of gifts, determined to show the Wen family how much they cherished their new daughter‑in‑law.
Yet Duchess Xu could never have foreseen that halfway down the road, the carriage would falter—and a beautiful young maiden would collapse beneath its wheel.
The steward hurried forward for instructions. Shen Zhou, impatient, snapped: “Give her some silver and send her off. Must I, the heir, teach you how to handle such trifles?”
The steward stammered, “That girl… she is Miss Qiao.”
Shen Zhou shot to his feet. “What?”
He was about to step down when it struck him—today was Wen Ning’s return visit. If he were seen entangled with another woman in the street, how humiliating it would be for her.
Wen Ning, perceiving his dilemma, smiled lightly. “Do not fret, my lord. I will see to it.”
Before he could object, she had already lifted the curtain and descended.
Approaching Qiao Yanxin, Wen Ning admitted to herself that she was curious.
Curious about the woman who, in another life, had driven Shen Zhou to defy all reason just to be with her. What sort of extraordinary creature could she be?
But one glance was enough. Wen Ning’s eyes slid away, cool and detached. Qiao Yanxin’s looks were hardly remarkable—at best, merely delicate. So love truly blinds the eyes, does it not?
As Wen Ning studied her, Qiao Yanxin was also staring back. The sight of Wen Ning’s radiant beauty sent a surge of jealousy through her. Hadn’t Zhou Zilang said Shen Zhou’s wife was plain? Yet here stood a woman with bright eyes and pearly teeth, skin like polished jade, fairer than snow, and eyes so lively they seemed to ensnare the soul. Such breathtaking loveliness—could Shen Zhou truly remain unmoved?
She did not believe it.
Lost in her thoughts, she suddenly felt Wen Ning’s slender hand gently lift her up. “Do not be afraid, miss. I will take you to the physician.”
Without further explanation, Wen Ning guided her into the carriage.
Inside sat Shen Zhou. At the sight of him, Qiao Yanxin’s tears spilled uncontrollably. “Brother Shen Zhou…”
A pang of guilt struck him. Instinctively, he glanced at Wen Ning. The young lady sat quietly in the corner, eyes fixed on the pearls adorning her embroidered shoes. He understood then—whenever she felt wronged, she would bow her head and stare at her shoes, sulking in silence.
Quickly, he introduced, “This is my wife, Wen Ning. Ah Ning, Yanxin is the younger sister of a close friend.” His gaze was intent, as though he wished to carve the words *innocent* upon his face.
But Qiao Yanxin noticed how his eyes lingered on Wen Ning, and alarm bells rang in her heart. Her voice grew urgent. “Brother Shen Zhou, my ankle is twisted—it hurts so much.”
He frowned. “If you are unwell, see a doctor. Why tell me?”
Her tone grew more plaintive. “Brother Shen Zhou… will you not care for Yanxin anymore?”
Shen Zhou’s handsome brows furrowed even tighter at those words.
Qiao Yanxin was the younger sister entrusted to him by his friend Qiao Feng. The two had grown up together as childhood companions, but when the Qiao family was implicated in a corruption case, Qiao Feng was exiled and Yanxin was forced into the teaching bureau.
At first, Shen Zhou had tried to rescue her, but Yanxin refused to become his sworn sister, and he did not wish to force her. Instead, he gave the madam of the brothel a sum of silver, instructing her never to make things difficult for Yanxin. That, at least, was his way of honoring Qiao Feng’s trust.
Reputation had never mattered much to Shen Zhou. Since he had promised Qiao Feng to look after her, he would not abandon her. So even when rumors spread of the heir of the Duke’s household consorting with a courtesan, Shen Zhou carried on as he pleased. But now things were different. He was married—he had a household of his own.
On his wedding day, Qiao Yanxin had already caused a scene. He had spoken plainly to her then: for her brother’s sake, he would not ignore her. Yet seeing her like this now… what if Wen Ning misunderstood, what if she grew jealous?
He lifted his gaze toward Wen Ning. She had lifted a corner of the carriage curtain, looking out at the scenery, her face soft and calm, her breathing steady. She didn’t look jealous at all.
Watching her quiet, sensible demeanor, Shen Zhou couldn’t tell whether to feel relieved or heartsore.
Wen Ning was his wife. Her temperament seemed gentle, her manner generous. Just look at this moment—what proper wife would willingly cover for her husband with another woman? But Wen Ning did. Not only did she, Shen Zhou, suspect that if he asked, she would also probably make the bed herself. And for some reason, seeing her so virtuous and accommodating only made him restless.
He frowned and said to her, “Why are you sitting so far away? Did nails sprout over here?”
Wen Ning froze, her eyes widening in confusion. Seriously, brother? You can’t tell I’m making space for you two?
She looked at Shen Zhou’s cold expression, at Qiao Yanxin’s tearful face, and in the end, with an apologetic glance at Qiao Yanxin, she bit her lip and moved closer.
What choice did she have? Shen Zhou was her provider—when the boss speaks, you listen.
“Brother Shen Zhou…” Qiao Yanxin called out unwillingly.
Shen Zhou ignored her and ordered the officer outside the carriage, “Stop at Huichun Hall ahead. Take Miss Qiao to see Doctor Li.”
The officer blinked. So the lady had won?
Though Qiao Yanxin wept and refused to get down, she was eventually pulled out. As she left, she shot Wen Ning a glare.
Wen Ning, innocent-faced, looked back at her and sighed. We’re all just trying to survive—why make things harder for each other?
Because of Qiao Yanxin’s interruption, the carriage arrived late at the Wen household.
From the courtyard, Wen Ning and Shen Zhou could already hear voices inside.
“Mother, there’s no need to wait. Wen Ning won’t be coming back.” The voice was Wen Qing’s, laced with smugness and mockery.
Madam Xu chuckled. “Why do you say that?”
Wen Qing sneered. Because that’s how it was in her past life. Shen Zhou had been bewitched by that wretch, unwilling to accompany her home. She hadn’t been able to return then, and this time, Wen Ning wouldn’t either.
Song Yan had even taken the day off to accompany Wen Qing home.
In her past life, Shen Zhou hadn’t loved her—he wouldn’t even spare her a glance, let alone touch her, unlike Song Yan, who was endlessly gentle and attentive. He coaxed her sweetly, their newlywed days dripping with honey. Wen Qing thought the best decision she had ever made was stealing Wen Ning’s marriage.
This life, Wen Ning could keep her lonely vigil as a neglected wife.
“Mother, I heard people say the heir abandoned my sister on their wedding night to dally with a brothel whore. His heart belongs only to that courtesan. He doesn’t care about my sister at all—why would he escort her home? Surely today she’s too ashamed to show her face.”
At these words, Wen Zheng’s expression darkened. He had heard whispers of Shen Zhou’s scandalous behavior. He had thought marriage would rein him in, but instead he had grown worse—leaving his bride on their wedding night to consort with a prostitute.
Madam Xu, however, was delighted. The worse Wen Ning’s life became, the more at ease she felt. Only then could she convince herself that marrying Wen Qing to Song Yan had been the right choice.
Song Yan said nothing, but the contempt in his eyes was plain. Wen Ning had schemed so hard to marry Shen Zhou—now let her taste the humiliation of becoming a laughingstock.