After breakfast, Mi Yao—as usual—found a sheltered spot on the boat to read. Half her face nestled in snowy fox fur, she gazed at green mountains blanketed in snow, watched migratory birds dive for fish, and listened to the ship’s hull slice through river water, striking thin ice with crisp chimes. Occasionally, she lowered her eyes to glance at her leisure book, yawned, and drifted into a nap.
When she woke, she read a little more until the steward came to announce that the ship would dock in a few hours. Tonight they would lodge at a post station, and tomorrow continue by land toward Kuizhou. Only then did she stir herself.
Mi Yao felt neither anticipation nor dread about meeting the male lead. She only thought: docking soon meant tomorrow’s jolting carriage ride.
She opened her daily care journal and shifted tomorrow’s hair treatment to today.
After drinking a tonic soup of black beans, sesame, walnuts, and mulberries, she returned to her cabin, loosened her hair, and applied a paste of polygonum root and floral oils. Shuang Hua massaged her scalp’s acupoints, while Shi Ya spread a pearl‑powder cream over her face and neck.
The smokeless silver‑thread charcoal had already been lit before her return; warmth and fragrance filled the room, making her drowsy again. She closed her eyes and slept lightly for half a cup of tea’s time.
When she woke, the ointments had been cleaned away. Shuang Hua and Shi Ya were drying her hair, while Yu Xiu, having used the leftover cream on her own face, sat beside her on a small elm stool. Seeing Mi Yao open her eyes, Yu Xiu quickly handed her fragrant tea to rinse her mouth.
“Why are you staring at me?” Mi Yao asked, noticing Yu Xiu’s fixed gaze. “Your face mask is drying—go wash it off.”
Yu Xiu touched her stiffening mask, reluctant to remove it so soon, and rose slowly. “Elder Sister, do you think Brother‑in‑law will like me?”
Twice in one day, Yu Xiu mentioned Xiao Xu.
Mi Yao guessed it was nerves: with docking near, they would soon meet him. And unlike usual, Yu Xiu had applied a mask herself.
Mi Yao had intended not to interfere, letting Yu Xiu follow the novel’s plot—suffer rejection, then obediently stay by her side. But hearing her constant yearning for Xiao Xu’s favor, she couldn’t help but ask: “Why do you want his affection? You are my sister. You’ve always relied on me—do you no longer wish to?”
“I do want to rely on you, but…” Yu Xiu lowered her eyes, fingers twisting, unable to explain.
Mi Yao guessed her worry: “I marry Xiao Xu; relying on him for food and drink is my matter, not yours. As before, so after—nothing changes for you.” She laid out the chain of dependence: before, her support came from the Yu family patriarchs; now, through marriage, it shifted to Xiao Xu. But Yu Xiu’s reliance on her remained unchanged.
Yet Yu Xiu still looked troubled, as if she wished to bypass Mi Yao and connect directly to Xiao Xu.
Later, when the dawn wind chilled her awake, Mi Yao understood: Yu Xiu’s anxious gaze was not ignorance but fear of separation. With Mi Yao moving “upstream,” Yu Xiu worried about how to bridge the gap herself.
“Huhu, you’re awake?”
Huan Guanbin sat in the carriage, hungry eyes fixed on Mi Yao. When she opened her eyes, he seized her hand joyfully: “No one will ever tear us apart again!”
His face loomed too close; Mi Yao frowned and pulled back. “That’s not necessarily a good thing.”
She glanced around: the carriage corners smeared with grime, the reed panels broken, his dark‑green robe worn and frayed. She recognized it—made by the original heroine last year, using fabric she had secretly kept while sewing for her brother.
To the original heroine, this might have seemed proof of his devotion. To Mi Yao, it was simply poverty—he had no money for new clothes.
A fallen scion with no income, talent limited to a few sour poems, unable to pass the exams or take humble work like copying or teaching. He lived in a shabby hut lent by relatives, scraping by with borrowed coins. His looks were merely passable.
At first, Mi Yao hadn’t understood why the heroine loved him. Later, reading her notes, she realized: it was youthful contrariness. In her own youth, she had buried herself in work to prove worth; the heroine had chosen a poor, unpromising man to prove she wasn’t vain or mercenary.
Since arriving, Mi Yao had no intention of entangling with Huan Guanbin. Knowing the heroine’s feelings were shallow, she dismissed him. But even after she avoided the elopement plot, half a year later, he still conspired with Yu Xiu to abduct her from the post station.
“Send me back,” she said coldly.
“Huhu, what’s wrong? You’ve changed so much these past months…” His passion faltered at her icy tone. He clutched her hand again, but she pulled away.
“Do you truly want to marry that brute Xiao Xu? He has no family, no learning—just luck, saving the governor to become his foster son. If you wed him, won’t the world laugh at you?”
“So instead I should marry you, bear a string of poor children, and cling to my family’s charity?” she retorted.
The carriage was filthy and cold, reeking of animal musk mixed with the sour stench of men. Mi Yao grew impatient. “Send me back. It’s been half a year—do you still not understand that I don’t want you?”
“No, I don’t believe it. Huhu, I know you. You’re not like those vulgar women. Gold and silver are nothing but foul copper to you—how could you possibly care?”
Huan Guanbin’s expression was frantic, as if he half‑believed her words but refused to accept that the honor of being “different” in her eyes had vanished.
Mi Yao didn’t care whether he believed her or not. She only wanted to escape. She pushed aside the stained curtain, intending to call the driver to stop, but before she could speak, Huan Guanbin yanked her back inside.
“Huhu, don’t be angry. Our priority is to leave Jingzhou. Once we take refuge with Aunt, you won’t have to worry about your marriage to Xiao Xu.”
“That’s *my* aunt, not yours. You have the nerve to abduct me but no place to keep me, so you plan to hide at my relative’s house?” She knew he meant her aunt in Chizhou. Hearing his entitled tone, she frowned in disgust.
“I’m not joking, nor speaking in anger. I truly dislike you—you’re poor, plain, and mediocre. If you still care about our past, then send me back.”
“I know, Huhu. You’re only pretending, afraid of implicating me, afraid Uncle Yu will blame me. You would never willingly marry that brute Xiao Xu!”
She saw clearly: Huan Guanbin’s pride couldn’t bear admitting that his stroke of luck—winning her affection—was gone, replaced by her sober judgment.
Mi Yao felt weary. Long days of idling had not given her more energy; they had only trained her body to rest longer. She didn’t want to waste breath on a fool. She recalled the plot: after the heroine eloped with Huan Guanbin, Xiao Xu easily captured them both.
Mi Yao felt she could only wait for Xiao Xu to come find her. They were not far from Kuizhou; she hoped he would catch her quickly so she would suffer less.
“Change to a clean, spacious carriage. This one stinks and jolts—I can’t stand it, even if you can.”
Knowing Huan Guanbin had no money to hire a better carriage, Mi Yao opened the bundle beside her, clearly her own. She unfastened the silk clasp, lifted the rosewood box, and sneered: “So you preach that money is filth, yet here you are stealing my most precious things.”
The box had three tiers, all filled with her finest jewelry.
Stung by her mocking tone, Huan Guanbin flushed red. “These were packed by Yu Xiu, not me.”
Mi Yao’s eyes flicked over him, clearly unconvinced.
“Huhu, how can you be so unreasonable? Has someone been filling your ears these past six months?”
When she was unconscious, he had marveled at her beauty—lovelier than before, once only three parts springtime, now radiant as an orchid, too beautiful to be real. But now, awake, her every word was scorn and disgust, leaving him unable to admire her face.
“So rejecting you is ‘unreasonable’?” Mi Yao hugged her white fox fur tighter, afraid of falling ill in this wretched place.
In the Great Xing dynasty, plump beauty was prized. Yet the original heroine adored the Wei‑Jin ideal of slender elegance, believing only thinness carried the cold grace of a fairy. Born with a delicate figure, she had bound her chest so tightly she could hardly breathe, and starved herself until her stomach growled. Like Mi Yao now, the original heroine often stayed in bed—but out of weakness and illness, not laziness.
Mi Yao, by contrast, cherished her health. Even in deep winter, she hadn’t caught a chill or sneezed once. She dreaded falling sick today from the cold wind. And of course, what one fears often comes.
Hours later, Mi Yao woke dizzy.
Huan Guanbin had some backbone, but not much. Irritated by her sharp tongue, he drugged her unconscious again. He didn’t abandon her on the road, but he did toss away her jewelry box, reeking of copper stink.
The carriage was changed—but only from a filthy cart to a cattle wagon lined with straw and covered with a rough shed.
Feeling her throat dry and feverish, Mi Yao bitterly regretted not carrying a knife. She would have stabbed Huan Guanbin without hesitation.
“What is wrong with your brain?!”