Lin Guan Guan left Zhi Mo Courtyard.
A cold wind swept over her, sobering her.
She… had actually been scared by Song Zhiyao?
The courtyard gate had been firmly closed behind her. Lin Guan Guan stomped her foot in frustration and turned away.
So Song Zhiyao was acting all high and mighty in front of her, was she?
Fine.
She wouldn’t regret it later.
She would wait for Song Zhiyao to come begging.
When that time came, Song Zhiyao would have to give her at least one—no, at least three pieces of thousand-year ginseng before Lin Guan Guan would speak in her favor in front of Brother Lu Jin Yu.
As for Song Zhiyao’s claim that she should return her belongings, Lin Guan Guan ignored it completely.
The moment Song Zhiyao stepped inside, something was thrown at her—but it fell short, landing midway due to lack of force.
A pillow.
At the same time, a child’s hoarse, resentful voice rang out: “Go away! Get out!”
Song Zhiyao instinctively looked over—
Lu Jian Shen was awake.
He was already sitting up, his large black eyes fixed on Song Zhiyao, full of caution and suspicion.
Song Zhiyao was caught completely off guard.
She had been worried, yes, but she had no idea how to interact with him now.
And the person who had occupied her body had left such a huge mess behind.
Seeing that Song Zhiyao didn’t react, Lu Jian Shen pulled back the blanket and tried to get off the bed—but he had been unconscious for over a day, and his body was weak. He stumbled straight toward the floor!
Without thinking, Song Zhiyao lunged.
Bang!
Song Zhiyao hit the ground as Lu Jian Shen landed heavily on top of her. She felt as if her waist had been shattered, pain making her grit her teeth.
“Young Madam!”
Lan Xin rushed forward, lifting Lu Jian Shen first and then steadying Song Zhiyao.
“It hurts… it hurts…”
When Lan Xin applied force, Song Zhiyao gasped sharply, wincing in pain.
Lan Xin immediately stopped. “Perhaps you’ve twisted it, Young Madam. Please wait here; I’ll get someone to help you.”
Even the lightest touch hurt.
She couldn’t manage this alone.
Though Cang Feng was present, propriety dictated he keep his distance from her.
Lan Xin quickly left the room.
Lu Jian Shen, now settled back on the bed, was still dazed. His gaze couldn’t help but fall on Song Zhiyao.
If not for her just now… he would have fallen hard.
Despite the pain, Song Zhiyao lifted her head and smiled at him. “Shen Shen, as long as you’re okay, that’s enough.”
Her reckless action reminded her of her pregnancy—after all, it had only been two days ago in her mind.
She had been eagerly anticipating the birth of her children, determined to give them the very best.
Her smile was radiant.
Lu Jian Shen seemed burned by the warmth of her expression. He turned his head sharply, refusing to look at her, though his wariness remained.
He was no three-year-old.
Not so easily deceived.
He hadn’t forgotten—this was the woman who had pushed him into the ice lake. Nor had he forgotten how she had tormented him and his sister over the past two years.
Footsteps approached the door. Lu Yanzhi entered.
His gaze first landed on Song Zhiyao for a fleeting moment, then shifted to Lu Jian Shen.
“Father.” Lu Jian Shen’s hoarse voice carried a note of distant respect.
Although Lu Yanzhi had returned to the Lu household three months ago, both father and son were naturally reserved, not especially close.
Lu Yanzhi nodded calmly. “Take your medicine once you’re awake.”
He moved forward and bent down, lifting Song Zhiyao effortlessly.
He was skilled; although she felt some pain, it was bearable.
“Father, where’s my sister?”
Lu Jian Shen asked urgently. His little sister was timid; waking without seeing her made him anxious.
“Weiwei is in Ya Courtyard. She’ll come soon,” Lu Yanzhi replied.
No sooner had he spoken than he carried Song Zhiyao out.
Being held by Lu Yanzhi made Song Zhiyao extremely uneasy.
Though they were husband and wife, they were not familiar with each other.
The Lu and Song families were longtime acquaintances, but gender boundaries and Lu Yanzhi’s cold nature kept them distant.
Later, with her engagement to Lu Jin Yu, she had never spared Lu Yanzhi a glance—right up until the wedding.
At bedtime, she had passed out; by the next morning, Lu Yanzhi was already away on duty.
Now, she felt unnatural, as if bugs were crawling on her, twisting and turning instinctively.
Though it was winter and her clothing thick, the two pressed closely together. Lu Yanzhi could feel the curves of her body clearly.
She struggled unconsciously, bringing them even closer.
They had once been intimate; he remembered every detail.
The last encounter had been six years ago, yet the memory remained vivid in his mind.
Lu Yanzhi tightened his grip slightly, his Adam’s apple moving. “Don’t move.”
His low, husky voice carried a warning.
Song Zhiyao frowned. “Lu Yanzhi, it’s not that I want to move—it’s your belt… it’s digging in…”
Lu Yanzhi stiffened.
He subtly adjusted his hold, lifting her a little.
Fortunately, Zhi Mo Courtyard wasn’t far from Gui Pu Courtyard.
He set her down on the bed. Before she could react, he turned and left.
Song Zhiyao watched, but saw only his back.
Just leave me like this?
Fine.
She could understand. After all, it had been the other “her” who had hurt Shen Shen.
If that person appeared before her, she would certainly take revenge!
Song Zhiyao lay on the bed, cautiously reaching to rub her waist. Even a light touch caused pain.
Footsteps approached outside, and Lan Xin’s voice followed: “Young Madam, I’ve come to check your injuries.”
Since her wound was on her waist, no man—except Brother Jin Yu—could examine it, not even a doctor.
Lan Xin closed the door and carefully removed Song Zhiyao’s outer clothing.
“Lan Xin,” Song Zhiyao whispered, “these past years… you’ve suffered.”
She couldn’t explain everything, but Lan Xin’s attitude revealed the truth.
The person who had occupied her body had clearly done something extreme.
Lan Xin hesitated, eyes warming, lips pressed together silently.
Seeing Song Zhiyao’s bruised waist, Lan Xin gasped. A large, dark bruise covered her once fair, slender waist—clearly from Lu Jian Shen’s fall.
Quickly, she covered Song Zhiyao with a blanket, reported briefly, and left the room.
Soon, she returned with a bottle of medicinal oil.
“Young Madam, I’ll massage your waist with this medicated oil. It may hurt; please bear with it,” Lan Xin said respectfully, but without her usual closeness.
Song Zhiyao’s heart ached. “Alright.”
Lan Xin warmed the oil in her palms, then applied it gently to Song Zhiyao’s waist, massaging as instructed by the general.
“Pain!”
Song Zhiyao had expected it, but couldn’t help calling out.
Outside the door, Lu Yanzhi paused mid-step, momentarily distracted.
Six years ago that night… she had made the same sound.