Her delicate face flushed crimson, she gazed at him with pleading eyes, like a student who had done wrong looking at her teacher, appearing utterly charming.
“You’re too modest, madam. It’s already quite good,” Pei Xiao avoided her gaze as he bent down to slowly gather the scattered Xuan paper from the floor.
While picking up the papers, a scene from two years ago surfaced in his mind – when he was teaching her calligraphy.
Back then, they hadn’t yet consummated their marriage and still maintained a respectful distance.
One day, while grinding ink for him, she suddenly blushed and said, “Your handwriting is truly beautiful, husband. Mine isn’t even worth looking at.”
Pei Xiao, who was in the middle of composing a poem, glanced at her suspiciously.
If his investigations were correct, Jiang Yu was quite famous in Suzhou, excelling in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. How could her handwriting be poor?
What was her intention in saying this?
As Pei Xiao was silently pondering her motives, he heard her stammer, “Husband… could you teach me calligraphy?”
“Ah?” Pei Xiao exclaimed in surprise.
Wasn’t calligraphy something young ladies from good families loved to practice?
How could she not know how to write properly?
His confusion deepened, but since he was her husband, he ought to act the part.
“Of course,” Pei Xiao shifted to the left side of the desk, making room for her, curious to see what she was up to.
Jiang Yu slowly moved over with small, hesitant steps.
It was Pei Xiao’s first time holding a woman’s hand to write – soft and delicate, seemingly fragile enough to break with a pinch.
Pei Xiao even tried measuring her slender wrist with his long fingers.
“It hurts a little,” Jiang Yu said, her almond-shaped eyes filled with spring-like tenderness looking up at him. “Does husband think I’m too foolish?”
“I… I don’t,” Pei Xiao coughed lightly, avoiding her gaze. “I was just thinking about what to write.”
As soon as he spoke, a copy of “Yangchun Collection” fell out from the drawer.
Jiang Yu bent down to pick it up and randomly flipped to a page. “Let’s go with fate’s choice.”
The page happened to be “Charming Girl. Spring Banquet.”
But Pei Xiao noticed clear crease marks on that particular page.
Was it really fate’s choice?
This young woman’s thoughts were so convoluted – what was she trying to achieve?
While guiding her hand to write the poem, Pei Xiao watched her from the corner of his eye.
From his forty-five-degree angle view, he could see her long, thick eyelashes lowered, fine beads of sweat appearing on her faintly pink skin.
It wasn’t particularly warm – perhaps she was just too focused on practicing calligraphy?
They practiced like this the entire evening, and Pei Xiao still couldn’t figure out what she wanted.
Jiang Yu kept her eyes fixed on the brush the whole time, never once looking up at him.
Only later did Pei Xiao realize that maybe she genuinely admired his handwriting?
So, at the end of the poem, Pei Xiao deliberately guided her hand to write both their names – “Pei Xiao” and “Jiang Yu.”
…
That was two years ago. Thinking back on it now brought a different flavor to the memory.
Pei Xiao couldn’t help but smile.
A pale hand waved before his eyes. “What happy thought has husband remembered? I haven’t seen you smile so happily in a long time.”
Jiang Yu was squatting before him, tilting her head to look at him.
“Nothing, just remembered an amusing cat,” Pei Xiao came back to himself, his eyes already calm and unreadable as he brushed it off.
Jiang Yu probably understood what he meant by “cat.”
All these years, she had merely been an amusing cat to him.
A bitter feeling rose in her heart, and the light in her eyes dimmed somewhat.
They each continued gathering the papers from the floor in silence.
Only the faint creaking of windows swaying in the wind remained in the room.
The quiet was suffocating.
“Why did you copy so many, madam?” Pei Xiao was the first to break the silence.He silently counted—Jiang Yu had actually hand-copied ninety-nine pages tonight.
Jiang Yu didn’t feel like speaking with him, but since she had initiated this act, she had to see it through.
Stiffly curling the corners of her lips, she said, “My husband has been burdened with worries lately, and I can’t be of much help. I thought that by making more prayers in this sacred Buddhist place, I might be able to ease your troubles.”
Pei Xiao’s grip on the rice paper tightened, his fingertips tracing the still-damp ink.
So all her effort was to pray for his well-being?
“Yu’er…”
He parted his lips, words hovering on the tip of his tongue before shifting tone. “The troubles here have been resolved. My lady, don’t overexert yourself—it would only make me more uneasy.”
Pei Xiao glanced at her feet. “Your injury hasn’t healed yet. Shall I help you back to your room?”
Though his words were considerate and meticulous, ever since arriving at the temple, Jiang Yu felt like she was viewing him through a mist—growing more distant by the day.
Still, Jiang Yu recognized that he still clung to fragments of their past, something she could exploit and control.
“Then I won’t disturb you further.”
Jiang Yu lowered her gaze, nodded to him, and limped away.
Suddenly, a pink-clad figure swayed unsteadily.
Without thinking, Pei Xiao strode forward and caught Jiang Yu.
Her delicate body leaned into his embrace, her pale fingers clutching his collar.
Like a spring breeze carrying floral fragrance rushing into his arms, even the calmest lake would ripple with shimmering light.
Pei Xiao retreated half a step.
“Forgive me, husband, it was an accident.” She looked up at him with guilt-filled eyes, then reached to straighten his disheveled collar.
But she seemed unable to stand steadily, her weight almost entirely leaning against Pei Xiao, her fingers occasionally brushing against his skin.
“My lady! Your leg is injured. Let me escort you back.” Pei Xiao moved to restrain her hand.
But he grasped empty air—Jiang Yu had already withdrawn her hand and straightened up. “No need, I can manage on my own.”
Without another glance at him, Jiang Yu walked away without looking back.
Pei Xiao stared at his empty hand, feeling inexplicably irritable.
These days of meditation had begun to show results.
Why had he lost his composure multiple times tonight?
Spending too much time with women truly brought no benefits.
Pei Xiao withdrew his gaze, turned to the desk, and began copying Buddhist scriptures.
Outside, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, the rain pattering steadily.
The lanterns under the eaves flickered intermittently, yet the rain showed no sign of ceasing, adding to the vexation.
Urgent knocking sounded at the door.
“Patron Pei, something’s wrong! The lady’s foot injury has flared up again!”
Pei Xiao’s finger twitched, a drop of ink falling onto the paper and smudging the scripture.
“If my lady has leg trouble, go find your Great Master Huijue!”
What would that accomplish?
Could he treat illnesses?
Pei Xiao took a deep breath.
“But…” The young monk scratched the back of his head, still bowing at the doorway. “Even the master has no solution. The medicinal ointment is used up, and the lady’s foot is badly swollen.”
“How could this be?” Pei Xiao had clearly seen it nearly healed days ago.
The young monk explained, “The lady went to gather pine branches on the mountainside today. The wound accidentally got soaked and has begun to fester.”
After all, it was a venomous snake bite—if it flared up, her life might be in danger.
No wonder her walking posture had been so peculiar earlier.
“Why was my lady gathering pine branches?”
Pei Xiao continued copying scriptures, but as he dipped his brush in ink, his unsteady hand accidentally knocked over the inkstone.
Ink spilled across the floor, splattering onto Pei Xiao’s hand.
He rubbed the ink between his fingers, lost in thought.The young monk outside chimed in, “Madam mentioned that Benefactor Pei’s ink wasn’t smooth to use, so she specially gathered fresh pine branches and asked our senior brother to help remake the ink stick.”
Only then did Pei Xiao realize that while copying scriptures tonight, the ink had indeed flowed much more smoothly.
A few days ago, he had merely casually complained that the inkstone and ink stick weren’t good—how had Jiang Yu remembered it?
Her own leg hadn’t even healed yet.
Copying texts, making ink sticks…
What was all this fuss about?
Pei Xiao felt somewhat irritated, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. He hurried toward Jiang Yu’s room.
When Pei Xiao arrived, Jiang Yu was sitting alone on the bed with her knees drawn to her chest, her shoulders trembling slightly.
In the cold night, the dim lamp flickered like a bean, casting her slender back in an especially lonely silhouette.
Unconsciously, Pei Xiao softened his footsteps. He picked up a lamp and approached, only then seeing that her ankle was even more swollen and red than before.
The snake bite wound also showed signs of festering.
“The deep mountains are dangerous. Why must a young lady like you run around recklessly?” Pei Xiao frowned, his gaze fixed on her injury.
Seeing his stern expression, Jiang Yu sulkily buried her head in her knees.
Pei Xiao lifted the hem of his robe and sat on the footstool, his voice softening slightly. “How did this really happen?”
Unable to escape his severe gaze, Jiang Yu mumbled, “Today, I went with the young masters to gather pine branches halfway up the mountain. I slipped, hit a rock, and got a little hurt.”
Pei Xiao’s face remained dark.
Jiang Yu pinched her pinky finger. “Just a tiny, tiny, tiny injury.”
Pei Xiao still didn’t speak.
“I just wanted to make my husband a little happier,” she said, her voice growing softer and lighter, as if it could be snuffed out with a pinch.
The words of reproach reached Pei Xiao’s lips, but for some reason, he couldn’t voice them.
He shook his head faintly. “I’m not unhappy.”
“Then why do you always keep your distance from me?” Jiang Yu bit her lip. “Husband, do you not like me anymore?”