The sun dipped below the horizon, and the curtain of night spread across the sky.
They were still about half an hour’s ride from the relay station.
Feng Yi called for the carriage to stop, took up a small porcelain jar filled with tung oil from the rear compartment, poured out a single drop, and touched it to the center of Yangyang’s forehead.
“What is that for?” Jiang Xingzhou asked, curious.
“Tung oil belongs to the element of fire; it is pure and strongly yang in nature, and it wards off evil spirits and misfortune,” Feng Yi explained. “The elders say that children have weak spirits and souls. If they are not inside a home protected by the door gods before night falls, a drop of tung oil or cinnabar should be placed between their brows.”
“Give it here,” he said, reaching out his hand.
Though puzzled, Feng Yi handed the jar to him.
Jiang Xingzhou said nothing more, only poured a drop onto the pad of his finger and quickly pressed it to the spot between her eyebrows.
If anyone had a fragile spirit, it was she—an unknown soul from somewhere else.
Feng Yi’s long lashes remained still for several moments, her clear eyes reflecting surprise and a flicker of emotion she could not hide in time. Then she smiled softly and turned her head, lifting the carriage curtain. Twilight had almost closed in, leaving only a streak of fading crimson along the horizon, which made the mark at the center of her forehead shine bright like a star.
Just as she knew he would never marry her, she also knew that he loved her.
But what did that matter? His love was a condescending favor from above, and a chain of absolute control. His respect would always be reserved for the wife he would take in the future.
In this era, his way of thinking was perfectly normal. All that he had given her already exceeded what almost any other man in the world would give to a woman who was not his spouse; it was a kind of favor that most women could only envy.
Unfortunately, she did not truly belong to this world.
The greatest barrier between them had never been status or rank, but the fact that they saw life and values in entirely different ways.
By the time they reached the relay station, night had fully fallen.
Situated in a remote corner of the southwest, this station lacked the full amenities found in larger towns. Even though a messenger had been sent ahead at full gallop to announce their arrival, the meal was still not ready when they pulled up.
Yangyang, being so young, could not bear the hunger any longer. She lay limply in He Yun’s arms, whimpering softly.
Seeing her so listless tugged at Feng Yi’s heart. After speaking with the station steward, she learned that some rice cooked for traveling officials earlier that day had been left over. She borrowed a stove and offered to make Yangyang a serving of egg‑fried rice.
“I want some too,” Jiang Xingzhou said immediately.
“Really? Are you going to compete with a child?” The remaining rice was not much to begin with.
“It has been a very long time since I ate rice cooked by you.”
He even sounded slightly wronged. Feng Yi could not help but laugh. “Then come and stoke the fire.”
“Gladly.”
The noble, young Marquis rolled up the hem of his robes, sat down on a small wooden stool before the stove, and snapped firewood into lengths to feed the flames.
Feng Yi tied on an apron and fastened her sleeves tight with cloth bands. She whisked the eggs briskly in a bowl, then poured them into the pan the moment the oil grew hot, stirring quickly to fry them golden.
Wreathed in rising steam and smoke, their faces blurred into soft shapes. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though they had returned to that earlier time when she had secretly cooked fried rice on her own.
After her failed attempt to offer herself, Feng Yi had only just begun to recover her strength when Lady Daqin moved her out of the Pure Lotus Courtyard and into the Rose Pavilion. It was presented as a quieter, more suitable place to rest, but in truth it was both a punishment and another chance for her to prove herself.
The Rose Pavilion was a small dwelling set beside a garden between the front and rear sections of the Marquis’s estate. Unlike other courtyards, it had no separate side wings—only a main hall and a single smaller room for her maid. Yet it was undeniably beautiful and refined: roses climbed everywhere, a channel diverted from a running stream flowed through the grounds, and a bamboo pavilion stood beside the water.
Because it was so compact, only the maids and cleaning women were present during the day. Once the gates were locked at night, only Feng Yi, her personal maid Ping’an, and the gatekeeper Granny Wang remained.
Just ahead of the Rose Pavilion lay Jiang Xingzhou’s own residence, the Light‑Gathering Manor. As heir to the title, his grounds were several times larger than hers, occupying the entire eastern section of the front courtyard, with a three‑story library built exclusively for his use. From the second or third floor, he could look down and see every corner of the Rose Pavilion.
The strongest impression Feng Yi had in those first few days was simple: hunger.
It was not that the food in the manor was unpleasant—quite the opposite; every dish looked, smelled, and tasted superb. But Lady Daqin, determined to keep her slender and delicate figure, allowed her only one bowl of rice at each meal. Though pastries and snacks were served during the day, by nightfall her stomach would ache from emptiness. She even suspected that the violent vomiting she had suffered on the day she arrived was partly due to her spirit adjusting to a new body, but also to the fact that she had gone too long without proper nourishment.
After watching for several days and noticing that the windows above the second floor of the library were rarely opened or lit, Feng Yi relaxed and began to put her “squirrel’s plan” into action.
A tall parasol tree grew on the eastern side of her yard. By climbing its branches she could leap to a path running alongside the outer wall, where she discovered a hole hidden beneath thick vines—too small for a person to squeeze through, but large enough to pass objects.
Using the excuse of buying cosmetics and rouge, she left the estate and spent what little allowance she had on a small stove, charcoal, oil, rice, flour, eggs, and seasonings, carrying them back one by one and hiding them carefully.
When the night grew deep and silent, she lit the stove in the bamboo pavilion and fried a batch of golden, fragrant egg‑fried rice. Lifting the plate, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply—delicious.
Stamping her feet in satisfaction, she was about to lift the first spoonful to soothe her aching stomach when a cool, clear voice sounded suddenly from behind:
“Dear cousin, what fine dish have you made? It smells quite tempting. Might I ask for a share?”
Feng Yi jumped in fright and nearly dropped the plate. Jiang Xingzhou caught it in time, his large hand covering hers just beneath the porcelain. He gave her fingers a light, almost unconscious squeeze before quickly drawing back, his mouth curving into the most gentle and harmless of smiles.
“Forgive me for startling you.”
“It would be a shame to waste something so good.”
“If I have been too forward, please excuse me, cousin.”
Crack.
Jiang Xingzhou snapped another stick of wood and fed it into the flames. He too was clearly remembering that moment, a soft, tender smile touching the corners of his lips.
What Feng Yi never knew was that the idea of moving her to the Rose Pavilion had been his all along.
To keep a closer watch, he had instructed his servants to let fall a remark in Lady Daqin’s hearing: “If the young lady could reside nearer to the Young Master, they would have more chances to meet privately. With her beauty and grace, it would surely not be long before she won his heart.”
True enough, within two days she had been transferred there.
From the moment she moved in, whenever he was free, he would hide in the shadows of the library and observe her in silence.
During the day, she behaved as expected—keeping her head bowed and her eyes lowered, yet quietly asserting her authority before the staff, so that everyone in the yard began to treat her with increasing respect.
He smiled to himself. This little fox was far cleverer than the girl who had occupied the body before her.
But the night was like a mirror that stripped away all pretense. As long as the library remained dark, her true nature would shine through.
Sometimes she would hum cheerful, unknown tunes and dance freely around the yard, her clumsy, unrefined movements sending waves of heat coursing through his body. He wondered if she was the spirit of some courtesan from a pleasure house, yet there was no trace of such a past in her eyes—they remained bright and innocent. In the end, he had to go and plunge into cold water to calm his racing blood.
Other times she would rest her chin in her hands and gaze up at the moon, wrapped in a quiet sorrow. Who was she missing, he wondered? Could there be another man in her heart?
Or she would stand muttering beneath the parasol tree, then climb up its trunk until he held his breath—was she perhaps a monkey spirit in disguise?
When she slipped over the wall and stood staring blankly at the outer ramparts, he simply ordered the guards to avoid that section of the path after dark, curious to see what she was planning.
Then he watched as she crept back like a little mouse, hauling her small pots, pans, and supplies through the hole.
He found it both ridiculous and amusing. When she finally lit her first fire, he could hold back no longer and jumped down into her yard to tease her.
Her hands were so soft, and her rice tasted so good. But he wondered—was she also as soft, and as delicious?
Later, he found out the answer. Once he had tasted it, he craved it endlessly, until it nearly drove him to madness.
After supper, Feng Yi and He Yun took Yangyang out into the yard to watch the moon.
“Auntie, Father used to say that when people die, they turn into stars in the sky. Is that true?”
“Yes, it is,” Feng Yi answered gently, stroking the soft hair on the child’s head.
Yangyang pointed toward the brightest star twinkling near the horizon. “Then Father must be that one—the brightest of all.”
Feng Yi and He Yun smiled at her innocent words.
“A‑Yi,” He Yun said softly, “Ziyuan Temple is not far from here. Three years ago, on the eighth day of the fifth month, you climbed the mountain step by step, kowtowing at every pace, to make a wish. Would you like to visit again now?”
Feng Yi shook her head. “No need. All I asked for has been granted, and I have already returned to give thanks. I have nothing more to beg for now.”
From the corner of her eye she caught a flash of deep blue silk disappearing around the veranda. She knew he had heard every word.
A faint smile touched her lips, and she exchanged a quiet, understanding glance with He Yun.
In the capital, where danger lurked at every turn, aside from Yueming, Jiang Xingzhou was almost her only anchor. She needed every advantage she could gather to secure her position.
That night, Jiang Xingzhou finished washing and changing. His hair, still damp, hung loosely down his back. The inner ties of his robe were left undone, leaving the front open, as he walked slowly toward Feng Yi, who sat before the mirror combing her hair.
Her gaze drifted unconsciously to his well‑defined abdomen, and she swallowed hard. “Lingyuan, about that…”
“Save the words that would spoil the moment,” he interrupted, sealing her lips with his own before she could speak. “I do not want to hear them now.”
He stepped closer until their toes touched, drawing her back toward the bed. His hands did not stay idle, roaming over her body through her clothes—urgent, eager, and impossible to refuse.
Suddenly his fingers brushed against something unexpected. His movements froze. He pressed gently again, unable to believe what he felt, his brows drawing slowly together in confusion.
Seeing his rare look of stunned bewilderment, Feng Yi bit back a smile. Once she had composed herself, she lifted her hands and spread them in a gesture of regret. “My monthly flow has arrived.”
“I thought your time always fell on the last day of the month?” he asked, remembering how regular her cycle used to be.
“I was so busy and exhausted while preparing for the scholar’s examination that it got delayed,” she replied casually, choosing not to mention the true reason.
“So…” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Did you agree this afternoon on purpose? Hmm?”
“Not at all. I truly did not expect it today; my cycle has been rather irregular these past few years.” Yet even as she spoke, the glint in her smiling eyes clearly said: Yes, I did it on purpose. What are you going to do about it?
He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, then took hold of her hand, his voice low and firm. “Help me then.”
“Ah…” Feng Yi slipped her fingers free and stretched lazily, yawning as she turned toward the bed. “I am so tired. I think I shall go to sleep first.”
Jiang Xingzhou followed her and wrapped his arms around her from behind. His burning desire pressed firmly between her thighs, while his sharp teeth grazed lightly but deliberately against the soft skin of the back of her neck.
“Feng Yi, you truly enjoy torturing me, don’t you?”
“Sooner or later I will make you pay back every bit of this, with interest.”
He did not intend to force her further. Gritting his teeth, he suppressed his own restlessness and pulled her tight against his chest, his warm palm resting over her lower abdomen.
“Then we shall sleep.”