In the afternoon, damp air carried the scent of soil and fresh grass. The hooves of horses splashed through puddles, sending mud and water flying.
The cold rain could not douse the blazing passion burning in Jiang Xingzhou’s chest, nor could it untangle his chaotic, jumbled thoughts.
He had never wanted any woman but Feng Yi. She was the only one he desired. The arranged marriage he had agreed to was merely a requirement for his official career, having nothing to do with romance or affection.
For this purpose, he had specifically chosen Zhao Jinshu, the second legitimate daughter of the Minister of Personnel—a woman known to be frail and often unwell. They had reached an understanding: they would be husband and wife in name only. He would grant her all the honor and respect due to her position, but they would not share the same bed in life, nor the same tomb in death.
He had told Feng Yi all of this, again and again, explaining every detail clearly, believing he had been completely open and honest with her.
Yet her answer had always been the same: “Lingyuan, if you intend to take another woman as your lawful wife, then let me go. I do not wish, nor am I willing, to become the third party in someone else’s marriage.”
Raindrops, driven by the wind, stung Jiang Xingzhou’s eyes, blurring his vision—but his memories grew sharper and clearer.
There had been such beautiful times between him and Feng Yi once.
Scholars and gentlemen, lovers and poets, always used elegant words like “admiration” or “affection” to express their feelings subtly. But she spoke her heart with a directness that felt almost searing.
When they first confessed their feelings to each other, she had simply said, “Jiang Xingzhou, I like you.”
The honesty of it sent a tremor through his heart, and joy spilled from his eyes. He held her face in his hands and kissed her deeply again and again, swallowing up all the happiness she gave him.
After they had privately performed their own wedding ceremony, she grew even bolder. Without warning, she would throw her arms around his waist, press her face into his chest, and murmur, “Lingyuan, I love you—so much, more than anything, more than anyone.”
Every time, he would answer with even more fervent embraces and kisses, whispering solemnly against her ear, “I feel the same. I love you deeply, more than you know, Feng Yi.”
He himself never noticed that when he spoke his love to her, he instinctively called her “Feng Yi.”
Because it was always Feng Yi, and only Feng Yi, whom Jiang Xingzhou loved.
The word “love” was truly a wonderful thing—bright and warm. It lit up his once gloomy world and warmed him through the bitterest winters.
Later, when discussions of marriage began, he instinctively chose to keep it from her.
She had told him once: love and marriage, to her, were exclusive by nature. She dreamed of one life, one heart, and one companion—but she would not force him to promise it forever. If one day affection faded and love grew cold, she only asked that he speak the truth. She would bless him and walk away, parting on good terms.
But how could he ever bring himself to let her leave?
So he tried to soothe her, deceive her, and hide the truth from her. Yet paper cannot wrap fire forever—eventually, she found out.
It sparked their most violent argument. He explained and justified himself over and over again, speaking of the need for political balance, of circumstances beyond his control, of a marriage that would be nothing but a title… But she heard none of it. The light in her eyes dimmed little by little.
Afraid that in her anger she would ruin the arranged marriage, and even more terrified that she would leave him, he made the cruel decision to confine her to the Rose Pavilion.
Furious, Feng Yi ordered him out. But when night fell and he lay alone, unable to sleep, he slipped back in and wrapped her, quilt and all, tightly in his arms.
He told himself: once this was all settled, he would apologize properly and make it right. She would understand eventually.
After all, Feng Yi loved him.
A month later, all terms with the Zhao family were finalized, and the formal exchange of gifts began.
The evening he returned from visiting the Zhao household, she had drunk herself into a stupor. Heavy snow fell, piling thick upon the curved roof of the bamboo pavilion. She huddled alone on the stone bench, weeping—crying so bitterly that it felt as though his whole heart was being crumpled into a tight ball. “Jiang Xingzhou,” she sobbed, “it hurts so much.”
Panicked, he reached out to touch her forehead and her hands. “Where does it hurt? Tell me, what is wrong?”
She lifted the wine pot and took another long gulp, then pressed a hand to her chest. “Right here. It hurts so much I feel like I am dying, Jiang Xingzhou.”
When she sobered the next day, Feng Yi suddenly stopped causing trouble. Cheerfully, she arranged a proper marriage for her maid Ping’an and Ping’an’s sweetheart. No trace of gloom remained on her face. She was so calm that it only made his heart beat faster with unease.
People who have long dwelled in darkness and cold become especially sensitive to light and warmth. But she no longer took the initiative to warm him.
He took her out to buy jewelry and fine clothes, trying to make amends. Seeing her stare absent‑mindedly at the bustling streets, knowing how much she valued freedom and hated restraint, he found himself asking, “Mianmian, would you prefer to stay inside the estate as my favored concubine, or live outside…”
Before he could finish, she understood. After a brief pause, she spoke the words he could not bring himself to say, with a faint, indifferent smile. “As a mistress outside the household, I suppose. You know me—I do not like being confined.”
He pressed her for details about what kind of home she wanted, then arranged it personally to her liking—for in his mind, that was where they would live together in the years ahead.
On the night before he was to go to the Zhao family to present the formal betrothal gifts and sign the marriage contract, she clung to him so tightly that even when he could no longer bear it, she still would not let go.
The next morning, they parted at the gates of the Marquis’s residence. He went to seal his engagement, while she said that the sight of him committing to another marriage pained her too much, and she would visit the Temple of the Prime Minister to enjoy the plum blossoms and clear her mind.
Before she left, she looked at him for a long time, then suddenly broke into a bright, radiant smile. “Lingyuan, may you find happiness.”
And with that, she was gone, never to return. She took none of the gifts he had sent after her. Even the clothes and jewelry she had been wearing were stripped off and placed upon a body made up and disguised to look like her own.
She had left with utter determination.
The horse stepped on a loose stone and stumbled slightly, tilting to one side. The jolt sent Jiang Xingzhou tumbling backward off the saddle and onto the grass beside the road.
“Lord Marquis!”
“Lord Marquis!”
“Stay back,” Jiang Xingzhou called out, stopping Qingfeng and Qinglan from rushing forward.
His steed, accustomed to his ways, halted and turned its head in confusion, wondering why its master had fallen. Believing it must have been at fault, it lowered its head apologetically and nuzzled him gently.
Jiang Xingzhou lifted a hand to stroke its head in reassurance, but said nothing. He let the rain soak him through to the bone.
Master Hebai had said that perhaps from the perspective of her world, what he had done was nothing less than betrayal and letting her down.
It struck him then with sharp clarity: he had wanted to possess every part of her, yet had never truly sought to understand who she was. He did not know her childhood name, her birth date, the details of her life—nothing at all.
It seemed he had never really known her. He had only ever wanted to claim her.
He reached the relay station and caught up with Feng Yi and the others well after nine in the evening. Seeing that the lamp in her room was already out, he had another chamber prepared to wash away the rain and cold. Only when he felt the chill leave his bones did he slip quietly into her room.
Gently, he pulled her into his arms, pressing his palms—already warmed by rubbing them together—against her lower abdomen.
“You’re back?” Feng Yi murmured, eyes still closed as she turned and snuggled deeper into his embrace, her voice heavy with sleepiness.
“Mmm. Did I wake you?” He leaned down to kiss the top of her head.
Once, when her love for him was at its strongest, no matter how late he returned from official duties or banquets, she would always keep a light burning to wait for him. Now, she was fast asleep long before he came home.
“Not really. I only just drifted off myself,” she mumbled. “The kitchen simmered ginger soup earlier—did you have some?”
“I did. It warmed me right through.” Jiang Xingzhou drew her even closer.
Her words were filled with care and concern, yet why did he no longer feel the weight of her love?
No—he could not say it was gone entirely. It was just so faint, so little, that it felt as though a light breeze would be enough to blow it away completely.
“I… can’t… breathe…” Feng Yi struggled to say.
Really—was a visit to Ziyuan Temple enough to affect him this deeply? The heavy, sorrowful air he carried was almost satisfying to witness.
Jiang Xingzhou immediately loosened his hold and looked down at her face. By the faint glow of the lantern light filtering through the window, he could make out the shape of her eyes and brows. But he could not help wondering—what did she truly look like in her original form?
Feeling his intense gaze upon her, Feng Yi opened her eyes and sighed helplessly. “Truly, I am too tired tonight.”
He chuckled softly and pinched her cheek. “Do I look like some kind of lust‑crazed monster to you?”
Aren’t you exactly that? Feng Yi thought to herself, rolling her eyes inwardly.
“What did you look like… originally?” he asked, eager to know every detail about her.
“Hmm?” Her hand, which had been resting lazily on his chest, paused. “Why do you ask?”
“I just want to know.”
“Almost exactly the same as this face,” she answered honestly. “Except for a tiny mole shaped like a drop of cinnabar ink, just at the outer corner of my right eye.”
So he had guessed right—she never looked at her reflection in the mirror with surprise or unfamiliarity.
“Here?” He raised a finger and lightly touched the outer corner of her right eye.
“A little lower,” she said, guiding his fingertip into place.
“It must be very beautiful.” Jiang Xingzhou lowered his head and kissed that spot with quiet reverence.
Feng Yi did not pull away, though her body trembled slightly. Her eyes welled with moisture, which she forced back with determination.
Silence filled the room and flowed into the darkness.
After a long pause, Jiang Xingzhou’s Adam’s apple bobbed as if he had finally mustered his courage. He asked softly, “Then… what was your childhood name?”
“Mianmian,” she replied, her voice flat and unchanging.
“Mianmian belongs to Feng Yi of the Feng Family Fortress,” he corrected. “I am asking for the childhood name of the real Feng Yi standing before me now.”
“Didn’t you say it yourself? I am Mianmian,” she replied with a light, amused tone.
Her words struck him like a boomerang, hitting him right in the chest. “No, you are not. Feng Yi, tell me—please.”
Feng Yi thought for a moment. “I… don’t have one.”
“How can you not have one?” He frowned in confusion.
“It is true,” she said with a touch of self‑mockery. “Feng Yi is the name I chose for myself when I left home to attend school. My original name was Feng Yinzhang. My parents called me… well, just ‘girl,’ and my closest friends called me Yiyi.”
A man as learned and well‑read as Jiang Xingzhou knew exactly what the name “Yinzhang” implied. From her brief explanation, he quickly picked up on several clues: the world she came from must be far more open and free, allowing women to travel away to study and even choose their own names. And also—her own parents had not truly loved her.
He pulled her closer once more, his heart softening with tenderness. It did not matter—he would love her, and make up for everything.
Feng Yi suddenly realized that if counted by actual years, she was three years older than Jiang Xingzhou. A mischievous glint flashed in her eyes, and she smiled slyly. “You could also call me… elder sister, if you wish.”
“I will not,” he answered instantly, without hesitation.
Sometimes she acted so childishly. Jiang Xingzhou had always assumed she was much younger than him. Even on their wedding night, his mind had briefly wandered, wondering if her true age was old enough to wed—before his own overwhelming desire had silenced all thought, and he gave in completely.
“I am older than you, so calling me sister is only right. I was already twenty‑two when I arrived here,” she teased, enjoying the sight of him flustered.
Hearing this, Jiang Xingzhou felt as though a needle had been driven straight through his heart. A sharp, sudden pain stabbed through him. She had been only twenty‑two years old when her life ended in her original world?
“Listen to me, Yiyi,” he said, naturally switching to the new name, stroking her soft hair, his voice gentle enough to melt ice. “In that world, your life stopped at twenty‑two. But here, you have been reborn into this body, so your age should follow this body’s years. That makes you twenty. And I am twenty‑four. By any way of counting, I am the older one.”
“Pure sophistry,” she countered. “By your logic, I could just as easily say I am five years old right now, couldn’t I?”
“Five years old?” He laughed softly. “Yiyi, I admit I am not exactly a good man—but even I am not that twisted.”
Unwilling to let him have the last word, Feng Yi propped herself up and leaned over him, looking down. She took his chin between her fingers and lifted it, her smile alluring, her voice dropping into a deeper, more mature tone. “Be a good boy now… call me sister.”
“Stop teasing me unless you want to regret it,” Jiang Xingzhou warned. He took her hand and pressed it firmly against the hardness that had already risen between his legs. He did not force her further, only letting her feel his state, before letting her pull her hand away again.
“In your world, is it normal to remain unmarried at twenty‑two?” he asked carefully. Just the thought that she might have been engaged or even married already filled his chest with such heavy jealousy that he wanted to find that man and kill him on the spot.
“Where I come from, people are free to choose their own partners,” she explained. “There is no rule saying everyone must get married. When you meet someone who feels right, you can start dating first, then think of marriage later. And if you realize it does not work out, you can break up, or get divorced.”
Her words held a clear point as she continued, “And there, marriage is strictly one man and one woman. Anyone who becomes a third party is condemned by both morality and the law, no matter if they are male or female.”
Jiang Xingzhou gave a bitter smile. So that was how it was. In her eyes, then, he truly had betrayed her.
“Did you… ever have a boyfriend?” he asked, unable to stop himself.
“Of course I did,” she said proudly. “I was so pretty and talented, men lined up from my capital city all the way to the western provinces to pursue me. And they were all such handsome, attractive types—bright and cheerful, elegant and dashing, gentle and caring, artistic and skilled… and so many more.”
She ignored the way his face darkened with every word, knowing those relationships had all been virtual anyway, so there was no fear he could track them down. She let her imagination run freely. “To make sure I had no regrets, I changed partners every three days. All had broad shoulders and slim waists, and they knew exactly what to do. Once I had kissed them, touched them, and slept with them, I would move on…”
A sound escaped her throat—“Mmph!”
Jiang Xingzhou flipped over in one swift motion, pinning her beneath him, his eyes red and wild. He leaned down to capture her lips in a fierce, punishing kiss—biting the mouth that spoke such nonsense, nipping the tongue that wove such lies, swallowing down every drop of deceit that fell from her.
Liar. Feng Yi was a liar.
Their first kiss, their first night together—she had been completely innocent, completely inexperienced. Yet now she chose to wield words like blades, driving each one straight into his heart.
“Yiyi… do not try to make me angry on purpose,” he whispered, his nose touching hers. “It hurts me too much.”
“Where does it hurt?” Feng Yi asked, her voice soft and soothing as she caressed his face. Slowly her fingers traveled down until they rested over his chest, tapping lightly. “Right here?”
“Yes,” he breathed. “It hurts so badly.”
Her eyes curved like crescent moons, dimples appearing on her cheeks as she smiled—a smile as beautiful and deadly as a blooming poppy. Her voice, soft and sweet, carried a cruel edge in the quiet of the night.
“Then endure it.”