“Feng Yi.”
Jiang Xingzhou could hold back no longer. He flung aside the curtain and stormed inside. The strings of carved jade beads behind the silk canopy rattled noisily, just like his reason, which had suddenly snapped apart.
“You want to leave me again.”
He pulled her upright, his hands gripping her slender shoulders, his voice trembling with fear as he questioned her.
“Lin Yuan, let Yi Yi go.”
Yue Ming stumbled to her feet, trying to step between them, but her legs gave way from the wine, and she fell sideways—only to be caught firmly by Xiao Chengyu.
“She only wants to return to Feng Family Fortress. Why are you being so harsh?”
Was it truly Feng Family Fortress she longed for?
Only Jiang Xingzhou knew the truth: the place she wanted to go back to had never been the fortress. It was a home he could never reach, a place he knew nothing about.
“Do you really want to leave me that much, Yi Yi?”
Finally losing control, the corners of his eyes turned red and bloodshot, and his hands holding her shoulders began to shake.
“Stop shaking me,” Feng Yi said, her head spinning from the motion. She pressed a hand to her mouth and gagged softly. “I’m going to be sick.”
Jiang Xingzhou immediately steadied her. Glancing at the wine bottles scattered across the table, he asked, “Where does it hurt? Your stomach or your head? If you can’t hold your drink, why force yourself?”
“I was happy to see Yue Ming—can’t I enjoy myself?”
Feng Yi lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, brimming with hurt and disappointment.
She raised her fingers and prodded his chest one slow tap at a time. Though her fingertips were soft and weak, every word she spoke pierced his heart like a needle.
“And yes—I do want to leave you. What of it?”
Tears spilled over and rolled down her cheeks in large drops, her voice breaking. “You know I can’t go back… so you bully me without any fear. Am I not even allowed to wish for it?”
Jiang Xingzhou’s chest tightened in pain. Those tears fell like heavy hammers, striking the softest part of his heart.
He pulled her into a tight embrace, his voice softening involuntarily. “I am not bullying you.”
“You are… you are…” she sobbed, her words muffled against his chest.
“Yi Yi, don’t listen to him. Come with me—stay at my place tonight, and we’ll sleep together.”
Yue Ming struggled to pull free and reach for Feng Yi.
A vein throbbed sharply at Xiao Chengyu’s temple. “If you’re drunk, stay still. This is between husband and wife—mind your own business.”
Determined to keep his wife all to himself, he lifted Yue Ming into his arms and turned to Jiang Xingzhou. “I’ll take Xihe home first. You two do as you please.”
“I’m not leaving—Yi Yi is still here!” Yue Ming shouted, yet remained comfortably settled in his hold.
“We’re going.”
Once their small boat had drifted far enough from the barge, Xiao Chengyu pinched the tip of Yue Ming’s nose. “You can stop pretending now.”
The two women had been putting on an act for their benefit. Only Jiang Xingzhou, blinded by worry, had failed to see through it.
“Ouch!” Yue Ming slapped his hand away, half in retaliation. “Quit it. Lin Yuan is sharp-eyed—he’ll notice.”
Xiao Chengyu looked at the reddened mark on his hand and chuckled softly. “Are you truly jealous?”
“How dare I be?” Yue Ming replied with sharp sarcasm. “After all, she is the one who saved your life. Who am I to stand in the way…?”
Before she could finish, Xiao Chengyu leaned down and sealed her mouth with a kiss. Hmm—she really did taste sour.
Back inside the barge, Feng Yi’s tears had soaked through the front of Jiang Xingzhou’s robes. He held her even closer. “Please stop crying, Yi Yi—you’re breaking my heart.”
“Loosen your grip a little—don’t tear your wound open again.”
Her sharp tone was softened by the thickness of tears.
Even when angry, she still worried about his injury. How could she be this endearing? And the more adorable she was, the more he could not bear to let her go…
Jiang Xingzhou eased his hold as she asked, and silence settled between them.
After a long pause, he let out a sigh so faint it was almost lost in the air. It sounded as if he had fought a fierce internal battle and finally surrendered.
“Yi Yi… if you want to open a bookstore, then do it.”
Feng Yi stiffened in surprise.
“But we have conditions first,” he continued. “Try not to hire men. If you must, keep them at least three feet away from you at all times, and never meet with them alone.”
“Every day when you return home, you must tell me exactly who you met and what you did…”
“Where do you get so many rules?” Feng Yi grumbled in dissatisfaction, then said in a huff, “Fine—I won’t open it at all.”
“Truly?” Jiang Xingzhou asked, his tone revealing no emotion. “You said it yourself.”
“I didn’t say that!”
Feng Yi quickly stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his, afraid he would take back his word.
Jiang Xingzhou, just as you are betting that I will soften toward you, I too am betting that you cannot bear to see me cry.
We are both drawing upon each other’s feelings, one day at a time. But how long will this little warmth of ours last?
The moment their lips met, Jiang Xingzhou easily took control. His tongue pushed deep, exploring the warmth of her mouth, tangling with hers, pulling it in to suckle and nibble gently.
It was as if he needed this desperate, physical connection to quiet the fear in his soul—the fear that she would leave, that she would slip beyond his grasp.
Had he not seen through her act? No—he had realized it the moment he stepped inside. He simply could not bear to watch her cry.
Two fine horses trotted along the stone-paved street, pulling a carriage that was both understated and luxurious. Lanterns hung from the corners, swaying gently in the night breeze. Up front, Jiang Gu held the reins, occasionally flicking the whip to adjust their speed and direction. Qing Shan stood guard, his sword resting against the carriage wall.
Inside, Feng Yi lay fast asleep, her head resting on Jiang Xingzhou’s lap.
He looked down and brushed his fingertips over her cheek. The flush brought on by wine had not yet faded—warm, soft, and blooming with a natural vibrancy no rouge could ever match.
Her long lashes rested like folded fans, and her brows were relaxed, giving her a look of complete trust.
Asleep, she was so well-behaved it made his heart ache with tenderness.
His gaze drifted to her slightly parted lips, and a sudden thought crossed his mind, darkening his eyes. Almost against his will, he brought his fingers to her mouth and gently pushed them between her teeth, letting her lips close around them.
Her body reacted automatically to the foreign presence, and saliva began to flow as she swallowed unconsciously.
Within seconds, Jiang Xingzhou pulled his hand away in a fluster. The thin strands of saliva stretching from his fingers and the sensation of her unknowing sucking were maddeningly tempting—making him want to replace his fingers with something far hotter and harder.
He squeezed his eyes shut and took several deep breaths, his chest rising and falling rapidly, until he finally managed to force the heat of his desire under control.
When he looked down again, the woman on his lap had shifted in her sleep, leaving a long stretch of pale, delicate neck exposed completely unguarded.
His teeth ached suddenly. He wanted to bite it.
The first time he had bitten her neck had also been inside this carriage, and also under the influence of wine—though that time, it was he who was drunk.
Ever since they had shared that bowl of fried rice with eggs, there had been an unspoken understanding between them.
Every night after the gates of Rose Pavilion were locked, he would slip in quietly. Sometimes she served sweet rice balls, sometimes plain noodles in broth. Beneath the moonlight and the shadows of flowers, they shared simple late-night meals.
The food was ordinary, yet it felt strangely comforting. Especially when he climbed over the wall reeking of alcohol, she would suddenly decide she wanted honey fruit tea, and push a bowl toward him, saying, “I made too much. Would you like some, Cousin?”
He thought to himself—this cousin he had never known about before was surprisingly thoughtful.
And in return for her kindness, he had quietly arranged for every servant in the pavilion to be well treated. Not for any grand reason, but simply so that she would have no one standing over her, and could eat her fill in peace.
At Duke Ningguo’s welcome banquet, the Qin clan seemed to have completely forgotten about Feng Yi and left as soon as the gathering ended. He had no choice but to bring her back to his own estate.
Inside the carriage, Feng Yi sat as far away from him as possible, politely thanking him for stepping in to defend her earlier.
A soft, sweet fragrance drifted from her, thread by thread, tickling his nose and making his ears burn. His sharp canines ached, eager to sink into something.
Feng Yi lifted the curtain slightly, seemingly captivated by the lively sights outside, and leaned forward to look.
He spread his legs, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands as he watched her intently from below.
The smooth line of her jaw, the slender vulnerability of her neck—under the dim, flickering light, they glowed like polished jade. He could almost see the fine hairs on her skin and the pulse beating beneath it.
Darkness settled in his gaze, and a greedy, dirty longing began to take root.
He considered himself a man of restraint, and had seen many beautiful women before. Yet in all his nineteen years, never had he felt such overwhelming desire for anyone.
He wanted to lick her, to bite her, to pin her down and claim her completely.
Was there a fox spirit hiding inside that body? How else could she unnerve him so thoroughly?
For some reason, she smiled, and dimples appeared in her cheeks, as if enchanting the very night breeze.
Let it be. Whatever she was, now that she had settled into this body, she was Feng Yi.
And Feng Yi had been given to him by the Qin clan.
Once given, she was his!
The carriage jolted over a rough patch, and he let himself fall toward her as if too drunk to sit upright. She caught him in her arms, confused and unsuspecting, and his head landed right in the hollow of her shoulder.
…So fragrant.
“Cousin?” Feng Yi whispered softly. “Are you all right?”
“Forgive me,” he said, his voice sounding weak. “I drank too much today, and my head is spinning. Could you do me a favor and make a bowl of sobering soup when we arrive?”
He made as if to sit up, then let himself slump back down again. This time, his teeth brushed against her neck, and he bit down gently. So soft, so tender.
As if on purpose, the carriage rolled over another loose stone. Using the slight movement as cover, he pressed his lips to her skin, sucked lightly, and left a kiss there before pulling away.
Later, when he heard she was asking his men about his whereabouts, he felt secretly pleased. He gave orders that once they accepted her silver, they should casually mention his schedule. He waited eagerly, wondering what she planned to do.
To his surprise, she brought Yue Ming along instead. At first, he thought she was simply shy. Then he realized in disbelief—she was trying to match him with Yue Ming.
In what world did she see romantic feelings between him and Yue Ming? To him, Yue Ming was a comrade-in-arms, a sister.
“Lin Yuan…”
The woman on his lap stirred, letting out a soft, mumbled call.
“I’m here,” Jiang Xingzhou replied gently.
“…I miss you so much.”
Half-asleep, she drifted back in her dreams to the days in Ruyi Town, whispering her longing.
In the dim glow of the carriage light, Jiang Xingzhou broke into a wide smile.
Yi Yi… I think I am truly and completely yours for the rest of my life.
The next morning, when Feng Yi woke up, daylight was already streaming through the windows. She felt fresh and clean, clearly having been washed and dressed during the night. She did not need to guess who had done it—only wonder if he had torn his wound open again in the process.
Jiang Xingzhou had already left for court, not wanting to disturb her rest.
After lunch, Steward Wu brought in a sandalwood box inlaid with silk.
“What is this, Uncle Wu?” Feng Yi asked, already guessing the answer.
“From His Lordship,” the steward said as he slid the box toward her. “He instructed that these are for you to use as you wish.”
Feng Yi opened the lid. Inside lay neatly stacked bank notes worth fifty thousand taels of silver, as well as the deeds to several estates, country villas, and shopfronts.
Opening a bookstore required a discreet printing workshop—the estates were perfect for that. It needed a quiet place for editing and reviewing manuscripts—the villas would do well. And finally, it needed a location to sell the books.
Jiang Xingzhou always thought of every detail, leaving nothing to chance.
Feng Yi did not rush to choose. She would wait until he had a day off, and then they would go together to inspect each property and decide. It was important to let him feel involved, to show him that she still relied on him. Only then would he feel secure enough to trust her and let her move forward.
Having gotten what she wanted, Feng Yi decided to treat Jiang Xingzhou with extra kindness.
That afternoon, along with the medicine for his wound, Qing Lan brought a small package carefully wrapped in oiled paper to the Council of Military Affairs.
Jiang Xingzhou raised an eyebrow.
“From the young lady,” Qing Lan said.
She was treating him like a child, he thought to himself, yet could not suppress the smile spreading across his face. He ate every last piece of the candied fruit.
The first thing he did upon returning home was let Feng Yi strip off his robe and check his injury. Then he sat back to enjoy the sweet soups she brewed in new and varied ways every day.
“Is it good?” she asked, her eyes bright as she watched him.
“Very good,” he replied, enjoying her attention—and then pushed his luck. “Though it would be even better if it were sweeter.”
“No,” she said firmly. “Too much sugar will rot your teeth.”
Perhaps due to the lack of sweetness in his childhood, Jiang Xingzhou had a great fondness for sugary things. It was a habit he kept hidden from everyone—except her.
“Then give me something sweet that won’t hurt my teeth,” he said, his tone thick with meaning.
“Is there such a thing?” Feng Yi laughed. “All sweets are bad for teeth.”
“Of course there is. You are far sweeter than any candy.”
Before she could respond, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply, only letting go when she was breathless and weak in his embrace.
And indeed—she tasted sweeter than anything he had ever known.
On the third day, after checking his wound, Feng Yi took measurements to have new robes made for him. She noticed that though his clothes were new, they were all cut in the same style she had designed for him three years ago, with the same patterns and fabrics.
Did he intend to keep wearing these forever if she never returned? The colors suited him well in his twenties, but would they still look right when he was fifty or sixty?
She took her soft measuring tape, carefully noting the width of his shoulders, the length of his arms, then moved down to his waist.
These past few days, their time together had been like bathing in honey, and Jiang Xingzhou was content to drown in it forever.
“Why have you been so good to me lately?” he asked, looking down at the small woman focused on measuring his waist.
“You treat me well, so I am happy—and naturally, I treat you well in return. Is that not only right?” she said without looking up, turning to write down the number before coming back to measure his chest.
Jiang Xingzhou smiled softly. If that were truly the case, then if he treated her even better in the future… would her love for him slowly return to how deep and passionate it once was?
“Have you finished drafting the detailed rules and plans for your bookstore?” he asked.
“Almost.”
“Would you like me to look them over?”
“Yes,” she said, lifting her head, her eyes shining with admiration. “You have a day off tomorrow. I will explain everything to you, and you can help me revise it.”
She had to admit—Jiang Xingzhou was truly a man of many talents. The dowry left to him by his mother had grown several times over under his management. More importantly, he understood the rules and hidden currents of this world better than anyone. With him overseeing the business, she could avoid countless pitfalls.
“Very well,” he said, his heart feeling full and warm. He wrapped his arms around her. “Have you decided on a name for it yet?”
“I have,” she nodded. “It shall be called Jichuan Bookstore—the Crossing of Rivers.”