The sun had climbed high in the sky, and light and shadow filtered dimly through the silk curtains.
She stared blankly at the peach-blossom-hued canopy above her head for quite some time. Try as she might, she could not understand what had happened. Last night, it had only begun with her holding him close, offering a little comfort. How had it somehow progressed all the way to the bed, and continued on until deep in the night?
Birds chirped outside the window, pulling her thoughts back to the present. She rubbed her temples and sat up, only for the soreness in her waist to nearly send her falling back down.
A mischievous thought suddenly crossed her mind. It was often said that once a man turned twenty-five, his vigor would gradually decline. Jiang Xingzhou was only twenty-four, yet he had been so unrestrained. By the time he married in the future, his wife would probably find herself wanting for “fine meat.”
Forgive me, forgive me!
Though she teased him inwardly, there was no warmth in the smile on her lips. Once trust was broken, it was nearly impossible to restore. Even now, she still could not bring herself to believe that he would ever marry her.
Meanwhile, Jiang Xingzhou—the very man being mocked for supposedly losing his strength after twenty-five—was in excellent spirits. He wore a triangular scarf tied backward around his neck, covering the skin of his lower throat.
“Well, well, Linyuan,” said Wei Zhan, who had just come to take over his duty. Leaning casually against the edge of his desk and cracking melon seeds, he looked utterly carefree. “What kind of new accessory is that? Quite striking.”
Humans were social creatures, and even the most solitary among them usually had a few trusted friends. This held true for Jiang Xingzhou as well—though outwardly gentle and warm, he kept others at a distance deep down. Wei Zhan, the eldest son of the Duke of Dingbei, was one of his closest companions.
“I saw someone wearing one on my recent journey south,” Jiang Xingzhou replied smoothly, his expression unchanged. “It looked nice, so I decided to try it myself.”
“With a face like yours, do you really need such fancy trinkets?” Wei Zhan asked, looking suspicious. “Besides, it’s already the fifth month. Aren’t you sweltering?”
With that, he reached out, intending to untie the scarf.
Jiang Xingzhou turned his head to avoid him, and with a soft snap, raised the folding fan in his hand, blocking Wei Zhan’s wrist firmly but gently.
“Show some respect, Young Master Wei. I have no interest in men.”
He was only being cautious. Beneath the scarf lay marks left by that little woman last night, when she had been overcome with passion. Since they were not yet married, if anyone saw them, it would ruin her reputation.
“What brings you here?” Jiang Xingzhou changed the subject.
“To drink,” Wei Zhan said.
“Not interested.”
“Jiang Linyuan, you’re impossible,” Wei Zhan propped his elbow on the desk and tapped his fingers lightly against the wood. “How many days have you been back in the capital? Not one of us has even caught a glimpse of you.”
“I’m not well. I can’t drink,” Jiang Xingzhou said, glancing briefly at the officials occasionally passing by the corridor outside before lowering his voice. “This is no time for gatherings. We’ll wait until the Emperor’s Birthday celebrations are over.”
Wei Zhan knew perfectly well that tensions were running high at court. He had not actually come here for wine today anyway.
“Fair enough,” he brushed the crumbs from his hands and stood up, though his tone remained relaxed. “Come on, walk me out. And while you’re at it, go pay your respects to your foster father.”
“Get lost!”
Despite his sharp retort, Jiang Xingzhou still rose to his feet and escorted Wei Zhan to the outer corridor of the government office, the two speaking in low voices as they walked.
“Last night, several palace maids were carried out of the Eastern Palace, said to have died suddenly from severe illness,” Wei Zhan murmured, his voice almost too quiet to hear. “I managed to catch a quick glance… not a single inch of their skin was unmarked.”
Jiang Xingzhou’s sharp eyebrows drew together. In the past, the Crown Prince had merely been arrogant and overbearing. But since his serious injury that left him unable to walk properly, his temper had turned terrifyingly cruel and violent.
Sensing Wei Zhan had more to say, Jiang Xingzhou waited in silence.
Sure enough, Wei Zhan continued: “The Imperial Grandson happened upon the scene and was so frightened he fell ill on the spot. The Crown Princess has already summoned the imperial physicians, claiming he was terrified by a nightmare, and plans to send him to the Empress’s palace temporarily to recover.”
As commander of the elite guards of the Imperial Guard, few movements within the palace escaped Wei Zhan’s notice.
Jiang Xingzhou went straight to the heart of the matter: “Why was the Imperial Grandson wandering alone outside his chambers so late at night?”
“Word has it,” Wei Zhan’s mouth twisted into a mocking smile, “an unfamiliar young maid delivered a message saying… the Crown Prince was missing him.”
The Crown Prince, Xiao Chengyao, was thirty-three years old. His wife, the Crown Princess, came from the powerful Nie clan. They had one son, Xiao Qiyuan, only eight years old and frail from birth.
Though the Crown Prince relied heavily on the Nie family for support, he also kept them at arm’s length. He had insisted on raising the young Imperial Grandson himself, fearing the boy would grow too close to his mother’s kin. By all accounts, their bond as father and son was strong.
Yet despite all his precautions, the child had still ended up in the hands of the Nie family.
It seemed the Crown Prince’s fall from his horse and subsequent injury had been no accident, but the result of manipulation from multiple sides. Even if a full investigation were launched, the only ones caught would be mere scapegoats.
“Grand Tutor Nie is indeed… a master of long-term strategy,” Jiang Xingzhou said with genuine admiration.
Everyone at court had been speculating whether the Grand Tutor would back the Eighth Prince or the Ninth Prince in the struggle for power. But no one had anticipated his brilliant move: bypassing the princes entirely and seeking to place the young Imperial Grandson on the throne. If he succeeded, the imperial dynasty would effectively belong to the Nie clan.
A cold, empty smile touched Jiang Xingzhou’s lips. That would not do at all—not when Nie Wenxuan had made the mistake of crossing him.
With the official business settled, Wei Zhan turned to tease him about personal matters. “Now that you’ve found her again, I trust you’re finally satisfied?”
He could clearly see that the heavy gloom that had hung over Jiang Xingzhou for so long had lifted considerably. For three years, the man had fallen from being a noble, untroubled figure to someone as cold and lifeless as a ghost—moving through the world like a hollow shell and acting with ruthless cruelty.
At these words, genuine warmth finally spread across Jiang Xingzhou’s eyes. “It feels as though I have been born anew.”
Wei Zhan clapped him on the shoulder. “Then why wait? Hurry up and marry her and bring her into your household.”
Jiang Xingzhou could not help but smile, both amused and helpless. No wonder she had looked only shocked last night, with no trace of joy or affection. Even his closest friend, who had watched from the sidelines, could not believe he intended to make her his wife.
There was no use in speaking more; he would have to let his actions speak for themselves.
“I will not take her as a concubine,” he said, stopping in his tracks. His voice was soft but unwavering. “I will marry her as my wife.”
“Hmm?” Wei Zhan paused too, turning to look at him. “Are you serious?”
“Completely,” Jiang Xingzhou nodded.
“And you won’t regret it?”
“I will not,” Jiang Xingzhou lifted his gaze toward the vast blue sky in the distance. “My only regret is my foolish pride back then, when I tried to separate marriage from affection. Those three years felt worse than death. Now that I have finally found my way back, I want nothing more than to live a good life—for both of us.”
“Now that’s the spirit!” Wei Zhan gave him a thumbs-up, though a flicker of complicated emotion crossed his face.
Who among them had not once lost their senses over someone when they were young? Yet in the end, most were held back by social status, duty, and reality, and eventually bowed to compromise. The man who had always seemed the most rational and self-controlled of all had instead thrown himself completely into love, with no intention of turning back.
“Since you’ve made up your mind,” Wei Zhan promised, striking his chest, “then leave the wine for your wedding feast to me. I’ll take care of it all.”
“No need,” Jiang Xingzhou raised an eyebrow, the smile returning to his eyes. “Just make sure your wedding gift is generous enough.”
Neither of them thought to ask what the other party might want. It seemed that as long as Jiang Xingzhou was willing to marry her, it was already a great honor bestowed upon Feng Yi.
Meanwhile, in the study of the Rose Pavilion, the woman who had supposedly received such a great honor was currently swamped with work.
In the past, watching Jiang Xingzhou handle official affairs, manage his estates, and assign personnel, everything had looked effortless—he even had time to spare to spend with her. But now that she was doing it herself, she realized just how many threads there were to untangle, and how difficult it was to keep everything moving forward.
Securing the location for the bookstore was only the first step of a long journey ahead. Recruiting staff, sourcing paper and materials, organizing the engraving and printing process, drafting rules and operating procedures… every single detail required her personal attention.
To sum it up: she was short-handed, and badly so.
After spending several hours bent over her desk, Feng Yi decided that aside from Yue Ming, she would need to find another partner to share the load—she simply could not manage it all alone. But Jiang Xingzhou, being so jealous and possessive, clearly disliked any man coming near her, so she would have to look for a woman first.
She set her brush down on the brush rest carved to look like layered mountains, leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and closed her eyes. The profiles of eligible noble ladies and married women in the capital flashed through her mind, especially those families whose daughters had once been considered suitable matches for Jiang Xingzhou. While not necessarily his allies, they were at least not his political enemies.
Feng Yi’s eyes suddenly flew open, bright with realization.
There was someone—truly a woman whose words and poetry reflected a spirit of integrity and grace.
She then shook her head and laughed softly. It had to be admitted: Jiang Xingzhou’s taste in women was truly impeccable.
She took out a card of thick paper gilded with gold flecks and embossed with peony patterns, and wrote out an invitation in bold, flowing calligraphy.
“Yan Huai,” she called toward the door.
No sooner had she spoken than Yan Huai, who had been standing guard outside, pushed the door open. “Would you like more tea, Miss?”
“Not yet,” Feng Yi handed her the card. “Take this to Prince Rui’s residence and ask the Princess to pass it along to the First Lady of the Chu household.”
The next afternoon, the weather was fair and warm. The early summer sun shone gently, its heat not yet becoming harsh.
By the banks of the Silver and Gold Lake, willow branches swayed in the breeze, and the water shimmered like rippling silk.
Feng Yi leaned against an ornately carved wooden railing, tossing fish food casually into the water, while Ting Yun and Yan Huai waited quietly beside her. Seeing that most of the men who had come to enjoy the lake also wore triangular scarves tied backward around their necks, she could not help but smile—did none of them feel the heat?
Before long, Yue Ming arrived. She naturally took a handful of fish food from Feng Yi’s hand and tossed it toward the school of colorful carp gathering in the water.
“Yi Yi, why her?” Yue Ming asked, watching the surface of the lake, clearly puzzled.
“Isn’t she the most suitable choice?” Feng Yi replied with a smile. “When it comes to learning, ability, and breadth of vision, how many unmarried or married women in the capital can compare with her?”
“Doesn’t it feel awkward?” Having finished her own portion, Yue Ming reached over to take more from Feng Yi’s palm.
“Once you stop caring, there is no room for awkwardness,” Feng Yi said with a soft laugh, brushing the crumbs from her hands.
For some reason, Yue Ming felt there was more meaning behind those words. What exactly was it that she no longer cared about—the situation itself, or… the man involved? She found herself silently worrying for Jiang Xingzhou.
As they spoke, a voice as clear and gentle as flowing water sounded from behind them.
“Your servant, Madam Zhao, pays her respects to the Princess.”
“Rise quickly, Madam Chu,” Yue Ming turned and gestured for her to stand.
“Greetings, Madam Chu,” Feng Yi also turned and curtsied politely.
“Miss Feng Liu, it is a pleasure to meet you,” the woman returned the courtesy, her eyes resting on Feng Yi’s face. “I have long heard of your reputation. I trust you have been well these past years?”
“Thank you for your concern, Madam. I am doing very well,” Feng Yi replied warmly, while carefully observing the woman before her.
She wore a robe of pale turquoise silk with a matching undergarment and a light outer jacket embroidered with pearls. Her face was delicate and shaped like a melon seed, her eyebrows as graceful as distant mountains veiled in mist, and her eyes as deep and clear as autumn water. She radiated a refined, scholarly air—slender yet not frail.
She was exactly the kind of beauty described in Dream of the Red Chamber, Feng Yi thought.
This woman was Zhao Jinshu, the second legitimate daughter of the Minister of Personnel, wife of the eldest son of the Chu family, and the woman who had once been betrothed to Jiang Xingzhou.
“May I ask what brings the Princess and Miss Feng to meet me today?” Zhao Jinshu asked, her gaze direct and clear, cutting straight to the point.
Feng Yi’s smile deepened. She gestured toward the boat. “There is indeed a matter I would like to discuss with you. Please, Madam, let us go aboard the pleasure barge and speak in comfort.”
The barge floated gently in the middle of the lake, rocking softly with the waves. Feng Yi sipped her tea slowly, enjoying it alongside a selection of delicate pastries, and did not interrupt the other two women as they read through the documents.
Yue Ming and Zhao Jinshu each held a copy of the business plan. The further they read, the brighter their eyes grew. Though Yue Ming had heard Feng Yi outline the idea a few days earlier, she had not expected the details to be so thorough and the vision so broad. Meanwhile, Zhao Jinshu read through the pages while occasionally glancing up to study Feng Yi in silence, her expression a mix of admiration and something more complex.
After a long while, both women set down their copies at almost the same time and let out a long breath, as if needing to steady their racing hearts.
Before Feng Yi could ask for their thoughts, Zhao Jinshu lifted her clear, bright eyes and said, “I am in.”
“Huh?” Feng Yi froze, her hand still holding half a lotus pastry suspended in mid-air. So… straightforward? She had spent half the night preparing a long list of arguments and explanations, but it seemed none of them would be needed.
Her mouth fell open slightly, her eyes wide with surprise, making her look utterly charming and innocent.
Zhao Jinshu’s cool expression softened noticeably, and her fingers curled unconsciously and gently beneath the wide sleeves of her robe.
Yue Ming, who was far less reserved, leaned forward and cupped Feng Yi’s cheeks in both hands, squeezing them playfully. “Oh, my Yi Yi… you are just so sweet, so soft, and smell so lovely. Come stay with me at the palace tonight, won’t you?”
“If I go to your home, I’m afraid Prince Rui will throw me out on the street,” Feng Yi laughed, prying her hands away.
“Pfft…” Zhao Jinshu could not help but let out a soft laugh, quickly covering her mouth with a handkerchief.
The sound pulled Feng Yi and Yue Ming back to their senses—they had forgotten there was a guest present. Both immediately sat up straight and smiled politely. “Please excuse our lack of decorum, Madam.”
It is no trouble at all. The Princess and Miss Feng clearly share such a close bond; it is truly enviable. Zhao Jinshu set down her handkerchief, a flicker of longing crossing her eyes. She had been bright and mature from childhood, with a naturally reserved temperament. Though she knew many people, she rarely had moments of such complete ease and unguarded intimacy.
“It is mostly because Yi Yi is so endearing,” Yue Ming said with a smile, steering the conversation back to business. “As we work together more in the future, Madam, you will come to understand.” Turning to Feng Yi, she asked, “Now that the framework has been drafted, what kind of arrangement do you have in mind for our partnership?”
Feng Yi’s expression grew more serious, and she laid out her plan clearly and logically.
“I trust you both have a clear picture of my vision for Jichuan Bookstore after reading through the proposal. We have already secured the printing workshop, the space for editing and proofreading, and the shopfront itself, but many other parts are still missing.”
“To be honest, I am stretched far too thin and simply cannot manage everything on my own,” she admitted with a faint flush of embarrassment.
“Looking across all the young ladies of the capital, there are those with talent and those with ability, but very few possess both, and also have a breadth of vision equal to that of men. That is why I have invited the two of you here to help bring this vision to life.”
Everyone appreciates kind words, and Zhao Jinshu’s expression softened noticeably.
Feng Yi continued, “Here is what I propose: I have more than my share of clever ideas, so I will take charge of the overall planning and marketing.”
“Your Highness, you excel at practical matters, so you could oversee the printing, woodblock carving, and sourcing of all materials.”
“As for you, Madam, you have connections throughout the capital and a well-earned reputation for literary talent. You could lead the editing and proofreading, solicit manuscripts, and ensure quality control. What do you both think?”
“I have no objections,” Yue Ming agreed. “But Yi Yi, your plan to publish a gazette every three days and a magazine every two weeks is far too tight. There is no way traditional woodblock carving could keep up with that schedule, and the wear and tear on the blocks would be enormous.”
“They are newspapers and journals, covering topics including but not limited to official affairs, the lives of common people, poetry and literature, and much more,” Feng Yi corrected gently. “And we will not use woodblock printing—we will use movable type.”
“Movable type printing?” Yue Ming and Zhao Jinshu asked in unison.
“We carve each common character individually from wood, clay, or metal. When it is time to print, we simply select and arrange the characters as needed. Once the run is complete, the type can be taken apart and reused again. This method not only saves a great deal of time but also drastically reduces costs, and allows us to adapt easily to different kinds of content.”
A heavy silence fell over the cabin.
Yue Ming and Zhao Jinshu exchanged a glance, both seeing nothing but shock in each other’s eyes.
Did this Miss Feng truly understand what she had just said? This was far more than a simple improvement—it was an innovation that could earn her a place in history. Yet she spoke of it as casually as if it were nothing at all.
Fortunately, the barge was anchored deep in the lake, their voices were kept low, and all attendants were waiting outside.
“Have you spoken to Linyuan about this printing method?” Yue Ming asked, her tone turning serious.
“I have,” Feng Yi replied. She was no fool.
“And what did he say?”
“The first set of wooden type molds is already being made and will be finished soon. Once it is ready, he will present it to the Emperor himself and petition for recognition on my behalf,” Feng Yi answered openly—both to reassure them and to set Zhao Jinshu at ease.
No one knew that inside, she felt uneasy, as if she were stealing something that did not belong to her. She had told Jiang Xingzhou there was no need to claim the credit, but he had insisted: since no such method existed in this world before, and it had come into being because of her, the honor rightfully belonged to her.
Only then did Yue Ming relax. If Jiang Xingzhou dared to take credit for her work, she would march straight to the imperial court and argue the matter openly.
Of course, Jiang Xingzhou would never do such a thing. Though he preferred she not draw too much public attention, he wanted her to have solid achievements and prestige to stand on. In the future, when she married into the marquis’s household, she would inevitably face a complex web of social relations. With the Emperor’s favor and recognition, no one would dare look down on her or speak ill of her.
“Miss Feng, you have laid out this method and the entire plan for the bookstore so openly—are you not afraid that we might copy your ideas and set up our own shops to compete with you?” Zhao Jinshu asked, looking directly into Feng Yi’s eyes, not missing the slightest shift in her expression.
“I am not afraid,” Feng Yi replied, meeting her gaze steadily without flinching. “Money is just money—if we earn more, we spend more; if we earn less, we spend less. If you were to open a second or third bookstore using these methods, I would be delighted. Think of what that would mean: books would become more affordable, so even poor scholars could afford to read. Ordinary people would gain more channels to voice their thoughts, and official reports would no longer be twisted by corrupt officials. What is there to fear?”
Zhao Jinshu stared at her for a long time, and slowly a smile spread across her face, growing wider and warmer by the second. What on earth had Jiang Xingzhou done to deserve the sincere affection of such a remarkable woman? And yet he did not even cherish her—what a fool he was!
With that question answered, the three women began to discuss every detail openly and thoroughly: how to recruit staff, whether to hire men or women—or both—for news gathering, how to define the focus and style of each publication, and much more.
By the time the golden glow of sunset stretched across the surface of the lake, they had worked out a clear and complete plan.
Dinner was served at the Yingshan Lake Residence, with Feng Yi as the host. Due to strict instructions from a certain someone, they did not drink heavily, only sipping a few cups of warm wine.
“Speaking of which, I have had the pleasure of reading your works, Miss Feng—they are truly excellent,” Zhao Jinshu said. A few cups of wine had brought a soft flush to her usually pale cheeks, and she had grown more talkative.
“Yi Yi’s writing is always wonderful,” Yue Ming added. She had meant to be modest, but the words came out sounding like a proud parent bragging about their child.
“Not at all, you flatter me,” Feng Yi said with a wave of her hand.
“I especially enjoyed The Gallant’s Road, Tales from a Small Lane, and To Bring Back the Spring Breeze,” Yue Ming said eagerly. “Which of her works do you like best, Madam?”
“I am fond of Lost in the World of Dust, The Merry Widow’s Secret Journal, and Childhood Sweethearts,” Zhao Jinshu replied calmly, turning her wine cup gently between her fingers.
Cough… cough…
At her words, Feng Yi nearly choked on her wine, coughing so hard her face turned bright red and tears sprang to her eyes.
“Be careful now,” Yue Ming said, quickly patting her back to help her breathe. Then she turned to Zhao Jinshu, looking confused. “Yi Yi… has never written any of those titles, has she?”
“Oh, but she certainly has,” Zhao Jinshu said with absolute certainty. “The writing styles of He Su and Mo Wang seem completely different at first glance, but the way details are handled, the rhythm of the narrative, and especially that bold, unorthodox spirit running through every line—they are identical. There is no doubt in my mind that they are the work of one and the same person.”
Zhao Jinshu was highly respected among the younger generation of literary critics, so Yue Ming turned back to Feng Yi, raising an eyebrow in silent question.
Feng Yi took several large gulps of tea to soothe her throat, though the flush on her cheeks remained—whether from coughing or embarrassment, it was hard to tell. Her voice came out barely above a whisper. “…They are mine.”
“You never showed them to me!” Yue Ming said, feigning outrage.
“Well…” Feng Yi closed her eyes, looking as if facing her execution. “…They are erotic novels. How could I possibly show them to you?”
“Erotic novels?!” Yue Ming’s eyes went wide. She stared at her friend, who looked so gentle and sweet on the surface. “You… you actually write such books?”
Feng Yi rested her forehead in her hand, wishing she could simply slip under the table and hide.
In her early days here, she had written nonstop to earn money—penning martial arts tales, romantic stories, pure love stories, and even the kind of explicit content that would have been strictly banned in her previous life. She had used pen name after pen name, until she discovered that these so-called “late-night stories” earned her the fastest income.
She had never expected that the second person to see through her disguise would be Zhao Jinshu.
“And Madam—you actually read erotic novels?” Yue Ming asked, feeling that everything she thought she knew was being turned upside down today.
“I came across them by chance in my elder brother’s study,” Zhao Jinshu explained, her tone completely calm and composed, as if she were speaking of classic literature rather than risqué tales.
“And they are not ordinary erotic stories at all. Though they appear to describe intimate relations, every word and line actually teaches women to respect and value themselves—to never give up even when life drags them through the mud, but to stand on their own two feet and build their own strength.”
“They also teach men to respect women, reminding them that intimacy should always be mutual and willing, never forced.”
She paused, a hint of regret crossing her face. “It is a shame, though—for some reason, He Su stopped publishing new chapters later on.”
Then it suddenly struck her that He Su was sitting right in front of her. She looked up and asked, “Yi Yi, why did you stop writing?”
Why indeed? Because Jiang Xingzhou had forbidden it. In truth, she had not stopped writing altogether—it was just that everything she wrote from then on became his private collection, material for their own nights behind closed curtains.
But of course she could not say that. She simply replied, “In the end, such content is not entirely proper, so I laid down my pen.”
“I shall have to buy copies for myself,” Yue Ming said, already growing curious and eager to read them.
“You will not find them anywhere,” Zhao Jinshu shook her head. “All of He Su’s books were bought up in a single night. If Your Highness wishes to read them, I have old copies at home that I could lend you.”
Yue Ming immediately understood what had happened, silently cursing Jiang Xingzhou under her breath, though her face remained smiling. “Then I am much obliged, Madam.”
“Think nothing of it,” Zhao Jinshu replied with a soft smile. “Now that we shall be seeing more of each other, you may call me by my courtesy name—Yan Gui. Both Your Highness and Miss Feng are welcome to use it.”
“Yan Gui it is,” Yue Ming agreed readily. “My courtesy name is Xi He. You may call me Xi He, or if you prefer, just follow Yi Yi and call me Yue Liang—Moon.”
“Then please call me Yi Yi,” Feng Yi said warmly.
“Have you not chosen a courtesy name of your own, Yi Yi?”
It was not that she had none—but her old name, Qing Yang, had died in the fire that had taken her old life, and there was no need to speak of it again. Feng Yi simply smiled and said nothing, raising her cup. “Come—Yue Liang, Yan Gui—may all our future endeavors go smoothly, and may our bookstore thrive and prosper!”
Both women were sharp and perceptive. Seeing that Feng Yi did not wish to speak further on the subject, Zhao Jinshu did not press her, raising her cup to join in the toast.
Toward the end of the meal, Zhao Jinshu was feeling a little light-headed from the wine. Sitting close beside Feng Yi, she spoke in a soft voice. “Yi Yi… the truth is, back then, Lord Jiang and I had an agreement. If our marriage had gone ahead, it would have been in name only. We would have shared neither bed in life nor grave in death.”
Feng Yi stiffened almost imperceptibly. So what Jiang Xingzhou had told her was true—but what did it matter now?
“Even so…” Zhao Jinshu lifted her gaze, her expression serious. “He is still not good enough for you.”
Down at the dock, a small boat was already waiting.
Jiang Xingzhou was not surprised to see Xiao Chengyu there, but his scalp tingled when he caught sight of Chu Chengzhi as well.
Feng Yi had only told him she was meeting potential business partners, that Yue Ming would be with her, and that they were all women, so he had not asked further, fearing she would find him too overbearing. He had never imagined one of them would be Zhao Jinshu.
The three men boarded the boat with polite greetings, and as they traveled, Jiang Xingzhou’s mind was uneasy, wondering what scene he would find and how he should handle it.
Yet when they stepped onto the barge, what they saw left him momentarily speechless.
The atmosphere was unexpectedly harmonious.
So harmonious that Yue Ming was holding a peeled grape, gently feeding it into Feng Yi’s mouth; while Zhao Jinshu was actually holding one of Feng Yi’s hands, turning her fingers over in her own and murmuring, “Such soft, delicate hands… how could they possibly write with such strength and conviction, so forceful they seem to cut through the very paper…”
From a distance, she looked almost like an infatuated admirer examining a precious gem.
Jiang Xingzhou did not know whether to laugh or grow angry. He found it amusing that his Yi Yi seemed to have a natural gift for making everyone who came near her feel drawn closer without realizing it. But he also felt a twinge of worry—would he now have to be on guard even against women, too?
Days passed in a steady rhythm of work and quiet routine. On the fourth day of the fifth lunar month, He Yun and Yangyang were finally due to arrive.
Feng Yi was filled with excitement. For the first time in ages, she rose early to help Jiang Xingzhou dress in his official robes. After fastening his jade belt, she did not go back to bed, but instead called for Shi Yu to help her with her hair and makeup, ready to ride out of the city to welcome them as soon as breakfast was done.
Standing before her dressing table, she casually picked up a small white porcelain bottle, poured out a pill, and swallowed it with water.
Jiang Xingzhou, who was adjusting his sleeves nearby, noticed this and his eyes narrowed slightly. Knowing she planned to travel out of the city today, he had only been with her once last night and had been gentle; he had not disturbed her this morning, and breakfast would be served on time. Why did she still need to take medicine?
Once she had stepped away from the table, he walked over as if casually, picked up the bottle, pulled out the stopper, and tipped all the pills into his palm to count them.
Three were missing.
That meant she had been taking one every day for the past few days. But whenever they had stayed up late together, he had always made sure she was woken up the next morning to eat warm, nourishing porridge before going back to sleep. Her stomach ailment should not have been flaring up this often.
He remembered that Imperial Physician Zhou had said her constitution had improved greatly with proper care.
He slipped one pill into his sleeve, then left the house as if nothing was amiss.
Ten li outside the capital, at the Wangshan Pavilion.
“Auntie!”
Yangyang came running toward Feng Yi on her short legs, launching herself into her arms like a tiny cannonball.
“Auntie, I missed you so much! Did you miss me too?”
Feng Yi’s heart melted at the sound of her sweet, childish voice. She lifted the little girl’s warm body into her arms, pressing her cheek against Yangyang’s, her tone soft enough to melt honey. “Of course I did. Auntie dreamed of you every single night.”
How could she not miss her? She had watched this little one be born, held her as she grew, and for a long time, Yangyang had been her very reason for carrying on.
“Auntie smells so nice—Yangyang loves Auntie most of all!” The little girl planted loud, wet kisses on both her cheeks.
“You little traitor,” He Yun said, catching up and giving her daughter’s bottom a playful tap. “Yesterday you told me I was your favorite. Changed your mind already?”
“I love both! I love Mother and I love Auntie!” the child chirped, her sweet words making both women laugh.
As the carriage entered the capital, it was not only Yangyang but also He Yun who was captivated by the bustling, magnificent sights of the imperial city. She kept lifting the curtain to peek outside, her eyes wide with wonder. Feng Yi only watched with a smile, not rushing her. When she herself had first arrived in this world, she had been far more stunned than Yangyang, finding everything strange and new, though she had forced herself to remain calm.
When they arrived at Feng’s residence, He Yun paused at the entrance, her steps hesitant.
“We… we are to stay here?” She swallowed hard, looking uneasy. “Is this really proper?”
“The house is well within the rules and regulations—there is nothing to fear,” Feng Yi said, taking her hand. “Come, let me show you the courtyard I have chosen for you both.”
“A-Yi, perhaps we should just rent a smaller place…” He Yun still felt uneasy.
“Just settle in and make yourselves at home. I am here, and everything will be fine.”
Reassured by Feng Yi’s words, He Yun finally agreed to stay.
Yangyang, exhausted from the long journey, soon fell fast asleep. Feng Yi stayed to help He Yun unpack and arrange their belongings.
“A-Yi…” He Yun asked, glancing at the faint marks on Feng Yi’s neck where her collar gaped open slightly. “When you are together… is it you taking the medicine, or is it him?”
“We both do. He takes his before, and I take mine afterward,” Feng Yi replied calmly, as if discussing nothing more than the weather.
“If he is already taking his, then you do not need to take yours anymore,” He Yun urged gently, her voice filled with concern. “Continuing this way will only harm your health.”
The world was truly unfair. Even for contraceptive medicine, the kind made for men was designed to nourish the body, while the kind given to women—no matter how carefully she adjusted the formula—still inevitably caused damage. Yet even so, very few men were ever willing to take their share.
“Do not worry, Yun Niang,” Feng Yi patted her hand. “I know what I am doing.”