The sunlight shimmered brilliantly, the spring day warm and pleasant, casting even the withered crabapple branch stuck in the cracked clay pot in a radiant glow.
"I cut this branch last night—how is it already wilted after just one night?"
Jiang Weiyao lifted the drooping flower branch, her expression displeased.
As she neared the window, a gentle breeze brushed past, carrying the scent of blood with it.
She followed the sounds coming from the courtyard.
Through the dense clusters of peach branches, she could see Pei Yunheng's broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted figure. Though he wore ill-fitting coarse cloth garments, his powerful frame—broad back, wasp waist, and long legs—could not be concealed.
Beside him sat a bucket of hot water and a gleaming, razor-sharp kitchen knife. The chicken's neck had already been wrung, its crimson blood flowing into a bowl below.
Once the chicken had completely stopped breathing, he began plucking feathers, skinning, and deboning with fluid, practiced movements.
Watching him steadily, a faint, ambiguous smile suddenly curled at the corners of Jiang Weiyao's lips.
Having plucked every feather with meticulous care, Pei Yunheng picked up the kitchen knife beside him. The sharp blade glinted with cold light under the sun. He lowered his eyes, swung the knife in one clean stroke to sever the chicken's head, then turned the blade tip and split the plump bird open from breast to belly.
Blood ran down his long, fair fingers as he calmly pulled out the innards. A few drops of chicken blood splattered onto his face, trickling down his cheek.
This scene involuntarily reminded Jiang Weiyao of the time she had been dragged into the Imperial Prison—Pei Yunheng had been just as unhurried, stripping flesh from bone and chopping meat right before her eyes.
A guttering candle flickered, its flame dim and unsteady.
In the damp, cramped cell, a bird that had flown in by accident found itself trapped in that tiny space, unable to escape, its cries shrill and desperate.
Deerskin boots trod through the blood-soaked ground as he approached. Jiang Weiyao, bound by iron chains to the torture rack, lifted her eyes to look—beneath the solitary hanging candle flame, Pei Yunheng's jade crown held his hair in place, and his vivid red Flying Fish Robe made his already pale skin appear even colder and whiter.
He caught the panicked, screeching bird, then paced over to stand beneath the skylight. The dim yellow glow fell across his deep-set brows and eyes, leaving the scattered specks of blood nowhere to hide.
Opening his hand, he released the bird through the skylight, then walked back to the wooden rack where flesh and gore still dripped.
Just as he did now with the chicken, he picked up the kitchen knife, lowered his thick, curling lashes, and chopped the meat with focused concentration.
If only that flesh hadn't been her companion's.
"Oh my, Little Pei, you're certainly quick with your hands."
Aunt Zhou walked into the courtyard and couldn't help but praise him upon seeing the scene.
When this handsome young couple had first come to rent a house from her, she had found it strange. Neither in appearance nor in bearing did they resemble ordinary folk—why would they be willing to live in such a poor, rural place?
If not for the fact that her small courtyard house was indeed difficult to rent out, and that the young wife was so sweet-tongued and endearing, she wouldn't have agreed.
Especially the husband.
He was tall and imposing, with handsome features, yet cold and stern, never one for smiles. When he looked at you, his pitch-black eyes held a deep, murky chill—far from someone easy to get along with.
On ordinary days, she would steer clear of him and only speak with the young wife surnamed Jiang.
"Aunt Zhou, what brings you here?"
Setting aside her thoughts, Jiang Weiyao stepped forward to greet her with a warm smile: "It just so happens we're butchering a chicken today. Let me pack up those two chicken feet for you to take back—give them to Daya and Erya to eat."
With that, she reached up and patted the head of Erya, who stood silently beside Aunt Zhou: "Why do you look so down in the dumps? Who made you unhappy?"
Drawing closer, she could detect a faint fragrance on Erya—pleasant enough, but not the kind of scent that common country folk could afford.
Erya lowered her head and mumbled sullenly, "Sister is getting married, so she won't be able to eat chicken feet."
Jiang Weiyao was taken aback, not understanding what she meant, but Aunt Zhou immediately cut in, "Sangou picked two baskets of wild fruit from the back mountain. I tasted them and thought they were quite good, so I brought some for you."
Jiang Weiyao took the basket, then heard Aunt Zhou say sheepishly, "Daya is about to get married. According to custom, we need to hang red lanterns and silk at the door, but… could I trouble young Pei to help me?"
Aunt Zhou was a widow, and Erya and Sangou were too young and short to reach the top of the door.
"This is a happy occasion—how could I refuse?"
Jiang Weiyao smiled faintly and looked up at Pei Yunheng beside her, enunciating each word, "Isn't that right, husband?"
Sure enough, Pei Yunheng's body visibly stiffened.
Jiang Weiyao was satisfied.
After a pause, seeing that Pei Yunheng did not answer, Jiang Weiyao stepped closer and called again, "Husband?"
Just as her fingertips were about to touch Pei Yunheng's wrist, he set down the kitchen knife with a clatter.
His jaw tight, he strode out of the courtyard, "Let's go."
Pulling Erya along, Aunt Zhou followed in confusion.
Pleased by Pei Yunheng's reaction, Jiang Weiyao was in a great mood. But no sooner had she returned to the room and poured herself a bowl of hot water than someone came to the door.
"Lady Jiang, my apologies. The donkey cart broke down halfway and delayed me a bit."
Wang Mingke, a medicine box slung across his shoulder, jogged in wiping his sweat. Before he could force out an obsequious smile, Jiang Weiyao's lazy voice sounded, "Drop the act. He's not home."
His steps halted, and Wang Mingke obligingly sat down inside, "Got anything to eat? I'm starving."
"No idea. I don't go into the kitchen."
Wang Mingke was stunned, then praised sincerely, "To think you've got an Imperial Guard cooking for you—seems you've won Pei Yunheng's trust?"
"Ten or twenty percent, maybe." Catching Wang Mingke's incredulous look, Jiang Weiyao scoffed, "He cooks because he doesn't trust me. He's afraid I'll poison him."
Wang Mingke: "…When the two of you crawled into the medicine hall covered in wounds, I secretly told you it'd be better to just kill him, and you wouldn't listen."
"We didn't crawl. Don't exaggerate." Jiang Weiyao sipped her hot water. "And don't you think it's interesting?"
"Interesting how?"
Wang Mingke asked humbly, "Lying low beside a venomous snake that could wake at any moment, just waiting to die?"
He proposed again, "Kill him sooner to avoid trouble."
Jiang Weiyao said nothing.
Daylight poured down, falling on her fair, clean face. Her lashes drooped slightly, casting a small shadow that made it impossible to read the emotion in her eyes.
She suddenly changed the subject, "Do you know when I first met Pei Yunheng?"
"The Imperial Prison. An Imperial Guard and a criminal." Wang Mingke was baffled. "Reminiscing about glorious years gone by? Or are you saying you're toying with him now out of spite?"
Jiang Weiyao stood up and shook her head gently, "No."
"Then what?" Wang Mingke pressed.
But Jiang Weiyao refused to say more, "Did you bring everything?"
"How could I forget what you instructed? By the way, they're sending people to search the cliff where you fell. The Spring-embroidered Blade has been found. The rest will take time."
Wang Mingke handed the jade pendant to her, then suddenly lowered his voice in warning: "Something about this village feels off. I'll do my best to investigate. This place is remote, hard to reach, and far from the county office—be extra careful in your dealings."
Jiang Weiyao acknowledged with a simple, "I'm off."
"Off where?"
A smile laced her voice: "Why, to find my dear husband, of course."
Wang Mingke nearly stumbled flat on his face.
After picking a few fresh wild fruits and washing them clean, Jiang Weiyao carried her basket to Aunt Zhou's home.
Aunt Zhou spotted Jiang Weiyao from afar and laughed: "You young couple are truly inseparable—can't bear a moment apart. Just in time, Xiao Pei has finished his work. Take him back now; I won't keep him for tea."
Jiang Weiyao lowered her head, seeming a little shy: "Don't tease me, Auntie. I just thought these wild fruits were truly delicious, so I brought a few for my husband to try."
Standing in the shadows, Pei Yunheng listened to the conversation outside, his eyelids half-lowered, his dark eyes brimming with disgust and murderous intent he no longer bothered to conceal.
He closed his eyes.
"Would I let him go without fruit in my home?"
Aunt Zhou laughed as she lifted the cotton door curtain, about to call out—only to startle at Pei Yunheng standing right at the doorway.
She stumbled back a few steps, clutching her chest: "Xiao Pei, why are you standing here without saying a word?"
"Husband."
Jiang Weiyao stepped up onto the threshold, standing at the door with a radiant smile: "I've come to take you home."
The daylight was clear, spring in full bloom.
Jiang Weiyao stood against the spring scenery, her pale yellow silk dress rippling in the breeze. The warm sun behind her, neither scorching nor harsh, fell upon her, gilding even the loose strand of hair before her apricot-colored eyes with a soft glow.
She asked with concern: "I brought water and fruit—are you thirsty or hungry?"
His gaze dark and unreadable, Pei Yunheng fixed his eyes on Jiang Weiyao for a moment, saying nothing.
It was Aunt Zhou who beamed with delight: "He's been helping me—how could I let him go hungry or thirsty?"
She then said to Pei Yunheng: "Your wife truly dotes on you."
Pei Yunheng walked out of the house, his expression already restored to calm: "Time to go back."
With that, he strode off, not bothering to check whether Jiang Weiyao was following.
"Like a gourd with its mouth sewn shut," Aunt Zhou sighed.
Jiang Weiyao, however, didn't mind. After taking her leave of Aunt Zhou, she trotted to catch up with Pei Yunheng.
"Husband, would you like a fruit? It's very sweet." Jiang Weiyao held out a fruit to Pei Yunheng.
His gaze swept over the green fruit, and he said, "I'm not hungry."
"Then some water? I cooled it specially for you."
Pei Yunheng quickened his pace, saying flatly, "I'm not thirsty."
Lowering her head, Jiang Weiyao's eyes drooped with disappointment, her steps gradually slowing, the tips of her fingers gripping the bamboo basket turning faintly pale.
But soon, she composed herself and caught up again, speaking softly: "Then let's go home."
"…"
Pei Yunheng pretended not to hear.
Back in the courtyard, his gaze sweeping the ground, Pei Yunheng picked up the chopped chicken and walked into the kitchen.
Jiang Weiyao went inside the house.
Her eyes landing on the wooden chest tucked in the corner, and hearing the sound of the stove fire crackling in the kitchen, Jiang Weiyao crept over with hushed footsteps.
Inside the wooden chest lay the Imperial Guard uniform Pei Yunheng had worn when he fell off the cliff.
—It was said that Imperial Guards would sew secret intelligence reports into their uniforms to prevent them from being lost.
Gently, she opened the wooden chest. Jiang Weiyao lifted the tattered garment and laid it across her knees, her fingertips tracing the hidden cloud embroidery inch by inch—
Suddenly, her hands froze.
There really was something there!
Jiang Weiyao's eyes lit up.
"What are you doing?"
From behind her, Pei Yunheng's voice drifted over, light as air.
Her movements halted. Jiang Weiyao turned around in surprise. "H-Husband, weren't you in the kitchen? How did you come in without a sound?"
His dark pupils fixed motionless on Jiang Weiyao's slightly panicked expression, then traveled slowly down her face. Pei Yunheng stepped closer, his tall figure enveloping her completely.
Gazing down at her coldly, Pei Yunheng seized the hand Jiang Weiyao was trying to hide behind her back. His lips curved suddenly, his tone indescribably strange: "What's in your hand?"
"N-Nothing… Ow—ow!"
Before Jiang Weiyao could finish her evasive words, Pei Yunheng had lost the patience to listen. He pried her tightly clenched fingers open, one by one.
Jiang Weiyao cried out in pain, her eyes instantly reddening. The object in her hand clattered to the ground.
Pei Yunheng glanced down. His brow furrowed.