Soon, dinner was finished.
Wang Shuang personally cleared the bowls and chopsticks, refusing to let Zhao Mingyan lift a hand. Of course, she didn’t have to wash them either—the old maid was tasked with that.
Today, Wang Shuang had already repeated her instructions three times: at breakfast, at lunch, and now again—emphasizing that in this household, Zhao Mingyan was not to do the washing and scrubbing.
The old maid was hired for that. If Zhao Mingyan insisted on doing everything herself, she would be pushing the maid out of her place.
So Zhao Mingyan didn’t dare argue for another chance to prove herself. Still, she couldn’t sit idle. She went around the courtyard, checked the two girls’ rooms on the west side to make sure the windows were shut tight, inspected the water vats and well to ensure the lids were secure, and finally locked the inner courtyard gate.
Strictly speaking, these chores weren’t hers either—they should have been done by the night‑watch maid. But the Nan household had too few people.
There was only one working maid, and she wasn’t even bound by a lifetime contract—just hired labor, who returned to her own home on the first and fifteenth of each month and during holidays.
Fortunately, the Nan household was small and required little work. Zhao Mingyan carried a small candleholder and carefully checked the courtyard herself. Close what needed closing, cover what needed covering—only then could she sleep in peace.
When everything was done, she returned to the study. But as she pushed open the door, she saw a lamp burning on the desk, and a man in plain green robes sitting there, reading by the dim candlelight.
The lamp held three thin wicks, not very bright. The glow fell across his refined, gentle face—half in sharp relief, half softened by the light, making him appear profoundly deep.
No matter how she looked, Zhao Mingyan’s breath caught at first sight.
Nan Yan’s appearance was truly striking. Even though he was older, with a short mustache on his lip, he was still handsome and elegant. She even thought that the world’s praise of Chen Xingwei, heir of the Marquis Xuanping, for his looks was misplaced. Compared to Nan Yan, Chen Xingwei was nothing—he only had youth on his side. If he reached Nan Yan’s age, he would never be this handsome. Thinking so, she wondered just how dazzling Nan Yan must have been in his youth.
“What are you standing there for?” Nan Yan’s voice came from within. He lifted his gaze slightly, his deep black eyes looking at her with gentle warmth.
Their eyes met. Zhao Mingyan immediately lowered her head, her cheeks flushing pink. How could she admit she had been staring at his face in a daze? She quickly shifted the topic, speaking softly, “My lord, are you not resting tonight?”
Nan Yan heard her words and closed the book. “Yes, it’s time to rest.”
Zhao Mingyan let out a quiet breath of relief. She stepped forward to tidy the papers, brushes, and inkstone. “You should rest earlier, my lord. The night is so dark, and the lamp here is dim. Reading late will harm your eyes.”
“Mm.” A soft laugh answered her, the tone light and pleased.
When Zhao Mingyan looked up again, she met Nan Yan’s steady gaze. His sharp, beautiful phoenix eyes were deep and dark, like stars hidden in the night. The flickering candlelight reflected in them like meteors, brief flashes of fire that burned with unexpected tenderness.
Her heart skipped—oh heavens!
Hadn’t she, on her very first day in the Pleasure Bureau, shamelessly clung to Nan Yan precisely because of this face?
If she had to rely on a man to escape that wretched place, of course, she would choose one who looked this good.
Nan Yan had been the most handsome person she had ever seen there.
True, there were young, dashing sons of noble families, not lacking in looks.
But Zhao Mingyan had long thought it through: those young men were unreliable. Their households were full of masters and mistresses, and they held no real power. It was nearly impossible for them to persuade their families to take a woman out of the Pleasure Bureau. And even if one or two foolishly tried, the outcome would likely be the same as her past life in the Marquis Xuanping’s household—torment and ruin. They would eventually marry proper wives, with layers of authority above them. A concubine from the Bureau would be crushed to death under that weight.
No—if one must rely on someone, it had to be an older man.
Older men had wealth. Older men had power. Older men could be depended upon.
Now, looking at the older man before her, his gaze kindled with fire, so much like the passion he had shown when she first entangled herself with him, Zhao Mingyan suddenly panicked.
“My lord, it’s late. You should go rest.” She quickly stepped back, trying to send him away.
The next instant, she was pulled into a firm, warm embrace, the familiar scent of pine enveloping her.
“You’re that impatient?” Nan Yan murmured.
Their eyes met.
Zhao Mingyan: “……”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” she hurried to explain.
His voice was warm, low, and teasing. “Not what you meant? Then what did you mean? From the moment you walked in, weren’t you inviting me to bed?”
Zhao Mingyan’s face instantly flushed crimson. What—what was he saying!
She quickly replayed in her mind everything she had said since entering the room. From the moment she came in, she had been telling him to go to bed.
Oh heavens! But what she meant was that it was late, and he should return to his main chamber to rest. It wasn’t some coy invitation!
“My lord, I truly didn’t mean that. I was saying it’s late—you should go back to your main room…”
Before she could finish, a low, magnetic voice sounded in her ear.
“You weren’t like this in the Pleasure Bureau.”
In an instant, Zhao Mingyan’s heart pounded like a drum. The next moment, she was lifted into his arms, his embrace strong and burning hotter than her own racing pulse.
The red candle was blown out. On the wide bed, the gauze curtains swayed.
Creak, creak. Creak, creak.
She didn’t know how long it lasted. Exhausted beyond measure, Zhao Mingyan thought to herself: alas, her fate was still not so fortunate. She had deliberately chosen an older man, thinking that would mean less vigor. But how had she ended up with one so full of strength? Weren’t older men supposed to be less capable?
The next morning, when she woke, Nan Yan was already gone. It was Wang Shuang who roused her.
She had been so worn out the night before that she hadn’t even heard the courtyard roosters crow. Unexpectedly, she had slept a deep, peaceful sleep.
“Mingyan? Mingyan, time to eat!”
“Mingyan, are you ill?”
Wang Shuang’s voice called from outside. Startled awake, Zhao Mingyan realized daylight was already streaming in. She hurried to dress.
“Sister Shuang, I’m sorry—I overslept.”
“Oversleeping is nothing. I was worried you were sick!” Wang Shuang reached out to feel her forehead. Finding her temperature normal and her complexion even rosier and lovelier than before, she exclaimed, “See? You’ve only been here two days, and already you look prettier. Our household must be nourishing you well!”