Zhao Mingyan followed Nan Yan back in the carriage. On the way, her mind raced.
Nan Yan.
She had heard of this man before. Before the Zhao family’s downfall, his name had often been mentioned by her father and the uncles and brothers who held office.
What she remembered most was that the Zhao family had repeatedly invited Nan Yan to banquets to build ties, but he had never once attended. The Zhao family said he was arrogant, conceited, and ungrateful. And even more arrogant and domineering, they said, was his wife.
At that time, the Zhao family had wanted to befriend Nan Yan, so her stepmother—the Zhao family’s principal wife—had tried to approach Nan Yan’s wife, Madam Wang. They discovered she was a country-born woman, remarried after widowhood.
Nan Yan had been a widower. His first wife had died of illness before he passed the imperial exams, leaving behind a young daughter. Raising a girl alone was inconvenient, and after he became the top scholar, matchmakers crowded his door. Eventually, he agreed to remarry. But to everyone’s surprise, he chose a widow from his hometown.
A widower marrying a widow was fitting enough, but Nan Yan was no ordinary man—he was the top scholar of his year, later rising swiftly from the Hanlin Academy to the Grand Secretariat, becoming the youngest grand secretary. His remarried wife was considered unpresentable.
One colleague even secretly sent women to Nan Yan, urging him to divorce Madam Wang and remarry. When Madam Wang found out, she stormed into that household with a full bridal procession, dressing the two women in wedding gowns and sending them back, declaring that if they wanted to replace Nan Yan’s wife, they should first replace their own.
That day, her reputation as jealous and fierce spread far and wide. Even the emperor was alerted. Hearing of her jealousy, he summoned her, and in front of her, gifted Nan Yan two beautiful maidservants. If she refused to accept them, she would be given a cup of poison.
Without hesitation, Madam Wang chose the poison. Of course, it was not real poison—only a large cup of vinegar.
Madam Wang drained the entire cup of aged vinegar, leaving everyone stunned. Even the old emperor was shocked by such a fierce woman. From then on, he never again spoke of sending concubines to Nan Yan, nor did he allow anyone to sow discord between husband and wife.
After that, Nan Yan’s household was utterly peaceful—there wasn’t even a single maidservant hovering around him. When he went out drinking with colleagues, no one dared arrange female companions for him. Everyone knew Nan Yan lived with a tigress at home!
The Zhao family’s matriarch had tried to befriend Madam Wang, but each attempt ended in humiliation. Madam Wang, being of rustic origin, was blunt and unrefined, with no sense of social etiquette. She gave no face to anyone, and several times left the Zhao matriarch—a noblewoman of high birth—publicly embarrassed.
The last time, the Zhao matriarch lost her composure entirely, cursing at home, calling Madam Wang a “country bumpkin tigress” and a “village cur,” vowing never again to associate with such a coarse woman.
Thus, Zhao Mingyan had long heard of Nan Yan and Madam Wang while still in the boudoir.
She had never imagined that the older man she clung to in the Pleasure Bureau would turn out to be Grand Secretary Nan, the very one with a tigress wife. If she had known his identity earlier, on her first day in the Bureau, she would have chosen another target immediately!
“What’s wrong?”
As Zhao Mingyan worried about her future, a gentle, refined voice sounded in her ear. Startled, she lifted her head and met a pair of steady eyes, deep as a well.
“Nothing,” Zhao Mingyan quickly averted her gaze, lowering her head and replying softly.
“You’re very nervous?” Nan Yan seemed to see straight through her heart.
How could Zhao Mingyan admit her nervousness? She knew her current status all too well. She was no longer the daughter of Minister Zhao, nor the future wife of the Marquis’s heir. She was merely the daughter of a disgraced minister, a government courtesan just freed from the Pleasure Bureau.
No matter whom she followed, she could only ever be the lowest‑ranked concubine in another household. Not even a proper concubine of good standing. Her only hope was to encounter a kind and tolerant mistress and carefully carve out a way to survive.
“I am fine,” Zhao Mingyan said, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, my lord, for your concern.”
Nan Yan raised his brows at her submissive demeanor. From his lips came an unexpected remark: “Just a few days ago, you weren’t so hesitant. I remember you—quite warm and forward.”
At once, Zhao Mingyan’s face flushed crimson. Her mind filled with images of how she had entangled herself with Nan Yan in the past few days.
To make him remember her, to save her, she had indeed been overly warm and forward. She had flattered and coaxed, acted coquettish, sought his favor—she had tried everything she could think of. She had even been secretly glad she had once rifled through her mother’s chest and found an old manual of bedroom arts, practicing every technique it taught. Unexpectedly, it had worked.
But that was then. Now was different.
At that time, trapped in the Pleasure Bureau, she had no choice but to break through her own limits to find a way to survive. But now, she had shed the identity of a government courtesan—she was a woman of clean status again. How could she still dare to be so bold and reckless?
She bit her lip, her pretty face flushed red as though it would bleed. Fortunately, just then, their carriage creaked to a halt.
“My lord, we’ve arrived.” The voice of the servant Song Feng came from outside.
Nan Yan heard it, glanced once more at Zhao Mingyan, then rose to step out. As he did, the corners of his lips curved faintly.
Inside the carriage, Zhao Mingyan saw him leave and immediately let out a breath of relief. She pressed her burning cheeks with both hands, straightened her appearance, steadied her breathing, and followed him down.
Once outside, the first thing she saw was a modest little residence with double doors. A narrow lane paved with blue stone, three steps up to the threshold—it was hardly a grand mansion. There was no plaque above the gate, only two large red lanterns, each painted with the single character “Nan.”
This was Nan Yan’s home.
The servant tied up the carriage at the entrance, and soon someone inside opened the gate.
It was an old steward, over fifty. Seeing Nan Yan, his face lit up. “My lord, you’ve returned.”
Nan Yan nodded and stepped inside. The old steward quickly noticed the young, beautiful woman following behind. At the sight of her, he grew excited and blurted out, “Madam!”
Zhao Mingyan froze, staring at him in shock.
The steward, realizing his mistake, hurriedly corrected himself. “No, no, forgive me, young lady. These old eyes deceived me.”
Nan Yan’s voice came then: “Uncle Chen, this is Mingyan, the fifth daughter of Minister Zhao’s household.”
Hearing this, the steward bowed repeatedly. “So it is Miss Zhao. Forgive me, Miss Zhao.”
Zhao Mingyan quickly replied, “Sir, no need for formality. Please don’t call me Miss Zhao. My status is humble now—just call me Mingyan.”
“This…” Uncle Chen glanced at Nan Yan, who gave a slight nod. Receiving his signal, the steward smiled warmly at Zhao Mingyan. “Miss Mingyan, you are too polite. The wind at the gate is strong—please follow my lord inside.”