When Jiang Zhixiu returned home, he heard of the quarrel at Songrong Hall. Exhausted, he ignored them and went straight to Luomei Pavilion.
His family had named the pavilion after plum blossoms, and since Meiying’s name also bore the character *Mei*, it symbolized that this plum flower had fallen into his household—destined by heaven.
Xie Meiying, dressed in white, sat beneath the blossoms, absorbed in her medical texts, beautiful as a painting.
Jiang Zhixiu watched her quietly for a moment, then stepped behind her and said suddenly: “The light is fading. You’ll strain your eyes. Continue tomorrow.”
Startled, she looked up. Seeing her beloved, she blushed: “Lord Jiang, why are you here?”
He smiled: “Where you are, how could I not come? Don’t call me ‘Lord Jiang.’ Call me Jiang‑lang.”
Her pale face flushed deeper. She lowered her gaze: “You’ve returned home. You should spend more time with your parents and wife and children. Don’t worry about me.”
He gently took her hand, his usually calm eyes burning with intensity:
“You are also my wife.”
She struggled briefly, then let him hold her, her voice tinged with bitterness: “Not yet.”
He knew her fears and said firmly: “Rest assured, I will never betray you.”
She sighed: “Jiang‑lang, if it is too difficult, then let it go.”
He grew agitated: “How can I let it go? That day, we vowed to live and die together, never to abandon each other. Have you forgotten?”
Her eyes filled with tears: “I haven’t forgotten! But…but…”
He Fangting was nothing like she had imagined.
Jiang Zhixiu had always described He Fangting as vulgar, pretentious, and grasping. In Xie Meiying’s mind, He Fangting was a dull, ordinary middle‑aged woman, trapped in household chores, faded in beauty, tedious in speech—like many noblewomen she had met in Huainan.
But the He Fangting she saw yesterday was utterly different. Though thirty‑four and mother of two, she looked barely twenty, with bright eyes and flawless teeth, breathtakingly beautiful, regal and elegant, the most stunning woman Xie Meiying had ever seen. Her natural grace made Xie Meiying feel small in comparison. The vivid red cinnabar mole between her brows gave her an ethereal charm, otherworldly.
The only advantage Xie Meiying had was youth. Yet even that seemed slight—time had left no trace on He Fangting.
Could Jiang Zhixiu truly abandon such a woman to spend his life with her? Xie Meiying had little confidence. Perhaps his passion was only a passing fancy.
Jiang Zhixiu guessed her thoughts and said sternly: “If you think that way, you belittle both yourself and me. Meiying, you and I are not merely lovers, but kindred spirits. Ours is no ordinary bond between man and woman. I, Jiang Zhixiu, am not some shallow man who values beauty alone. In my heart, you are the proud plum blossom in winter, my companion for life.”
His words moved her deeply. She murmured: “To grow old yet remain as new; to meet as if always known.”
She had worried too much. Jiang‑lang’s sincerity was something she should not doubt.
Between people, fate was what mattered. From the moment she met him, she felt he was extraordinary; he felt the same about her. Their bond grew while aiding disaster victims and exposing corrupt officials—feelings born not of parental arrangement or matchmaker’s word, unlike He Fangting’s marriage.
This affection was deep and pure, untouched by worldly interests, springing straight from the heart.
Though He Fangting had been married into the Jiang family for eighteen years, she had never entered Jiang‑lang’s heart.
She was the one who had. She should trust in that, and believe that no matter how difficult the road ahead, she would walk it with him.
Jiang Zhixiu held her close, sighing softly: “To meet you for the first time was as if an old friend had returned.”
Eighteen years in officialdom had taught him to live with strict discipline, calm restraint, and selfless integrity. Xie Meiying was his only private desire.
They leaned on each other for a long while. At last, Xie Meiying reluctantly pushed him away: “Jiang‑lang, you should go back now.”
He answered gently: “Very well.”
Their love was heartfelt but restrained; until marriage, they must keep the boundary. That one accident before returning to the capital should never have happened.
As he left, he remembered something: “Today I visited Headmaster Fang of Yunshan Academy. Tomorrow I’ll take Rongmo to enroll.”
Yunshan Academy was the finest in the capital; his son Jiang Jiayu also studied there.
Xie Rongmo, Xie Meiying’s nephew, was fifteen, gifted with a prodigious memory. Merely by occasionally listening in at lectures, he had already passed the county exam. With proper guidance, the top rank would be within reach.
Jiang Zhixiu himself had once entered only the second rank, never the first—a lifelong regret. He had hoped his son might redeem it, but Jiang Jiayu’s talent was limited; even the third rank seemed doubtful.
Xie Rongmo gave him hope.
Once he married Xie Meiying, Xie Rongmo would be his nephew by marriage, no longer an outsider.
Seeing him so attentive to her family’s affairs, Xie Meiying felt deeply comforted and resolved to share his life to the end.
They exchanged many tender words before Jiang Zhixiu finally left Luomei Pavilion, turning back again and again.
Neither of them knew that everything they said and did that night was reported to the Chunming Court.
He Fangting, hearing it, sneered inwardly. What a pair of lovers—truly of one heart. If she were not Jiang Zhixiu’s lawful wife, she might even have been moved. Instead, she thought no more of it, bathed, changed, and went to rest.