It was Ji Jianyun.
Song Xingyue did not know why he was here, nor why he had climbed through her window. Instinctively, she felt it was not good. He was truly relentless—chasing her even here. She quickly pulled down her trouser legs, grabbed the filthy outer garment nearby, and threw it over herself.
He was no longer someone she could meet in such a state. No matter how close they had once been, she was now another man’s wife. To be disheveled before him, alone in a room, was unthinkable.
Ji Jianyun slipped inside with practiced ease. He noticed her movements, her guardedness, and his brows knit tightly. She was wary of him? A shadow fell across his face, his expression dark and brooding in the dim room.
He looked her up and down, sneering: “Married to Xie Linxu, and yet you don’t look any more dignified.”
What was so good about Xie Linxu? Did she even understand the power she was clinging to?
Song Xingyue ignored his mockery. She said firmly: “Why are you here? This is my lodging. Leave.”
Ji Jianyun stepped closer: “Leave? Do you think I came all this way just to leave?”
That morning, his men had reported she had gone alone to Bao’en Temple. He had searched all day, finally hearing she was trapped on the mountain by sudden rain. He had rushed here. He was unwilling to let go.
After their last encounter ended, he had been consumed with bitterness. Arriving on the mountain, he had seen her fall after being shoved, and had followed her here.
Song Xingyue, unable to resist him, put on the dirty clothes again and moved toward the door: “If you won’t go, then I will.”
But Ji Jianyun would not allow it. He seized her, forcing her back into a chair. Standing over her, his hand pressed hard on her shoulder, holding her still. He grabbed her palm without hesitation—blood smeared across it. Seeing her state, he knew she had fallen badly.
When she tried to struggle, he tightened his grip: “Why do you keep avoiding me? Try it again, and I’ll make sure everyone knows.”
Once, she had delighted in seeing him every day. If he suffered even a headache, she had been the most anxious. Now she treated him like a plague, avoiding him as if he were a monster.
Ji Jianyun’s heart burned with shame and anger. He resented her turning her back on him, and his words grew harsher.
“So pitiful, Ah Yue—why is it that anyone can bully you?”
He bent down close to her face, his tone mingling pity with reproach: “You don’t know—these past two years, whenever I heard you were unhappy in the Xie household, I felt a twisted joy. So many times I couldn’t endure, and only by imagining you suffering did I force myself to hold on.”
She did not know that in the northern frontier, he had faced death countless times, biting down on her name just to survive.
Song Xingyue looked at his face, so near. It was sharper now than in his youth, so sharp she felt he had become another person. Yet he was still himself—the same brows, the same eyes. This contradiction left her unsettled. Was the man before her still Ji Jianyun?
Her gaze wavered, but she steadied herself and refused to look away.
“Ah Yun,” she called him.
Ji Jianyun’s eyes flickered, stunned for a long moment. Then he heard her say, “You hate me so much? Then you should be satisfied now.”
“Do you regret it? Hmm?” Ji Jianyun suddenly seized her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. His stare was unyielding: “I’m asking you—do you regret it?”
He did not wait for her answer.
Song Xingyue pressed her lips together, silent from beginning to end.
Her silence only darkened his expression. He pressed on: “Back then—did you have no choice? Was there some hidden reason?”
She had married Xie Linxu. Was it out of necessity?
Meanwhile, Xie Linxu had hurried to Bao’en Temple. Hearing that she had been shoved and fallen, dirtied her clothes, and gone to change, he asked the monks where she was. But he arrived just a step too late—only to see Ji Jianyun climbing through her window.
Xie Linxu did not enter or speak. He stood by the window, hidden. He was her husband, wasn’t he? Yet here he was, skulking like this. He despised the thought of eavesdropping, but his feet would not move. He had known they had met once before in secret. Now, he saw it with his own eyes. He wanted to know—when Song Xingyue said she had let Ji Jianyun go, was it true, or only a lie?
Inside, the two of them looked every bit like old lovers who hadn’t yet severed ties. Even a fool could see it.
He heard Ji Jianyun ask her: “Back then—did you have no choice?”
Autumn rain drummed faintly. His limbs felt soaked through, stiff and cold.
Xie Linxu held his breath, listening, his own breathing slowed.
The moment those words were spoken, silence fell inside. The question was thorny—so much so that even Song Xingyue couldn’t answer. She stared, unable to believe what she had heard, her expression shifting between shock and alarm. She was married now, yet he still harbored feelings. Hadn’t he hated her? And now he thought she had been forced?
Looking at him, her eyes grew cold with bewilderment. She murmured: “You actually think I had no choice…”
She gave a bitter laugh: “What excuse could there be? Don’t be ridiculous, Ah Yun. You think too well of me. I’ll tell you plainly—I had no excuse. I climbed into Xie Linxu’s bed of my own will. He tried to drive me away, but I clung to him regardless… As for the reason, isn’t it clear enough to you?”
Their bond could no longer bear the weight of tender explanations. She tore it apart with blunt cruelty, forcing him to accept a false, settled truth.
Even if her heart still clung to their youthful love—what of it? What should be cut, if left uncut, will only bring chaos. Now, she and Ji Jianyun could only part ways. Otherwise, if Xie Linxu learned of this, he would never forgive her. Her last fragile hope in Xie Linxu kept her from betraying him outright.
Sure enough, hearing her words, Ji Jianyun’s face darkened terribly. His emotions surged; his grip on her shoulder tightened until she winced in pain. His jaw trembled. Suddenly, he seemed weak, unable to speak. After a long struggle, he forced out hoarse words: “You’re lying.”
He was the one who had claimed to hate her, the one who had accused her of chasing wealth—yet now he refused to believe.
Song Xingyue, calmer than he, said evenly: “Xie Linxu and I are husband and wife by proper marriage rites. Stop this impropriety. Leave. Don’t make trouble anymore.”
She had spent too long with Xie Linxu—her speech had grown as rigid and measured as his.
Ji Jianyun, hearing her words, slid his hand brazenly to her waist and said: “Improper? I think it’s just fine.”
The mountain rain poured without end, its noise maddening. Xie Linxu, watching from outside, fixed his gaze on Ji Jianyun’s hand, ready to break in—when Song Xingyue suddenly burst out: “Ji Jianyun, I may be shameless, but must you treat me like this? At least treat me as human! If you dare touch me today, I’ll dash my head against the wall and die, just to be free!”
Xie Linxu already brooded over their past. If such a thing truly happened, he would never forgive her. His pride was too fierce—he had barely endured her history with Ji Jianyun. If more were added, she feared he would kill her himself.
But Ji Jianyun clung to her like a ghost, relentless, haunting. Seeing her cold eyes, he finally withdrew his hand, saying bitterly: “A virtuous, chaste woman—turned into a moral fool by Xie Linxu. With that temperament, do you even enjoy yourself in his bed?”
Song Xingyue was not so generous as to discuss her private life with him. She turned her head away: “Leave. Stop saying such things. Whether he is good or not—it has nothing to do with you.”
Ji Jianyun folded his arms, mocking: “Don’t tell me you love him so purely. You only play at deceiving hearts. You tricked me once; now you trick him. There’s no one else here—yet you defend him. Even you don’t believe it.”
Song Xingyue, provoked beyond endurance, answered sharply: “Is that so? Whether I love him or not—what’s it to you? Even if I don’t, even if I only covet the Xie family’s power—he has it. Do you? You can’t even secure your own future. What right have you to speak of love? And I’ve never wronged you. Don’t keep saying I abandoned you—because you were the one who left first. And don’t hate me so much—I cannot bear it!”
Always accusing her of deceit—yet had she not cared for him when he cared for her? It was he who left. It was he who could not let go. And now he blamed her for his torment.
Song Xingyue said firmly: “I only want to live well with him now. He’s at home waiting for me to celebrate my birthday. Stop troubling me.”
She had asked Xie Linxu to return early—was he home yet? If he was and she wasn’t, would he worry? She had meant to change into clean clothes before leaving. But with Ji Jianyun in the room, she couldn’t stay. Better to run out, find Danping, and go straight home.
Dirty clothes would have to do. If she delayed further, it would be too late and unsafe on the road.
Song Xingyue shoved Ji Jianyun aside and hurried out.
Xie Linxu had already hidden himself around the corner. The two just missed each other. His eyes followed her departing figure. The man, usually so calm and bright, now looked dark and shadowed. He listened to it all—like an outsider, though not quite one. She said she did not love him. She said she had married into power. She asked him to come home early—and he had obeyed?
He returned early and went up the mountain to fetch her. And what had she given him in return?
Song Xingyue… Xie Linxu thought of those three characters, and his lips tightened with cold hatred. He had to admit again, today, that his wife—the woman he had married properly, by rites—was truly base, truly vile.
Once, there had been a veil to cover it. Now, she herself had torn it away, leaving nothing hidden. He saw clearly, unmistakably, that she was not a pure woman. But hadn’t he already known this long ago? He thought of the past two years—every time she laughed in his arms, every time she cried—it had all been an act.
Every time she whispered “I like Changzhou” while lying on him, it was only to win his heart, only to make him, like Ji Jianyun, lose himself in her.
From beginning to end, he was the one deceived. And shamefully, he had still clung to a few illusions.
Xie Linxu did not chase after Song Xingyue. He descended the mountain alone. At the foot, he saw the Li family’s carriage waiting.
Li Huaixin lifted the curtain and peered through the rain: “Changzhou, why have you come up the mountain too?”
Xie Linxu’s carriage was unmistakable—purple sandalwood body, jeweled canopy, the Xie family crest hanging at the side.
At first sight, she thought her eyes deceived her. But when he stepped down, she realized it truly was him. She thought he had come to fetch Song Xingyue home. Yet he descended alone.
She asked: “Where is Xingyue? Weren’t you here to bring her back?”
Xie Linxu was silent for a long time, then only shook his head.
Li Huaixin sensed something was wrong, but did not press. She only said: “Grandfather has been ill these past few days, always asking for you. Could you spare some time to visit him?”
Madam Li leaned out and said directly: “Yes, Changzhou, Father has been speaking of you often while bedridden. Why not today? Since we’ve met, come with us to see him. It’s already dark—stay at the Li household overnight.”
From Li Huaixin’s understanding of Xie Linxu, she thought he would refuse. Yet to her surprise, he agreed. His voice was low: “Since it’s convenient, then today it shall be.”
He boarded the Xie family carriage and followed their party toward the Li residence.
Meanwhile, Song Xingyue no longer tangled with Ji Jianyun. After pushing him away, she hurried off. Still wearing her filthy clothes, she searched for Danping. Once she found her, she decided not to change—night had already fallen, and she feared trouble. She only wanted to return home quickly. She lifted her dirty hem as she descended the mountain. Mist and rain clung to her lashes, as though she were steeped in salty tears.
She suspected Ji Jianyun had men tracking her. Otherwise, how could he have known she came to Bao’en Temple today, arriving right after her?
Even if her days with him had once been joyful—the happiest three years of her life—now it was over.
She owed Xie Linxu. Climbing into his bed had already been a betrayal. How could she dare rekindle old love with Ji Jianyun? Besides, with Xie Linxu’s pride, if he discovered this, he would never speak to her again. She had exhausted herself trying to soothe him. How could she risk more?
The thought of it all made her dizzy with anxiety. Once in the carriage, she collapsed onto the seat.
Danping, puzzled, asked: “Miss, what’s wrong? Are you upset because your clothes are dirty?”
Song Xingyue pushed the unhappy thoughts aside. She looked at Danping and asked softly: “Do you think Changzhou is home now?”
Danping smiled, reassuring her: “Even if the heir didn’t return early, he should be finished at the Academy by now.”
If he was finished, then he should be at home.
Thinking of Xie Linxu waiting for her, Song Xingyue’s heart eased. When she returned, she would tell him she had fallen outside, scraped her hands and knees, and it hurt so much. He would surely frown and scold her for being careless—but when he applied medicine, he was always the gentlest.
She would shed a few tears, say how unlucky the day had been—rain, a fall, and on her birthday no less. And then… then she would talk with him at length, and they would spend her birthday together.
And then—when feelings ran deep, red curtains warm, thunder and fire between them. He always had a way of making her forget all the unhappiness.
Song Xingyue could hardly wait to see Xie Linxu. She longed to throw herself into his arms, tell him how much it hurt, ask if he could pity her just a little—and beg him not to sulk with her anymore. Yet when she returned home, his carriage was nowhere to be seen.