Wang Yajuan was left speechless, nearly choking on the staggering figure. “Millions? I would never dare dream that big — and you say it so casually! You truly are something. Now that you put it that way… I don’t mind the fine anymore.”
Having comforted herself, she thought of something else. “You and that officer who arrested us — you know each other, don’t you?”
“We do,” Jiang Yuan admitted.
“Then why was he so unyielding? It was such a small matter — did he really have to haul us in?”
Given how thoroughly Jiang Yuan had provoked him, his restraint alone was remarkable; kindness or leniency was far beyond what she might reasonably expect. The explanation being too complex, Jiang Yuan offered a simpler version:
“When I say ‘know him,’ I mean we have met a few times. That is all. He has no reason to show me favour.”
“No reason? Are you blind to how beautiful you are? Any man would lean over backward to help you! Ask Chief Cheng who took our statement just now — stern as a judge with everyone else, but the moment he looked at you, he turned bright red. He would grant you anything, not merely leniency! Men aside — even I, the first time I saw you, scarcely dared breathe too loudly. Whatever you said, I could only nod and agree.”
Jiang Yuan had heard such words before — in her past life, Wang Yajuan had spoken much the same. Back then, amid the company of the departed, Wang Yajuan had been her truest friend. She had died at thirty‑five, wise and experienced. This Wang Yajuan was nineteen — bright, yet still young and unschooled. Often she had sighed, wishing someone had guided her when she was young; had she possessed counsel, her life might have been far easier.
Jiang Yuan chose her words carefully. “A man of his standing and appearance — what woman could he ever want? If he wished, he might wed a fairy from the heavens. Women like me are nothing remarkable to him. More than that — men such as he value achievement, interest, and heirs. They do not look upon women first and foremost. He would never spare a woman simply out of compassion.”
Nineteen‑year‑old Wang Yajuan was having none of it. “And what are you, compared to a heavenly fairy? Why could he not feel compassion for you? They say even heroes fall before beauty. He may be a hero indeed — but you are beauty itself!”
If this were any later era, Jiang Yuan would have sworn she had watched too many melodramas where the powerful hero falls helplessly for the ordinary girl.
“Very well — if even heroes fall before beauty,” Jiang Yuan asked calmly, “then why is the beauty locked in a cell?”
Wang Yajuan fell silent. “…I take it back. He is no hero — he is blind. How could he fail to see how lovely you are?”
Just then, a police officer arrived bringing quilts, fresh clothing, and food. When asked who had sent them, he gave no name — only that they were from a member of her family.
Jiang Yuan had no kin in the capital. Presumably it came from Wang Yajuan’s family.
Wang Yajuan inspected the quilt and shook her head firmly. “This is new. My parents love me, yes — but not enough to buy me something like this. Besides, the fabric is special‑issue. Not even their money could buy such quality.”
The reasoning was sound — yet Jiang Yuan asked: “How can you tell this is special‑issue, unavailable to the public?”
Wang Yajuan held up a corner and pointed to faint characters woven into the weave. “It says so right here.”
Jiang Yuan leaned in and saw it was indeed so.
“No one in my family for three generations has held office,” Wang Yajuan mused, stroking her chin. “None of them could obtain such things. Could it have been Chief Cheng?”
Then she reconsidered, shaking her head. “No — if it were him, he would not have sent it anonymously or claimed it was from family. That would be foolish — to give kindness and hide one’s hand. Could it have been Commander Lu?”
“Impossible,” Jiang Yuan said at once.
She suspected Lu Ze — but she could not say so. To name him would invite questions about their relationship, and that was not what she wanted.
“Why impossible?” Wang Yajuan pressed on. “You have no family here. And aside from him — no one even knew we were being held. I say he likes you. Even if he does not — you could try! As you said — he has looks, he has power. Marry him, and you would never need to scrape and save. You need only spend money. How wonderful would that be?”
If not for the child beneath her heart… Jiang Yuan might indeed have been tempted. That face, that bearing — truly a worthy investment. But there was the child. There was no “if.”
Jiang Yuan’s expression tightened. At last she said plainly: “He does not look upon me that way.”
“How can you say such a thing? You are so beautiful — what man could fail to be drawn to you?”
Jiang Yuan thought to herself: I have stood in his embrace twice, kissed him twice — and far from being moved, he regarded me with nothing short of revulsion. Not merely indifferent — he did not see me as a woman at all. Scarcely even as human.
She looked at Wang Yajuan and said: “Would you ever fall for a dog? In his eyes — I am scarcely different from a dog. Do you understand now?”
Wang Yajuan did not understand. Just as in her past life, Jiang Yuan had failed to understand why Song Yuhua could never accept her as a daughter‑in‑law. Later she had learned: class — something never spoken aloud, never formally acknowledged — yet ever present, weighing in the balance. To Song Yuhua, a girl from the countryside was no better than a stray cat or dog — dirty, unrefined, unsuitable… Just as the departed souls in her memory had said: they bore no ill will toward those who delivered goods or guarded gates — but they would never suffer their own sons to take such work, or marry their daughters to such people. Tales of noble lords falling for maidservants existed only in novels and romances.
The detention period was less confinement than instruction. They gathered together to hear lectures on cases — women traveling alone set upon in alleyways and assaulted, only to take their own lives afterward; men sentenced to death for violent crimes. Women selling eggs robbed on their way home; pastry sellers assaulted and robbed… The conclusion drawn: women were easy targets for lawless men. The implicit message: stay indoors. Do not wander. And certainly — do not trade upon the streets.
Jiang Yuan felt the lesson was aimed squarely at her. Even if it were not — the reasoning was flawed. She stood up and spoke:
“Comrade Officer — what you have just stated is nothing less than blaming the victim. That women who stay indoors after dark will not be harmed. That women who do not wander will not be set upon. Or that wicked men somehow choose only those who venture out, and never harm those who remain safely at home. By that logic — is it acceptable to harm any woman who steps out after nightfall? Is any woman who trades in the street fair game for robbery? And are those who remain indoors safe from harm at all?”
The premise, plainly, did not hold.