Lu Qiyu had seen plenty of shrews in his time—those who threw tantrums, rolled on the ground to play the victim, stood with hands on hips hurling insults… or like Lu Ze’s own mother, who used softness to overcome strength.
But never had he met someone like the woman before him—someone who could set aside pride, risk her life, and possess both strategy and resolve.
His naive, inexperienced son stood no chance against her.
It was just a marriage certificate after all—hardly a matter of great consequence.
Lu Qiyu took his final drag from the cigarette, stubbed it out in the ashtray, then stood up. “Very well. I agree to marry you.”
He took two long strides toward her, his tall frame casting a shadow that enveloped her entirely. Jiang Yuan tilted her chin upward and met his gaze—sharp and piercing as a hawk’s dark eyes. Beneath the overwhelming weight of his scrutiny, she held her ground, not retreating an inch.
The imposing man looked away and walked over to his desk instead. He sat down, took pen and paper, and wrote out the words Application for Marriage in bold characters. Only then did Jiang Yuan allow herself a breath of relief.
Just like the man himself, his calligraphy was vigorous and forceful—appearing upright and proper on the surface, yet revealing beneath every stroke a wildness impossible to pin down. It looked exactly like the characters carved upon her gravestone in her past life.
Lost in thought, Jiang Yuan did not notice when Lu Qiyu set down his pen.
A knock came at the door. At Lu Qiyu’s low command, someone entered.
It was Xu Qianjin—Lu Qiyu’s trusted aide—followed closely by Lu Ze, who had rushed back the moment word reached him.
The last time Jiang Yuan had seen Lu Ze was before her own grave. Back then, his eyes had been hollow, his face streaked with unkempt stubble, worn thin by utter despair.
Now he stood before her bright and vivid, like a photograph before it had faded—the very image of the young man in Meng Jiao’s poem: “Riding high on success, my horse gallops swiftly; I see all the blossoms of Chang’an in a single day.”
Judging solely by his looks, it was no wonder she had once fallen for him.
Right before Jiang Yuan’s eyes, Lu Qiyu handed the marriage application to Xu Qianjin and instructed him to submit it to their superiors for approval. Then he turned toward his son and asked a single question:
“Who told you to return?”
Since stepping through the door, Lu Ze’s gaze had not once strayed from Jiang Yuan. If Xu Qianjin had not nudged him sharply with the toe of his boot, Lu Ze would have remained lost in the bliss of this long-awaited reunion.
“I—just wait a moment.” Lu Ze’s eyes fell upon the document in Xu Qianjin’s hands. He grabbed hold of him before he could leave, and the smile vanished from his face along with his words.
The paper had not been folded, clearly intended for him to see.
“Father… you…” Lu Ze stared at Lu Qiyu in stunned disbelief.
Lu Qiyu offered no explanation. Instead, he signaled Xu Qianjin with a glance to step outside.
This time Lu Ze did not dare stop him. Only once they were alone did he venture to ask:
“Father, Yuan Yuan is my fiancée—your future daughter-in-law. How can you marry her yourself?”
Lu Qiyu arched an eyebrow, his tone almost casual as he posed the choice plainly. “Do you wish to marry her instead?”
Lu Ze had dreamed of marrying her. But his mother, Song Yahua, was already in fragile health. Whenever the subject of Jiang Yuan arose, she would weep uncontrollably. Caught between two demands, Lu Ze felt as frantic as an ant upon a hot stove.
Lu Qiyu’s question hung in the air—“Do you wish to marry her instead?”—and slowly its deeper meaning dawned on him.
What his father truly meant was this: Either I shall resolve this matter for you, or you shall do so yourself.
This adoptive father of his had always been a man of few words, cold and distant, never concerning himself with the affairs of others. To intervene now was unprecedented—a chance that might never come again.
Lu Qiyu had suffered a severe injury before turning twenty, one that left him unable to have children of his own. That was why he had adopted Lu Ze in the first place. Over the years, women had pursued him endlessly, yet he had never shown the slightest interest in any of them, keeping them all at a distance. It was widely accepted that he had no inclination toward romantic relationships.
For now, entrusting Jiang Yuan to Lu Qiyu seemed the only way forward. Once his mother Song Yahua eventually relented, he could arrange for the marriage to be dissolved, and then he would finally be free to marry Jiang Yuan himself.
Surely this was preferable to forcing himself to choose—either defying his mother to marry Jiang Yuan this very moment, or abandoning Jiang Yuan and watching her marry another.
Reason told Lu Ze that his father’s proposal was truly the only solution to his dilemma.
Enlightened and elated, Lu Ze bowed deeply three times before Lu Qiyu. “Thank you, Father!”
Thank you, Father.
To Jiang Yuan, those three words rang with bitter irony.
Thank you, Father—for solving my problem for me.
The Jiang Yuan of her past life had been nothing short of a fool.
If Lu Ze had not wished to marry her, he could simply have said so. She would not have forced him.
Instead he had hidden like a coward, refusing to give her a clear answer—all the while permitting his mother to hire men to violate her. Then, when the time came, he had appeared at her village pretending to be the aggrieved party.
Recalling it all made her stomach turn.
“Yuan Yuan, do not be angry. Please—let me explain.”
From the moment they left Lu Qiyu’s study, Lu Ze had tried repeatedly to take her hand. Each time Jiang Yuan pulled away, walking him all the way down to the living room.
Once more she evaded his grasp, folding her arms across her chest and lifting her chin in open defiance. “Go on then. I am listening.”
“This was my fault. I should have handled it better. I intended to submit our marriage application the very moment I returned to the capital. But my mother took our birthdates to a fortune teller—and he said you would bring misfortune upon me.”
“I told her it was nothing but superstition and ought not be taken seriously. But she said that my birth father was gone, and that I was all she had left in this world. As a mother, she could not bear even the faintest risk of harm coming to her son—no matter how baseless the fear. She said you were so understanding… that surely you would sympathize.”
Birthdates incompatible.
Jiang Yuan nearly laughed aloud.
If his family looked down on her for being from the countryside, they ought to have said so plainly. Instead they hid behind such ridiculous excuses—did they not fear word of it reaching the military, and the discipline they would face for spreading feudal superstition?
So understanding… surely you would sympathize…
How beautifully they had woven that crown of righteousness for her to wear.
But Lu Ze had more yet to say.
“Rest assured—I do not believe a word of it. My heart belongs only to you. I shall marry no one but you in this lifetime.”
Jiang Yuan found his earnestness almost amusing. She raised an eyebrow. “Yet you listen so readily to what your mother says?”
“I shall continue to persuade her. She is not naturally superstitious—she opposes our union only because she does not yet know you. Once you come and live beneath the same roof with us, once she sees what a wonderful person you are, I am certain her heart will soften toward you.”
Jiang Yuan could not suppress a scoff. Do you hear yourself? she thought.
Lu Ze, entirely missing her disdain and mistaking her expression for approval, continued eagerly.
“One thing more—your marriage certificate with my father must remain secret. No one may know—least of all my mother. My father is a Division Commander; his marriage applications are seen by none but his aide. I shall speak with Deputy Division Commander Xu. So long as you remain silent, word shall never spread.”
This suited Jiang Yuan’s own purposes perfectly. She had no intention of allowing her future child to recognize Lu Qiyu—the very architect of her ruin—as its father. The marriage was temporary; it would be dissolved in time. Better that no one ever know.
“And what then?” Jiang Yuan asked, feigning idle curiosity.
“My father holds no affection for women—certainly not for his own daughter-in-law. Yours shall be nothing more than a legal bond on paper. He shall never lay a hand on you.”
Lu Ze meant to reassure her that Lu Qiyu would never look upon her with desire—and that she ought to know her place and keep her distance. It was not that he mistrusted Jiang Yuan, but rather that Lu Qiyu was a man admired by many women. Even if Lu Qiyu could never truly want her, Lu Ze could not bear the thought of her being anywhere near him.
Lu Ze cleared his throat and laid out his true plan.
“I shall tell my mother that you have come especially to care for her, having heard of her poor health. I shall tell her that you are sincere in your wish to marry me—that you have come to serve her, to learn from her what kind of wife she expects, and that once she is fully satisfied with you, we shall announce our betrothal.
“My mother is a gentle, kind-hearted soul—so soft-hearted it moves me. If only you obey her, treat her with filial devotion, and show her kindness, I am certain she shall grow to love you. Then you shall obtain a divorce from my father… and we shall be married at last.”
Lu Ze spoke with growing excitement, utterly lost in his own vision of the future. He paid no heed whatsoever to the darkening of Jiang Yuan’s face, or the withering glances she cast his way.
Gentle, kind-hearted, soft-hearted? Could a woman like that—who had hired three brutes to defile an innocent girl—truly be so good?
Jiang Yuan thought of all she had suffered in her past life. She thought of her family—her parents and kin—who had died cruel deaths because of her.
She felt a profound, almost overwhelming gratitude toward the laws of this new society. If not for the protection they afforded, she would have sent Lu Ze and his gentle, kind, soft-hearted mother straight to the fires of hell long ago. She would never have suffered this indignity, listening to him spin such absurd, delusional fantasies.