“From now on, once the door is closed and we’re inside this room, I’m still your brother. But when we’re outside, you have to call me by my name. Don’t let anyone get suspicious.”
Hearing Wen Jianing say she didn’t mind, Song Tingyue felt some of the tension in his chest ease. He rummaged through the wardrobe and pulled out a large piece of coarse cloth—the same one Aunt Gu had used to wrap the quilt when she’d brought it over.
It was thick and wide enough to use as a blanket.
He casually spread himself onto the straw mat, pulled one corner of the cloth over his stomach, and tested it.
Not bad.
Perhaps because the little girl hadn’t objected to sharing a room with him, he found himself in a surprisingly good mood. Crossing his hands behind his head as a pillow, he curled the corner of his mouth into a faint smile and looked sideways at her.
“Go ahead. Say my name. Let your brother see if your acting’s convincing enough to fool everyone.”
Wen Jianing frowned slightly as she looked at his long legs, which nearly extended beyond the edge of the straw mat.
“How am I supposed to say it?”
“How else?” he replied. “Don’t tell me that after being apart for a few years, you’ve forgotten your own brother’s name.”
“I forgot. It’s been too long.”
“…”
He sucked in a sharp breath.
That little ingrate.
The smile vanished from Song Tingyue’s face, his brows knotting together.
So when she’d said they’d never have anything to do with each other again, she’d really meant it. She’d actually forgotten his name.
For the first time, he felt as though all the devotion he’d poured into her had gone completely to waste.
“Too long?” Song Tingyue let out a cold laugh, his jaw tightening. Staring up at the ceiling as if competing with someone invisible, he ground out, “You’re young, but your memory’s worse than mine. Not only do I remember your name—I remember every dish you liked, your favorite color, and every ridiculous thing you ever got yourself into. I haven’t forgotten a single one.”
Every ridiculous thing…
Wen Jianing froze.
Did that include the diary pages that had gone missing?
The old humiliation she’d buried deep inside suddenly surged back, as though someone had ripped open an old wound.
Looking at things now, the word fake in fake marriage seemed even more humiliating.
What kind of sister developed feelings like that for her own brother?
They weren’t related by blood, but Song Tingyue had always treated her like his real little sister.
From beginning to end, she was the only one whose feelings had changed.
And she had only been eleven when she’d written those diary entries. In everyone else’s eyes, she had been nothing more than an innocent little girl who hadn’t even reached puberty—yet she’d already nurtured feelings she could never reveal.
Disgraceful.
Shameful.
Enough to make it impossible for her to ever calmly call him “Brother” again.
“I’ll give you two minutes,” Song Tingyue said, sitting up. His arms braced behind him, the muscles in his upper arms tightening into sharp lines. Veins stood out faintly along his neck, giving him an untamed, rugged air.
He stared directly at her.
Forget two minutes—even after two seconds, Wen Jianing had already turned her face away.
“I can’t remember,” she muttered softly, her eyes darting around. “Even if you gave me two hours, I couldn’t. Besides, who says married couples have to call each other by name? I heard Aunt Zhang call her husband ‘that damned man’ and ‘that old geezer.’ If you like, I can call you that too. It’s easier than saying your name.”
Aunt Zhang had been the longest-serving maid in the Wen household. Song Tingyue knew exactly who she was.
Hearing that, one of his brows lifted.
It sounded suspiciously like she was insulting him without naming him directly.
“You really can’t remember?” Song Tingyue narrowed his eyes, the corner of his mouth curving upward. “Well, I just remembered something from years ago.”
“One summer, the lotus flowers bloomed in the pond behind the garden. A certain little girl insisted on picking one, slipped, and fell straight into the water. Luckily I heard the splash and got there in time.”
“The pale yellow dress she was wearing was covered in mud. She was too scared to let Mom and Dad find out because she was afraid of being scolded—and even more afraid of being embarrassed. She cried and begged me to wash it for her.”
“So I had no choice but to sneak her over to the wash basin when no one was around. But the moment I lifted her skirt, I saw—”
He deliberately dragged out the pause.
“On the left side of her little butt, right next to that black mole, there was a fat leech sucking away. She screamed her lungs out, clung to my arm, and cried, ‘Brother, save me!’ It was absolutely pitiful.”
Wen Jianing’s face instantly turned scarlet, all the way to the tips of her ears.
“Y-you still remember that…”
That had happened ages ago—she must have been seven or eight.
If he hadn’t mentioned it, she wouldn’t have remembered herself.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Song Tingyue leaned back lazily. “I was the one who pulled the leech off you. After you finished crying, you lay on my lap sniffling and said, ‘Brother’s the best.’ Then you promised that when you grew up, you’d—”
“Enough!”
Wen Jianing cut him off sharply, the tips of her ears now so red they looked almost translucent.
“Song! Ting! Yue!”
She bit off each syllable with exaggerated force, sounding like an angry little kitten trying to roar.
Song Tingyue laughed.
A genuine laugh that softened the sharpness around his eyes.
“So you do remember my name.”
It wasn’t that she couldn’t remember.
She simply didn’t want to say it.
He’d always indulged her before.
He refused to believe he couldn’t handle one stubborn little girl.
“Alright. I still have paperwork to finish. I’ve got inspection duty tonight, so it’ll run late. I’ll stay in the barracks and won’t come back here.”
He picked up the piece of cloth from the straw mat and folded it into a neat, square block with perfectly crisp corners.
It was as though meticulousness had been carved into his bones. Even a rough piece of cloth became a tidy cube in his hands.
He added, “About your bath tonight—I’ll ask Aunt Gu to take you to the bathhouse. There are towels in the wardrobe. If you need anything else, we’ll buy it in town tomorrow.”
Wen Jianing could tell he really was busy.
Even during dinner, people had come over asking for instructions, and he’d waved them away.
Now he probably couldn’t delay any longer.
Just as he reached the door, he paused and looked back at her, as though something still worried him.
After a moment, he added,
“Aunt Gu’s an honest woman, and she’s fond of young people. If you need help with anything, don’t hesitate to ask her. There are a lot of duties in the army, and sometimes I have to leave on assignment. If something urgent comes up, she’ll probably be easier to find than I will.”
It sounded as though he was leaving her in the family quarters under someone else’s care and washing his hands of the matter.
Lowering her lashes, Wen Jianing answered quietly,
“I’m an adult now. I’m not a child who needs to trouble everyone. I already took up so much of your time today. I’m sorry. You should get back to work. Don’t worry about me.”
Song Tingyue paused.
“You don’t need to apologize.” His voice softened unconsciously. “Taking care of my little sister is only natural.”
“Get some rest.”
“I’m leaving.”
The door closed behind him.
His footsteps were brisk, fading quickly until they disappeared down the corridor.
Wen Jianing stared motionlessly at the tightly shut door.
She felt as though the whole world had abandoned her.
Her nose stung, and tears welled in her eyes.
Song Tingyue’s attitude toward her now was gentle enough, but it no longer carried the intimacy and indulgence he had once shown her.
He spoke to her with polite restraint, explained everything clearly and methodically—as though everything he did stemmed from a sense of duty and his gratitude toward the Wen family for taking him in all those years ago.
He was repaying a debt.
The thought pierced her heart like a slender needle.
Why was she so hopeless?
She knew this marriage was fake.
She knew they were only pretending to be husband and wife.
And yet she still wished he would stay a little longer.
Even if they said nothing.
Even if he simply sat quietly in the room with her.
She had even secretly hoped he would choose to stay the night.
After all, she’d only just arrived in this unfamiliar place. She knew no one here. Even the air felt foreign.
But he had left.
She couldn’t blame him.
He had official duties to attend to, and the fact that he’d taken the time to settle her in was already more than she had any right to ask for.