Yu Lingxin knew that Jiang Nong pitied him—just as Chao Ning pitied him—so he made himself even more pitiable. He knew she liked kind people, so he performed acts of kindness, using the little money he had to care for an injured horse.
He only wanted her pity to deepen, her heart to ache more—until one day, she truly loved him.
When he returned through the wind and snow and saw Jiang Nong standing at the palace gate, he was stunned for a moment. He couldn’t believe she would be there to greet him. He didn’t think he held such weight in her heart.
But Jiang Nong waved at him.
His breathing faltered for half a beat. Before he knew it, his steps had quickened.
Jiang Nong draped her own warm cloak over his shoulders and tried to warm him with her soft palms—even through his clothes, he seemed to feel the heat of her hands.
She kept her eyes lowered, murmuring to herself. Her lips were rosy, full, glossy as frozen cherry jelly. Her eyes were large and round, her lashes catching snowflakes that instantly melted into trembling droplets.
One drop, two drops…
Yu Lingxin instinctively reached out to catch them. Jiang Nong flinched at the sudden movement, stepping back half a pace. He only realized what he was doing and quickly withdrew his hand.
His heart ached with a fine, prickling pain, a raging tide of turmoil—then it all wound its way back into his chest, settling into one thought: It’s alright.
At least I have a place in your heart now. At least you still care. Maybe there’s even a little love, right? Sister.
Rong Mian returned with the freshly warmed hand warmer and Jiang Nong handed it to them.
Carefully studying Yu Lingxin’s expression, Jiang Nong ventured: “It’s all right. The eunuch who abandoned you—I’ve already punished him. If you ever run into trouble in the future, just tell me. I won’t stand by.” She paused, then added:
“You’re half a year younger than me. I’ve always treated you like a younger brother. Since you call me ‘Sister,’ won’t you think of me as your sister too?”
Yu Lingxin lifted his gaze, looking at her with a silent, melancholic stare—using his silence to resist.
Sister, you know very well—that’s not how I feel about you.
“Since you’re silent, I’ll take that as agreement,” Jiang Nong said, patting his shoulder with an air of finality. “Alright, it’s freezing—go inside and warm up.”
Yu Lingxin’s lips curved faintly: “Whatever makes you happy, Sister.”
Jiang Nong pretended not to see the disappointment in his eyes.
In any case, it was better to reject him early and spare him any false hopes.
Throughout the walk, Yu Lingxin was unusually silent—no clinging, no constant “Sister”—only walking ahead of her without a word. Jiang Nong found it somewhat unsettling.
She replayed her own words, wondering if she had said something wrong, if she had hurt his fragile, sensitive heart.
“It’s so cold—the wind is fierce,” Xunliang muttered. Jiang Nong was pulled from her thoughts and realized she hadn’t felt any wind at all.
Looking up, she saw that Yu Lingxin was walking squarely in front of her—on the windward side—blocking every gust that would have hit her.
He was still so tall, his shoulders broad, his back straight. When he walked ahead, she had to look up at him. He had grown thinner since November—only his frame holding him up.
His wounds weren’t healed, yet he said nothing, walking in front of her to shield her from the wind and cold.
In her past life, at the worst of their relationship, Jiang Nong had cursed him countless times, saying that the greatest regret and biggest mistake of her life was having once loved him—that just thinking of their shared past made her sick.
She couldn’t help it—her lips pressed together. Actually, that wasn’t true. With the Yu Lingxin of now, she was certain her judgment had been sound. A thousand times, ten thousand times, she would still fall for the Yu Lingxin of now.
But fate played cruel tricks—changing a good person beyond recognition.
Yu Lingxin’s quarters had been empty for over a month. The Court of the Imperial Treasury should have prepared them before his return, but they were clearly negligent. Cobwebs hung cold in the room, and several panes of window paper were torn.
Jiang Nong sent Rong Mian to fetch someone from the Court of the Imperial Treasury for repairs. But Yu Lingxin had already begun tidying up himself, quietly reassuring her: “Never mind, Sister—don’t trouble yourself. I’ll just clean it up myself. Xunliang and I always manage.”
Xunliang looked at Jiang Nong gratefully: “Ninth Princess, the Court of the Imperial Treasury has always treated us like this. Our master is used to it. We do whatever needs doing ourselves. You’ve already helped us so much—and we know you have your own struggles in the palace. We can’t burden you further.”
Jiang Nong had only ever been spared from being shortchanged herself—she had only six servants in total, with Rong Mian as her personal attendant. Her mother had little to give her, and whatever she had went to Jiang Biao. They had been up at Nishan all this time and likely didn’t know she was now a favorite of the Empress Dowager—they only thought not to burden her further.
Hearing this, Jiang Nong grew even more indignant. He was still ill—how could he be cleaning his own room? She sent Rong Mian with her token to the Court of the Imperial Treasury.
In this life, she would make sure Yu Lingxin grew into an upright, kind person.
She had gone through all that trouble to win the Empress Dowager’s favor, all for the sake of those around her living a little better.
Yu Lingxin went to the window, touched the torn paper, and smiled at her: “If I block the wind, it won’t blow on you.”
Jiang Nong considered this for a moment, then praised him: “Good boy.”
And she watched his smile freeze awkwardly on his face—stuck somewhere between staying and fading.
…
On the thirtieth of the twelfth month, the bustle began before the third watch. Jiang Nong was woken by the noise. Outside the window, large red paper-cuttings had been pasted, and the room was bathed in a warm crimson glow.
Her room was toasty from the brazier. With no classes for the next few days, and the Empress Dowager still asleep, she rolled around in bed several times, playing with the tassels on the bed canopy, wrapping them around her fingers again and again.
There was a court banquet during the day, and a reunion feast at night.
It was a rare good year—all her loved ones were near, and everything held promise.
Since she had gained favor with the Empress Dowager, her mother had become much more cheerful, no longer steeped in gloom. Everything was moving in the right direction.
Unable to stay in bed, Jiang Nong got up and sorted through the ornamental cords she had woven—New Year’s gifts she had made with her own hands.
Yu Lingxin had also not slept a wink. A letter had arrived from Tan: the king was gravely ill, the crown prince not yet decided, various factions backing different princes. The court and harem were in utter chaos. As a prince far abroad, Yu Lingxin should have had nothing to do with this succession struggle—but some powerful ministers, unwilling to stay beneath others, saw a weak, malleable puppet emperor as their best choice.
Among all the princes, none was more rootless or easier to control than Yu Lingxin.
Xunliang stared at the letter for a long time, his mind in turmoil.
“Should… should we reply, Your Highness? This is a good opportunity,” Xunliang swallowed nervously. “If we succeed…”
“What’s the rush? Who wins the struggle for the throne—what does that have to do with a hostage prince like me? I am truly overwhelmed with trepidation.” Yu Lingxin said flatly, holding the letter to the candle flame until it burned away. He lightly blew the ash from his fingertips. “The dance at today’s banquet was well choreographed.”
Xunliang lowered his head and acknowledged with a soft “Yes.”
“The dance this year really is quite good,” said Jiang Nong, seated beside Lady Jieyu, listening to the consorts chatting and laughing.
Lady Jieyu beamed, her arm linked through Jiang Nong’s, nodding in agreement as she showed off the new cord at her waist. “Nongnong wove this for me—what do you think?”
“With the Ninth Princess attending the Empress Dowager, she still found time to make such an exquisite cord—so thoughtful.” Out of respect for the Empress Dowager, they had to flatter Lady Jieyu.
They immediately praised her to the skies, saying she had borne a wonderful daughter.
Lady Jieyu proudly placed Jiang Nong’s hand in her own and patted it.
Jiang Nong didn’t particularly enjoy being displayed and shown off like an object—but since her mother was so happy, she said nothing, only occasionally lowering her head with a shy smile. Most of the time, she simply watched the dancing.
The music bureau must have changed personnel this year—the choreography was indeed better, grand and sweeping, with the majesty of a prosperous age.
After three rounds of dancers, Jiang Biao came over from the other side. He hesitated for a moment, choosing his words, then raised his cup to Lady Jieyu: “Wishing Mother a joyous New Year and all the best.”
Lady Jieyu’s face flushed with even more pride. She stood to accept his toast, earnestly reminding him: “Your sister has done well—you mustn’t slack off.”
Jiang Biao agreed repeatedly, then turned to Jiang Nong. She stood, raised her cup, and offered her New Year’s greetings.
She had just filled her cup when a scream suddenly cut through the air: “Assassin!!! Someone help!” Chaos erupted.
Jiang Nong looked up just in time to see a dancer, sword in hand, flying straight toward them.
In the panic, she tried to turn back to find her mother—but was shoved violently from behind, pushed in front of Jiang Biao, facing the dancer’s blade directly.
In that split second, there was no time to react. Her mind went blank—fear or grief, she couldn’t tell. Instinctively, she closed her eyes and raised her arm.
But the pain never came. The dancer’s sword twisted mid-strike, transforming into a fan—she spun away gracefully.
Not an assassin at all—a deliberate act. The dancer’s sword had been a full zhang and a half from their banquet table. If not for Jiang Biao stepping forward to toast, no one would have mistaken it for an attack.
She turned her head. Her mother seemed still in shock, pulling her brother back by the arm. The consort who had screamed “Assassin!” looked guilty: “I’m just timid—I never expected my shout to…”
Everyone was awkward and at a loss—because they had all seen it with their own eyes: Lady Jieyu had shoved Jiang Nong forward.
In the panic, to protect her son, Lady Jieyu had pushed her daughter out.
Jiang Nong didn’t know what expression she wore now—probably quite a sight.
Lady Jieyu stammered, reaching for Jiang Nong’s sleeve: “Nongnong, Nongnong—Mother didn’t mean it.”
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