The moment Jiang Nong rolled her eyes, Yu Lingxin knew exactly what she was about to curse him for—this was the tacit understanding forged through two lifetimes of verbal sparring.
When his eyes flicked toward her, Jiang Nong sensed trouble was coming.
“Mud that can’t be plastered onto a wall just means the plasterer lacks skill—if you put it at the very top of the wall, it naturally won’t fall down. And as for rotten wood that can’t be carved—that only proves it was once good timber. If you didn’t find it to carve when it was still sound, but instead blame it for rotting after it’s gone bad—isn’t that the carpenter’s fault?”
In short, just like his argument that living off a woman counted as a skill, none of it was ever his fault.
For the first time—and she had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last—Jiang Nong actually thought Yu Lingxin’s midnight question of “Why did you have to expose my disguise?” was entirely justified.
She truly began to regret it. Why couldn’t she keep her composure and not expose Yu Lingxin’s act? Wasn’t it better to pretend she hadn’t noticed? Couldn’t she have worked quietly behind the scenes instead?
At least when Yu Lingxin was putting on an act, he was diligent and consummately skilled—good enough to outshine any leading actor in a theater troupe. Even if it was just an act of obedience and gentleness, Jiang Nong would have been satisfied. It would have been better than this—where she felt like jumping out of the carriage on the spot.
Yu Lingxin pressed on: “Was I wrong?”
Jiang Nong ignored him. He continued undeterred: “Don’t you think constantly blaming yourself is a particularly cruel thing to do? Besides yourself, who in this world could love you more than you? If even you bully yourself, that’s truly pitiful. Putting all the blame on others is a very comfortable thing—why don’t you try it?”
Afraid she might actually absorb his twisted logic—and unable to win an argument with someone who had no moral compass—Jiang Nong closed her eyes and feigned sleep, covering her face with her book as if she hadn’t heard a word.
The carriage left the city and rolled slowly but steadily along the official road. The only sounds were the rhythmic clatter of hooves on the hard-packed ground and the rustling wind chimes swaying with the breeze—a lullaby that invited sleep.
Jiang Nong had only been pretending to sleep, but as her eyes remained closed, her thoughts gradually scattered, and she drifted off without realizing it.
Sunlight swayed and scattered into the carriage, enveloping Jiang Nong in its glow.
Yu Lingxin watched her for a while, then gently removed the book from her face.
The New Year was approaching, so she was dressed more festively than usual—a rose-pink layered skirt trimmed with snow-white rabbit fur, vibrant and delicately lovely, a color that was notoriously difficult to carry off. Yet it only made her peach-blossom cheeks seem fairer than snow, soft and creamy like melted butter. Beneath her snowy skin, a faint blush peeked through, glowing thin and translucent in the light. Her lips were redder and more tender than a rose.
He leaned over, pressed a light kiss to Jiang Nong’s lips, and gently tilted her head onto his shoulder.
The third time. Would it be different this time?
—
Jiang Nong dreamed of a torrential rain.
A rare, ferocious downpour—in all her two lifetimes, no rain had ever been fiercer or heavier than this one. Heaven and earth were drenched in a thick, smoky gray. The rain hammered against the roof tiles with a crackling roar, drowning out even her own voice.
But she could clearly hear someone crying.
That person knelt at her feet, clutching the hem of her skirt, head bowed so she couldn’t see his face. His ink-black hair, wet and heavy, pooled on the ground, washed by the streaming water. His thin shoulder blades rose like two butterfly wings, trembling. Rain pooled in the hollow of his lower back, forming a small, shimmering puddle that trembled and spilled in thin rivulets along his spine.
“Please, sister, please… don’t… don’t stop liking me, don’t abandon me. I have only you… you… please don’t leave me…”
“Sister, sister, hit me if you need to—vent your anger.”
“I… I can marry over with you—be your beast of burden, your slave, your servant—as long as… as long as I can stay by your side, that’s… that’s enough. Please don’t leave me. I beg you.”
His suppressed sobs came out in choked fragments, interspersed with stifled hiccups. He knelt before her so humbly, so desperately—like a dog—begging her not to cast him aside.
“What makes you think I would keep loving a man who has nothing going for him except good looks?”
“You’re a waste—looked down on by everyone. Do you want to drag me down with you?”
“This was only ever a fling before marriage. Did you really think I’d choose you as my husband? Give up that fantasy!”
It was the first time Jiang Nong had ever spoken such cruel words to anyone. If at least one of them could have a good ending, that would be enough.
She tore Yu Lingxin’s hands away and left without looking back. The rain soaked her skirt, plastering it heavily against her body. Behind her came Yu Lingxin’s wretched sobs.
Yu Lingxin was sent back to Tan Kingdom—then came the grand wedding, the wedding gown, the procession that stretched for miles.
In the blurry dream, everything moved fast, like a lantern slide show. Time flew by—seasons passed, years unknown—until the image finally froze on her leaping from the city wall, and Yu Lingxin, upon receiving the news, slitting his own throat. Blood gushed like a river. The gleam of his sword reflected his dull, lifeless eyes.
Jiang Nong’s eyes snapped open in the blood-red of the dream. Her forehead was cold. Yu Lingxin’s hand rested on her brow. Seeing her terrified expression, he smiled: “Dreamed of me? You look so frightened.”
Jiang Nong swallowed and nodded.
Yu Lingxin’s hand paused in its motion of stroking her brow. He said, softly, “Then in your dream, I must have been dismembered by five horses or executed by slow slicing?”
Jiang Nong slapped his hand away and leaned to the other side. “Worse. Much worse.”
It must be exactly as Yu Lingxin said—she hated him so much that even her dreams were filled with images of him being humiliated and his gruesome death.
Yu Lingxin wasn’t angry. After a moment of contemplation, he offered her a suggestion: “Tell me about it. I’ll add it to the prison system—consider it a contribution to our nation’s penal code.”
Jiang Nong continued to play deaf and dumb.
—
The party didn’t arrive at Shanglin Garden until the Shen hour (3–5 PM), so they would have to settle in for the night.
After a brief rest, they went to pay their respects to Empress Dowager Wen, and the evening meal was also laid out at her residence.
Shanglin Garden was an imperial hunting ground that encompassed an entire mountain. The late emperor would bring his consorts here for short stays every summer and autumn. The Imperial Household had overseen its construction, so all the necessities of daily life were available. However, winter here was harsh and unforgiving—the halls lacked underfloor heating and relied solely on charcoal braziers for warmth. That was precisely why Jiang Nong had been so eager to bring Empress Dowager Wen back to the palace.
The palace attendants naturally knew that the Emperor and Empress were coming together and had mustered every ounce of their diligence. Yet none of it could overcome the fact that Empress Dowager Wen’s mind was now that of a seven- or eight-year-old child. She was erratic and kept demanding to go outside and play.
The attendants dared not restrain her and could only coax her with gentle words.
Jiang Nong could hear the commotion from outside Yuhua Palace, even from a distance.
“Empress Dowager, please be careful—you’ll catch a cold.”
“Your Highness, don’t run outside!”
“Empress Dowager! Your Highness! Why are you taking off your clothes!”
No sooner had they entered the main gate than a white-clad figure came charging straight at them, crashing into Mianrong, who cried out in surprise and stumbled backward. If Yu Lingxin hadn’t reacted quickly, Jiang Nong would have been knocked over too.
The person who had collided with them froze for a moment, then suddenly crouched down, clutching her head and shouting, “Don’t hit me! Don’t hit me!”
The attendants who had been chasing after her dropped to their knees in a flurry, kowtowing repeatedly and begging forgiveness.
“Your servants failed in their duty to care for the Empress Dowager. Please forgive us, Your Majesty, Your Highness.”
“The Empress Dowager likely felt confined and uneasy—that’s why she ran out…”
The Empress Dowager’s mind was that of a small child, and she had been bullied for so long. Now, with so many people swarming around her—especially with the attendants making such a grand fuss in anticipation of their arrival—she was probably frightened and restless, trying to escape.
Jiang Nong quickly unfastened Yu Lingxin’s cloak and crouched down to drape it over Empress Dowager Wen, reassuring the attendants: “You need not blame yourselves. The floor is cold—all of you, rise.”
A cold wind blew, and Yu Lingxin’s sleeves billowed, making him look rather forlorn in the winter chill. He gave Jiang Nong an odd look, thinking that she had indeed taken his self-serving advice to heart.
Xunliang quickly unfastened his own cloak to offer it to Yu Lingxin, but Yu Lingxin waved him off with a gesture. He simply stood there in the cold wind, watching Jiang Nong gently pat Empress Dowager Wen’s back and soothe her in a soft voice: “Empress Dowager, it’s all right. Everything is all right.”
Empress Dowager Wen trembled in her arms for a long while. Only after she was certain that Jiang Nong would not whip her like those noble ladies in the past did she stop shaking. She raised her head unsteadily, blinked at Jiang Nong, and offered a fawning smile—revealing a vicious scar on each cheek.
Judging by Yu Lingxin’s own looks alone, one could tell that Empress Dowager Wen had once been a peerless beauty who had captured the favor of the entire harem. But her family background was lowly. After she gave birth to an ill-omened child, the late emperor had wavered—until the other consorts joined forces and presented his aberrant birth as an evil omen. Strange portents began appearing in the palace, and one consort even miscarried. In the end, the emperor harshly banished her to labor in Shanglin Garden, while the infant Yu Lingxin was sent to be raised in the Side Courts.
Before she left the palace, the other consorts, fearing she might regain the emperor’s favor through her beauty, had eunuchs slash her face along the way.
In his previous life, by the time Yu Lingxin emerged from the Punishment House, Empress Dowager Wen had already passed away from illness. This was, in all likelihood, the first time Yu Lingxin had ever seen his birth mother.
He gazed at that face so similar to his own, at the timidity and fear in her eyes. Even though those consorts from years past were now either dead or confined, his emotions remained complicated.
Still, their deaths were too merciful.
Jiang Nong smoothed Empress Dowager Wen’s hair, gently traced her cheek with a frown—but dared not touch the wounds—and helped her to her feet, speaking coaxingly: “It’s cold outside. Shall we go back inside?”
Seeing this, Yu Lingxin knew immediately that his frail, pitiful mother—who had suffered so much in Shanglin Garden—had become Jiang Nong’s new heart’s treasure.
A pitiable, fragile person who needed care and saving.
Inside the hall, the charcoal fire burned warm and bright. As soon as they entered, Jiang Nong first brushed the remaining snow off Empress Dowager Wen, rubbed her hands to warm them, and called for an attendant to bring a hand warmer. She asked, “Empress Dowager, are you cold?”
In the past, she had always been bullied. Now people gave her food and drink, bathed her and dressed her—but no one had ever been this close, this kind to her.
She shook her head, and when she smiled, a pair of dimples appeared on her cheeks.
Jiang Nong instinctively turned to look at Yu Lingxin.
She had never seen Yu Lingxin laugh heartily. Most of the time, he only put on airs in front of her—a slight pursing of the lips, or a manic, mirthless smirk. Did Yu Lingxin have dimples?
The thought arose, and she immediately dismissed it. Why should she care? What was it to her?
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