The news of Chao Ning’s assassination arrived before his letter reporting his safety.
Lady Song fainted on the spot. When she awoke, tears streamed down her face. She wept for her son for three days straight—until she received Chao Ning’s personal letter, and only then did her tears give way to laughter.
She waited day after day, night after night, until daylight stretched longer than winter nights—and finally, her son returned.
But before she could even savor her joy, before she could pull her son close and take a good look at him, he announced that he had brought her a daughter-in-law.
With that, he pulled a coy, flirtatious woman out from behind him.
The woman stepped forward with a shy, demure air, and greeted her with a bow. In the dead of winter, her clothes were thin, cinched tight to reveal a waist so slender it could be encircled by a single hand. Her eyes roamed restlessly—clearly not the daughter of a respectable family. When asked about her background, her son evaded the question, insisting he would give her a proper status. Lady Song couldn’t catch her breath, rolled her eyes, and fainted again.
Chao Ning was terrified and rushed to shake his mother’s body, ordering someone to summon the imperial physician.
Yuan Lian, feigning thoughtfulness, said in a saccharine, insincere voice: “Since Her Ladyship doesn’t care for me, it seems I shouldn’t be here. Ninglang, it appears we are not destined to be together. Don’t make things too difficult for Her Ladyship—you should send me out of the palace. Even if we cannot be husband and wife in this life, rest assured, my heart will hold only you.”
Yuan Lian had assumed that after half a month away, Chao Ning would have forgotten her amidst a sea of beauties. She only needed to put on an act of undying devotion, remaining chaste for Chao Ning, and then no one could do anything to her.
Who knew that while she was performing so earnestly, Chao Ning truly did return—and upon hearing of her deeds, was so moved he wept, nearly shedding tears on the spot. He grabbed her hand and dragged her all the way back to Dang, vowing to give her a proper resolution.
Things had spiraled beyond her expectations. Yuan Lian was genuinely dumbfounded.
She had been brought back in a daze and decided she must sabotage this.
To stake her entire future on a man—wasn’t that laughable? Hadn’t she seen what men were really like? Her own father was proof enough.
Even if Chao Ning was good now, who was to say he wouldn’t change later? She had neither a distinguished family background nor a powerful patron. She would have to scheme and fight for everything. Perhaps before her beauty even faded, Chao Ning’s heart would already have wandered. A woman like her—if she died in some back courtyard, no one would seek justice for her.
So Yuan Lian dressed herself up in that coy, flirtatious manner, the very picture of an unvirtuous woman. No mother would ever allow her son to be bewitched by such a vixen.
That way, she could smoothly extricate herself from Chao Ning.
Yuan Lian thought her plan rather clever. And at this moment, Chao Ning was still comforting her: “It’s alright. My mother just needs time to come around. Once she wakes, I’ll speak with her properly. She’ll agree. Don’t worry—I will give you the resolution you deserve.”
Tch. Fool.
She had worn this outfit all day, and all Chao Ning asked was whether she was cold—not a single other thing had he noticed.
Lady Song slowly regained consciousness. Hearing her son’s words, she nearly fainted again. She ground her teeth and said: “No! It’s either her or me—one of us must go!”
Yuan Lian nodded: “Yes, yes! You should listen to your mother.”
Chao Ning grabbed Lady Song’s hand. Yuan Lian thought he was about to do something, but he dropped to his knees, bit his lip, and cried out: “Mother!!!! I want her! Mother!!!!!!”
Lady Song ordered the attendants to take Yuan Lian away—the matter would be discussed later.
Yuan Lian was led away in shock. Utterly perplexed.
So all it took to get her way was throwing a tantrum?
—
As Yu Lingxin looked at Jiang Nong, she looked back at him.
While applying her makeup, he squinted his purple eye, his long lashes casting shadows beneath it. His other eye blinked rapidly from dryness.
He was so careful, so meticulous—as if handling a piece of fragile porcelain or a precious treasure. Even with his clumsy technique, he was utterly earnest.
With one eye impaired, things always appeared misaligned. To see more clearly, he had to squint one eye.
His lips were slightly pursed. His eyes, probably dry, had grown moist and glistening—making him look like the way he had been in his previous life before he turned bad, pitifully well-behaved.
Perhaps the weather was too fine, melting away the shadows in one’s heart. Jiang Nong raised her hand and gently touched his closed eye, asking: “Does it ever bother you?”
Yu Lingxin was startled, as if he hadn’t expected the question. He slightly turned his face away from her hand: “It’s fine. Just a bit blurry, and it gets dry and sore easily.”
Jiang Nong recalled that in the previous life, Yu Lingxin had always avoided meeting her eyes. Even when he looked at her, he would turn slightly sideways, deliberately positioning his good eye toward her. In this life, during her time in Xi, he had occasionally done the same.
Though the person had changed, subconscious habits never lied. Yu Lingxin was still self-conscious about that eye.
And why wouldn’t he be? He had been scorned for it since childhood, called unlucky. Where did one ever see mismatched eyes on a person? Only kittens and puppies had different-colored eyes. On top of that, he had impaired vision in it. Over the years, it had inevitably weighed on him.
Jiang Nong felt a pang in her heart. She stubbornly pressed her hand back over his eyelid: “It’s beautiful. Why are you hiding? Let me see.”
“What is there to see? Jiang Nong, are you that curious? Do you have to amuse yourself by looking at your enemy’s flaw?” Yu Lingxin frowned in displeasure, lifting her chin with his finger to signal her to raise her head. “I’m putting on your lip rouge—that’s what it’s called, right?”
Jiang Nong saw his lashes flutter rapidly twice. After two lifetimes of entanglement, she could tell that his heart was not as indifferent as his words suggested. Her heart softened. She leaned on his shoulder, pressed close, and kissed his eye—very earnestly saying: “It is beautiful. Like a gem. Different from everyone else.”
Yu Lingxin’s body went completely rigid where he sat, his lashes still holding the lingering warmth of Jiang Nong’s soft, moist kiss and the sweet, warm fragrance she carried.
“It’s beautiful. Like a gem—an amethyst, a purple jewel. Don’t keep hiding it away.”
“People… don’t really like my eyes.”
“I like them~” The girl skipped lightly two steps along the palace path, twirled in front of him, and cupped his face in her hands. Her splayed skirts brushed against his robes as she skipped away again, leaving behind the warmth and fragrance that still clung to her cheeks.
Yu Lingxin stared at the Jiang Nong before him, dazed and disoriented.
He could no longer tell when or which Jiang Nong this was—this present one, or one from long ago. It had been so very long since she’d said such things to him—so long it belonged to a previous life. A memory buried beneath layers of dust suddenly burst forth, vividly materializing before his eyes.
Yu Lingxin, as if in a trance, spoke the words from that memory: “People… don’t really like my eyes…”
Jiang Nong could never stand hearing that. She raised her hand, touched his eye again, and said with resolute encouragement: “They’re beautiful! I like them!”
Yu Lingxin’s dry eyes stung. He swallowed hard, again and again, before finally managing a flat, even-toned: “Oh.”
Jiang Nong. Jiang Nong. Jiang Nong. Jiang Nong. Jiang Nong…
Why did she say she liked his eyes again? Why say the same words as in the previous life? Why were you always like this, never changing—even the words you said were the same?
She had probably long forgotten—she’d said so many things, praised so many people. Her sweet words were never sparing toward anyone.
But… was there just a little bit, the tiniest bit, of falling in love with him again?
Only Yu Lingxin knew just how ferocious a rabbit was now pounding in his chest.
After being reborn, he had acted pitiful and well-behaved, making Jiang Nong pity him, like him, and promise to stand with him through thick and thin—yet at that time, Yu Lingxin had felt no joy at all, only cold mockery. Because he knew too well—those feelings were meant for someone else, for that worthless waste who had already died.
Even if Jiang Nong had said “I love you” a thousand times back then, it wouldn’t carry half the weight of this single “I like your eyes” now.
Jiang Nong, knowing full well how terrible he was, still said: “Yu Lingxin, I like your eyes.”
Her little bit of affection, her small measure of tenderness and pity—was given wholly to him.
Yu Lingxin turned it over in his mind, chewing on those words again and again, until his spine tingled with a current that coursed through him, making even his fingertips tremble.
He was too silent—his reaction not enthusiastic at all, which completely deflated Jiang Nong’s fervor.
She was dissatisfied with his response. She slammed her forehead against his, pressing there, and threatened: “You’re supposed to say thank you for the compliment, got it?”
Yu Lingxin’s heart was plucked right out of his chest, turning soft and weak throughout his whole body. He gripped the porcelain jar in his hand tightly and murmured in a low voice: “Thank you.”
Jiang Nong wasn’t satisfied. She bumped her head against his again: “Can you not be so perfunctory?”
“Thank you for your compliment.”
“Fine.” Jiang Nong was grudgingly satisfied. She bumped his head one more time, then pulled away.
Yu Lingxin took a moment to compose himself, his chest heaving heavily. He fumbled among the jars on the table and picked out the one with the brightest color.
Bright colors were good. Bright colors were pretty.
He dipped a wool brush into it and raised it—but Jiang Nong had already pressed her lips together, leaving no gap for the brush to touch her mouth. She stared at him coldly in silent defiance.
Yu Lingxin understood immediately—he’d chosen wrong.
“It’s already on the brush. Want to try it? If you don’t like it, I’ll switch it for another.”
Only then did Jiang Nong part her lips, signaling he could apply a little.
The creamy balm spread across Jiang Nong’s lips. As the wool brush pressed down, her soft, pink lip gave way, glistening and moist.
Yu Lingxin’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He finished applying and withdrew his hand.
Jiang Nong looked in the mirror, thoroughly displeased: “I told you this color was bad. It’s too heavy—you’d need a very formal hairstyle and makeup to pull it off.”
She turned her head, about to tell Yu Lingxin to wipe it off—but he was already leaning in eagerly, his hand cupping the back of her slender neck, licking away the lip rouge. Bit by bit, he covered every corner, meticulously tracing and lapping with the tip of his tongue. Before she could react, he pulled back and reached for another jar. “Then how about this one?”
An ugly orange-red…
It never crossed Jiang Nong’s mind that this was how Yu Lingxin would “wipe” it off for her—warm, soft, like a puppy licking her mouth. Her nails dug into the tabletop, but she said nothing.
She let him smear on that ugly color, then lick it away, until he grew bolder—sliding his tongue against hers, intertwining, sucking, before finally pulling back, breathless.
There were ten small jars of lip rouge. One glance told Yu Lingxin which was the most used, which was the most popular. Sensing Jiang Nong’s indulgence, he saved the one with the least remaining for last.
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