From Xuan Shi Hall to the imperial gardens was three li. Jiang Nong had even more energy than Yu Lingxin expected—she walked the whole way without pause, then circled the lake to feed the fish, and still seemed to have strength left over.
Though Yu Lingxin was pleased she was in good health, what he really wanted now was to go back and lie down. His body wasn’t tired, but his vision was blurry in the deepening night. The mournful chirping of insects only made him drowsy, and his spirit longed for the soft bed in the sleeping quarters.
The bed—the greatest invention in three thousand years of history.
He’d watch Jiang Nong for a while and perk up, but the moment he took his eyes off her—when she ran off to pick flowers from the vines—he’d get sleepy again.
Yu Lingxin was, in truth, a very boring person. Unlike Jiang Nong, who seemed interested in everything, he had little enthusiasm for anything—not even food or drink.
He only studied, trained, schemed, and fought for power because it benefited him and Jiang Nong. In his downtime, he couldn’t be bothered to find hobbies. If Jiang Nong ignored him, he’d read what she’d been reading, or just go to sleep thinking about her.
You couldn’t say he had no hobbies—his only hobby was Jiang Nong. She had so many interests, dabbling in everything, so he appeared to know a bit of everything and could converse with her.
She picked some flowers, and Yu Lingxin went over to help. But Jiang Nong had learned to weave a flower crown without him noticing. Before he could even touch them, she’d placed the flowers in his arms and begun braiding them herself.
Her handiwork wasn’t that great—this was her first try—and it came out loose and floppy. She laughed at herself. Yu Lingxin, watching, learned how to do it quickly, but didn’t let on. He just praised her work.
Embarrassed by his praise, she put the flower crown on her own head and asked with a smile: “Pretty?”
Her eyes curved like a kitten’s, playful and sweet.
Yu Lingxin shuddered, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Jiang Nong saw right through him, stood on tiptoe, cupped his face, and kissed him. His drowsiness vanished, replaced by a heartbeat that thundered louder and louder until his ears rang, jolting him fully awake—yet still dazed as he followed after her.
She took the crown from her head and put it on his, then took his hand.
She felt his palm, amazed—it was much warmer than before, almost at human temperature. She was happy for him.
But she’d barely taken two steps when she felt his gait falter.
She looked up at the sky—it was late. Yu Lingxin would usually be in bed by now, and he’d walked so far with her.
Turning back, she saw his dazed expression. A surge of warmth rose in her heart—finally, she’d found a chance to be good to him.
She rolled up her sleeves and crouched down in front of him. Yu Lingxin, still dizzy from the kiss, snapped back to attention and asked in confusion: “Are you feeling unwell? Does something hurt?”
Jiang Nong had been rarely ill in this life, and Yu Lingxin was genuinely worried—his mind racing through countless scenarios, even poisoning.
He knew it—Chao Ning was a jinx. Nothing good ever came with his arrival!
Jiang Nong turned her head and gave him a strange look—why was his first thought that something was wrong with her? Was his memory of her fragile, sickly self from the previous life really that strong?
She waved him over: “No! Come on—I’ll carry you back! Haven’t you ever been carried on someone’s back? Have you?”
She thought about it—Yu Lingxin probably never had. Who would carry him? When Jiang Biao was little, he’d carried her around on his back for fun.
Yu Lingxin had never carried her that way either—he’d always held her by the hips, cradling her like a child.
“Like this—you put your arms around my neck, and I’ll hook your legs.” She patted her not-so-broad shoulders.
Carrying someone on your back was much less tiring. Jiang Nong had trained in dance for years and was fairly strong—enough to make someone’s lip bleed with a slap. Picking him up might be too much, but carrying him on her back should be doable.
Yu Lingxin had imagined countless possibilities—but never that Jiang Nong would crouch in front of him offering to carry him.
He stood frozen, his heart racing again—like a thousand dogs stampeding inside, so fast he thought he might have heart disease.
Jiang Nong tugged at his robe, eager and insistent.
On this cool night, the wind from the imperial gardens carried the scent of plants and damp moisture across his forehead—refreshing and serene. It should have been a peaceful night.
But Yu Lingxin’s entire body burned, from the tips of his hair to his bones. He wanted to melt into a stream of warm blood, to coil around Jiang Nong, seep into her body—into every inch of her skin and bones—to become her eyes, her teeth, to merge into one complete being. This strange, inexplicable emotion was about to burst forth uncontrollably.
He knew how beautiful love was—because even when Jiang Nong had hated him, thinking of her still brought him joy. But he hadn’t realized love could be this beautiful.
He and Jiang Nong loved each other.
Everyone Jiang Nong cared for, everyone she loved, would be happy—because she would pour out her love, cherish them, and make them happy.
No one had ever cherished Yu Lingxin—but Jiang Nong did.
Yu Lingxin crouched down. Jiang Nong thought he’d finally learned how to be carried—but instead, he threw himself into her arms, nearly knocking her over.
“I don’t want you to carry me.” He couldn’t bear to let Jiang Nong carry him. His heart burned and tingled. He pressed his hand to the fabric over his chest, as if his heart were being squeezed and bleeding.
Before Jiang Nong could react, the flower crown was back on her head, and she was suddenly swept up into his arms. She quickly steadied the crown with one hand and hooked her other arm around his neck.
Yu Lingxin ran swiftly through the gardens—faster and steadier than any palanquin. The crisp wind rushed over her, cool and pleasant, lifting her hair and making his sleeves flutter. It felt like nothing could catch up to them.
The vibrant flowers, the animals, the serene lake—all those colors and fragrances rushed past in a blur, beautiful and novel, as if they were eloping through wild mountains and open fields.
Yu Lingxin would never drop her. Jiang Nong spread her arms, gathering the fresh wind into her embrace—refreshing and cool. She looked up and saw Yu Lingxin smiling, his shallow dimple deepening into a groove, and she reached up to poke it.
He carried her two laps around the gardens—more than the distance they’d come—and still didn’t want to let go. It was Jiang Nong who took pity on him and jumped down. Her hair was a wild mess, hairpins lost somewhere along the way—she looked like a little sprite that had run out of the woods.
Yu Lingxin’s breathing was still steady, though a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. Jiang Nong, thinking of how he’d carried her for so long, insisted on carrying him back.
There was no reasoning with her. He refused to be carried, but instead of arguing, he clumsily pretended to trip and fall. Jiang Nong got annoyed—but then Yu Lingxin lay on the ground and smiled up at her, a smile like a wagging puppy, and she softened. She couldn’t stay angry. So she lay down beside him.
The moment she did, he shifted her onto himself, so she could rest her head on his rising and falling chest.
The ground was cold and hard—but Yu Lingxin was warm and soft. Jiang Nong rubbed her wind-tangled hair against his chest, making it even messier.
They hadn’t been lying there long before the vicious mosquitoes by the lake began buzzing in their ears. In the end, Yu Lingxin carried Jiang Nong on his back, under the pale moonlight, along the narrow paths by the palace walls, slowly walking her back.
Sweat still clung to his neck and forehead. Jiang Nong, arms around his neck, wiped his brow with the back of her hand, then tucked her chin onto his shoulder and breathed in the jasmine scent they now shared—the same as hers, intensified by the warmth of his body.
The same scent smelled different on different people. On Yu Lingxin, the jasmine was less sweet, carrying more of the crisp, clean note of soap. But in the end, it was still the same—and smelling it, she knew Yu Lingxin was hers. Completely hers.
This thought made her want more than just her chin against him. She pressed her whole cheek to his back, not caring if it flattened her features, trying to press every part of herself that could touch him against him.
She scratched under his chin to get his attention and couldn’t help asking: “Yu Lingxin, always being good to me—does it ever get tiring?”
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