As time went on, the affair between Jiang Nong and Yu Lingxin was bound to be discovered one day.
Late one night, when Yu Lingyin needed a midnight snack, she met her father’s gaze.
If she’d been old enough to speak, she would have screamed.
In the brief moment she’d looked away, her father had somehow gotten into her mother’s bed!
Just as she was about to cry, Yu Lingxin rushed over, covered her mouth, and scooped her up: “Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry—your mother’s asleep.”
Yu Lingyin stopped crying. He carried her outside before finally removing his hand from her mouth and saying: “Go ahead, cry.”
But now she wouldn’t cry. What if she woke her mother?
Reassured that she didn’t look like she was about to cry, he carried her back inside.
But who knew such a small child could be so full of mischief? The moment he headed back, she’d start crying. He’d have to take her out again. When she seemed about to fall asleep, he’d carry her back—and she’d cry again.
Back and forth, until he was yawning himself. He stopped at the doorstep. Every time she looked like she might cry, he’d lean out; when she quieted down, he’d lean back in. Realizing he was just toying with her, she finally shut her mouth.
Yu Lingxin began to suspect it wasn’t him who needed a priest, but this very bedchamber.
Jiang Nong, missing his embrace, stirred restlessly and turned over, rubbing her eyes.
Seeing she was awake, Yu Lingxin quickly tucked Yu Lingyin under his arm and hurried to the bedside.
If Jiang Nong had seen her daughter’s predicament, she would have screamed too.
“Where did you go? I couldn’t find you.” Her voice was soft with sleep, almost coquettish.
He tucked the blanket around her, kissed her forehead, and patted her gently: “Just had some water. Go back to sleep.”
With her eyes still closed, she nodded, hugged his arm, and buried her face in it.
Yu Lingxin smiled. Yu Lingyin wanted to cry.
Something was terribly wrong.
Her findings couldn’t have been mistaken—so why was reality the complete opposite? Her parents even seemed deeply in love?
Could this really be a dream?
A happy family she’d imagined for herself in her sleep?
Yu Lingxin kissed Jiang Nong several times before finally remembering the daughter tucked under his other arm. He quickly turned her right-side up.
Thankfully, she was fine—just a little red in the face.
Would this keep her quiet?
Yu Lingxin seemed to have discovered a new method for making babies stop crying.
From that day on, Yu Lingyin fell into a new state of contemplation. She needed to observe their relationship more carefully before deciding her next move.
So when Yu Lingxin approached, she didn’t cry as she used to.
Jiang Nong found it strange too—maybe babies just changed day by day.
Even though Yu Lingxin had his reservations about Yu Lingyin, he knew that once a person was born, they couldn’t be stuffed back in. He did his best to fulfill his fatherly duties.
Truthfully, it wasn’t so bad. After all, she was Jiang Nong’s—looking closely, she wasn’t entirely unlikable.
He couldn’t show any sign of dislike or dissatisfaction toward this child—Jiang Nong had gone through so much to give birth to her. He couldn’t let her down. For that reason alone, he treated Yu Lingyin like a precious jewel, hoping she’d grow up healthy, safe, and happy, so Jiang Nong’s heart could be at ease.
He’d even assigned over twenty imperial physicians just for her, ready to attend to her around the clock.
Yu Lingyin could clearly tell—even though her health was much better in this life than the previous one, Yu Lingxin’s care and attention far exceeded what he’d given her before.
In her previous life, from her earliest memories, he’d never once held her like an ordinary father. According to her nannies, he’d never held her at all, even from birth.
Now, though—just to keep her from monopolizing her mother’s arms—he was practically doting on her. He’d hold her to sleep, even scrape fruit into a puree to feed her.
It seemed the saying “a mother’s status rises with her child” wasn’t always true—she was entirely reliant on her mother’s status.
In her last life, with her mother dead and unable to see, Yu Lingxin had just raised her casually, keeping her alive. In this life, under her mother’s watchful eye, a hypocrite like him had to put on a show.
At six months old, a baby could already sit up, make simple sounds, and puff out her cheeks to blow raspberries. When Yu Lingxin scraped fruit puree for her, she’d puff up like a little goldfish and blow peach mush all over him. When his hands were full, she’d reach out and yank his hair.
At times like this, Yu Lingxin would complain to Jiang Nong—and Yu Lingyin would lift her pretty little face, open her arms to her mother, and say sweetly: “Mama, hold… hold…” Her mother never scolded her, only wiped the fruit puree off Yu Lingxin’s face, rubbed his cheek, and told him to be magnanimous and not hold it against a child who didn’t know any better.
Then Yu Lingyin got to watch her father put on his usual ridiculous, over-the-top act.
Yu Lingyin’s revenge wasn’t without reason—it was because Yu Lingxin, assuming she was too young to understand or remember, would sometimes roll his eyes at her, threaten her not to cry, and forbid her from competing for affection. So she naturally wouldn’t go easy on him.
Though she still held some resentment toward him from her previous life’s investigations, seeing her parents so loving and happy now, she decided not to rush into separating them. She’d observe first.
Perhaps Yu Lingxin hadn’t lied—maybe they’d started off well, and something had gone wrong later. If she could prevent whatever that was, could she stop her mother’s death and Yu Lingxin’s suicide? Could they still be a happy family?
No—she should call him “Father.” After learning the truth, she’d been so rebellious against Yu Lingxin for so many years, calling him by name directly, that she’d almost forgotten to call him Father.
Father, Father, Father.
She repeated it in her mind several times.
It didn’t seem to help, though. The next time Yu Lingxin pinched his voice and said she was so adorable—while rolling his eyes at her—she was back to thinking how fake he is.
Though her father’s love was like a mirage, Yu Lingyin didn’t really need him to love her that much.
As long as her parents loved each other—her father loving her mother, and her mother loving her—that was the greatest happiness a child could ask for. Compared to parents who only loved their child but not each other, this felt far more warm and joyful.
Every night, after the attendants bathed her and rubbed on fragrant lotion, her mother would hold her hands and kiss them, kiss her face, then kiss her father’s cheek too. Her father would kiss her mother, and they’d put her to sleep, handing her over to the nannies to take away. Yu Lingyin wished she could stay a child forever, living this way forever.
Besides her parents, she also had many relatives she’d never had in her previous life—uncles and aunts in distant kingdoms who sent her gold bracelets, necklaces, and anklets.
Gold warded off evil and protected the soul—a good omen for a child.
Jiang Nong dressed her in all of them, set her on the soft couch, and painted her portrait to send to her relatives far away.
Yu Lingyin thought Yu Lingxin was being pushy—and Yu Lingxin felt the same about her. It was all Jiang Nong’s fault for spoiling her.
In his previous life, he didn’t remember Yu Lingyin asking this many questions.
While Jiang Nong painted Yu Lingyin and ignored him for a long time, he went over to find something to do—sometimes feeding her, sometimes praising the painting. Yu Lingyin had to deliberately jingle her gold bells to get her mother’s attention back.
At least Yu Lingxin didn’t shamelessly offer to add a few brushstrokes himself. If not for his disastrously terrible painting skills, Yu Lingyin might have recognized her mother at first sight.
The things that made Yu Lingyin nervous never came. By the time she was two, she was still a happy child who could snuggle in her mother’s arms.
In truth, she’d always been a little afraid of her father in her previous life. He was always gloomy, distant, and seemed mentally unwell.
But now, with her mother around, she had nothing to fear. Even if she pulled out a few strands of his hair, he’d only tattle to her mother and need comforting.
She’d never realized her father had this side to him.
It wasn’t until later, when she caught snippets of her parents’ conversations, that she understood: what she thought of as her “previous life” was also their previous life. Before she was born, the parents of this life had already resolved their conflicts. All she had to do was be a healthy, happy child.
Her parents would take her fishing in summer, watch snow in winter, see flowers in spring, and dig up potatoes from the garden in autumn. Sometimes they’d take her out of the palace to buy all sorts of little trinkets. Her mother held her left hand, her father held her right—it just made eating candied hawthorn a little tricky.
When she got tired, she’d just open her arms and ask her mother for a hug. Her father would wrap her in his cloak and carry her. She’d sleep in his strong, warm arms, listening to her mother’s soft murmurs, and wake up in her own little bed.
Yu Lingyin woke up, hugged the blanket, and rolled over in happiness.
The sun was bright, the window open. She could see apricots ripening in the courtyard. Her mother was perched on her father’s shoulders, picking them—pointing right, and he’d move right; pointing left, and he’d move left.
Her mother picked the biggest, roundest, ripest ones, wiped them clean, teased him, and casually popped one into his mouth, smiling as if feeding a little dog.
Her father was smiling too—a smile so happy, Yu Lingyin had never seen it in all thirteen years of her previous life.
She no longer needed to guess what her mother looked like from those incomprehensible portraits, or imagine what a happy family of three might be like. In this world, she’d gotten the happiest, happiest, happiest family of all.
Oh—if only her father weren’t so petty and jealous.
Leave a Reply