Jiang Nong instinctively stepped back two paces, evading Lady Jieyu’s reach.
Perhaps her expression was indeed awful, for even Jiang Biao—usually silent—spoke up: “Nongnong, Mother truly didn’t mean it. It was just a false alarm. She’s apologized—don’t embarrass her further, alright? It was all my fault, fine?”
As if he were being magnanimous, offering her a way out.
In both lifetimes, the person least qualified to tell Jiang Nong to be more forgiving was Jiang Biao.
Jiang Nong had thought the past was long over, that she had forgotten. But now, a chill ran through her—suddenly recalling that in her past life, her mother had exposed her relationship with Yu Lingxin, then held her and wept, begging.
“Nongnong, Mother has only your brother as a son. All my life I’ve been trampled underfoot. Help your mother—help your brother. How can you watch me beg you like this and do nothing? Must I die before you’re satisfied? What’s so good about that Yu Lingxin? If you marry into Dang, with their support, when your brother takes the throne, you’ll surely reap the rewards.”
The reward was that when Chao Ning requested troops, Jiang Biao outwardly agreed but surrendered without a fight—Chao Ning’s death bore Jiang Biao’s cowardice in part. And when Yu Lingxin was willing to release her back to her homeland, the gates were shut tight against her.
She had clung to hope, always imagining the letters from her mother were written at her brother’s urging. Only now did she understand: between Jiang Biao and herself, her mother would always choose her brother.
And her brother only had to stand weakly behind their mother, following her arrangements, to enjoy all the benefits.
So in her past life, the coward remained Jiang Biao, and the one who abandoned her remained her mother.
Perhaps Yu Lingxin had also counted on Jiang Biao’s cowardice—that he wouldn’t dare offend him—when he wagered that if Xi dared to take her back, he would let her go.
Everyone waited for her reaction. Jiang Biao, seeing her silent, reached out to shove her—Jiang Nong raised her hand and slapped him.
A crisp smack rang out, loud as a firecracker.
The entire hall fell silent. Jiang Biao stood frozen, his face swelling instantly. Even Jiang Nong seemed caught off guard by her own action: “Brother, you suddenly reached for me—I was frightened.”
Lady Jieyu gasped, touching Jiang Biao’s face: “Your father will be here soon, and you…”
But she was in the wrong, so she couldn’t scold Jiang Nong too harshly. She only sighed repeatedly, looking at her daughter with disappointment.
“The child was frightened—a moment of agitation is normal.”
“Jiang Biao, you’re the older brother—a grown man, lightly slapped by your sister. No need to make such a fuss.”
“Exactly, exactly—Nongnong is so slender, how much force could she have?”
Between Jiang Biao and Jiang Nong, they naturally chose Jiang Nong—supporting her now was to their great advantage.
“I’m feeling unwell—I’ll go rest now.” Jiang Nong curtsied to the assembled consorts and was led away, swaying as if a fragile willow.
Rong Mian couldn’t interrupt in such a setting. She supported Jiang Nong halfway before breaking into sobs.
Though she was Lady Jieyu’s servant, she had grown up with Jiang Nong, often sharing a bed at night. How could she not feel for her?
Wearily, Jiang Nong cupped Rong Mian’s face and wiped her tears: “Alright, alright—stop crying, okay? It’s so cold out—your face will chap.”
Rong Mian bit her lip and held back her tears. Her mistress was already hurting—having to comfort her would only make things worse.
The Empress Dowager customarily shut herself away for Buddhist devotions during the holidays and skipped the New Year’s banquet. Jiang Nong used the excuse of being frightened to also stay away.
It was New Year’s Eve. Palace servants were permitted to meet their families at Ningle Gate, arranged by the inner palace. Rong Mian hesitated, torn between staying with Jiang Nong and going.
Jiang Nong lay in bed, her hair loose, fingers twirling the tassels, staring through the layers of smoky blue curtains as fireworks and firecrackers crackled ceaselessly outside. After a long moment, she said: “Go ahead. I got up too early today—I want to sleep a bit. On your way back, take a reward to the Music Bureau. Tell them this year’s dance was excellent, and make sure they don’t punish the dancer.”
Rong Mian’s eyes reddened. With a soft “Yes,” she took the money and left.
It was still early. The firecrackers were so loud. Jiang Nong’s mind was in turmoil—she couldn’t sleep. She lay in bed for a long time; her mother never came. Outside, night had fully fallen. Inside, candlelight blazed, the wicks hissing as they burned.
She didn’t know what she had done wrong.
If even her closest blood didn’t hold her dearest, then who in this world would put her first?
She dared not think about it, but she couldn’t stop.
Chao Ning cared most for his mother; Rong Mian for her parents; her mother for Jiang Biao; and to the Empress Dowager, she was a substitute for Jiang Niao. All of that was natural—they were bound by blood, beloved family…
Who else? Who else was there by her side?
A desolate emptiness grew in Jiang Nong’s heart. She wandered through it, unable to find a refuge—a feeling of drifting suspended in air, frightening in its emptiness.
She turned over, pressed her lips together, and tears soaked into her pillow. Her dark hair spread like clouds, cold against her cheeks.
It was nothing, really. She just needed to be alone for a while; she’d be fine. It didn’t matter. She knew she was being overly sensitive, always dwelling on things.
Knock, knock…
The window was tapped softly.
She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, not wanting to respond.
But the other party was persistent—every half-minute, two steady knocks, stubbornly insistent.
Jiang Nong threw off the covers and ran over barefoot, pushing the window open with a bang, a flash of anger on her face.
The fragrance of winter plum blossoms mingled with the sharp, damp cold surged in, stirring the wind chimes hanging from the window frame—they chimed crisply, their silk ribbons twirling and fluttering. The fragrant wind also whipped her hair into disarray.
Yu Lingxin stood before the window, cradling a branch of winter plums in his arms. Jiang Nong hadn’t expected it to be him. She quickly lowered her head, averting her gaze.
Her face still bore tear tracks, her eyes moist. Yu Lingxin frowned slightly and carefully reached out his hand.
Jiang Nong should have pulled back. She shouldn’t allow any more boundary-crossing physical contact with Yu Lingxin. But for some reason, this time she didn’t move away. She stood there stiffly, letting him touch her.
Perhaps it was self-abandonment, or perhaps at this moment she truly needed someone to comfort her. She remembered all the good things about Yu Lingxin from her past life.
Waiting for her at the music pavilion no matter how late; walking ahead of her on cold days to block the wind; selling many handmade goods to buy her food; when Jiang Yuan showed off a hairpin, using years of savings to get her a similar one from outside the palace, but never buying himself new clothes; knowing her knees hurt from kneeling during dance practice, sewing her knee pads…
One thing after another—Yu Lingxin loved her more than he loved himself. He was the one who loved Jiang Nong most. So at this moment, she indulged him.
This time, Yu Lingxin caught Jiang Nong’s tears. His fingers trembled slightly, his fingertips cool and rough. He cupped her face and gently wiped away her tears, then restrainedly withdrew his hand.
“Don’t cry. I care about you.” Yu Lingxin looked into her eyes—sincere and open. That violet eye, so often reviled, now shone brighter than the Milky Way.
Human nature never withstands testing. At the crossroads of choice, people instinctively choose the more important one—just as Jiang Nong’s choice was never him, while his choice was always her. Jiang Nong could always command everything of his, including his life.
Jiang Nong gripped the windowsill, her other hand covering her face, tears streaming freely.
On that night, thick with the fragrance of plum blossoms, Yu Lingxin said he cared about her. Jiang Nong couldn’t help but recall that autumn hunt, when he had risked his life to save Chao Ning—only so she wouldn’t grieve.
She didn’t know whether to regret it or be grateful.
Regret that she hadn’t killed Yu Lingxin sooner, allowing her resolve to waver even for a moment; grateful that she hadn’t killed him, so she could know that someone would give their life for her.
All she could do was hate her own character more—so indecisive, so softhearted.
Yu Lingxin’s heart ached too, a dense, fine pain—countless tiny wounds torn open and healing again, mixed with surging tides. He knew Jiang Nong too well, so he understood exactly what she was thinking now.
She was so sensitive, so full of tangled thoughts—the slightest tremor in a single tiny thread could stir a vortex in her heart. Her inner world was always in turmoil, with endless struggles and conflicts, weighing everything and trying to please everyone—making her actions appear benevolent but lacking in decisive resolve.
Yu Lingxin stood at the window, shielding her from the wind, letting her weep and release her emotions. He pretended not to see, preserving her dignity.
When Jiang Nong had calmed down, he handed her the plum blossoms and a small box from his arms: “I waited at the plum garden for many days. They bloomed today—I hope you like them. May the new year bring you everything you wish for.” He paused, then added, “And may you never shed tears of sorrow again.”
Jiang Nong pressed her forehead against the plum blossoms and touched them—they were in full bloom, beautiful.
She remembered that Yu Lingxin hadn’t been invited to tonight’s banquet and asked: “It’s New Year’s—did the Court of the Imperial Treasury send you anything?”
Yu Lingxin hesitated slightly, and Jiang Nong knew the answer. Sniffling, she asked: “Then what are you having for dinner tonight?”
“We were planning to cook some dumplings. I traded for some ingredients outside the palace a few days ago.”
“Is there any for me? I don’t want to spend New Year’s alone.”
Yu Lingxin was stunned—so taken aback he didn’t react at first. Then a smile broke across his face: “Of course!”
Jiang Nong told him to wait in the front hall to warm up, but he refused to leave, insisting on waiting by the window. She had no choice but to let him. She found a vase for the plum blossoms, muttering awkwardly: “Like a little child, always having to follow Sister around.”
Yu Lingxin’s New Year’s gift was an intricately carved red sandalwood hairpin, said to calm the mind. She didn’t know why he—with his poor eyesight—always gave her things that strained the eyes.
After a moment’s thought, she put it on. She rummaged through her dressing case and found a cord she had planned to give Jiang Biao but hadn’t yet. Moon-white, with a fluorite pendant—it would look good on a sword or worn as an accessory.
She changed her mind and gave it to Yu Lingxin, along with another pale yellow one.
Yu Lingxin held them to his chest, not questioning why there were two, and beamed: “Thank you, Sister. I’ll treasure them.”
It might snow soon. Jiang Nong grabbed two umbrellas and handed him one: “Take it and use it—why are you just holding it?”
Yu Lingxin took the one from her hand as well: “What if it breaks?”
Jiang Nong couldn’t stand his fussing: “It’s just a cord, not some treasure. Don’t talk like that—you’re making me embarrassed. If it breaks, I’ll weave you another one…” She paused, then changed her tune, “I’ll weave you a cartful.”
That sounded more impressive.
Yu Lingxin spun around happily twice, holding the umbrellas: “Then you mustn’t go back on your word, Sister. You’re always hot and cold with me—I’m truly afraid this will be the last gift you ever give me.”
Jiang Nong told him to spit it out—saying such things during New Year was unlucky.
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