Jiang Nong turned the memorial around to look at it, didn’t see anything good written on it, and turned it back for him.
She had never met anyone with such rapidly shifting moods as Yu Lingxin—angry one moment, inexplicably happy the next.
Yu Lingxin held her hand, switching from one to the other for warmth, shuttling back and forth as he lazily reviewed the memorials. Jiang Nong found a travelogue and read to herself. The study was vast and quiet, filled only with the soft rustle of turning pages.
Too quiet, too boring. Neither could remember who spoke first, but they fell into a casual conversation. One thing led to another, and soon they were talking about Jiang Nong’s birthday.
Jiang Nong hadn’t expected her birthday to be such a grand affair. She’d thought: what was there to discuss with the Imperial Household? A bowl of longevity noodles would suffice—at most, a small banquet for a bit of cheer. Turning eighteen was neither a significant age nor a zodiac milestone. Hosting a full court banquet meant she’d have to play the loving couple with Yu Lingxin in front of everyone—which was truly asking too much.
Yu Lingxin was displeased with her lack of enthusiasm: “Don’t you like lively occasions? Isn’t a crowd good? Everyone will remember your birthday and celebrate for you.”
“That’s true, but it costs a lot of money. And how many of those ministers and their wives are actually celebrating for me? I don’t even know them.”
“How dare they not be sincere?”
Jiang Nong pulled her hand out of his and slapped it: “Can forced sincerity be called sincerity? Only genuine fondness brings genuine blessings.”
Yu Lingxin thought of her birthday last year, when they were still in Xi, and couldn’t help retorting: “The guests last year weren’t genuinely blessing you either—what’s the difference?”
Jiang Nong was always different from Yu Lingxin. His world was thin and barren—both love and hate could nourish him. He wouldn’t linger on people he didn’t care about, nor expect their sincerity, because he knew it was hollow, fleeting, ephemeral. Even if he poured immense emotion into maintaining it, it wouldn’t last—it would only exhaust him, like Jiang Nong’s love for him.
He only needed these people to prostrate themselves at his feet and respectfully cry “Long live Your Majesty”—that was enough.
But Jiang Nong was different. She needed a great deal of love and sincerity—from friends, family, lovers. She loved everyone and hoped everyone would love her. She always thought too much and made things hard on herself.
“But many of the guests were my friends—that was enough. Here, I don’t have any friends. I can’t feel happy facing a room full of strangers.” Jiang Nong wanted to explain, but then decided it wasn’t necessary—she and Yu Lingxin thought differently. “Forget it—you wouldn’t understand anyway.”
“How can I understand if you don’t tell me?” Yu Lingxin sneered. He always got angry hearing that kind of talk—as if he were some dim-witted dog with whom discussion was pointless. “Then who understands? Who would you tell? Chao Ning?”
The moment Chao Ning was mentioned, he stopped talking like a human being.
Jiang Nong lightly tapped his mouth, telling him to shut up.
Yu Lingxin grew even angrier—she only hit him when Chao Ning came up. Before Jiang Nong could pull her hand away, he opened his mouth and bit her finger.
“Hey! Are you really a dog?” Jiang Nong tapped his mouth again, like scolding a puppy not to bite.
“What does Chao Ning have to do with it? I just don’t see the point of a bunch of people smiling at me falsely. Besides, the exam results are coming out soon, and there’s the Deer Singing Banquet—more feasts with the ministers.”
She was still willing to explain, unlike last time when she’d completely ignored him at the mention of Chao Ning. Yu Lingxin changed the subject: “If someone sincerely wished you a happy birthday, would you be willing to spend it with them?”
Jiang Nong knew who he meant—who else could it be?
A mischievous itch stirred in her heart. She nodded solemnly, her tone full of conviction: “Of course! If someone sincerely wished me well, truly liked me, and celebrated my birthday with me, I’d be very happy.”
Seeing Yu Lingxin’s lips begin to curl upward almost imperceptibly, Jiang Nong raised her hand and lightly, teasingly patted his cheek: “But Yu Lingxin is excluded.”
His smile visibly faded.
Jiang Nong pursed her lips to hold back her laughter, lowered her head, and turned a page, pretending not to notice.
Every time Jiang Nong did something like this to Yu Lingxin, her feelings were complicated. There was a thrill of transgression, a sense of shame. She had betrayed herself—she’d become a bad woman who took pleasure in toying with hearts. In the first eighteen years of her life, she could swear to heaven that she’d never been mean to anyone except Yu Lingxin. She was a good person.
But when it came to toying with Yu Lingxin, once she’d tried it, she couldn’t stop. And the act itself made her soul tingle with pleasure.
Yu Lingxin was always erratic, self-centered, twisted, indifferent—yet one word or gesture from her could completely control his emotions, making him sway at her whim.
A person’s actions could be manipulated, but the soul was always free—no one could ever fully belong to another. For Jiang Nong, there was so little she could control—let alone a person completely hers in body and soul. She’d never dared imagine it.
Until Yu Lingxin had shown his hand.
One word, one gesture from her could stir his heart. His emotions were entirely in her grasp.
Jiang Nong couldn’t resist the temptation. She’d tried it—and it was fun.
And in this game of teasing, she’d even found a sense of security she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Yu Lingxin would never abandon her. She would always be his first and only choice.
And since Yu Lingxin wasn’t a good person anyway, Jiang Nong didn’t have to feel guilty for toying with him.
What a bad person—how could she find security in him? Jiang Nong, have you gone mad, or are you possessed?
Jiang Nong was falling—she could sense it herself, but she couldn’t stop it. Or rather, she let herself go, carried away by the rare thrill.
Yu Lingxin’s silence was a signal of cold war. Before launching his offensive, he coldly salvaged his dignity: “Then go spend it with a ghost.”
Even though he hadn’t explicitly said the person sincerely wishing her a happy birthday was himself, Jiang Nong’s words had humiliated him. He shouldn’t have asked—asking was just asking to be humiliated.
He, his very being, his feelings—in Jiang Nong’s eyes, it was all worthless dog shit, kicked away before it could even be offered.
After he said that, he fell into a stubborn silence. Jiang Nong suddenly took his hand, interlaced her fingers with his, and raised it, shaking it gently. Her soft, warm palm pressed against his: “But here, I only know Yu Lingxin. Isn’t Yu Lingxin really wishing me a happy birthday?”
Yu Lingxin’s heart twisted painfully, as if gripped by an invisible hand. He shouldn’t have told her to spend it with a ghost.
He didn’t need friends—but Jiang Nong did. And here, she only knew him.
He should have been glad at her loneliness—he’d sworn she would suffer by his side.
But when Jiang Nong said she only knew him here and hoped he would sincerely wish her a happy birthday, her loneliness and heartbreak became tangible before him. Perhaps feelings really could travel through clasped palms.
Yu Lingxin’s breathing grew erratic. He didn’t know how to steady it—because he didn’t know how to find friends for Jiang Nong.
Marrying far away was never a good thing for a woman. It meant leaving behind her homeland—old friends and family, unlikely to ever meet again in this lifetime unless absolutely necessary. She had to go to a completely strange place, integrate into her husband’s family, and make new friends.
Her avenues for making new friends were pitifully few—chief among them being her husband’s friends and relatives.
Yu Lingxin had no friends or relatives himself. Aside from Jiang Nong, there was no second name in his life.
Jiang Nong felt she hadn’t missed the mark this time. She’d delivered a slap and then a sweet date, hadn’t she? Why wasn’t Yu Lingxin taking the bait? Why did his expression turn even worse?
Bewildered, she took his hand and pressed it to her cheek, rubbing against it gently, then studied his face again.
Even worse! What was going on?
Yu Lingxin couldn’t breathe. He was dying.
He didn’t have the presence of mind to wonder what Jiang Nong meant—why she’d taken his hand, why she’d pressed it to her cheek.
All he felt was that Jiang Nong was pitiful.
Why was she so pitiful? So pitiful that she only knew him here—so that even though she hated him, she still wished he would sincerely bless her and spend her birthday with her?
Jiang Nong had never shown him this pitiful expression before—except that Lunar New Year’s Eve when Lady Song had cast her out. Yu Lingxin realized that compared to Jiang Nong hating him, he couldn’t bear seeing her pitiful state.
Like a cat abandoned in a rainstorm, drenched and mewling, eagerly rubbing against passersby.
“Why won’t you say anything?” A strange feeling flickered through Jiang Nong’s heart.
What if she couldn’t coax him back?
But then again, what did it matter if she couldn’t? She was just playing around. If he wouldn’t be coaxed, he could just sit with himself.
She started to pull her hand away. Yu Lingxin used the back of his hand against her cheek to nuzzle her: “I’m a ghost. I’ll spend your birthday with you.”
Until you find new friends—even if you hate me, I’ll still spend your birthday with you.
Anyway, even if you hate me, you still have to sleep next to me every day. What’s the difference?
What a strange thing to say—so nonsensical.
The situation had slipped beyond Jiang Nong’s control, and Yu Lingxin’s words had slipped beyond her understanding. She tried hard to process them but couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
Yu Lingxin brought up his other hand, cupping her face, stroking the corner of her eye. The touch tickled—Jiang Nong couldn’t help blinking, her lashes brushing against his thumb.
Her face was so small he could hold it in one hand. Her chin rested on his palm—so light physically, yet so heavy in his heart.
“Don’t touch my face—you’ll ruin my makeup.” Jiang Nong pulled back in mock disgust, touching her cheek with the back of her hand. It was still intact. She urged him to finish reviewing the memorials—it was getting late.
Yu Lingxin’s palm was left with a faint, sweet trace of her face powder. He rubbed his fingers together, then absentmindedly brushed them over his lower lip and licked it. Still sweet—just like the lip rouge from last time.
Now it was Yu Lingxin’s turn to wonder: why did Jiang Nong always put sweet things on her face? Wouldn’t that attract ants and bees?
Leave a Reply