When Jiang Nong woke up the next morning, she found her lips were cracked.
She thought it was just from dryness—but why hadn’t it happened before?
After some thought, she could only conclude that Yu Lingxin had bitten them open the night before.
She began to wonder: in her previous life, when she always assumed her lips were chapped—had they actually been bitten open by Yu Lingxin in the middle of the night?
What an absolute scoundrel.
Now she had reason to suspect that time at the courier station too—that Yu Lingxin had sneaked in at night.
She touched her swollen lower lip and went to her dressing case to find some jasmine oil to soothe it.
Yu Lingxin wasn’t there. He’d gotten up early for once—no idea where he’d gone.
She dabbed a bit of oil on her fingertip and was about to spread it on her lips when the window was knocked on—loudly.
Who else would knock on a window like that but Yu Lingxin?
She threw on an outer robe, unlatched the window, and a gust of cold air rushed in. Winter in Tan had a distinct smell—a sweet, icy chill like shaved ice.
Yu Lingxin was holding a bouquet.
But it wasn’t an ordinary bouquet. It was made of snow—twigs for stems, petals somehow sculpted from snow into roses.
Not as delicate or fragrant as real flowers—even a bit crude—but novel enough to be the most extraordinary bouquet Jiang Nong had ever seen. And the most thoughtful.
“You made this yourself? How? That’s amazing.” Jiang Nong took it. As soon as she touched the petals, they began to melt. The bedchamber was warm—they’d probably melt soon. She held the bouquet carefully, leaning out the window, trying not to touch the petals again.
“I made them with my hands,” Yu Lingxin said vaguely. He told her to move aside, then grabbed the window frame and climbed in from outside.
Jiang Nong was startled. She looked around—luckily, no attendants were nearby. Otherwise, Yu Lingxin’s reputation would be ruined.
“Is there no door? Why do you have to climb through the window? What if someone sees?”
“Then I’ll kill them.” Yu Lingxin straddled the window and made a throat-slitting gesture.
Jiang Nong clenched her fist and knocked him off the sill—he fell into a puff of snow.
She carefully handed the bouquet back to him: “Don’t come in yet—stick them in the snow. They’ll melt if you bring them inside.”
The flowers were precious. The one who made them was just a weed.
But Jiang Nong liked what he’d made.
Yu Lingxin suspected she’d trained him well—being pushed out a window and still thinking about this.
He took the flowers and stuck them in the snow by the window: “Can you see them?”
Jiang Nong directed him: “A bit to the left.”
He followed her instruction. “No—a bit to the right.”
“Now left again.”
“Like this?” Yu Lingxin asked.
Jiang Nong still wasn’t quite satisfied. She wanted to say something but felt she was being too fussy—they’d already moved them so many times.
If it were someone else—like Jiang Yuan—she probably wouldn’t have objected to the first placement. After all, they were doing her a favor, and nitpicking was annoying.
Yu Lingxin could tell she was hesitating. His voice softened: “Just tell me if you’re not happy with it—I don’t mind the trouble.”
Jiang Nong finally said: “I’d like them higher.”
So Yu Lingxin piled up a mound of snow and planted the three snow roses on top. Now, whenever Jiang Nong opened the window, without even looking, the flowers would be right there facing her.
She watched him crouching there, planting flowers for her, and felt a complicated mix of emotions.
Yu Lingxin was different. Jiang Nong would never treat anyone else the way she treated him—it was far too rude.
Yet she took it for granted with him—because no matter how she treated him, he wouldn’t get angry or distance himself. He kept saying he hated her, but he still made her snow flowers in winter.
Yu Lingxin climbed back in through the window. Only then did Jiang Nong notice his face was red.
The spot where she’d hit him with a snowball yesterday, and where snowmelt had touched, had a faint bit of frostbite—rough and peeling. His hands were bright red too.
She touched his hand. It was dry as bark, rough and freezing.
Though men in this dynasty didn’t usually wear heavy makeup or adornments, they still applied protective oils in cold weather—especially on their faces and hands—to prevent chapping. Chao Ning, as Dang Kingdom’s most handsome man, was quite knowledgeable about skincare and would sometimes share tips with Jiang Nong. But Yu Lingxin didn’t seem to have that habit.
Then again—who had ever cared for him before? Being able to eat his fill was already good.
Still, someone who didn’t even use moisturizer had such good skin—it would make others green with envy. Jiang Nong, with her thin skin, had to apply thick layers every day, or her face would feel tight by the next morning.
In the end, it was her fault from yesterday. Yu Lingxin had never aimed at her face—but she’d hit his.
She touched his frostbitten cheek—it was a little warm. “Doesn’t it hurt?”
The faint sting was negligible to Yu Lingxin. Besides, Jiang Nong was just touching his face—not slapping him. Why would it hurt?
Yu Lingxin said it didn’t hurt.
Jiang Nong found that hard to believe—was something wrong with his sense of pain?
She raised her hand and gave him a light tap: “What about this?”
Not much force—Yu Lingxin said, “Doesn’t hurt.”
Jiang Nong steeled herself and pinched his cheek: “Does this hurt?”
Yu Lingxin’s expression didn’t even flicker: “Not really.”
Jiang Nong gasped—he really did have thick skin. The pain receptors on his face were so dull, no wonder he always looked like he enjoyed being slapped.
But even if it didn’t hurt, he couldn’t just let it go. If he left it untreated, every winter his face would turn red and itchy.
Jiang Nong sat before her bronze mirror and rummaged through her dressing case, pulling out two jars of face cream. She asked him: “Pick one.”
Here it was—Yu Lingxin’s most dreaded moment: choosing between two things. He stood beside her, his stunningly beautiful, almost demonic face reflected in the mirror.
He still couldn’t tell the difference between the two jars. Both were fragrant, both for the face. What difference did they actually make? He had no idea.
What should he say this time? Nothing seemed quite right. Last time he could at least say the color was nice.
His gaze darted between the two small glass jars. His eyelid twitched. His head was smoking from the effort.
Jiang Nong was beside herself with laughter—reminded of the time he’d helped her choose lip rouge.
He was usually so sharp—how could he turn into such a fool at moments like this?
Dazed and a little amusing.
Still trying to spot the difference, aren’t you?
But this time, Jiang Nong didn’t toy with him. She opened both lids and held them out for him to smell: “This one’s jasmine. This one’s plum blossom. Which scent do you prefer? Both are lovely.”
“Whatever I choose, you’ll go with?”
“Of course.” Funny—why does she need to ask so many questions just to put cream on his face?
The half of Yu Lingxin’s face that had been reddened by the snowball grew even redder.
Whatever he chose, Jiang Nong would use. The scent on her today would be his choice.
He didn’t care much for plum blossom—too cold. Jasmine was nice—like spring.
He picked the jar with the white cream.
He likes such a fragrant scent?
Jiang Nong set down the pink jar. She curved her fingers and scooped out a bit of cream with her almond-shaped nails. The milky white balm sat on her pale fingertip—just as delicate and fair, impossibly beautiful. She rubbed it between her palms until it turned transparent, then told him to lower his head.
Though confused, Yu Lingxin obeyed.
Jiang Nong gently pressed her palms to his face, smoothing the jasmine balm over his skin, rubbing it in until the thick cream was absorbed—moisturized, but not greasy.
Yu Lingxin’s mind went blank. So fragrant. So soft. So light.
He steadied himself against the table.
It was for me?
Jiang Nong scooped out more, took his hands, and rubbed them in one by one: “Since you like the scent, this jar is yours. Apply it twice a day—your face and hands won’t get so dry.”
Yu Lingxin had never imagined being treated like this by Jiang Nong.
Because he’d made her snow roses and she liked them—so she was being good to him. Was that it?
If he tried to call it love, even he wouldn’t believe it. He couldn’t deceive himself.
Such a terrible person—yet somehow looking so pitiful now?
He was the one who’d bitten her lip raw, the one who’d rubbed against her in bed, the one always unsatisfied. And now he was pretending to be innocent over a touch?
Jiang Nong swore—she truly hadn’t been toying with him this time. The jasmine balm was even freshly made over the summer. Heaven knew!
Yu Lingxin’s mood swung up and down, his steps light and heavy. His good mood lasted through breakfast.
No court session today. He had no one to share his good mood with. After a moment’s thought, he sent Xunliang to summon several ministers to the study in Xuan Shi Hall for discussion.
Lü Chengcheng arrived first, braving the wind and snow. The poor man was over sixty—yesterday’s snow had made the roads treacherous. But he’d always been the first to unconditionally support His Majesty’s diligence in governing.
Yu Lingxin stood in the middle of the study, warming himself by the fire. The warmth intensified the fragrance on him—it was noticeable as soon as one drew near.
Part of him thought a man smelling this fragrant was unseemly. Another part thought—since it was Jiang Nong’s, the fragrance was only natural.
Lü Chengcheng knelt in salute. Yu Lingxin, in high spirits, told him to rise. After the ministers had assembled and they’d discussed state affairs briefly, he suddenly motioned them to come closer.
The ministers were uneasy—wondering if they’d said something wrong and angered His Majesty.
“The snow has been heavy this year. The roads are icy and treacherous. You should take care to keep warm on your way here, gentlemen. I see Lord Lü’s face has been chapped by the cold wind.”
Two years. Two years since His Majesty ascended the throne—and this was the first time he’d said something so human!
The ministers were moved to tears. They weren’t afraid of emotion—they were afraid of their usually cold emperor becoming emotional. Who could withstand that?
It seemed His Majesty had finally learned to care for his ministers.
Lü Chengcheng, singled out for concern, kowtowed repeatedly, his heart surging: “Your Majesty’s concern fills this old minister with gratitude. But I am aged and naturally cannot match Your Majesty’s vigor. Even on ordinary days, my face is not particularly moist.”
Yu Lingxin’s tone was still light, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His fingertips tapped lightly on the armrest: “In truth, this weather has left my skin quite dry as well. But fortunately, the Empress takes pity on me—she personally blended this moisturizing balm and applied it with her own hands. That is the source of what Lord Lü calls my ‘vigor.’ Just a bit of trivial bedroom tenderness—and yet Lord Lü has noticed it. I am almost embarrassed.”
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