Excessive weakness and pitifulness would only seem fake—after all, he had used this tactic before. Jiang Nong knew exactly what he was really like; it wouldn’t work, and might even backfire completely. On the other hand, excessive complaining and demanding credit would also dampen her guilt and affection—after all, no woman wants a husband who acts like a resentful wretch. Once or twice might be tolerated, but over time, it would only push her further away.
Yu Lingxin knew all too well how hard-won his current success was. He needed to cherish the fruits of his victory, carefully solidify his newly established relationship with Jiang Nong, and make it more stable.
He neither complained nor acted pitiful. Instead, in an ordinary, casual tone, he smiled and said: “I didn’t actually wait that long. I didn’t expect you’d have lunch with them—by the time I found out, I’d already started cooking. I figured I might as well finish; maybe you’d be able to have some when you got back. Want to try…”
His gaze fell on the now-cold dishes. He paused, looking a little sheepish: “Seems like they’ve gone cold. Never mind—I’ll make you some again tonight. Want to take a nap?”
She’d been busy all morning, and he probably hadn’t eaten either.
Jiang Nong was a woman of conscience. Yu Lingxin had gone to such effort to please her, cooking with his own hands. She had promised just last night to treat him well—how could she bear to disappoint him?
Her eyes grew warm, and she quickly took his hand, holding back tears as she puffed out her cheeks: “It’s fine, it’s fine. I didn’t eat much with them anyway—the ladies have such small appetites, and I felt awkward eating too much. Perfect timing—I can have another meal with you!”
She instructed the attendants to take the food away and reheat it.
Yu Lingxin beamed, holding her hand and pressing it against his cheek, nuzzling it: “You’re so good to me. You’re also so good when you love me.”
His sincerity only made Jiang Nong feel more guilty. She silently vowed never to lose her temper with Yu Lingxin again, never to raise a hand against him, and always to be gentle with him.
They had known each other for so long. Yu Lingxin had seen Jiang Nong struggling to survive in the harem, seen her abandoned by her mother, seen her crying secretly at night from hunger because she wanted to please her parents. He knew better than anyone how much she needed love that was hers alone—unique and unconditional.
Jiang Nong would, for such love, go against her own principles and past grievances, and fall for someone she normally wouldn’t have.
With others, she was always the one giving; with Yu Lingxin, she was always the one receiving. So it was only natural that she would come to love him.
Yu Lingxin knew this—which was why his tenderness and thoughtfulness weren’t just about making Jiang Nong remember his kindness and anchoring her heart. He also wanted to show her that with him, she would always be on the “receiving” end.
When it came to knowing Jiang Nong’s tastes, Yu Lingxin was better than any palace chef—after all, he had decades of experience to draw on.
Jiang Nong had vowed to be better to Yu Lingxin. She picked a plump, large shrimp from the plate, laboriously shelled it, and prepared to feed the first bite to Yu Lingxin.
Her nails had grown a bit long, filed slender and painted with a pale pink polish—her fingers looked like delicate spring onion shoots. Usually, that was fine, but shelling shrimp proved tricky. She sucked in a sharp breath when a shrimp spine pricked her, licked the spot, and ended up with a mangled piece of shrimp meat after all that effort.
Edible, sure—but her plan had been to present a perfect, pristine shrimp to Yu Lingxin. This ragged thing would kill the sweet mood and make her look clumsy.
She hesitated: should she give it to Yu Lingxin anyway, or pretend nothing happened and eat it herself? But before she could decide, her arm was lightly nudged.
Yu Lingxin had already shelled a whole row of shrimp, skewered neatly on a long chopstick, dipped in sauce, and held it up to her with a hint of pride.
Jiang Nong was so annoyed she clenched her fists and thumped the table. So what if you can shell faster and better? Do you have to show off in front of me?
Yu Lingxin had been so smug, expecting her to be touched and happy. Instead, she rolled her eyes and pouted.
Huh?
“You don’t like shrimp anymore?” he asked hesitantly. “If you don’t want them, I’ll eat them myself?”
She had misjudged him. Too embarrassed to admit it, her face flushed red. She stammered for a while, then rubbed her hands together: “I like them again now.”
Yu Lingxin handed her the skewer and ate the mangled shrimp from her plate himself.
Though that was originally meant for him, he seemed to have misunderstood her as well.
He probably thought she wanted to eat them but couldn’t shell them properly—so he’d prepared this whole skewer for her.
How could he be this sweet?
Jiang Nong returned the favor and split her shrimp with him.
The stray, masterless mad dog in the village used to bark furiously at Jiang Nong—yet would always roll at her feet. On an ordinary yet special night, she took him in.
That dirty stray became a house dog, washed clean and made new—revealing puppy eyes that had been hidden beneath the matted fur, sparkling as they looked at Jiang Nong.
It might still bark furiously at others, and there might still be countless people calling for the dog to be put down—but it had already become Jiang Nong’s little dog. And Jiang Nong only knew that her little dog was a dog who loved its owner very much, and recognized only her as its master. After being adopted, it had even become better behaved than before.
Not a bad dog—a good dog.
Adopting a little dog meant taking responsibility for it. From now on, if her little dog did something wrong, it would be the owner’s fault—for not having trained it well.
Jiang Nong had found her answer in her heart, and she decided that even if the world ended and the heavens collapsed, she would never abandon her little dog.
If she couldn’t shell shrimp properly, surely she could peel fruit?
Jiang Nong refused to believe she couldn’t manage even that.
The peaches in the hall had been sitting there for a day, already gone from crisp to soft.
Jiang Nong squeezed one. She didn’t like soft peaches. She was about to have someone take them away when she suddenly remembered—maybe Yu Lingxin liked soft peaches?
She held up a peach, nudged Yu Lingxin with her elbow, and asked: “Do you like crunchy peaches or soft peaches?”
This question was as difficult as when she’d once asked him to choose between two lip rouges—what was the difference? Yu Lingxin inwardly drew a sharp breath.
Of course he knew what Jiang Nong liked. As a child, she’d liked soft peaches. At twelve or thirteen, she’d switched to crunchy ones. At fifteen or sixteen, she’d gone back to soft. Before she’d even asked this question, Yu Lingxin remembered her preference had recently shifted back to crunchy ones.
So now, by asking this, was she testing whether he noticed her changing tastes? Or was she probing to see if they had any common ground in the great crunchy-versus-soft peach debate?
The rivalry between crunchy and soft peach lovers was famously irreconcilable.
If his preference differed from hers, would she silently deduct points from him in her heart?
Yu Lingxin was determined to be a perfect husband in Jiang Nong’s eyes—he absolutely could not let a peach lower his score.
Jiang Nong frowned. How could such a simple question—soft or crunchy—take so long to answer? Didn’t he even know what he liked?
She nudged him again with her elbow: “Come on—soft or crunchy?”
Yu Lingxin answered in a way that made peeling easier.
His hand, resting at his side, unconsciously clenched as he replied cautiously: “I’ve always thought crunchy peaches are quite good—sweet, crisp, and easy to eat.”
Jiang Nong gave an unreadable “Oh.” Yu Lingxin quickly added: “But I also think soft peaches are good too. Both have their merits.”
Jiang Nong gave another ambiguous “Oh.” So he liked both crunchy and soft.
She squeezed the peach: “But this one’s half-crunchy, half-soft. Do you like that?”
Yu Lingxin hadn’t expected a third option to emerge from the binary choice. He closed his eyes briefly, resisting the urge to rub his face, and added once more: “Actually, half-crunchy, half-soft peaches have their own unique charm.”
“You could’ve just said you like all peaches! Why did you have to think so long? I’ve been waiting to peel this peach for you until the flower’s about to wilt. I kept asking because I was afraid you wouldn’t eat soft ones.” Jiang Nong scolded him lightly, picked up the knife, and began to peel the peach for him.
So… it was just… to peel him a peach—
Yu Lingxin’s mind had twisted through a hundred turns, contemplating every possibility—never once imagining that Jiang Nong was simply asking because she wanted to peel a peach for him.
Overthinking was a bit embarrassing—but the fact that Jiang Nong cared about his preferences made him even happier.
Jiang Nong’s talent for daily tasks had already revealed itself during the shrimp-peeling incident.
Crunchy peaches were indeed kinder fruits than soft ones—at least they didn’t drip juice all over her hands.
She should have asked for a plate of soft peaches instead—at least then this peach wouldn’t look so unappetizingly messy.
Jiang Nong held up her peach-juice-covered hand, looking around for a handkerchief. Bright juice coated her fingers, about to drip—she instinctively turned her hand over, and the liquid trickled down her palm, a glistening line trailing to her wrist and toward her forearm.
“Where’s the handkerchief? Where is it? Yu Lingxin, help me find one.” But before she could get a handkerchief to wipe off the juice, she felt Yu Lingxin’s cool, warm lips instead.
He leaned in, took her fingertip into his mouth, and licked away the sticky peach juice. His soft lips slid down, lapping clean the juice from her palm and wrist.
After the faint tickling, the warm, rough sensation of his tongue lingered on her palm, sending a subtle shiver through her body.
She looked at him in surprise. Yu Lingxin looked back, his gaze shifting to her other hand still holding the peach—a barely perceptible heat in his eyes.
“Then… if you like licking it, go ahead…” Jiang Nong switched the peach to her other hand, slightly stiff under his gaze, and offered him her other juice-covered hand.
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