Jiang Nong held up the two swatches of fabric, comparing them. Hearing his words, she shook her head repeatedly: “How can it be too early? I feel like I’m ready. I can raise a child well. And besides, these things should be prepared in advance.”
For many people, marriage naturally led to children, and children naturally led to birth. As for how to raise them or how to take responsibility for them—they didn’t need to think too much. Generation after generation had reproduced this way, and children had grown up one after another. As long as they grew up healthy and whole, that was good enough.
But Jiang Nong—whether because of her own and Yu Lingxin’s childhood experiences, or because of her lingering regret and guilt toward Xiaoman from the previous life—had thought long and hard before she felt ready.
She would give her child loving parents, a happy family, and let them grow up healthy and joyful into a kind and upright person.
Yu Lingxin suspected he’d woken up wrong—how else could he hear such terrible news the moment he opened his eyes? He closed them, then opened them again, only to find it was no illusion.
In the end, he could only let out a cold, bitter laugh: “Women are deceivers. You swore by the moon and stars today, saying you’d love only me in this life—and not even a day later, you want to have a child to love. Just like when you said you’d be with me forever. I’m not really wronged—after all, I’m already content that you can love me at all.”
Jiang Nong pressed her lips to his, silencing him, and peppered his face with kisses: “There—Yu Lingxin, your heart is so small, even smaller than a needle’s eye. I only asked you to pick a fabric color. It’s not like I’m saying we should have a child right now to compete with you. Of course she’ll be born at the same time as in the previous life. And besides, she’s your child too—you’ll love her just as much as I do, won’t you?”
Yu Lingxin breathed a sigh of relief, but couldn’t resist teasing her: “What if I love her more than you? Would you be jealous?”
Jiang Nong looked even happier: “That would be wonderful! She’d be the happiest child in the world. Even if you loved her most, I wouldn’t be jealous—after all, she’s the fruit of our love.”
She was so sincere—so sincere that Yu Lingxin doubted jealousy would ever find a place in her heart.
His expression twisted. He wanted to say something crude—like how even excrement is the product of delicacies, yet no one cherishes it.
As for loving the child—of course he wouldn’t. Every time he saw Yu Lingyin’s face, growing more and more like both his and Jiang Nong’s, he wanted to strangle her.
In the previous life, the more someone resembled Jiang Nong, the more he hated them—and the faster they died.
In the early days after Jiang Nong’s death, some speculated that his love for her ran deep, so they scoured the land for women who looked like her and sent them to the palace. Every time he saw one, he would bite his teeth until they bled. Looking at those faces, he wanted to tear them limb from limb.
And he did exactly that.
Everyone was baffled. After much deliberation, they concluded that he actually hated Jiang Nong to the bone—that he couldn’t even bear to see a face that resembled hers.
Only Yu Lingxin knew the truth: whenever he saw someone who looked like Jiang Nong, his bones itched with hatred, his insides twisted with jealousy.
Why did they get to have a face like hers while Jiang Nong was dead? Why were they still alive?
They should all die! Every last one!
Jiang Nong didn’t feel jealousy—she had never harbored dark, envious thoughts toward anyone. Yu Lingxin was her opposite. He had it—often, constantly, every moment of every day.
He was jealous of the whole world on her behalf.
He had even once entertained the mad idea of trading Yu Lingyin to get Jiang Nong back.
Jiang Nong, oblivious to his thoughts, saw his expression turn suddenly solemn and laughed, pushing up the corners of his downturned mouth, tilting her head to look at him.
Even if she didn’t care, he still had to tell her: “I was lying. I love you most. Only you.”
He fumbled under the pillow and pulled out something gleaming, hanging it around her neck.
Only then did Jiang Nong realize it was a polished, pierced wolf tooth—one he must have pulled from one of those wolves. It was beautiful. He hadn’t slept last night—had he been making this?
It wasn’t very refined—not a craftsman’s work.
She touched it fondly and asked: “Do you have one too?”
Yu Lingxin shook his head, tucked it into her collar, straightened her clothes, and said: “The prettiest one is for you. Wolf teeth ward off fright—wearing it might keep the nightmares away.”
There was a legend that frightened children could be soothed by wearing a wolf tooth—but Jiang Nong wasn’t a child anymore. Still, she happily accepted it. This was the first time she’d received something like this—it was a token of Yu Lingxin’s affection, made by his own hands. It meant a lot.
“Then if you have nightmares, tell me—I’ll share it with you.”
“I don’t have nightmares anymore.”
Jiang Nong touched the tooth through her clothes and murmured: “How can anyone not have nightmares?”
Because you’re alive.
He still didn’t say it—didn’t want to be too sentimental. He touched the upturned corner of her mouth, beaming with joy. He would give all his love to Jiang Nong, not a single scrap to anyone else.
Yu Lingxin’s love was extreme and intense, dark and obscure. Jiang Nong was his wife. He wanted to be nurtured and cherished by her—but even more, he wanted to nurture her. He wanted to comb every strand of her hair, trim every one of her fingernails, wipe every inch of her skin, and leave his mark upon her.
Jiang Nong was the sole object of all his love—his chaotic desires, his pure affection and dependence, all fused into one complex emotion and projected onto her. Sometimes he didn’t even know how to express his love and fondness, so he simply pressed his cheek into her palm, again and again, to soothe his surging passion—just as he was doing now.
How did they end up back at him being clingy again?
Maybe that’s just how younger husbands are.
Jiang Nong thought this and could only indulge him as he stuck to her.
…
Along with the wolf-tooth pendant, a lively rumor spread beyond the palace. It was said that on Mount Xi lived a mysterious righteous warrior who, on a dark and windy night, single-handedly killed three wolves, ridding the people of a menace—then vanished without a trace, leaving not a single cloud behind.
Eventually, through word of mouth, the story morphed: it became a divine maiden residing on Mount Xi who had come to save the common folk. Seeing the people plagued by wolves, she performed this heroic deed on that dark night—and soon, a band of con artists began exploiting the legend to collect offerings.
At first, when Jiang Nong heard the “righteous warrior” version, she felt a secret pride. But when it turned into a “divine maiden,” she quickly put a stop to it, ordering the Golden Guard to arrest the frauds and parade them through the streets.
These supernatural tales were always easy to exploit. Yet at times, the court itself had to use such lore to reassure the people and encourage virtue.
After all, the saying “There are gods three feet above your head” had served as an irreplaceable psychological deterrent throughout the ages.
In the seventh month, the fire star wanes; in the ninth, clothes are given.
This year, the summer heat faded faster than usual. The summer garments from the Court of the Imperial Treasury had only just been tailored, and autumn clothes were already in progress.
As the saying goes, at twenty-three you still grow. She was only twenty—there was plenty of potential.
Perhaps it was the change of climate, or perhaps it was no longer having to diet, but Jiang Nong had grown quite a bit over these two years in Tan. Last year, she could still wear clothes from the year before. This year, last year’s clothes were already too short.
She was delighted by this—taller meant longer legs, and longer legs made one look slender and elegant. When you’re slender, your head looks smaller. She deliberately put on her old, too-small clothes and paraded in front of Yu Lingxin, hoping he’d notice.
He noticed. He noticed more than that.
He silently flipped through the roster of officials, searching for a few corrupt scapegoats to drain.
Where was there justice? Some people were dripping with wealth, eating jade and cooking gold—while his hardworking, kind, gentle wife couldn’t even bring herself to make new clothes, wearing the same old ones year after year.
His hatred simmered again.
Kill one, or kill two?
Jiang Nong couldn’t read his mind. She thought he simply hadn’t noticed she’d grown taller, so she circled him again, deliberately waving her too-short sleeves in front of him.
Yu Lingxin thought: Kill three, or kill four?
Finally, Jiang Nong couldn’t hold back. She slapped the table and stood up: “Yu Lingxin! Don’t you see anything different about me?”
His gaze swept over her. He said: “I’m sorry.”
The fault was indeed his. He knew Jiang Nong lived simply, but he hadn’t realized she’d been suffering such deprivation.
“Huh???” Jiang Nong was baffled.
Why was he apologizing?
She’d grown taller—what did Yu Lingxin have to be sorry about?
“Look! Look! I’ve grown this much taller, and you didn’t even congratulate me—and then you say ‘I’m sorry’? What’s that about?” She held out her exposed wrists and twirled in her dress.
“I deliberately wore the clothes I came in, thinking it would be obvious. You really didn’t notice?”
Yu Lingxin let out a deep sigh of relief—and then thought she was just too adorable. She’d worn too-small clothes just to show him she’d grown, to playfully seek his attention. How could she be this cute?
He pulled her into his lap and thought: just kill one.
“I see it. That’s great!”
“So perfunctory.” She accused him, comparing her arm to his.
She’d grown so much—yet there was still such a gap. Yu Lingxin had grown even more than she had.
He apologized sincerely: “Then I shall compose a rhapsody in honor of the Empress, celebrating her growth in height, strength, and age. Your Highness, what do you think of this humble one’s suggestion?”
“Let me read it when it’s done.”
“I’ll have it posted on the city gates too—so everyone can congratulate and celebrate with Your Highness. How about that?”
Jiang Nong considered it: “That might be a bit much.”
Yu Lingxin couldn’t keep his affected falsetto up anymore—he burst out laughing.
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