This winter, the weather was especially mild, with barely a few snowfalls. The ground was covered only in a thin, soft, crystalline layer of snow—the brown of the soil still showed through.
Sunlight filtered through the tortoiseshell windows in dappled patches, scattering across the floor like shattered gems.
Jiang Nong lifted her skirts and hopped along the broken spots of light, head bowed, stepping lightly on the blue bricks. She wanted to see where following these patches of light would lead her.
The last patch of amber light sat alone in the distance. She took a breath, leaped—and nearly stumbled. Yu Lingxin caught her, and she let herself fall into his arms.
“You did that on purpose, didn’t you? Standing here waiting for me? If you wanted a hug, you could’ve just said so.” She gave him a big embrace.
“How can you say something so heartless? Jiang Nong, put your hand over your heart and ask yourself—wasn’t I standing here afraid you’d fall? Then you’d come crying to me about your wounds.”
“Fine, then don’t hold me.”
She tried to pull away, but he held her tight: “I’m the worst. I did it on purpose—stood here just to catch you when you fell into my arms.”
“Hug me a little longer.” He rubbed his cheek against hers, like two small animals instinctively expressing affection through cheek-touching.
Why do people hug?
Perhaps it’s because sharing warmth makes one feel truly happy.
“It didn’t snow much this year,” Jiang Nong tilted her head in his arms, adjusting to a better position for talking. “I’m a little disappointed. If it snowed, we could skate on the lake like we did that year, have snowball fights.”
“Then I’ll pray for you—that it snows heavily soon.”
Such boring words, yet they both found them amusing and never tired of them.
“Actually, it’s fine if it doesn’t snow. If it doesn’t, it stays warm. When they come to visit me, they won’t be too cold.”
She meant Jiang Yuan, Chao Ning, and the others.
In this life, without Yu Lingxin’s interference, Jiang Su’s regency had gone smoothly. Jiang Yuan and many of her sisters had also gained much more freedom. As the new year approached, after so long apart, they had come with the envoys to see her.
Jiang Nong was happy—in this life, everyone had found their own happiness.
Even if they were far away in other kingdoms and couldn’t meet often, she felt content.
Yu Lingxin agreed with everything she said without reservation: “Snow or no snow—either is fine. If it snows, they’ll get to see Tan’s snow, which is much heavier than Xi’s.”
“You’re so boring. Whatever I say, you just say yes.” She twirled a strand of his hair around her finger.
He chuckled: “If I’m so boring, are you going to abandon me? Then I’ll just argue with you every day. Jiang Nong, you’re so annoying—if I argue, you hate me; if I agree, you find me boring.”
She whispered in his ear: “You’re the annoying one. Yu Lingxin is the most annoying.”
“…”
“Then the annoying Yu Lingxin will hide all the sweet potatoes and peanuts he grew and eat them himself.”
Yes, under the couple’s relentless efforts over the years, the garden of Xuan Shi Hall had taken on a rustic, pastoral charm. Besides the dizzying array of flowering trees, there were also all kinds of crops.
Since it was already far from aesthetically pleasing, they figured they might as well plant whatever they wanted.
Amid the golden halls and jade pavilions, the sweet potato vines swaying in the wind had a simple, earnest charm.
The fine varieties of sweet potatoes and peanuts cultivated on the Meng River plains, under Jiang Nong and Yu Lingxin’s careful planning, had been planted beneath those bright red crabapple trees.
With Yu Lingxin’s Midas touch for growing things, they had a bountiful harvest—already stored away.
“It’s snowing!”
“It’s snowing, it’s snowing!”
Before Jiang Nong could say more, the murmurs of the palace attendants drifted in from outside.
She slipped out of his arms and pushed open the window. The north wind swept in, carrying feathery snowflakes that blew through her hair.
The hall was warm; the snowflakes that drifted in quickly melted into puddles of water, silently evaporating.
Yu Lingxin walked over and propped the window open a little smaller: “Don’t stand right at the window. The snow melting on you will make you uncomfortable.”
Jiang Nong caught a few snowflakes—they were cold and crisp.
Snowy days were the warmest. It was always colder after the snow melted.
Perhaps the lake would freeze over by tomorrow.
She couldn’t wait to get out and skate on the ice—though she knew Yu Lingxin would never agree. Too dangerous.
She pursed her lips, then had an idea. She looked up at him with bright, sparkling eyes and asked if she could.
Of course, Yu Lingxin said no: “The ice isn’t solid yet. What if you fall through?”
She smoothly changed her request: “Then let’s go roast sweet potatoes by the lake. Roasting sweet potatoes in the snow sounds like fun.”
Yu Lingxin was momentarily speechless.
“Actually… you only wanted to roast sweet potatoes all along, didn’t you?”
Jiang Nong pressed her palms together in a pleading gesture: “Can I?”
Since she’d said it like that, Yu Lingxin naturally couldn’t refuse and lose face.
Besides, in this household, was he really the one with the final say?
Jiang Nong was doing him the courtesy of asking, of pleading—he’d better not be ungrateful and reject her. Otherwise, her happy sweet-potato-roasting would turn into a sweet-potato-roasting session with a grudge against him.
He had no choice but to grant permission: “Then dress warmly. And set up a shelter in the snow.”
Their outings were always without attendants—fortunately, Yu Lingxin could do everything himself.
It was the same lake where they’d hung prayer ribbons. Faded red strips still fluttered from the branches—ones they’d added year after year.
They set up a simple shelter, open on three sides to block the wind, and Yu Lingxin started a fire.
Jiang Nong hugged her knees, wrapped in her cloak, gazing at the vast white expanse where the lake met the sky, then at Yu Lingxin, whose eyes were lowered. She suddenly thought—even dying now would be a good thing.
She had once desperately wanted to live, been so grateful for a second chance, because life still held so many unfinished things—she had regrets, and she’d been unwilling to let go. But dying now, at the happiest moment of her life—somehow, that felt beautiful.
As if sensing something, Yu Lingxin looked up, meeting her eyes: “Even if the scenery looks a little bleak right now, don’t go thinking strange thoughts.”
Jiang Nong had been lost in melancholy reflection—and he cut her off completely. She covered her face in disbelief: “How did you know?”
He raised an eyebrow—of course I know.
He tossed the sweet potatoes into the fire and placed peanuts, persimmons, and oranges on the wire grill. Then he reached over, gathered her cloak, and tied it tighter around her.
Sitting face-to-face wasn’t ideal. He thought for a moment, then moved to her side, shoulder to shoulder, resting his head lightly on her shoulder as they waited for the food to cook.
The charcoal crackled, sending up red embers—lighting up a small, warm corner in the vast white world.
The peanut shells sizzled on the grill, twisting in the heat, releasing the dry, earthy fragrance of roasted plants.
Neither knew who touched whose fingertip first—Yu Lingxin was quicker, smoothly interlacing his fingers with hers.
She didn’t pull away. She didn’t intend to.
His hand was cool, not quite warm enough. She cupped it in her palms and rubbed it—and that made Yu Lingxin happy again. He leaned into her, resting his head on her lap.
He couldn’t quite bring himself to say coquettish words—he had too much pride, which was exactly why he’d needed Jiang Nong to admit she loved him first before he’d dared confess. But these near-coquettish actions came naturally.
“Your head is so heavy.”
“Then you rest your head on me.”
Yu Lingxin sat up. But compared to his firm lap, Jiang Nong preferred lying on him, completely enveloped—safe.
She shook her head: “No. It’ll mess up my hair. And you’ll definitely touch my face, and then my makeup will smudge.”
“I swear I won’t touch you this time.”
“I don’t trust your vows. You said the same thing last time.”
Yu Lingxin was always touching, patting, kissing her—completely unreliable.
Outside the shelter, the snow fell harder, piling up into a thick white blanket that reflected fragments of light.
They exchanged silly words. Jiang Nong scooped up a handful of snow, packed it, and suddenly stuffed it down the back of his collar.
He tried to grab her but missed—she twisted away. He chased after her, throwing snowballs back.
Jiang Nong was bundled up thick by Yu Lingxin, and Yu Lingxin was bundled up thick by Jiang Nong. They rolled in the snow like two clumsy bears wrestling—almost comically pathetic.
Her hair came loose, wet strands plastered to her forehead as she panted. She easily pinned Yu Lingxin to the ground, and he stopped struggling, cupped her flushed cheeks, gave her a loud kiss on each cheek, then spread his arms wide—a picture of total surrender.
Jiang Nong relaxed and collapsed on top of him to catch her breath.
The faded prayer ribbons fluttered—the only bright color in the silent white world. Their breathing was the only sound.
She raised both hands, forming a frame with her thumbs and index fingers, capturing those fluttering ribbons. Her vision grew hazy—like the final scene before death, when your life flashes before your eyes.
“They say that before you die, you see the person you most want to see.”
Yu Lingxin mirrored her gesture, framing her silhouette: “I can vouch for that. It’s true.”
When the poison burned through him, it was Jiang Nong who held his hand, covered his eyes, held him, and said: “A Xin, don’t be afraid.”
“And you? Was it Chao Ning? Your mother? Jiang Biao?” He asked, carrying a faint, unrealistic hope.
Jiang Nong didn’t ask who he had seen in his last moment—it seemed she didn’t need to. Instead, she swayed her hands, squinted, and aimed her frame at him: “Guess?”
It was a shy, sixteen-year-old face.
At this moment, the sound of falling snow weighed heavier than a thousand pounds in Yu Lingxin’s ears.
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