Discontent with what?
As Jiang Yinyue pondered, a burst of barking erupted outside, setting off the neighbor’s watchdogs.
What a racket
.
Jiang Yinyue realized something and hurried to the gate. Steadying her breath, she opened it to see a pure white hunting hound squatting there, tail wagging. The instant it spotted her, it whined and pounced.
Wei Ying cried out in alarm, “Sister-in-law, careful!”
But Jiang Yinyue caught the hound as it reared up on hind legs, her puzzlement swept away by sorrow. Her one lingering attachment from the Eastern Palace was this hound she had picked up as a pup.
“Qi Bao.”
“Woof! Woof woof!”
Qi Bao was so excited it wagged nonstop, whining and humming, yet mindful of its other master. It dashed back to Wei Xichen for affection, then burrowed into Jiang Yinyue’s arms, repeating the cycle. The fourteen-year-old dog bounded like an energetic pup.
Jiang Yinyue rubbed Qi Bao’s head and gave the man who brought it a cold glance. “What is Your Highness’s intent?”
Returning Qi Bao to her?
That would be fine.
“A gentleman takes joy in others’ adulthood. If Your Highness still considers himself one.”
Her words stiffened the corners of the man’s mouth, who had unconsciously smiled.
Nearby, Fu Zhongcai wished he could cover his ears. What a little ancestor, daring to mock the Crown Prince to his face.
“Stay here for now,” Wei Xichen said, his tone still mild.
“If it’s staying, then it’s staying. What does ‘for now’ mean?”
Things remained, but people had changed. The once arrogant and domineering little girl no longer bristled all over in front of him. Wei Xichen even felt a sense of unfamiliarity. “Qi Bao misses you.”
Qi Bao’s whining sounds still lingered in his ears. Jiang Yinyue did not want it to get too excited, after all, it was getting on in years, so she had no intention of clashing further with Wei Xichen, lest the socially oblivious Qi Bao remain overly agitated.
“Alright, alright.”
She softly soothed Qi Bao’s emotions. Her warm smile was exceptionally gentle, deeply imprinting itself in Wei Xichen’s eyes.
Wei Xichen suddenly wished for an adult’s favor, just to preserve her smile at that moment.
But a cough sounded from not far away.
Wei Ying reacted to Qi Bao’s fur.
Miaodie explained in a small voice, “The Young Miss is allergic to furry creatures…”
“It’s fine!” Wei Ying interrupted Miaodie.
But Jiang Yinyue took it to heart. She looked troubled at the expectant Qi Bao, picked it up, and walked out the courtyard gate. She did not know what she discussed with Wei Xichen, but when she returned, the back alley was empty, and Qi Bao was nowhere to be seen.
Wei Ying guiltily called out “Sister-in-law.”
Jiang Yinyue smiled faintly and softly reassured her that it was no big deal.
That evening, when Wei Qin returned and heard his sister mention Qi Bao, he sensed her guilt and comforted her. “Your body is weak. If Qi Bao triggered an allergy, then it would be your sister-in-law feeling guilty instead.”
Wei Ying realized he had a point and nodded vigorously.
Wei Qin watched his sister’s departing figure and knew this girl was sensitive and insecure, always apologizing in advance and taking the blame onto herself.
Such a minor matter, yet she dwelled on it for so long.
Looking at Jiang Yinyue again, she was utterly unaffected by Qi Bao. She missed it, of course, but she knew priorities—Wei Ying’s health mattered more. And spending time with Qi Bao did not necessarily require living under the same roof.
“Ying’er feels remorseful?” Jiang Yinyue was somewhat amused. “Once Ying’er recovers, I plan to take her out more—to enjoy the spring outings, tour the mountains and rivers.”
The vast world, the essence of sun and moon—her heart would open naturally.
Wei Ying had huddled in one corner for too long, her pent-up depression building up, making her increasingly timid and pessimistic.
Yesterday, she had heard her mother-in-law mention that she was worrying over her daughter’s marriage prospects.
Both young ladies of the Wei Family had reached marriageable age. The matchmakers who came calling were all aiming for Wei Huan, which delighted Lady Zhang—no more scolding her daughter. For several days, she discussed with her husband which family would be most suitable. As for Wei Ying, plagued by illness and medicines, she would be seen as a burden wherever she married. Lady Gu figured that if nothing else worked, they could just recruit a son-in-law for her…
Jiang Yinyue planned to add a few more dowry trunks for Wei Ying, making it sixty-four in total—a token of her sincerity. If Wei Ying accepted a recruited husband, that would be another matter.
She would adapt as needed.
“Perhaps Ying’er needs a husband with a pure yang body for some yin-yang harmony.”
Wei Qin, who had been sipping tea to moisten his throat, paused slightly at the mention of yin-yang harmony. “Where did you learn that?”
Jiang Yinyue would only dare say such things to her husband behind closed doors. With profound mystery, she pulled out a thick stack of storybooks. “I learned it from here.”
She had bought them from a nearby bookshop.
Wei Qin had never touched storybooks before, but ever since living day and night with Jiang Yinyue, the ink in his belly unconsciously sketched out the contours of romance and passion.
What contours were those of romance and passion?
They were all in the storybooks, each tale unique.
He flipped open the topmost volume of the stack and scanned it at ten lines per glance, seemingly casual, yet in his mind, scenes from the author’s pen emerged.
His thin lips, usually stingy with smiles, twitched almost imperceptibly.
The lady and the scholar.
His slender fingers continued sliding over the pages. Under the author’s pen, he saw the bizarre love between a poor scholar and a noble lady.
Jiang Yinyue stood by the table, her gaze following the man’s fingertip. She did not think Wei Qin was reading seriously—his flipping speed was far too fast.
But as the story deepened, the initially calm and guiltless woman’s breathing grew heavier. At a page where Wei Qin lingered too long, she nearly gasped.
She had not expected him to read for so long.
“The scholar trapped in the mountain cave gazed at the girl who had fallen asleep with her clothes soaked by rainwater. Obsidian depths grew darker in his eyes. He reached out a hand, trembling fingers touching the girl’s peach-blossom cheeks—lightly at first, then heavier. His restraint deepened then shallowed, becoming impossible to maintain. He leaned down, close to her face, inhaling a lan fragrance—that was her scent. He softly called her ‘Miss,’ and with no response…”
“Stop reading. You don’t like it anyway.”
Jiang Yinyue snapped the book shut, not caring if it caught Wei Qin’s finger, forcibly interrupting the “scholar’s” low, resonant reading.
She had bought a stack of storybooks—princess and beggar, dancer and young minister, cook and merchant, coachman and widow, palace maid and guard. None made her this embarrassed.
Lady and scholar, just like her and Wei Qin—it gave her the feeling of protesting too much.
She was not guilty, just too fitting. But Wei Qin’s words made her wish she could crawl into a crack in the ground.
“How did the miss in this book learn to get along with the scholar?”
Wei Qin withdrew his finger caught between the pages, but that finger seemed to point into Jiang Yinyue’s heart lake, ripples spreading, peach petals fluttering with them.
Jiang Yinyue froze, unable to believe these words came from Wei Qin, delivered in such a straight-faced tone.
How did he tease people without changing expression?
“Who learns how to get along with people from storybooks?”
It was her own loose tongue, mentioning yin-yang harmony and flaunting the storybooks, leading to hoisting a rock only to drop it on her own feet. Who could she blame… Jiang Yinyue huffed and walked away, only to glimpse with her peripheral vision that Wei Qin had opened the book again, precisely flipping to the scene where it had cut off.
She returned with a bitter face, wanting to close the book once more, but failed—Wei Qin snatched it first.
The man’s rich voice read the text unhurriedly, his face expressionless, yet every word stimulated the blushing little wife.
“Give it back.”
Jiang Yinyue tiptoed to snatch it. The height difference meant even on tiptoes, she could not reach. Her body tilted into Wei Qin’s embrace.
Pressed close.
Wei Qin timely raised the storybook higher.
In a fit of anger, Jiang Yinyue stepped onto the embroidered stool. She had to reclaim this detestable lady-and-scholar book. She had not drawn experience from it—the miss in the book was far more wanton than her, indulging in marital bliss with the scholar every few days, unable to restrain their passion.
No, she could not let Wei Qin read to that page.
She leaned forward, practically pouncing at Wei Qin, determined not to stop until she got it back.
But in her agitation, she lost balance and toppled forward uncontrollably.
It was over.
She instinctively squeezed her eyes shut to brace for the pain of falling, but the expected pain did not come. She had been hoisted onto Wei Qin’s shoulder.
“Ah!”
Wei Qin caught her smoothly. Her lithe body clung to him like vines.
“Put me down.”
Wei Qin sat her on the table, rolled up the storybook, and lightly tapped her forehead before letting go.
The storybook fell into Jiang Yinyue’s arms. She immediately tucked it behind her back. “I’ve read ones even more explicit than this.”
“Mmm.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“You can recite it for me.”
“……”
Wei Qin’s cheek twitched slightly, weaving amusement with his usual stern demeanor, but it was ultimately suppressed by the long-accumulated frost in his heart.
He stopped teasing her. Any further, and he might not be able to coax her properly. He could only go along with her words and let her feel triumphant.
With ink-black emptiness as his mirror, night clouds as his canopy, vines as his bed, and coral as his pillow, Wei Xichen wandered in his dreams alone. He arrived at a fireworks-lit household, transgressing etiquette by not knocking and entering directly. In a full-length bronze mirror, he saw the bed curtains swaying, a coral pillow falling from the vine bed.
He stepped forward to pick it up, intending to return it to the bed, but saw Jiang Yinyue lying disheveled on the bed.
The woman’s dark hair in disarray did not match her usual propriety, yet it evoked pity.
Her silk robe had been pushed up to her waist, exposing her snow-white, flat abdomen.
The hand pushing up her clothes gripped her
waist, kneading forcefully.
A delicate moan escaped the curtains.
Wei Xichen froze by the bed and watched Wei Qin sprawled over Jiang Yinyue in such an improper manner.
Enraged, he advanced, gripping Wei Qin’s left shoulder to yank him away—only to pull the curtains from his own vine bed.
His hazy, chaotic consciousness began to return.
The man slowly opened his eyes, silent in the thick night.
Even the most restrained person could not control their dreams, but dreams arose from the heart.
Finding the bed stifling, Wei Xichen lifted the curtain and rose. Glancing unintentionally at the reflection in the full-length bronze mirror, it was not himself, but that woman with scattered dark hair.
His moist eyes half-closed. He sat back on the bed’s edge, a large hand threading into his ink-black hair, helpless against the absurd dream and the pair within it.
This should not be.
It defied propriety.
His lifelong strict self-discipline left him somewhat lost.
But as a cool breeze entered the window, the discomfort stirred by the dream gradually faded. He pushed open the door for fresh air and leaned on the veranda railing, his jade-like face tinged with faint color.
A touch of melancholy.