Chapter 63

Chapter 63

The Hall of Sincerity and Perseverance was warm and cozy, but Ming Tang was nowhere to be seen in the resting chamber. Only a few maids were busy with their tasks. Seeing Pei Yue glance around, Wen He suppressed a smile. "Greetings, Young Master. The young madam is in the study."

Pei Yue paused, nodded, and turned toward the study.

Behind him, Wen He shot Hong Ying a smug look. The maids chuckled softly, recalling the earlier scene.

In the study, Ming Tang sat behind a long desk, brush in hand, writing something on paper. Occasionally, she would pause to ponder, completely engrossed.

The brush tip rolled lightly in the inkstone, then habitually skimmed the edge twice to remove excess ink. Ming Tang resumed writing, but no characters appeared on the paper. She paused in confusion before realizing—the inkwell was empty.

She reached for some water to prepare fresh ink when a pair of elegant, long-fingered hands appeared in her line of sight, picking up the inkstick before she could. With a gentle twist, the water gradually darkened.

Ming Tang withdrew her hand, taking in the scene appreciatively. She couldn’t help but muse—if only Pei Yue were wearing red right now. His fair complexion and jade-carved countenance would be even more striking in crimson, far more suited to the slightly flirtatious imagery of "red sleeves adding fragrance" than his current dark robes.

But she wasn’t picky—having a beauty to admire was enough. Once Pei Yue finished grinding the ink and moved to peruse the shelves, she resumed writing.

Her brush moved swiftly, ink tracing elegant characters across the page. In moments, Scholar Zhang—who had just ascended the imperial court, received the emperor’s favor in the form of a royal marriage, and been overjoyed—awoke from his dream to find himself still in his humble abode. The ethereal beauty Zhao Yunniang, who should have stepped out of the mirror, shook her head at him in disappointment before dissipating like mist, leaving Zhang alone in bed, reminiscing about the transient glory of his dream.

After days spent in a stupor, Zhang suddenly let out a cry. Ignoring his family’s attempts to stop him, he clutched a rusted bronze mirror, his hair disheveled and his appearance wild, before throwing himself into the river. His last words were, "I am this year’s top scholar!"

After his death, the Zhang family mourned for a few days before carrying on as if he had never existed, diligently living their modest lives. Within a few years, their humble dwelling was gradually replaced by a sturdy tiled-roof home. In private, Zhang’s ever-honest elder brother thought to himself, "Good riddance," before cheerfully greeting guests.

Finishing the passage, Ming Tang set down her brush, sifted fine sand to absorb the excess ink, shook it off, and tucked the two sheets of paper behind the book *The Maiden in the Mirror* on her desk. She closed the book and made a small mark on the cover.

Since the previous evening, Pei Yue had nursed a quiet suspicion. He had once seen tedious tomes by Ming Tang’s pillow and assumed she came from a scholarly family, constantly with book in hand. But now it occurred to him—perhaps she read those before bed to help her sleep?

Lost in thought, he absentmindedly pulled a book from the shelf and flipped it open. Before he could read a word, two sheets of paper drifted free. Assuming they were Ming Tang’s notes for future reference, he picked them up—only for his gaze to freeze on the words.

—And who could blame him? Any man would pause at the phrase "was relieved of his manhood."

Glancing at Ming Tang, still absorbed in writing, Pei Yue quickly scanned the contents.

To summarize: Scholar Qian, freshly honored as Third Rank Scholar, with a virtuous princess as his wife and a former spouse who willingly demoted herself to concubine, was swollen with arrogance. On his wedding night, he learned that the princess had only agreed to marry him because she had fallen for his former wife. That very night, the princess abandoned him to share a bed with his ex. When he protested, she—repulsed by his male nature—ordered an old eunuch she had brought from the palace to "purify" him.

Afterward, the princess and his former wife lived happily ever after, while Qian, not daring to offend royalty, choked down his shame. To outsiders, he pretended to bask in the privilege of having two women.

Pei Yue’s emotions were… complicated.

During the autumn hunt, he had once seen Ming Tang’s maid drop a storybook titled *The Maiden in the Mirror*. Later, he had someone procure a volume, curious about Ming Tang’s reading tastes. After skimming a few pages, he concluded the author was likely a scholar who repeatedly failed the exams, writing to cater to his fellow scholars.

Aside from some refined diction, the plot was wholly undistinguished. He had set it aside, only vaguely remembering the protagonists—Scholar Zhang and Zhao Yunniang.

So Ming Tang didn’t just *read* these stories—she rewrote them. That must be her true pleasure.

Without a word, Pei Yue returned the book to its place. Hearing someone call for Ming Tang outside, he glimpsed her tucking her written pages behind the book before responding and leaving.

Alone in the study, Pei Yue walked to the desk—where *The Maiden in the Mirror* lay. Curiosity overcame his restraint, and he flipped to the end to read Ming Tang’s revised conclusion.

Could it be said that Ming Tang had been merciful to Scholar Zhang?

Had he not known the original ending—where Zhang’s career flourished, he lived happily with Zhao Yunniang, and took several concubines—this version might have carried a moral warning, like the parable of the Southern Branch Dream.

But given the precedent, this was clearly Ming Tang’s dissatisfaction with the original, prompting her to rewrite it.

Leaving the study, he found the servants had already set the table. Ming Tang served him a bowl of broth. "Consider this a modest homecoming feast. Don’t complain about its simplicity."

Her smile was luminous, her every movement poised and elegant—utterly unlike someone who could write such things. Pei Yue felt an irrepressible amusement.

When his mother first put forth Ming Tang's name as his bride, she had only ever seen her proper demeanor. If she knew Ming Tang was this… *interesting* in private, she’d be taken aback.

Still… Pei Yue accepted the bowl with a smile. "You serving me soup is the greatest honor. How could I dare complain?"

Rarely one to jest, his words made Ming Tang raise a brow. "Good. If you complain this time, there won’t be a next."

The couple chatted cheerfully through dinner. Afterward, Ming Tang went to wash up. Returning, she sat by the window, draping her hair over a heated censer to dry. Pei Yue sat opposite her, but when Ming Tang drew near, the faint scent of fragrant bathing herbs reminded him of moments when they had been much closer—their scents mingling. He felt a stirring of desire.

Noticing this, Wen He handed him a comb, wordlessly prompting him with her eyes. Taking the hint, Pei Yue began carefully untangling Ming Tang’s damp hair from the ends, his touch still unskilled.

Drowsy from the heat, Ming Tang’s cheeks were flushed from her bath. When a tug on her hair stung, she came to with a start—only to see Pei Yue beside her.

Though the scene should have been tender, the force on her scalp made her gently demur. Smiling, she urged Pei Yue to go wash up and called Wen He over, handing her the comb. "No slacking."

Stripped of his "duty," Pei Yue realized he’d been found wanting. Pressing his lips together, he watched Wen He take his place before silently leaving for the bath.

The bathing chamber was still steamy. Quelling improper fancies, Pei Yue washed with ascetic restraint. Pushing open the door, he hadn’t even rounded the screen when he heard a sweet, coquettish meow.

Followed by Ming Tang’s amused remark: "Such a flatterer." Her fingers rubbed the fur between the kitten’s ears, pressing its head down until it licked her palm.

"I wonder if there’s a way to neuter you now. Otherwise, when you grow up, who knows how many female cats you’ll ruin," Ming Tang murmured.

Pei Yue’s sharp ears caught every word. His steps faltered.

Even having accepted that Ming Tang’s inner world was far more… inventive than her exterior, he couldn’t help but wonder: *She writes about castration in her stories, but why is she thinking about neutering a kitten?*

When he emerged, Ming Tang looked up, seemingly having forgotten her earlier dismissal. She beckoned with a smile. "Perfect timing—my hair just dried."

Pei Yue obeyed, sitting where she indicated and mimicking her earlier pose to dry his own hair over the censer. But when Wen He approached to comb it, he waved her off, glancing at Ming Tang. "You said my hands were rough, but I don’t mind yours."

Startled, Ming Tang saw Wen He retreat. Pei Yue waited expectantly. Sighing, she took the comb. "Fine, fine."

Leaning in, she slowly worked through his tangled locks.

Truthfully, she had never bothered combing others’ hair before. Yet in just a few months, this was already the second time she’d done so for Pei Yue…

Lost in thought—wondering if she’d ever done this during her time with the Chen family—Ming Tang fell silent. The room grew quiet, save for the oblivious kitten’s soft mewl.

Admiring the picturesque scene, Wen He sighed inwardly before discreetly signaling the others to leave. On her way out, she scooped up the kitten, returning it to its bed in the outer chamber. Sternly, she admonished, "No disturbances, understand?"

The black kitten, Xiao Ma, blinked its round eyes as if comprehending, meowed in agreement, curled into a ball, and began grooming itself.

With the servants gone, Ming Tang noticed but said nothing, privately marveling at Wen He’s perceptiveness. Her fingers continued their work until Pei Yue’s hair was half-dry. Unable to resist, she ran her fingers through the cool strands, playing idly.

A warm hand suddenly captured her wrist, then slowly—maddeningly—slid up her sleeve, stroking her forearm.

Glancing down, Pei Yue’s expression remained perfectly composed, as if the wandering hand wasn’t his.

The contrast was unbearably tantalizing. Ming Tang gripped his hand in return—only to be swept off her feet as Pei Yue lifted her, carried her to the bed, and laid her down.

After nearly a month apart, Ming Tang was unusually eager. But just as passion flared, Pei Yue paused. Seeing her gaze linger on his face, full of admiration, he felt a twinge of frustration. His voice was rough as he asked, "How do you see me, You Niang?"

The sudden brake mid-"journey" irritated her. "As an unparalleled paragon of virtue." *Would be even better if you didn’t tease me now.* Her palm pressed insistently against him, urging him on. When he refused to budge, she shoved him down, reversing their positions in an instant.

This was a first. Pei Yue abandoned his questioning, hands settling on Ming Tang’s waist as they lost themselves in pleasure.

Later, after calling for water and settling back beneath the covers, Ming Tang drifted toward sleep—only to feel a weight on her waist. Pei Yue, now asleep, faced her, his blankets askew as he leaned toward her. One arm had slipped from his own bedding into hers, resting squarely on her hip.

The two always slept under separate quilts, with a noticeable distance between them in the past. But now, as Ming Tang lowered her gaze, she found the boundary blurred beyond recognition, while Pei Yue's sleeping face remained peaceful.

The new weight at her waist inexplicably carried a sense of comfort.

Ming Tang paid it no mind and turned to face Pei Yue as well. Staring at his flawless features for a moment, she suddenly thought—she hadn’t been wrong earlier. Pei Yue truly was a one-of-a-kind good man.

Night had deepened, and after a brief moment of thought, Ming Tang drifted into deep sleep amidst the tranquil atmosphere.

The two lay facing each other, their quilts nearly overlapping, unintentionally mirroring the closeness of a pair curled together.

The next morning, Pei Yue woke early as usual. Rising, he stepped into the outer chamber and saw the black cat leisurely lapping at what was clearly milk prepared especially for it, its fur glossy and sleek. Unable to resist, he crouched down and gave it a gentle stroke, a strange pang of sympathy rising in his heart.

*Do you even know your owner is plotting to turn you from a little tomcat into a eunuch?* he mused.