Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Sister Dan Yan, why hasn’t the young mistress woken up yet?"

The night was already deep, and the lavishly decorated, cozy chamber was filled with a faint medicinal fragrance, diluting the room’s original scent.

The woman on the bed lay quietly, half of her delicate, porcelain-like face hidden beneath the embroidered quilt, her long, dark lashes resting against her lower eyelids, casting a delicate shadow. Were it not for the bandage of snow-white gauze wrapped around her forehead, seeping a faint reddish stain, she might have seemed merely asleep.

Dan Yan set the medicine bowl aside, her eyes rimmed red. "Director Qin said she would wake within these two days."

In truth, Director Qin’s exact words had been that if she did not wake within these two days, she might never wake again.

But no one wanted to believe that could be true.

"It’s all the fault of her lord husband!"

Qing Yun, her eyes swollen from crying, spoke bitterly, "If he hadn’t insisted on taking a concubine, the young mistress wouldn’t have sought an amicable divorce! She wouldn’t have hit her head! And now, with her injured like this, he hasn’t even stayed by her side! If anything happens to her, I won’t live either—I’ll return as a wrathful spirit to haunt their marital bed nightly and see how they dare continue their family line!"

"Shh!" Dan Yan glanced toward the window and lowered her voice. "Her lord husband is here!"

Sure enough, moments later, a strikingly handsome man strode in, dressed in a dark indigo robe with black fox-fur collar, wide sleeves, and round neckline, his features as striking as winter frost. He sat down by the bedside.

He seemed not to have rested properly for days—his deep, icy eyes were streaked with red veins, his fair lower eyelids shadowed with faint exhaustion, and his robe's hem showing signs of wear.

Qing Yun, frightened, quickly retreated to a corner.

"Has she taken her medicine?"

His voice was hoarse as he asked.

Dan Yan shook her head. "She only managed a few sips. We couldn’t get her to swallow it."

He said, "Hand me the medicine."

Dan Yan hastily handed him the bowl.

He took a sip of the bitter concoction and, to the astonishment of Dan Yan and Qing Yun, leaned down to pass the medicine to his unconscious wife’s lips.

Perhaps the medicine was too bitter—she refused to swallow, and the inky medicinal brew spilled from the corner of her lips.

He pinched her jaw, forcing her mouth open, and fed her another sip.

The unconscious woman instinctively swallowed, letting out a faint gasp.

Though it was merely the act of administering medicine, the quiet warmth of the room unexpectedly took on a tender, almost amorous quality.

Dan Yan and Qing Yun, blushing furiously, quickly lowered their heads to stare at the two-inch-thick gold-threaded Persian carpet beneath their feet.

Her husband was typically aloof and indifferent—this was the first time he had treated the young mistress with such tenderness.

After about half an hour, the entire bowl of medicine had been fed to her.

He said, "Leave us."

Qing Yun, still uneasy, was dragged out by Dan Yan.

Once the door closed, the exhausted-looking man shed the clothes he had worn for days and lay down beside his wife.

*

*Pain. A throbbing agony in her skull.*

In the haze between sleep and wakefulness, Shu Yan felt as though she had dreamed for a very, very long time.

In the dream, she seemed to have lived through many years—yet upon waking, she remembered nothing, only the throbbing ache in her skull.

She called for Dan Yan several times, but no one came. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

In an instant, the intense sunlight pierced through the gauzy bed curtains, forcing her to squint.

Just yesterday, there had been a snowstorm—how could the weather be so fine today?

And why did she feel so exhausted?

Shu Yan arched her back in a feline stretch.

But as soon as she extended her arm, her fingertips brushed against something warm and solid.

Instinctively, she turned her head—and felt her soul nearly leave her body in fright.

Lying beside her was a tall, slender man, his pristine white silk nightrobe slightly disheveled, revealing much of his firm chest.

Shu Yan: "!!!"

She distinctly remembered Dan Yan sleeping beside her last night—how had she woken up next to a man?

Had she drunkenly stumbled into the wrong room?

*Oh no, oh no—if her father or brothers found out, they’d skin her alive!*

Shu Yan decided that before he woke, she would follow the thirty-six stratagems—*of the thirty-six stratagems, fleeing was supreme!*

She quickly sat up, intending to climb over him, when a deep, husky voice sounded directly beneath her ear.

"You’re awake."

Shu Yan’s heart lurched, freezing her in place.

Suddenly, a large, warm hand pressed against her forehead. "Are you still unwell anywhere?"

Shu Yan instinctively turned her face away, evading his touch.

The hand pale as polished jade hovered midair.

Her gaze fell upon the pale, old scar on the back of his hand, and she couldn’t help but look up—into a visage of matchless elegance.

Skin like winter's first snow, brows as dark as ink, lips the color of fresh blood.

Shu Yan remembered who he was!

He was none other than the Chief Grand Secretary of the Great Duan Empire, Pei Hang, the Ninth Lord of the Pei family, who had risen to the position before even turning thirty.

This man had been selected as the Crown Prince’s study companion in his youth, placed first in all three levels of imperial examinations at seventeen, and was renowned throughout the capital for his peerless grace. The late emperor had adored him so much that after seeing him wear a *crape myrtle* blossom in his hair during a procession, he had affectionately nicknamed him "Imperial Secretary."

From there, his ascent had been meteoric—by his early twenties, he had already been appointed Minister of Revenue and Population and Grand Secretary of the Hall of Literary Profundity.

Last year, he had been promoted to Senior Grand Secretary, holding sway over court affairs.

Yet Shu Yan harbored deep loathing for him.

I remember it was three years ago when he was promoted to Minister of Revenue. My father and brothers happened to return to the capital to report on their duties, so naturally they had to bring gifts and pay him a visit.

At that time, Shu Yan was only eleven years old, at that playful age, so she begged to go along. Unable to resist her tantrums, her father and brothers dressed her as a boy and took her with them.

During the banquet, her father drank a few too many cups of wine and pressured her to seek scholarly advice from Pei Hang.

She spent her days fooling around—what scholarly knowledge did she have? But he took it seriously and publicly quizzed her on poetry.

Her face flushed red as she struggled to compose a clumsy seven-character verse.

She couldn’t remember the exact content, only that the man dressed in pristine white at the banquet solemnly critiqued it before concluding, "Young master, you've mastered six of the seven arts—you show promise."

She was initially quite pleased with herself, until someone snickered, "Six out of seven apertures clear? Doesn’t that mean you’re still missing the point entirely?"

All the adults present burst into laughter, with her father laughing the loudest.

Humiliated beyond measure, Shu Yan wished she could sink through the floor.

After the banquet ended, her father and brothers, having drunk too much, were temporarily settled in a guest room at the Pei residence to rest.

Bored, she wandered around the garden catching cicadas when, unexpectedly, she spotted him by a waterside pavilion.

In the scorching summer heat, the handsome young man had changed into a pink silk robe with cloud and treasure motifs. He sat quietly at a stone table, his slender, jade-like fingers holding a book, yet his gaze was distant, fixed on the shimmering lake. His slightly upturned eyes glistened like rippling water.

He seemed drunk—or perhaps not.

Having grown up in the northern frontier with her father and brothers, Shu Yan had never seen such a man as delicate as a flower before. Stunned, she unconsciously crept up behind him, intending to startle him. But just as she reached for the mutton-fat jade fish pendant at his waist, he seized her wrist in one swift motion, lifted her lightly, and pulled her onto his lap.

As if having an epiphany, he remarked, "So it’s a little jade thief."

First, he mocked her for being clueless, and now he called her a thief.

For all his crape myrtle delicacy, his heart was wicked.

Never one to take an insult lying down, Shu Yan took advantage of his distraction and bit down hard on the back of his hand.

He grunted, "Let go."

Shu Yan refused, clamping down even harder until the iron taste of blood filled her mouth.

What followed was too mortifying for her to recount.

He pressed the jade into her palm and said, "If you like it, I’ll give it to you."

As if she wanted his worthless jade!

With reddened eyes, Shu Yan flung the pendant—along with the cicada in her hand—straight at him before running off without a backward glance.

When she returned home that day, her father punished her by making her transcribe a hundred poems.

That was bad enough, but to this day, her brothers still occasionally tease her with that "six of seven arts" jab.

Each time they bring it up, Shu Yan’s resentment toward him grows.

He truly was her destined adversary—three years later, he had reappeared in her life in the most preposterous manner imaginable!

But wasn’t he supposed to be in the capital? How did he end up in her bed?

Her thoughts in turmoil, Shu Yan’s cheeks burned. Just as she was at a loss for what to do, she caught sight of him getting out of bed. Terrified he might report the incident to her father and brothers, she grabbed his snow-white sleeve and implored desperately, "Good uncle, please don’t tell my father about last night!"

The moment the words left her mouth, his face grew stern. "What did you just call me?"