Chapter 4 She Was Pulled into His Arms.

Chapter 4

He yanked her into his arms.

Pulled flush against his broad, firm chest, he held her even tighter than before.

His cool, crisp scent instantly enveloped her, and she could feel the warmth of his chest and the rapid thud of his heart.

Just as he was about to fully encircle her in his arms—!

She startled awake, sitting up abruptly.

Drawing ragged breaths, she struggled to regain her senses.

Ming Ya, who was keeping watch, heard the commotion and lifted the bed curtains in alarm. "Miss... why are you drenched in sweat? Your face is so pale!"

"I..." She was about to speak when she suddenly heard movement outside and turned toward the sound.

Ming Ya hurried to check and returned, saying, "It’s the master. He’s back."

He had actually returned!

Though overjoyed, Zhu Yinluan couldn’t help but worry. It was a rainy night, and the downpour had only grown heavier since she fell asleep, persisting for hours.

Had some urgent business brought him back through the storm?

Taking the cloak handed to her by a maid, she quickly went out to greet him.

She found Wei Ruzuo standing in the outer chamber, flicking rainwater from his sleeves.

"Husband, perhaps you should change?" she suggested, already gesturing for someone to fetch fresh clothes.

Wei Ruzuo glanced at her, noting her drowsy eyes and the faint worry creasing her brow, then waved dismissively. "No need. I must depart again shortly."

"The rain is so heavy outside. Must you still go?"

Wei Ruzuo paused briefly. "Yes."

"...My duties at the ministry remain. It cannot be delayed."

Perhaps the stormy night obscured it, but Zhu Yinluan failed to notice the evasiveness in his expression.

She turned and instructed Ming Ya to quickly prepare pungent ginger brew for him to ward off the chill, adding that some honey should be added to temper the spiciness.

Watching her busy profile, Wei Ruzuo slowed his movements slightly.

After a moment, he grabbed her wrist. "Don’t bother the servants! I must leave now—I only came to retrieve some memorial drafts."

His hand, gripping her wrist, felt nothing like the burning, massive hand from her dream.

Wei Ruzuo’s hand, chilled from the rain, was icy against her warm skin, a stark contrast she couldn’t ignore.

Zhu Yinluan’s first thought was that the man in her dream—the one she had envisioned—bore no resemblance to her lord husband.

That man was taller, with larger hands and a broader chest...

But if not Wei Ruzuo, then who?

She had rarely received male visitors while in the Zhu household, let alone unrelated gentlemen. Since marriage, Wei Ruzuo had been her sole conjugal partner. If not him, who else could it be?

Perhaps it truly was just a dream?

The sleeping mind births strange visions—this shouldn’t be unusual.

Part of her tried to reassure herself, while another part couldn’t shake the dream’s visceral realism, as if it had truly happened.

"What are you thinking about?" Wei Ruzuo asked, marking her abstraction.

"N-Nothing," she replied quickly, shaking off her thoughts.

"I’m just worried about you traveling back and forth. If you don’t drink ginger soup, what if you catch a chill?" Zhu Yinluan ventured timidly, looking up at him.

"Even with the Emperor’s business, you must take care of your health."

It had been so long since they were last intimate that his sudden grip on her wrist had set her pulse racing.

Relieved that she hadn’t noticed anything amiss, Wei Ruzuo relaxed slightly.

He had overthought it. Zhu Yinluan was docile and homebound, kept to the women’s quarters, rarely stepping beyond the household’s gates unless necessary. How could she suspect anything so soon?

Besides, even if she did, what of it?

After all... he hadn’t...

Never mind. Zhu Yinluan would never know.

"Young Master, I’ve retrieved it," a servant announced, holding a book case.

"Rest early," Wei Ruzuo said curtly before leaving without waiting for her reply.

Zhu Yinluan could only watch his figure vanish into the rain, her expression dimming.

"..."

Their last proper conversation dated back days.

She couldn’t even recall how long it had been since he last dined with her—he pleaded constant duties.

The Board of Revenue had requisitioned clerks for some time now. Could the workload still be unresolved?

Yet it wasn’t her place to inquire into court affairs.

"Miss, the master’s business won’t keep him forever. Don’t stand by the door—the damp night air will seep into your bones," Ming Ya fretted, noting Zhu Yinluan’s pallor.

Though Wei Ruzuo had refused the ginger soup, Ming Ya still had the kitchen prepare a bowl for Zhu Yinluan to ward off the cold.

When the soup arrived, Zhu Yinluan took a sip, wincing at its heat. Only then did she think to ask, "Which texts required that heavy case?"

The document box was cumbersome—he seldom carried such heavy items.

"The young master’s study is forbidden to all below stairs. We wouldn’t know."

Staring at the steaming soup, a pang shot through Zhu Yinluan’s chest. Right—how had this slipped her mind?

Perhaps her elder sister’s uncharacteristic coldness earlier had unsettled her, or maybe she was simply weary to her bones.

As rain drummed upon the flagstones outside, Zhu Yinluan forced down the medicinal brew, a feverish flush rising. She called for hot water to bathe, but while fetching her night things from the inner chamber, her fingers stilled mid-reach.

"Where is the bolt of Nanjing silk?" It was the silk she’d carefully folded, chosen as a peace offering for her sister, laid out for packaging that morning—yet now it was gone.

At first, Zhu Yinluan hadn’t entertained the thought, but after Ming Ya and the maidservants searched for a while without finding it, she frowned and recalled the bookcase Wei Ruzuo had ordered someone to take away.

Ming Ya lacked Zhu Yinluan’s sharp intuition and only suspected, "Maybe one of the servants stole it?"

Everyone in the courtyard was trustworthy—who would dare to be so brazen?

After some thought, Zhu Yinluan suppressed her doubts and said, "Forget it. Search again tomorrow. If it truly can’t be found, then let it be."

"But that was fine fabric, something the young master specifically had purchased for you."

"It’s fine. However precious, it’s just a thing." Though valuable, she had never cared much for such things.

After bathing and lying down again, her body felt much more comfortable, but Zhu Yinluan couldn’t sleep at all.

The rain outside grew heavier, and her thoughts grew sharper.

She thought of that strange, otherworldly dream.

It wasn’t the first time she’d had such a dream.

There had been others before, but those had been hazy and fleeting—she hadn’t been so close to the man in them, so she hadn’t paid them much mind.

She had always assumed it was because she longed for a child, aching for closeness with Wei Ruzuo, which led to these dreams born of her waking thoughts.

But today, after that fleeting moment of closeness—like "sun breaking through clouds"—and Wei Ruzuo seizing her hand, Zhu Yinluan suddenly realized the man in her dream wasn’t her husband.

How could she…?

As she pondered, she heard the bed curtains being drawn aside. She had thought it was Ming Ya, but to her surprise, it was Jiao Hui, the ever-silent maidservant in the courtyard who usually kept her head down and spoke little.

The birthmark on her face seemed ghostly in the flickering light, but Zhu Yinluan, alert and unfazed, wasn’t frightened. She only asked what was the matter.

Jiao Hui hesitated, tidying the bedding while lowering her voice. "Miss, I know where the fabric went."

"You saw it?" Zhu Yinluan instinctively lowered her voice. "And then?"

"It was taken by the young master’s attendant."

Zhu Yinluan paused. "Are you certain?"

"I am certain," Jiao Hui nodded.

Zhu Yinluan: "..."

Did Wei Ruzuo come back in the rain for the books—or for that fabric?

If it was the fabric, who was it meant for? Thinking of his recent coldness and impatience, keeping erratic hours, Zhu Yinluan felt a bitter pang in her heart.

She fell silent.

At the same time, another thought surfaced—the rain was so heavy, Wei Ruzuo couldn’t have gone far, could he? If she followed, would she be discovered?

No, how could she distrust Wei Ruzuo? He was her own husband.

If he were secretly sneaking about, why would he refuse his mother’s offers to take concubines?

Moreover, though she had borne no children in these years, Pang Shi had quietly schemed to match him with other noblewomen.

With the Wei clan’s growing prominence, many families wished to marry their daughters into it—some of equal standing to hers were even willing to become concubines. Yet Wei Ruzuo had steadfastly refused.

If he truly had such intentions, why reject his mother?

Unless…

Unless the person he cared for was someone he couldn’t name.

What reason could make it so inconvenient to mention?

Almost instantly, Zhu Yinluan thought of who it might be.

Her elder sister.

She and Wei Ruzuo had once been betrothed, and today, her sister had asked about him.

But if it were her sister… how was that possible?

The rain now fell in sheets—her sister wasn’t at the Luo residence. How could she meet with Wei Ruzuo?

The need to know gnawed at her, like the unrelenting downpour.

Zhu Yinluan’s thoughts churned. Seeing her tortured expression, Jiao Hui watched as her brows furrowed deeply before she suddenly opened her eyes and sat up. "Jiao Hui..."

"Don’t speak of this to anyone else."

"Let the fabric be lost."

Jiao Hui was surprised. "Won’t you pursue this?"

Zhu Yinluan lowered her gaze, her thick lashes casting feathery shadows on her cheeks.

After a long pause, she whispered, *"In a few months, it will have been nearly four years since my husband and I married, won’t it?"*

*"I… should trust him."* He was merely busy with imperial duties.

Though he had known her sister for longer, she and Wei Ruzuo had also spent years together.

Even so, Zhu Yinluan’s heart was far from convinced.

Her voice was muffled by the bedding, less a declaration than words meant only for herself.

"Jiao Hui, just remember what I’ve told you," she repeated.

Seeing the mistress’s drawn expression, her delicate face nestled in the covers, Jiao Hui nodded. "I understand, my lady."

"Go now. Tell Ming Ya there’s no need for a night vigil tonight."

Zhu Yinluan curled onto her side, facing inward. The vast quilt only made her silhouette seem even more frail.

"..."

At that same hour, elsewhere, in the Marquis Shen residence’s inner chambers.

The man scanned the letter, then arched an eyebrow and chuckled softly.

She hadn’t changed one bit.

His elegant fingers rolled the letter and held it to the candle flame. Flames devoured the paper, quickly reducing it to ash.

As the flames flared, their wavering light revealed the man’s strikingly beautiful features, revealing a faint, unmistakable assurance.