Chapter 18

Xu Yunqi, of course, did not ask him to stay. Such things could not be forced. And Pei Muheng did not linger—he returned to his study and continued his work as if nothing had happened.

But that night, the man who was usually consumed by court intrigues found himself unable to sleep.

It was as if he were sailing smoothly with the wind, only to suddenly be thrown off course by an unexpected gust.

He did not fall asleep until the early hours, and barely two hours later, Huang Wei was knocking at the door.

A thick fog had settled outside, blanketing the entire house in white. Pei Muheng sat on the bed in his white underrobe, eyes closed. Seeing his master’s dark expression, Huang Wei spoke carefully:

“Someone has come from the palace—His Majesty requests your presence.”

Pei Muheng rubbed his brow with his fingertips, slightly dazed.

The Emperor had no shortage of grandsons to attend him. He rarely summoned Pei Muheng so early. A summons at dawn surely meant something was afoot.

After a moment’s thought, he understood.

In the past, the Crown Prince, Prince Qin, and the others had crowded around the Emperor, each vying for favor. Now the Crown Prince was in trouble, his entire faction ruined. Prince Qin, Prince Chen, and the Seventh Prince were no longer trusted. His father was out of favor, the Twelfth Prince was injured—leaving only him, the Seventh Imperial Grandson, as the Emperor’s most reliable hand.

A flicker of cold self-mockery passed through Pei Muheng’s dark eyes. He had lost count of how many years he had bided his time to stand out among the imperial grandsons, how many nights he had burned the midnight oil, even changing his name to sit for the imperial examinations through the Imperial Academy—all for a place at court. Now, after all that effort, the blade was finally drawn.

He rose slowly, letting Huang Wei dress him, his eyes still closed. A surge of exhilaration nearly burst from his chest—yet something was missing. What that something was, he did not know.

Pei Muheng composed himself and entered the palace, led directly to the Hall of Heavenly Worship.

Ascending the white jade steps, he spotted Liu Xiwen, the Chief Eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial Affairs, being helped down the side hall steps by a young eunuch.

Liu Xiwen was nearly sixty. Serving the Emperor was no easy task, and fifty years of it had worn him down to a shriveled old man. He hobbled down the steps, leaning on the young eunuch’s arm.

Pei Muheng’s expression did not change. He walked up slowly, hands clasped behind his back, and looked at him.

“What ails the Chief Eunuch?”

Liu Xiwen had already noticed him. He paused on the steps, caught his breath, and bowed unhurriedly. “I stayed too long at the traveling palace—my old leg ailment has flared up. I tended His Majesty all night, and this morning I was dizzy. His Majesty allowed me to return to my quarters to rest.”

Pei Muheng’s expression softened with genuine concern. Casually, he slipped a small object from his sleeve and offered it to Liu Xiwen. “Chief Eunuch, this is a military medicinal oil my father often uses. I’ve heard it’s very effective for chronic leg ailments. Please give it a try.”

Liu Xiwen’s gaze fixed on the small bottle—or rather, it was not a bottle at all. It was a tiny Guanyin vase carved from the finest jadeite, its craftsmanship exquisite to the point of divine skill. Liu Xiwen, who had handled every treasure in the inner palace, recognized it at once: it was the final work of the great carver Qu Buhe of the previous dynasty.

Qu Buhe’s jade carvings, Mi Fu’s calligraphy, and Wang Ximeng’s paintings were known as the three treasures of the previous dynasty.

Pei Muheng’s gesture was no small matter.

Liu Xiwen’s love for jade carving was no secret.

Pei Muheng was not offering medicinal oil—he was offering a jade carving.

Liu Xiwen smiled faintly. “The Third Young Master and the prince have my thanks.” He took the bottle without comment, glanced up at the imposing Hall of Heavenly Worship, and sighed: “His Majesty is unwell—he coughed up blood this morning. Take care in your service.”

With that, he descended the steps unhurriedly.

Pei Muheng watched his retreating back for a long moment, turning his words over in his mind, then turned and climbed the steps.

The Emperor was indeed ill, and had summoned him to attend. This was the first time Pei Muheng had served at the Emperor’s sickbed, and he gave it his full attention.

—

Pei Muheng did not return home for three days.

Xu Yunqi did not dwell on it. On the seventeenth of the fourth month, a message came from the Chengyang Clinic: an important merchant had injured his leg and had requested her treatment several times. The word “important” told her he had paid Shopkeeper Hu a handsome sum. Xu Yunqi wasted no time and left with Yinxing.

As usual, she changed into plain clothes at the clothing shop and arrived at the clinic’s second floor. Pushing the door open, she saw a man in a loose moon-white robe lounging in a cane chair by the southern window, a landscape fan in hand. His bearing was relaxed and elegant, like a clear breeze and a bright moon in his embrace.

Xu Yunqi paused for a moment at the sight of his face, then walked in slowly.

Shopkeeper Hu was hovering with obsequious smiles. Seeing her, his face brightened as he pointed: “My lord, this is Madam Xu. Her acupuncture is truly superb—she’ll have you right as rain.”

The eunuch disguised as a servant, seeing a woman, turned pale. “A female physician?”

Shopkeeper Hu’s smile did not waver. He straightened slightly, his bearing now a little more confident. “Young master, don’t underestimate her because she’s a woman. Every patient she has treated sings her praises. None of the physicians in my shop can match her. That’s why I went to such lengths to invite her.”

Despite his own self-interest, Shopkeeper Hu genuinely admired Xu Yunqi’s skills and never dismissed her for her gender. It was this rare insight that made Xu Yunqi willing to practice at his clinic.

Xu Yunqi walked in unhurriedly, not sparing Pei Xun a glance. She instructed Yinxing to set down the medical kit and prepare to wash her hands.

The eunuch, seeing her somewhat aloof manner, was displeased.

Pei Xun, however, had already seen her. She looked familiar, though he could not place where. Known for his approachable nature, he was not one to stand on ceremony. He said amiably:

“The lady herself doesn’t mind—why should you? Since Shopkeeper Hu recommends her, let’s trust Madam Xu. Without trust in a physician, no illness can be cured.”

As he spoke, Xu Yunqi glanced back at him.

Their eyes met.

This was the first time Pei Xun had seen Xu Yunqi up close, and he realized she was exceptionally beautiful, with an ethereal air. That such a delicate young woman could be a physician astonished him. But he kept his composure and let Shopkeeper Hu lift his leg to expose the wound at his ankle.

Xu Yunqi took a cotton swab, leaned in, and saw it was a sword wound that had damaged the sinews.

She did not know how it had happened, but she knew it must have worsened during his archery match with the Great Wu.

She studied the wound, then held out her hand. Yinxing handed her a small dish of medicinal oil. Xu Yunqi dabbed some on, applied it to the wound, and began to massage—slowly increasing the pressure until, at one point, Pei Xun winced.

Throughout the process, her expression did not change; her focus was meticulous.

Pei Xun bore the pain and looked at the young, beautiful woman before him with growing curiosity.

Rarely did he see such unflappable calm in a woman—and beyond that, a serene, almost compassionate air, as if she were a bodhisattva descended to ease the suffering of the world.

Half an hour later, after she had performed a round of acupuncture, Pei Xun’s opinion of her rose further. She truly was a saviour—the pain in his ankle had noticeably subsided; it no longer hurt as much to touch.

After withdrawing the needles, Xu Yunqi applied another layer of medicinal oil and said to Yinxing:

“Massage along this meridian three hundred times, with even pressure—not too hard, not too light. Stop when he no longer winces.”

“Yes, mistress!” Yinxing took the horn scraper, crouched before Pei Xun, and began to work.

Once Yinxing took over, Pei Xun could immediately feel that her touch was not as precise as Xu Yunqi’s. He leaned back in his chair, a little disappointed.

Xu Yunqi returned to the desk to write a prescription. Shopkeeper Hu stood by to assist; as she named each ingredient, he retrieved it from the wall cabinets. Pei Xun watched her—her slender fingers like jade, her movements graceful and fluid. She had beautiful hands.

The thought had no sooner arisen than he smiled wryly at himself and looked away.

Soon, she had the prescription ready, handed it to Shopkeeper Hu to grind, and sat down to drink tea at her leisure.

She glanced at Pei Xun from time to time, and he found himself stealing glances at her as well. Finally, unable to contain himself, he asked directly:

“Madam Xu, I feel I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

Xu Yunqi set down her teacup with a smile and replied crisply: “Twelfth Prince, I am the wife of the Third Young Master of Prince Xi’s household.”

Pei Xun nearly choked on his own spit.

As the only legitimate son of the current Empress, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he had seen his share of storms. But this revelation truly caught him off guard.

Unable to believe it, he ignored the pain in his ankle, sat up straight, and looked at her with fresh eyes:

“You are Heng’er’s new wife, née Xu?”

“Indeed.”

Better to acknowledge it openly than to have an awkward encounter at some future imperial banquet.

She had done nothing shameful.

Pei Xun looked at her with a complicated expression.

Pei Muheng’s wife was a highly skilled female physician?

And then it all clicked—the absurd marriage half a year ago.

She was from the countryside and had clearly learned a trade, practicing at a clinic—when the Emperor had happened to choose her for Pei Muheng.

That was not Xu Yunqi’s fault.

“Does Heng’er know?” Pei Xun asked her with concern.

Xu Yunqi clasped her hands, looking puzzled.

On the day of the heavy snow before New Year’s, she had been rushed here by Pei Muheng’s own guards to save a pregnant woman. She did not know if Pei Muheng knew.

Perhaps he did not care enough to find out, or he simply did not mind.

“I’m not sure,” she replied honestly.

Pei Xun said nothing more.

It was clear this young woman did not fully understand the strictures of noble families, nor what her actions meant to a household of royal lineage.

A layer of worry settled over him. He opened his mouth to speak, but meeting Xu Yunqi’s clear, guileless eyes—so pure they seemed without a single stain—he swallowed his words.

After a long silence, he asked about his injury:

“Can my leg be cured?”

“Yes.” In her own field, Xu Yunqi was confident and generous. “I will prepare a bottle of medicinal oil for you. Apply it three times a day, and come back for a follow-up in seven days.”

The word “follow-up” made Pei Xun’s head throb. “Can I skip the follow-up and just use the oil?”

He too wanted to heal quickly—but if Pei Muheng ever found out, he feared his nephew might kill him. And then there was his sister-in-law, the Princess Consort… Pei Xun was already worrying about Xu Yunqi’s situation.

Xu Yunqi caught his hesitation. He was concerned about her position and did not want her to treat him.

She never forced herself on reluctant patients. She took a slow sip of tea and said:

“The leg is yours. You decide.”

Pei Xun: “…”

Did Pei Muheng know what kind of wife he had married?

Before leaving, Pei Xun, leaning on a crutch, thanked her and said:

“I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.” The matter was for the couple to resolve themselves.

Xu Yunqi looked utterly unconcerned.

On the way back, Yinxing voiced the same worry:

“Mistress, what will we do when the master finds out?”

Xu Yunqi leaned against the carriage wall, half-asleep. “Don’t worry about things that haven’t happened. We’ll deal with the future when it comes.”

—

As summer arrived, the rains grew frequent. After only two days of clear skies, the weather turned again. By the hour of Shen in the afternoon, dark clouds rolled in, threatening a downpour.

Pei Muheng left the palace, intending to return home.

The Emperor had improved. The Crown Prince’s case was being investigated methodically. The court had fallen into an eerie calm—everyone went about their duties, no one daring to stir up any trouble.

Everything was progressing as planned, and Pei Muheng was in good spirits, more confident than ever.

Huang Wei accompanied him into the carriage and casually mentioned:

“The young mistress went out today—to her dowry shop, and then to the neighbouring apothecary for some herbs. I’m not sure if she’s back yet.”

Pei Muheng gazed into the void ahead, recalling that he and his wife had been at odds. After a moment’s silence, he ordered:

“Go to the shop and pick her up.”

As the carriage rolled on, Pei Muheng rubbed his brow. With the political storm about to break, he had no time to guess his wife’s thoughts, nor to dwell on her past. As long as Xu Yunqi’s heart was not elsewhere, they could manage.

Xu Yunqi had only traveled a short distance when the rain came pouring down. The driver, eager to get home, ran into a mud pit and broke an axle. Mistress and maid took shelter under the eaves of a shop.

A osmanthus tree grew at the corner, its base unpaved, the rain turning the ground to mud.

She breathed in the scent of damp earth, listening to the drumming rain, letting her mind drift.

Accustomed to drifting with her mistress, Yinxing felt no anxiety about returning home—as if they could make do anywhere for the night.

Pei Muheng alighted with a black oil-paper umbrella and saw his wife in her moon-white dress standing at the corner, rain soaking her temples, strands of wet hair plastered to her cheeks. Her fair face, washed clean, glowed with a fresh radiance. Her narrow eyes curved in an innocent smile, her whole being radiating contentment.

A memory rose unbidden—a fire, endless as this rain. Flames like serpents leaping toward her, singeing her hair, burning her sleeve. She ran, fell by a water vat, choking on smoke, drowning in despair—until, as if heaven refused to end her, the rain came roaring down. That relief, that rebirth, was etched into her bones.

She loved the rain. She loved the feeling of being washed clean.

Suddenly, a black umbrella appeared above her. That tall, graceful man stood before her, shielding her from the wind and rain. He spoke, his voice slow: “My lady, I’ve come to take you home.”

Xu Yunqi stared at him for a long moment, then glanced down at her wet skirt, embarrassed.

Pei Muheng unfastened his cloak and handed it to her. She wrapped it around herself and gave him a sweet smile.

He helped her into the carriage.

It was spacious, with a small table, soft couch, and tea set—neat and spotless. Xu Yunqi, damp with moisture, sat on one side, a distance between them. Noticing droplets still on her face, Pei Muheng found a handkerchief and handed it to her. She wrapped herself tighter, wiped her face, and asked casually:

“Why did you come, Third Master?”

“There’s something I want to ask you.” His tone was calm, his handsome brow clear.

Xu Yunqi paused, knowing what was coming. She turned to face him, her expression growing serious.

“Ask.”

The carriage rolled forward, rain drumming on the roof, making the cabin feel still and quiet.

Pei Muheng looked into her clear eyes and asked directly: “I know about your betrothal to the Jiang family.”

Xu Yunqi nodded calmly.

His dark, deep gaze did not waver. “Do you have someone in your heart?”

She paused, uncertain what that meant. She could say that her time with Jiang Yuhe had been pleasant—he had been gentle and considerate, a good match by all accounts. Her mother-in-law had been kind, and a harmonious marriage had been assured. Objectively, the Jiang family had been her best choice.

But she could not speak too plainly.

Their marriage was fragile enough without adding another obstacle.

Yet Pei Muheng was not easily fooled.

What to do?

She thought for a moment, then replied: “Marriage is arranged by parents and matchmakers. When my mother asked what kind of man I wanted, I told her what kind of life I wanted.”

Her eyes were so clean, it was hard to doubt her words.

“What kind of life?” His voice was clear, his gaze so deep and still that the slightest ripple could break its surface.

Xu Yunqi smiled, her eyes curving. “At the time, I thought I’d marry someone I knew well, of similar standing, gentle and kind—and live a carefree life.”

Someone I knew well, of similar standing, gentle and kind—not Jiang Yuhe himself.

Pei Muheng could not quite name the feeling in his chest.

But one thing was certain: he was none of those things.

—

Husband and wife returned late, the rain having eased, lanterns just lit. Word came from Jinhua Hall that the Princess Consort was seriously ill. Pei Muheng prepared to go. Xu Yunqi stood behind him and offered softly: “Shall I come with you?”

She could examine the Princess Consort if needed—and if allowed. After all, she was a physician.

But he shook his head, his bearing still composed and distant. “You got caught in the rain—go rest. Imperial Physician He is already at the mansion. He’s always treated Mother’s illness. It’s fine.”

Xu Yunqi said nothing more.

Pei Muheng, worried about his mother, strode quickly along the corridor toward Jinhua Hall. Xu Yunqi returned to Qinghui Garden. Old Madam Chen, seeing her wet skirt, was alarmed. “My dear mistress, please change your clothes at once. I’ll have some ginger soup prepared—don’t catch a cold!”

Xu Yunqi had been caught in the rain before and was not overly concerned, but she did not want to refuse the old matron’s kindness. “I’ll take a bath first, then have the soup.”

The Princess Consort’s illness had come on fiercely—physicians summoned, medicine brewed, a great commotion.

The next morning, Xu Yunqi went to Jinhua Hall to visit. Lady Xie, busy nursing the Princess Consort and managing household affairs, gently refused her, fearing she might upset her mother-in-law:

“Mother needs quiet rest. I’ll convey your kind intentions to her.”

Having done her duty, Xu Yunqi turned to leave. Soon, Lady Li came hurrying after her, leading her son Xun-ge’er by the hand, and looped her arm through Xu Yunqi’s with obvious intent to speak.

They walked along the corridor away from Jinhua Hall. When they were alone, Lady Li spoke:

“I’ll tell you why Mother is ill.”

“Why?”

Lady Li pointed beyond the high walls, mysterious: “Madam Xun and the Second Miss Xun next door are coming back. They sent Mother a letter yesterday. You don’t know how cunning that girl is—she’s been making backrests and embroidered headbands for Mother from her sickbed, wrapping her right around her finger. Third Sister-in-law, if I were you, I’d be on my guard.”

She looked at Xu Yunqi with concern.

Xu Yunqi smiled helplessly. “Mm, I’ll be mindful,” she said vaguely.

Lady Li enthusiastically began listing the Princess Consort’s preferences, advising Xu Yunqi on how to win her over and outshine the little fox next door.

Xu Yunqi could not help but laugh, hardly hearing a word. “By the way, Second Sister-in-law, I’ve made some ejiao cakes—come try some at my garden.”

Xun-ge’er ran ahead, and the two women chatted their way to Qinghui Garden.

It was Lady Li’s first time there. She toured the front and back courtyards—the spacious rooms, the understated luxury—and sighed: “Ah, there’s really a difference between legitimate and concubine-born sons. Your courtyard is twice the size of our Bichun Garden.”

Xu Yunqi smiled and invited her for tea at the waterside pavilion.

As they walked, Lady Li said: “Given how much Mother favours Third Brother and gave you such a grand garden, you should put up with her temper.”

Xu Yunqi laughed heartily, finding her second sister-in-law quite amusing.

Pei Muheng was gone another ten days. Just when she had nearly forgotten she had a husband, he returned through the misty rain, stepping onto the veranda of Qinghui Garden.

Xu Yunqi welcomed him in.

He looked weary as he sat in the main hall. “I’m sorry—I’ve been away too long,” he said apologetically.

It was not his longest absence. She smiled and said nothing.

She had come to think well of him.

He had clearly been unhappy about the Jiang matter, yet he had never spoken a harsh word to her—a sign of his restraint. Some husbands, even without love, were possessive and set down countless rules for their wives.

His pressing court duties had diluted his preoccupation with Jiang Yuhe.

The Crown Prince’s case was nearing its conclusion. The Chief Justice had traced the source of the gunpowder at the Crown Prince’s villa; his conviction was imminent. But at this critical juncture, the Emperor had fallen seriously ill. If the Emperor died, Prince Qin would benefit—and that was something Pei Muheng could not allow.

He had been busy, so much so that it was only upon leaving the palace that he realized he had not come home in over ten days.

Hearing colleagues speak of their wives, he had thought of Xu Yunqi and decided to see her.

In a sense, he was not a good husband.

“These are turbulent times at court. His Majesty is unwell, and the Imperial Medical Institute has no effective remedies. The palace is in turmoil. With the Crown Prince’s downfall, factions are scheming in the shadows. Grandfather trusts me with heavy responsibilities, so I must deal with the Grand Secretariat and the Six Ministries—it’s a heavy burden. I have neglected you.” He held the teacup she had handed him and spoke slowly.

It was the first time Pei Muheng had discussed court affairs with her. She sat down across from him.

Though she never concerned herself with politics, she understood that the Emperor’s illness now was unfavourable to Prince Xi’s household.

He was extending an olive branch; she should meet him halfway.

“Third Master, you know I can prepare medicinal dishes. If you tell me His Majesty’s symptoms, perhaps I can help.”

He looked at her in surprise, recalling those pastries from before—the ones the Emperor had eaten two of and later praised. Even if the medicine could not cure him, it might at least improve his appetite. The old man had not finished a proper meal in days.

His wife had not reproached him for neglect, but instead thought of how to ease his burden. The lingering displeasure in his heart faded.

He described the Emperor’s symptoms briefly. Xu Yunqi considered for a moment:

“I can make a cake that will strengthen an elderly person’s constitution—but I’ll need fresh deer’s blood and a small piece of aged fleece-flower root.”

Pei Muheng’s expression grew serious. “I’ll find them.”

It took him two days to procure the ingredients. Xu Yunqi planned to make a “Nine-Nine Sunrise” cake.

Though it looked like a simple cake, it required twenty-nine ingredients, each in precise proportion—too much or too little, and the effect would differ. It had taken her two years under her grandfather’s guidance to perfect the recipe.

Naturally, making it was no easy task. Mistress and maid laboured a full day to produce nine pieces.

Once ready, Xu Yunqi drove to the palace. Pei Muheng could not leave to meet her, so he sent Huang Wei to fetch the box. Somehow, when it arrived at the Hall of Heavenly Worship, the cakes were still warm, their herbal fragrance delicate but unmistakable.

The Emperor had tasted Xu Yunqi’s skills before and had secretly longed for more, though as emperor he could hardly ask his grandson’s wife for treats. A few days ago, when his appetite was poor, he had mentioned it casually. Pei Muheng had remembered—and now his wife had delivered.

Liu Xiwen helped the Emperor, who had grown thin, sit up, propping a thick cushion behind him. Comfortably leaning back, he watched Pei Muheng open the box and reveal the plate of cakes.

Every item the Emperor consumed had to be tested for poison. To show sincerity, Pei Muheng tasted them himself.

There were nine separate cakes, each to be sampled. He cut a sliver from each with a small spoon and tasted them before serving the Emperor.

By the time the Emperor had eaten all nine, Pei Muheng had consumed nearly an entire cake’s worth.

At first, he felt nothing. But an hour later, a restless warmth began to spread through him. Remembering that the cakes contained deer’s blood, he pressed his brow with a wry smile.

That night, the Emperor slept soundly. The next morning, he woke refreshed, his voice full of vigour.

“Heng’er, your wife has a remarkable skill. That medicinal dish is truly one of a kind. I haven’t felt this energetic in a long time. I want to reward her.”

Pei Muheng returned to Qinghui Garden laden with gifts.

—

In the afternoon, a heavy rain fell, then cleared. The setting sun peeked through the clouds, scattering its glow across the courtyard.

The palace attendants carried chests of gold, silver, and jewels into the main hall. Old Madam Chen prepared silver for their trouble, and Huang Wei saw them off with courtesy.

Pei Muheng sat at the table on the north side, drinking tea. Xu Yunqi checked the gift list, confirmed it, and had the matrons carry everything to the storehouse.

She came to sit across from him and smiled: “Has His Majesty improved? The medicine shouldn’t be taken too often. I’ll make it for him twice more on alternate days—three times in total should be enough. The rest depends on his own care.”

The Emperor’s reward was generous; she would not be ungrateful.

Pei Muheng listened to her clear, pleasant voice and nodded absently.

As a physician, Xu Yunqi had a habit of observing. She noticed dark circles under his eyes. “Third Master, are you unwell?”

He looked up, his gaze obscure, and shook his head. “Nothing serious.”

He had not expected the cake’s effects to be so potent—he had barely slept all night.

If Xu Yunqi were merely a maker of medicinal dishes, she might have believed him. But she was also a physician. After a moment of scrutiny, she asked:

“You ate some too?”

He said nothing, just looked at her.

Meeting his cryptic gaze, she could not help feeling a twinge of schadenfreude.

It was her fault for not warning him.

She remembered eating several pieces herself once, her face burning red, and only a cold bath had let her sleep. Pei Muheng must have had a miserable night.

She laughed, her clear eyes shimmering as if with tears.

Seeing her like this, he felt a flicker of annoyance. His narrow eyes sharpened, his face expressionless as he explained: “Everything the Emperor consumes must be tested for poison. Since you made it with your own hands, I didn’t want anyone else to do it.”

He had not known it would affect him like this.

Xu Yunqui suppressed her laughter. “My fault—I forgot to warn you. Next time, don’t eat any.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

He looked away.

A petal drifted through the window, landing in Xu Yunqi’s hair, another on Pei Muheng’s robe. The sunset was perfect.

Perhaps she had not wanted to marry him, and he had not wanted to marry her. But fate had brought them together, and they would have to learn to live with each other.

“My lady, the past is past. I have always intended to make this marriage work. And you?”

His hands rested loosely, his gaze flowing toward her like water, as he sat upright and looked at her.

She paused, her smile fading, and replied without hesitation:

“Me too.”

With that, the barriers fell. Pei Muheng called out:

“Huang Wei—go to the study and move my things to the rear courtyard.”