Ch 110: Transmigrated to become a Koi Husband

The day after the Gu family hosted their banquet, Ji Zhifei, the young master of the Ji family, voluntarily went to the authorities and confessed to hiring a killer to seize a shop through premeditated murder. The magistrate, using his confession as a lead, conducted a thorough investigation and apprehended the real culprit within just seven days, clearing Boss Chang’s name.

On the day Boss Chang was released from prison, Qin Zhao and Jing Li went to the yamen to pick him up.

Though he had only been imprisoned for about half a month, Boss Chang looked as if he had aged several years, with streaks of gray hair now visible at his temples. The prison conditions were far from good, enough to wear down an ordinary person after just a few days, let alone someone like Boss Chang, who had also suffered a family tragedy. Thankfully, Qin Zhao had asked Gu Changzhou to pass a message to the magistrate, requesting that Boss Chang be treated leniently, which spared him from any lasting health issues.

As soon as Boss Chang saw the two of them, he bowed deeply. “Thank you both for saving my life.”

While he had limited information in prison, it wasn’t difficult to deduce that these two had intervened, from Qin Zhao’s public appeal to reopen his case to Ji Zhifei’s eventual confession. Without their involvement, he would have long since been executed for murder.

“We didn’t do much, so there’s no need for thanks,” Jing Li said, helping Boss Chang to his feet and pulling out a protective charm from his robe. “I went to the temple yesterday to get this for you. Keep it with you to ward off bad luck.”

Boss Chang accepted it gratefully. “You are too kind, sir.”

“There’s something else that needs to be returned to its rightful owner,” Qin Zhao added, handing him a property deed.

After Ji Zhifei confessed, the deed had been submitted as evidence in court. With the real culprit now captured, the magistrate had entrusted Qin Zhao to return it to Boss Chang.

Boss Chang’s eyes reddened at the sight of the deed.

Such a small piece of paper had caused so much trouble, even costing his younger brother’s life.

Even though the true culprit had been caught, nothing could bring back the life that was lost.

Overcome with emotion, Boss Chang turned away, wiping his eyes with his sleeve before taking the deed. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Qin Zhao treated Boss Chang to a meal. During the meal, he asked, “What are your plans moving forward?”

“What plans could I have? Life has to go on,” Boss Chang replied with a bitter smile. “I’ll clean up and reopen the shop as soon as possible. From now on, I’ll live honestly and avoid trouble.”

“Don’t say that,” Jing Li interjected. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“But this happened because of me.” Boss Chang turned his head to look at the clear blue sky outside the window. “Mr. Zhao, I’m also a scholar. I don’t have the same talents as Mr. Qin, but I always believed I had the integrity and backbone of a literati, unwilling to compromise. Yet, I now realize that those things mean nothing in the face of this world.”

“I’ve been thinking these past few days: If I had agreed when the Ji family wanted to buy my shop, taken the money, and returned to my hometown with my brother, would everything have been different?”

“But it’s too late now…”

Boss Chang closed his eyes briefly and said, “The day I was imprisoned, I never thought I’d make it out alive. But now that I’m free, I’ll cherish the rest of my days and not waste the kindness you two have shown me.”

Jing Li wanted to say more, but Qin Zhao gently held him back.

Qin Zhao raised his cup, using tea in place of wine. “There’s a long road ahead. I wish you a thriving business and smooth days to come.”

“Thank you for your kind words,” Boss Chang replied, raising his cup to clink it with Qin Zhao’s, smiling. “I heard in prison that Mr. Zhao’s new book is selling extremely well, and many are waiting for a reprint. Once my shop reopens, I’ll be sure to purchase a copy immediately.”

After the meal, Boss Chang bid them farewell and headed in the direction of the bookshop.

Qin Zhao held Jing Li’s hand as they walked home.

On the way, they passed by a Ji family shop. Once a bustling silk store, it was now desolate, with few visitors. Passersby avoided it altogether, crossing the street to steer clear.

News of Ji Zhifei’s crimes had spread throughout the city in the past few days, severely damaging the Ji family’s reputation. It was said that the patriarch of the Ji family fell gravely ill on the day of Ji Zhifei’s arrest, leaving the future of the once-prosperous family uncertain.

Jing Li stared absentmindedly at the deserted silk shop.

Qin Zhao asked, “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” Jing Li murmured, lowering his head. “I thought uncovering the truth and bringing the culprit to justice would feel satisfying. But for some reason… I don’t feel happy at all.”

“It’s because the dead cannot come back to life,” Qin Zhao said. “Revenge or justice, it all only has meaning when the living can carry on.”

Jing Li remained silent.

“But your efforts weren’t meaningless.” Qin Zhao tightened his grip on Jing Li’s hand, his voice soft. “Think about it. Without your intervention, how could Boss Chang have left the yamen alive? You saved a life, so don’t overthink it.”

“Mm,” Jing Li responded quietly.

He understood the reasoning, but this was his first time confronting such a situation and experiencing firsthand the harsh injustices of the world against ordinary people. The impact was far more disorienting than anything he had read in historical accounts or fiction.

Jing Li took a silent, steadying breath, suppressing the emotions swirling inside him.

“Qin Zhao,” Jing Li said suddenly, just before they reached their door. “I think I understand why you’re so determined to go to the capital now. In this world, if someone doesn’t strive to climb higher, they’ll have no choice but to silently endure when they’re wronged. Isn’t that right?”

Qin Zhao paused mid-step.

Jing Li turned to the slender, tall man beside him and blinked. “So, to avoid being trampled on, we need to work even harder, don’t we?”

Qin Zhao smiled. “You’re absolutely right.”

“To avoid being trampled on, we need to work harder. That’s exactly it.”

The case of Ji Zhifei’s hired murder caused an uproar in the city. Not long after, the authorities posted an official notice: the true murderer had been sentenced to execution after autumn, while Ji Zhifei, having confessed to his crime, was sentenced to penal servitude, narrowly escaping death.

A few days later, the Ji family patriarch submitted his resignation to Gu Changzhou, citing ill health. He proceeded to sell off all the Ji family’s shops and withdrew entirely from the business world.

The once-flourishing Ji family gradually disappeared from the public eye.

As for Boss Chang, he kept his word, quickly reopening his bookshop and reprinting the first and second volumes of Dream notes. This time, readers were surprised to find the book’s cover significantly different.

On the pale blue cover, the title was no longer simply printed but was instead replaced with beautiful calligraphy — flowing, powerful, and full of vitality.

Scholarly readers, recognizing quality immediately, were drawn to the handwriting on the cover. As word spread, sales of the book skyrocketed, multiplying several times over.

For a long while, the streets and alleys of the city buzzed with discussions about the calligraphy on the cover of Dream notes: who had written it, and whether it was indeed by the famous Mr. Zhao Li.

Jing Li, however, was not entirely pleased.

“All the attention has been stolen by you,” he grumbled.

When Jing Li raised this complaint, Qin Zhao was reading in his study. Seeing his young husband march in full of indignation, he put down his book with a helpless smile. “What should I do then? Ask Boss Chang to recall all the new editions?”

“Hmm.” Jing Li thought for a moment before shaking his head. “Forget it.”

After all, he had been the one to suggest Qin Zhao write the title in the first place. Was it Qin Zhao’s fault that the result turned out too good?

What Jing Li didn’t know was that this was already Qin Zhao holding back. During his time in office, Qin Zhao’s calligraphy and paintings had been widely admired in literary circles, with countless people imitating his style even now.

Qin Zhao, amused, asked with a smile, “So should the next volume use the same cover?”

“Of course it should,” Jing Li huffed.

After all, Dreams Notes had long been a hot item, nearly impossible to find before the reprint. Qin Zhao’s calligraphy only added an extra touch of brilliance to something already well-loved.

He wasn’t afraid of being overshadowed.

Qin Zhao patted the seat next to him, inviting Jing Li to sit down. Pulling Jing Li into his arms, he teased, “If you really mind, why not just admit who you are?”

“Too much trouble,” Jing Li replied, grabbing a snack from the table and popping it into his mouth. With his words muffled by the food, he added, “I can barely keep up with all the letters being sent to Boss Chang’s bookshop now. If I revealed my identity, wouldn’t it never end?”

Qin Zhao said, “True enough, my Xiao Yu is practically the city’s rising star now.”

Mr. Zhao Li’s reputation was growing rapidly, rivaling even Qin Zhao’s own fame as a successful scholar.

But could this identity really remain hidden for long?

Qin Zhao had his doubts.

Back during the Ji Zhifei case, a few people had uncovered Jing Li’s true identity. It was only through Qin Zhao’s connections with Gu Changzhou that the truth was temporarily suppressed.

However, with Mr. Zhao Li’s name gaining more and more recognition, it seemed inevitable that word would eventually leak out.

Just as Qin Zhao was about to caution Jing Li, the latter interrupted him. “I won’t disturb you anymore. The autumn provincial exam is just a few months away, so you’d better focus on your studies. I’ll take our son out for some fun.”

It was late March, with only four or five months until the August exam. Hosted by the Imperial Academy, the autumn examination was far more challenging and competitive than the local prefectural exam. Even Qin Zhao couldn’t approach it as casually as he had previous tests.

Jing Li slid out of Qin Zhao’s arms, sneaking another piece of pastry on his way out.

As soon as he stepped outside, a small figure barreled into him.

“Daddy… Daddy!” Little fry clung to Jing Li’s leg, looking up at him with a soft, adorable expression.

Jing Li handed him the pastry he’d taken. “Daddy’s studying, so let’s not disturb him. How about I take you out to play instead?”

Little fry cheered, “Okay!”

The little one had recently made significant progress in speaking and could now string together short sentences with much clearer pronunciation. His soft, sugary voice was impossibly cute. Jing Li ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately and took his hand to head out.

The spring weather in the city was warm, and the streets were bustling with people.

Jing Li led little fry toward the lakeside, passing a tea stand on the way. Many of the vendors in the city had been there for years and were familiar with Jing Li.

Seeing him approach, the tea vendor poked his head out of the shop. “Jing Li, you’re out today! Care to sit and have some tea?”

Jing Li intended to head straight to the lake and was about to decline when a commotion from the stall caught his attention.

“Did you all see it? The Jiangling Gazette says they’ve uncovered Mr. Zhao Li’s true identity!”

Jing Li turned his head.

The man speaking looked familiar, likely a neighbor from the area. In his hand was a copy of the Jiangling Gazette.

The Jiangling Gazette, published every five days, was a widely respected local paper covering news of all kinds in the city. Though privately operated on the surface, it was secretly supported by the local authorities and enjoyed great popularity among the townsfolk.

Jing Li usually didn’t read the paper, but this piqued his interest. “What does it say?”

“Here, look at this,” the man said, spreading the paper open and pointing to an article. “The author claims they’ve recently investigated extensively and have basically figured out Mr. Zhao Li’s real identity. They’re planning to reveal it soon.”

“Tch, anyone can say that,” Jing Li remarked dismissively.

A person at the neighboring table interjected, “For over a month now, how many people have claimed they know Mr. Zhao Li’s true identity? And yet, what’s come of it? Not even a shadow of proof.”

“Honestly, I think so too,” the man reading the paper chuckled. “And look at this author—someone called Qingshan Jun. Never even heard of him. Who knows where this guy popped up from?”

“Probably just trying to grab attention!”

“Exactly, exactly!”

The group chattered on, with one comment following another, until a clear, youthful voice cut in: “What nonsense are you all spouting?”

Jing Li looked over calmly.

The speaker was a handsome youth who appeared to be around Jing Li’s age. His skin was unusually fair, and his features leaned delicate and androgynous.

However, there was no cinnabar mole on his face.

Since the distinguishing cinnabar mark for a shuang’er wasn’t always on the face, it couldn’t be used to determine the youth’s gender. But from his appearance and voice, Jing Li could almost be certain that the person was indeed a shuang’er.

The youth sat at an outer table of the teahouse, with a pot of tea and some pastries wrapped in oil paper in front of him. It seemed he’d been there for quite some time, unnoticed due to his quiet demeanor.

The man who had raised the question earlier asked, “And how would you know we’re spouting nonsense?”

The youth, now being countered, turned bright red. “If you don’t know the truth, isn’t it nonsense to speak as though you do?”

“Oh? So you know, do you?” the man asked with a smirk. “What, are you Qingshan Jun? Or are you actually Mr. Zhao Li?”

“I… I’m not…” the youth stammered, averting his eyes nervously.

The group let out a collective scoff, followed by a burst of laughter, and quickly lost interest in him.

Jing Li didn’t pay much attention to the scene either and was about to lead Little fry away.

But the little one didn’t move.

The child stood rooted, staring at the delicate pastries spread out on the youth’s table. His wide, innocent eyes blinked up at Jing Li.

The pastries were unlike anything Jing Li had seen in the city before—tiny, intricately shaped, translucent, and crafted into the form of little rabbits. They looked absolutely delicious.

Jing Li couldn’t help himself and swallowed involuntarily.