Ch 74: Reborn to Raise My Husband

After the county exam ended on the fifteenth, the plan had been to rest a day or two and return home around the seventeenth or eighteenth.

But given how dangerous the journey to Lin County had been, and since more than half a month had passed, who could say what the road would be like now?

Ma Junyi’s uncle, who ran a business in Lin Prefecture, somehow heard of the trouble they’d encountered on the way—how they had nearly been attacked by bandits. Worried, he wouldn’t let them travel back alone, insisting they rest a few extra days and return together with a merchant caravan.

So they waited, and only on the twentieth of the eighth month did they set off with the caravan of Madam Ming’s trading company for Lin County.

During the journey, chatting with the merchants, they learned that Teacher Chen had been ambushed on his way to the examination hall—he’d not only missed this year’s county exam but had also been injured.

Families with local connections in the county had already heard. Ma Junyi’s uncle, upon receiving word from the prefectural city, confirmed the news.

Everyone sighed at the tale. Teacher Chen’s reputation in the county had long since been ruined, yet hearing that he’d been attacked still stirred sympathy.

He was no longer young, and to suffer such misfortune on the road to an exam—truly pitiful.

Failing an exam after sitting for it and being prevented from taking it altogether were two entirely different things. After this incident, he would likely never attempt the county exam again.

By the time the caravan reached Lin County, it was already the night of the twenty-fifth, with the bright moon high above.

Everyone was exhausted from days of travel. At the city gate, they said quick farewells and hurried home.

Word had surely spread that the exam route had been unsafe this year. Though letters had been sent from Lin Prefecture, their families had not truly seen them in person, and so everyone was eager to return to ease their loved ones’ worries.

After all, once back in the county, it would be easy enough to meet classmates again later.

Qi Beinan parted ways with Zhao Guangzong at the mouth of the alley. When he and Tienan reached the gate of their own home, the main doors were closed, but two lanterns still burned brightly.

The night watchman walked slowly down the alley, beating his gong and calling out under the moonlight, “Dry weather and brittle air—beware of fire!”

“Who’s there, this late at night?”

Tienan knocked, and after a short while, Gatekeeper Zhao Wu came out, half-asleep, tugging on an outer robe and rubbing his eyes.

When he opened the door and saw Qi Beinan and Tienan, he nearly shouted for joy. “Master Qi, you’ve returned!”

Sleep fled from him entirely.

Qi Beinan smiled faintly. “Everything well at home?”

“Very well, sir! Only the young master’s been staying at the manor for a few days.”

Qi Beinan walked in, asking a few more questions as they went.

“He’s not home tonight?”

“He is, sir. Came back right after Mid-Autumn, been waiting for your return ever since.”

Qi Beinan’s eyes softened. “Tienan, you must be tired from the road. Go rest early. Zhao Wu, bring some hot water to my room.”

“Yes, sir, right away.”

Qi Beinan strolled quietly toward Xiao Yuanbao’s quarters.

The night was deep, but a lamp still glowed from within.

Xiao Yuanbao had washed up, his long hair loose, dressed only in a pale jade-colored inner robe.

The autumn night was cool, but with doors and windows closed, the room was warm enough.

He sat at the table under the lamplight, reading over a cookbook he’d gotten from Madam Feng.

Then a voice spoke, half teasing, half reproachful:

“Still awake at this hour?”

Startled, Xiao Yuanbao turned around—and there stood Qi Beinan in the doorway.

For a moment, he could only stare, not quite believing it.

Then realization dawned, and he leapt up, the book forgotten. Once he confirmed that Qi Beinan was truly standing there—not a vision born of longing—he rushed forward a few steps.

Though they had been apart many times over the years, never had he worried like this time.

Even after receiving letters assuring his safety, his heart could not stop wandering at night, sleepless with anxiety.

Now, seeing Qi Beinan safe and sound before him, countless emotions welled up, yet he could not find the right words.

All he wanted was to throw himself into Qi Beinan’s arms—to finally express the worry and longing that had weighed on him all these days.

But as he neared, reason returned, and he stopped just short of touching him.

“It’s so late already—why didn’t you stay the night at the post station and come in tomorrow morning? Are you hungry? I can go to the kitchen and—”

Qi Beinan said nothing. He reached out, grasped Xiao Yuanbao’s slender arm, and drew him in—

pulling him tightly into his embrace.

Xiao Yuanbao froze, words catching in his throat.

Embarrassment and joy mingled in him, as though his secret feelings had been laid bare.

Qi Beinan’s arm pressed firmly around his back.

Pressed against him, Xiao Yuanbao could feel the solid rhythm of his chest, the quickened heartbeat beneath, and the warmth of travel clinging to his skin.

His face flushed hot as steam.

Qi Beinan had held him often as a child—helping him dress, putting on his shoes and socks, caring for him with the gentleness of an elder brother.

Back then, Xiao Yuanbao had adored and relied on him completely, never fearing anything so long as Qi Beinan was there.

But as he grew older, learning propriety and restraint, he’d kept a careful distance—never so close again as in childhood.

Now—now being held face-to-face by Qi Beinan like this—was something even childhood had never given him.

The heat on Xiao Yuanbao’s face deepened.

At some unknown moment, everything in his heart had changed completely. And along with it, the feeling of being in Qi Beinan’s arms was no longer the same as before.

Of course, how could it be?

Back then, Qi Beinan had only been a boy of ten or so himself.

But now, he had come of age—grown into a tall, steady man.

Shy yet unwilling to leave his embrace, Xiao Yuanbao hesitated, then slowly raised his arms and looped them lightly around Qi Beinan’s waist.

He buried his face against Qi Beinan’s chest, feeling its rise and fall, not daring to meet his gaze.

He had missed him dearly.

“You’ve gotten thinner,” Qi Beinan murmured, holding him close. The figure in his arms felt more delicate than before.

“Just like that winter when we first came home together—you looked so plump under all those layers, but once the winter clothes were off, you were all skin and bone.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s brow twitched slightly, his heart giving a strange stir. “Just like then?”

Qi Beinan’s hand brushed gently along his back. How could it possibly be the same as then?

He said softly, “Not the same.”

Only then did Xiao Yuanbao seem content.

“Do you know,” he muttered in a half-scolding whisper, “if your letter had come even a little later, Father was going to Lin Prefecture himself to find you. How could you not send word after something like that?”

He hadn’t slept properly for nights, nor eaten much. It was no wonder he’d lost weight over the past month.

Qi Beinan had guessed that news of the incident must have reached home, but hearing that they had been so anxious for him filled him with guilt—and, at the same time, warmth.

“It wasn’t something anyone could have foreseen,” he said. “I’d planned to turn back and rest before setting out again, but I was lucky—I met a group of escort masters on the road and traveled safely with them to the prefecture.”

“I didn’t mention it in my letter because I didn’t want you or Uncle Xiao to worry.”

Xiao Yuanbao pressed his lips together, hugging him tighter.

By regulation, the county exam results were to be posted within fifteen days of the test.

However, news to reach the county usually took a few extra days—so they would likely not see the results until the beginning of the ninth month.

In past years, candidates had to stay in the prefectural city until the results were posted before making travel plans. Those who failed could return home, while those who passed had to remain for a banquet hosted by the prefectural governor.

The prefectural banquet, like the one held for new scholars after the academy exam, was nominally to honor the candidates’ efforts, but in truth it was a gathering for making connections.

Later, however, the imperial court abolished these banquets to prevent scholars from being entangled in local official networks and forming factions.

Since then, scholars taking the prefectural exam could leave immediately after completing it—no need to stay for the announcement.

Qi Beinan’s group had already returned by the end of the eighth month, with only a few days left before the results were due.

While waiting for the list to be posted, Qi Beinan first went to the manor to report his safe return to Xiao Hu, then to the county school to speak with the Academic Director about his reflections on the exam.

The Director advised everyone not to spread word of what had happened on the road.

For scholars to be attacked while traveling for the exam was no trivial matter—if word spread, it could cause panic.

Although the incident reflected a failure of oversight within the prefecture, if the news reached the governor and offended higher officials, even a scholar who passed would find his prospects dimmed.

The prefecture and the court would surely act in secret to punish the bandits who had threatened order, and the candidates were to keep silent.

They all kept his warning firmly in mind.

“Enough,” said the Director. “Go home and rest. This exam has been hard on you all. The list will be posted in two days—don’t be too anxious.”

“Yes, sir.”

They thanked him and turned to leave—

“Beinan, stay a moment. I have something to say to you.”

Qi Beinan, who had been walking with Zhao Guangzong, stopped at once. Zhao, understanding the hint, took his leave.

“Sir,” Qi Beinan said, returning to bow.

Academic Director Yang asked a few casual questions first—was the road difficult, did he manage well in Lin Prefecture? Qi Beinan answered politely.

After a moment, Yang got to the point. “This time’s county exam—did you feel confident in your answers?”

“I dare not presume, sir. I’ll only know when the results are posted,” Qi Beinan replied.

Yang smiled faintly. “You’ve always been modest and steady. If I ask you straight, you won’t give me a plain answer.”

But inwardly, he was pleased—Qi Beinan’s calm, unhurried temperament was exactly what made a good official.

“You were top in the county’s preliminary exams—the county has high hopes for you. You’ve been diligent these years, your teachers praise you often, and I’ve seen it myself.”

“Whether or not you place this time,” Yang said kindly, “with such character and patience, you’ll have a bright future ahead.”

Qi Beinan bowed deeply. “Your praise humbles me, sir, yet I’m truly grateful.”

Yang Xuezheng smiled. “You’re quite deserving of such praise.”

“After all this talking, I imagine you must be thirsty. I’ve just received some fine new tea—try a cup.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Yang Xuezheng gave a small nod to his servant, then turned back to Qi Beinan.

“I’ve heard,” he said with a measured tone, “that you lost your parents young and were raised by relatives on your mother’s side?”

“Yes,” Qi Beinan replied calmly. “Though I lost my parents early, my uncle’s family treated me no differently from their own son. It’s thanks to their care that I’ve been able to study in peace.”

“Such gratitude and filial devotion,” said Yang Xuezheng with approval. “A pure-hearted young man who knows kindness and repays it—very good.”

As he finished speaking, someone entered through the doorway.

“Father. Scholar Qi.”

Qi Beinan turned to see Yang Xuezheng’s son, Yang Chenshu, step inside.

He bowed politely to the youth, his brow faintly tightening as an uneasy thought crossed his mind.

“I heard the road to the county exam was unsafe,” Yang Chenshu said with a courteous smile. “You must have suffered some hardship. Thankfully you returned unharmed—frightening, but no lasting harm.”

He took a cup of tea from the servant’s tray and presented it with both hands. “Please, try this. I brewed it myself.”

Qi Beinan accepted it, raising the cup slightly before taking a polite sip. “The Academic Director’s tea is, of course, excellent.”

Yang Chenshu gave a soft laugh, clearly wishing to say more, but his father shot him a warning glance. He immediately closed his mouth.

“I’ll leave you to speak with my father,” he said with a small bow before withdrawing from the room.

“My son’s tea-brewing isn’t the best,” said Yang Xuezheng, smiling lightly. “He’s too fond of play—don’t laugh at him, little Qi.”

Of course, whether the tea was good or bad, Qi Beinan could only respond with polite words. He praised it with a few more compliments.

They spoke idly for a short while after, and Yang Xuezheng did not detain him long. When the conversation had run its course, he permitted Qi Beinan to take his leave.

…

“Brother Zhao, how come you’re back alone? Where’s my brother?”

Xiao Yuanbao was carrying a few fresh lamb trotters from the market, planning to braise them for Qi Beinan’s supper. Since Qi Beinan’s return, his face had been bright with joy.

He met Zhao Guangzong at the end of the alley.

“He was kept back by the Academic Director for a private talk,” Zhao replied. “Didn’t know how long it’d take, so I came home first in case they kept him for dinner.”

“So many scholars, and only he was kept behind?” Xiao Yuanbao asked curiously. “The results haven’t even been posted yet.”

Zhao hesitated a moment. “Maybe because he was top in the county exams and did well at the school. The Academic Director likely wanted to ask about the county test.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded, pleased. “If the Director values him, that’s good news. Brother Zhao, come rest at our house a bit—I’ll make braised lamb trotters this afternoon.”

Zhao waved his hand. “Can’t today. I have to visit my maternal grandfather—been too long since he’s seen me.”

“Then I’ll have Tienan bring you some later,” said Xiao Yuanbao.

They chatted as they walked, parting ways when their paths split.

“Yuanbao,” Zhao called out suddenly after taking a few steps toward his own house, frowning. “Perhaps you should go to the Academic Office and fetch Beinan.”

“Huh?” Xiao Yuanbao turned, puzzled. “Fetch him? Why?”

Zhao slapped his forehead. “Ah, I nearly forgot—been thinking about the exam results all day.”

“When we left the Academic Office earlier, Beinan told me to tell you to come fetch him. I can’t believe I forgot after talking to you so long!”

Xiao Yuanbao blinked. Something about Zhao’s words didn’t sound quite right—disjointed somehow—but he said, “All right. I’ll go put these things down first, then go pick him up.”

“Change your clothes before you go,” Zhao added quickly. “You got them dirty at the meat market. The Director’s particular about cleanliness.”

Xiao Yuanbao looked down at himself—his clothes weren’t dirty at all. Confused, he glanced back at Zhao, who only urged, “Go on, quickly now, don’t be late.”

“…Fine,” said Xiao Yuanbao, and hurried home to change.

Zhao watched him disappear into the courtyard, then exhaled slowly, his face clouded.

…

When Qi Beinan left the Academic Office, his mind was troubled.

He was already thinking about how to politely decline the Director’s “good intentions.”

The situation today had made those intentions clear enough. Though the man had said nothing outright, Qi Beinan could read between the lines.

After all, it had only been a cup of tea—but in such circles, gestures spoke louder than words.

He would rather settle the matter quietly, but saw no proper opening yet.

If he’d known beforehand that the Director meant to keep him alone and even summon Yang Chenshu to meet him, he might have prepared himself.

Judging from the Director’s demeanor, he would likely make his intentions explicit once the results were announced—if Qi Beinan ranked well, of course.

Such a scholarly household naturally sought a promising, upright young man for a son-in-law.

Qi Beinan decided that when the time came, once things were made clear, he would state his own position firmly. That would be best.

Lost in these thoughts, he was suddenly brought back by a quiet voice behind him.

“Scholar Qi.”

He turned—and saw that it was Yang Chenshu, following him out.

Qi Beinan’s brow moved slightly as he bowed.

“If you liked today’s tea,” said Yang Chenshu with a composed smile, “why not take this cake of leaves home with you? A few sips when you’re weary from study will clear your mind.”

He motioned for a servant to bring the wrapped tea.

Qi Beinan smiled politely. “I appreciate your generosity, Young Master Yang. But truthfully, my household is modest—I’m used to coarse loose tea. To let me drink such fine leaves would be like feeding peonies to a cow, a waste of good things.”

He did not take the tea, and instead said tactfully, “Better that such fine tea be given to someone who truly knows it. That way both the tea and the person will be rightly matched.”

Yang Chenshu, son of an official family, was no fool. He understood at once what Qi Beinan meant.

Beautiful, well-bred, accustomed to admiration, he had never before been so plainly declined. The rebuff stung—but it only deepened his interest.

For he truly liked Qi Beinan.

Though the man’s family background was humble, he was handsome, calm in nature, and well-learned.

He’d often heard his father praise Qi Beinan’s essays as insightful; he’d even secretly read a few himself—bold thought, elegant calligraphy.

The more he learned, the more his heart inclined toward him.

From childhood, Yang Chenshu had understood: the unwanted is left to others to pick over; what is fine and valuable must be pursued, because the worthy is always sought after.

So he said softly, “If you’re used to coarse tea now, you’ll grow accustomed to better in time. A man like you should drink fine tea—it’s only a matter of when, not if.”

Qi Beinan smiled faintly. “Young Master Yang flatters me. My abilities are modest. I was only fortunate to earn first place once, and that small success has lent me an undeserved reputation. I often fear I’ll disappoint both the Academic Director and yourself.”

Yang Chenshu misread his words—thinking Qi Beinan refused him out of insecurity over his plain family and uncertain prospects. Wanting to reassure him, his face flushed slightly.

“Of course, a good result would be splendid,” he said. “But even if not—I would still think of you the same way as I do today.”

Qi Beinan’s brows tightened.

He gave a deep bow. “I must apologize, but I am already betrothed. That cannot change.”

“What… what?”

Yang Chenshu’s blush drained away as if doused in cold water.

Shame, embarrassment, and disappointment all struck at once, leaving him speechless.

“I hope you’ll forgive me,” said Qi Beinan.

Yang Chenshu pressed his lips together, struggling to maintain composure. “Thank you for your honesty, Scholar Qi. I understand. Please don’t think poorly of my forwardness today.”

Qi Beinan inclined his head, offering him the courtesy of dignity. “I heard nothing today that could be called forward or improper.”

Yang Chenshu bowed formally. “Since you don’t care for the tea, I’ll take it back. Safe travels, Scholar Qi.”

Qi Beinan gave a polite farewell and turned to leave.

He had gone only a few steps when he looked up—and froze.

Not far ahead, Xiao Yuanbao stood quietly by the roadside, watching. It was impossible to tell how long he had been there.

“Xiaobao,” Qi Beinan said, startled.

Xiao Yuanbao forced a smile and walked toward him. “Mm. Heading home?”

“How did you get here?”

Xiao Yuanbao opened his mouth but could not find words. A bitter heaviness welled inside him.

On his way over, he had already thought Zhao Guangzong strange—rambling, evasive, first saying he’d forgotten to relay a message, then claiming his clothes were dirty.

And when he arrived at the Academic Office, he saw Qi Beinan speaking with that handsome young gentleman, their conversation lingering far too long.

In that moment, he understood all of Zhao Guangzong’s odd behavior.

Qi Beinan hadn’t told Zhao to summon him. Zhao had only said so out of pity—or to soften the blow.

The Academic Director had kept Qi Beinan alone; his refined son had come to see him off; Zhao Guangzong’s words had been hesitant and strange. Even if Xiao Yuanbao had been the dullest man alive, he could have pieced it together.

So he had stood there silently, watching them talk beneath the eaves.

A deep sense of inferiority, like a sudden downpour, drenched him from head to toe.

He wanted—desperately—to run forward, to take Qi Beinan’s hand, to tell them all that Qi Beinan was his, that they were engaged.

But he did not. He couldn’t.

Because how could he compare to the son of an official household?

He had no such background, no such grace.

And for the first time in his life, he felt himself lacking.

If Qi Beinan were to marry someone like that, life would surely be easier—an official father-in-law, a learned household, a future with open doors.

He didn’t understand politics, but he understood advantage.

Knowing that, how could he, out of selfishness, use their engagement to hold Qi Beinan back?

After all… after all, Qi Beinan had never said he loved him.

Perhaps he had only ever regarded him as family—and when it came to marriage, his heart might already be elsewhere.

A dull ache spread through Xiao Yuanbao’s chest, suffocating but not fatal—like a damp cloth pressed over his face, stealing air yet refusing to end him.

“Let’s go home. I’ll cook something for you.”

Qi Beinan noticed how Xiao Yuanbao deliberately avoided the subject—his voice light, evasive. He could tell the boy had seen him talking with Yang Chenshu.

So instead of pretending otherwise, he asked directly, “That was the Academic Director’s son, Yang Chenshu. Have you seen him before?”

Xiao Yuanbao’s fingers curled slightly; he wanted to avoid the question.

He wanted Qi Beinan to explain—but also dreaded hearing him mention Young Master Yang, feared he might admit there was… interest.

But silence couldn’t erase things that were already seen.

Staring down at the worn stone steps underfoot, Xiao Yuanbao finally said, “No.”

He drew a breath, forcing a light tone, even a faint laugh. “But now I’ve seen him. He’s quite handsome. Standing next to you, two fine-looking men—it looked… well-matched.”

The words came out bitterly, the last two syllables barely steady.

“Well-matched?”

Qi Beinan’s gaze darkened. “Is that truly what you think?”

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes suddenly burned. He fought to keep his voice calm. “Yes. Don’t others think so too?”

“I don’t know about others,” Qi Beinan said, his tone low, “but perhaps the Academic Director thinks as you do.”

There was a trace of emotion in his voice now. “If I place in the provincial exam, he wishes to make me his son-in-law.”

As he expected. The words struck Xiao Yuanbao like ice.

He forced a small smile. “That’s wonderful, then. Seems my eye for people is the same as the Academic Director’s.”

Qi Beinan’s chest rose sharply. “Wonderful? You’d like me to marry him?”

Xiao Yuanbao met his gaze. “And what about you? Do you want to marry him?”

“Whether I do or not—does that matter to you?”

“Of course it does,” said Xiao Yuanbao. “You’re my brother.”

Then, with forced calm: “Shall I tell Father? Matters like this need the elders’ say.”

“Xiao Yuanbao!”

Qi Beinan’s patience finally broke. His brows furrowed, his steady calm gone. He seized Xiao Yuanbao’s arm.

“Why are you so eager to push me away? Do I offend your eyes? What is it you want by sending me off to someone else!”

Xiao Yuanbao stared at him—Qi Beinan’s eyes red, his voice raw, like a wounded animal cornered and furious.

He’d never seen him like this, and fear struck through him. He fell silent, realizing he might have gone too far.

Qi Beinan looked at the dazed youth and realized, belatedly, how strong his own reaction had been.

He had wanted to use this matter to force Xiao Yuanbao to face his own feelings—but the plan had run off course.

He was the one who’d lost control first.

Abruptly, Qi Beinan pulled him into his arms, holding him tight. His brows were drawn, his voice low and trembling with sorrow and fear.

“I’m sorry. I just… got scared. Don’t be angry with me.”

He spoke softly, breathlessly.

“You know very well—there’s only you in my heart.”

“Then why do you do this? Did I do something wrong? Tell me, and I’ll change.”

Hearing his roughened voice, Xiao Yuanbao’s heart softened. Regret prickled through him for his own pride and spiteful words.

But then Qi Beinan’s words caught him completely off guard.

“I—what do I know?” he stammered.

“My heart has room for no one else,” Qi Beinan said quietly. He let him go just enough to look him straight in the eye. “I only want to marry you. Do you understand now?”

“You can refuse, if you want. You can say no. But don’t be so quick to push me toward someone else. Please.”

Held there, with nowhere to run or hide, Xiao Yuanbao could only tilt his chin up to meet his gaze.

After a long pause, he murmured, haltingly, “I… I never meant to push you away. I just thought I wasn’t as good as Young Master Yang.”

“There are countless people in this world,” Qi Beinan said. “Today someone’s better in one way; tomorrow, another will be better in something else. Do you think I’m so shallow as to care about that?”

Xiao Yuanbao said nothing.

At last, in a small voice, he whispered, “My feelings… are the same as yours.”

“Really?” Qi Beinan asked softly.

Xiao Yuanbao nodded, firm this time.

Qi Beinan exhaled, tension easing. But he still feigned ignorance. “And what feeling is that?”

Xiao Yuanbao’s lips quivered; the tips of his ears flushed red.

“My heart only has you too. I want to stay with you—always.”

Qi Beinan closed his eyes for a moment, relief flooding through him. He rested his chin gently on Xiao Yuanbao’s shoulder, his voice low and teasing.

“Then don’t call me ‘brother’ anymore.”

“Then… what should I call you?” Xiao Yuanbao frowned faintly. “Not even ‘brother’? What can I call you then?”

“Anything else,” Qi Beinan said. “Just not that.”

“Then… Scholar Qi? Lord Qi?”

Qi Beinan released him, meeting his gaze again. Seeing Xiao Yuanbao blink innocently up at him, he couldn’t help pinching his cheek. “Are you trying to make me die of exasperation?”

Xiao Yuanbao shut his mouth quickly, then, after a beat, whispered, “A’nan?”

Qi Beinan’s expression softened at once. “That will do—for now.”

Joy bloomed quietly across Xiao Yuanbao’s face. He pressed his lips together to hide a smile, but Qi Beinan saw it and smiled too.

He hadn’t yet had his fill of holding him and started to reach out again—but Xiao Yuanbao caught his arm.

Glancing around, he noticed how passersby’s eyes kept drifting toward them.

Even if they were in a side alley, embracing under daylight like this was far too conspicuous.

Blushing, he murmured, “Let’s go home first.”

Qi Beinan thought the same—there would be time enough ahead. He stilled his hand, took Xiao Yuanbao’s soft fingers in his own, and said warmly, “All right. Whatever you say.”

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