Ch 113: Reborn to Raise My Husband

“You’ve done well for yourself,” Qi Beinan said with a faint laugh on their way home. “Even the Junjun enjoys talking with you now.”

He had been surprised; they’d agreed on a signal in case Xiao Yuanbao grew tired, yet it was Qi Beinan who had ended up sending for him—apparently, his husband had gotten along so well he didn’t want to leave.

When Xiao Yuanbao finished recounting the whole exchange, Qi Beinan smiled. “Strange, really. He always seemed difficult to approach, but when you actually speak with him, he’s… rather gentle.”

Xiao Yuanbao had been about to say “childishly simple,” but realizing that wasn’t polite, he replaced it with something more dignified. “Perhaps it’s because of his noble upbringing. People like that are raised from childhood with impeccable manners—so proper that others take it for coldness.”

Qi Beinan, who had known Gu Yanyu slightly years ago, found the description fair. Outwardly the Junjun was the very image of refinement, though Qi Beinan knew the truth wasn’t so neat. Had he truly been as disciplined and even-tempered as he appeared, Lin Qingyu wouldn’t wear that constant crease of frustration between his brows.

Back when Qi Beinan knew little of the matter, he’d thought Gu Yanyu must be quite a trying person. Somehow, he had so provoked Lin Qingyu that the Duke of Jingguo had arranged for his son-in-law to take an idle post—a cruel punishment for a man as ambitious as Lin Qingyu.

Though they appeared harmonious in public, there must have been no end of quiet struggle between them.

So when Xiao Yuanbao described Gu Yanyu as “easy to get along with,” Qi Beinan hardly knew what to make of it. He himself had never been close enough to judge the man’s true character.

“If you enjoy his company, then keep in touch,” Qi Beinan said finally. “If not, it’s fine to distance yourself. We have no particular connection with him.”

Even if they had, Qi Beinan was not the sort to make Xiao Yuanbao suffer discomfort for the sake of influence.

Besides, this life had taken a different path. Qi Beinan had remained in the capital rather than taking provincial posts, and so had never become entangled with the Duke’s household as before. Without that powerful connection, advancement was slower and the road steeper—but he did not regret it.

Xiao Yuanbao sensed that Qi Beinan didn’t quite agree with his impression of Gu Yanyu. And no wonder—he hadn’t mentioned the part about the Junjun’s fondness for opera plays and sentimental tales, nor how easily he’d laughed over them. Without his family’s watchful eyes, Gu Yanyu struck him as the sort who might, in another life, have run off with a poor scholar for love. But such thoughts were not fit for sharing.

In any case, Xiao Yuanbao was in good spirits. “I know,” he promised. “I won’t force myself to please anyone.”

Qi Beinan, seeing his cheer, patted his hand. “Our Xiaobao truly has changed. You handle these grand banquets now without the least unease.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s smile deepened.

A few days later, to his surprise, another invitation arrived—from Gu Yanyu himself, asking him to come to his residence as a guest.

The messenger explained it was not for a banquet or any formal occasion; the Junjun simply wished to have him over for conversation.

Xiao Yuanbao had thought their exchange at the Ren residence nothing more than a pleasant encounter, and once the feast was over, that would be the end of it. He hadn’t expected Gu Yanyu to send for him again.

He didn’t decline. He prepared some small gifts—pastries and light refreshments. Remembering how pale Gu Yanyu’s complexion had been that night, he also made a pot of nourishing tonic soup to bring along.

At the appointed time, he set out.

At the gate, Ye Fulang, Gu Yanyu’s attendant, greeted him warmly and ushered him inside.

It had been since Gu Yanyu and Lin Qingyu’s wedding that Xiao Yuanbao last visited the Lin residence. The estate was no smaller than the Ren family’s, and even closer to the Imperial City—far beyond what ordinary officials could afford. He’d heard the Emperor had granted it as a wedding gift to the Junjun.

After a winding walk through courtyards and corridors, they reached the private garden where Gu Yanyu resided.

“I’ve been thinking of you these past few days,” Gu Yanyu said with a bright smile when he saw him. He immediately sent servants bustling for tea and refreshments—so many that Xiao Yuanbao felt almost uneasy.

He offered the small gifts he’d brought, feeling they were meager beside such grandeur. But Gu Yanyu accepted them graciously, even having the soup opened and tasted at once.

“The weather’s warming, and this is refreshing and smooth—quite good,” Gu Yanyu said. “Did you order it from that new shop outside the city? I heard there’s a place called Changchun Lou that serves medicinal cuisine. It sounds rather novel.”

Xiao Yuanbao was startled that word of their restaurant had reached even here. He couldn’t very well admit it was his own, lest it sound like self-promotion, so he smiled lightly. “No, I made it myself. The weather’s been fickle—hot one day, cool the next. I thought it good to take something restorative. It’s nothing special, really—just a bit of soup.”

Gu Yanyu laughed. “Ah, I’d forgotten you mentioned last time you enjoy cooking. I never imagined your skill would be this fine, nor that you’d be thoughtful enough to bring soup just for me.”

“It’s hardly any trouble,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “When one feels a little unwell, it’s better to make a light tonic than to wait until sickness calls for medicine.”

“You’ve done well for yourself,” Qi Beinan said with a faint laugh on their way home. “Even the Junjun enjoys talking with you now.”

He had been surprised; they’d agreed on a signal in case Xiao Yuanbao grew tired, yet it was Qi Beinan who had ended up sending for him—apparently, his husband had gotten along so well he didn’t want to leave.

When Xiao Yuanbao finished recounting the whole exchange, Qi Beinan smiled. “Strange, really. He always seemed difficult to approach, but when you actually speak with him, he’s… rather gentle.”

Xiao Yuanbao had been about to say “childishly simple,” but realizing that wasn’t polite, he replaced it with something more dignified. “Perhaps it’s because of his noble upbringing. People like that are raised from childhood with impeccable manners—so proper that others take it for coldness.”

Qi Beinan, who had known Gu Yanyu slightly years ago, found the description fair. Translated on Hololo novels. Outwardly the Junjun was the very image of refinement, though Qi Beinan knew the truth wasn’t so neat. Had he truly been as disciplined and even-tempered as he appeared, Lin Qingyu wouldn’t wear that constant crease of frustration between his brows.

Back when Qi Beinan knew little of the matter, he’d thought Gu Yanyu must be quite a trying person. Somehow, he had so provoked Lin Qingyu that the Duke of Jingguo had arranged for his son-in-law to take an idle post—a cruel punishment for a man as ambitious as Lin Qingyu.

Though they appeared harmonious in public, there must have been no end of quiet struggle between them.

So when Xiao Yuanbao described Gu Yanyu as “easy to get along with,” Qi Beinan hardly knew what to make of it. He himself had never been close enough to judge the man’s true character.

“If you enjoy his company, then keep in touch,” Qi Beinan said finally. “If not, it’s fine to distance yourself. We have no particular connection with him.”

Even if they had, Qi Beinan was not the sort to make Xiao Yuanbao suffer discomfort for the sake of influence.

Besides, this life had taken a different path. Qi Beinan had remained in the capital rather than taking provincial posts, and so had never become entangled with the Duke’s household as before. Without that powerful connection, advancement was slower and the road steeper—but he did not regret it.

Xiao Yuanbao sensed that Qi Beinan didn’t quite agree with his impression of Gu Yanyu. And no wonder—he hadn’t mentioned the part about the Junjun’s fondness for opera plays and sentimental tales, nor how easily he’d laughed over them. Without his family’s watchful eyes, Gu Yanyu struck him as the sort who might, in another life, have run off with a poor scholar for love. But such thoughts were not fit for sharing.

In any case, Xiao Yuanbao was in good spirits. “I know,” he promised. “I won’t force myself to please anyone.”

Qi Beinan, seeing his cheer, patted his hand. “Our Xiaobao truly has changed. You handle these grand banquets now without the least unease.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s smile deepened.

A few days later, to his surprise, another invitation arrived—from Gu Yanyu himself, asking him to come to his residence as a guest.

The messenger explained it was not for a banquet or any formal occasion; the Junjun simply wished to have him over for conversation.

Xiao Yuanbao had thought their exchange at the Ren residence nothing more than a pleasant encounter, and once the feast was over, that would be the end of it. He hadn’t expected Gu Yanyu to send for him again.

He didn’t decline. He prepared some small gifts—pastries and light refreshments. Remembering how pale Gu Yanyu’s complexion had been that night, he also made a pot of nourishing tonic soup to bring along.

At the appointed time, he set out.

At the gate, Ye Fulang, Gu Yanyu’s attendant, greeted him warmly and ushered him inside.

It had been since Gu Yanyu and Lin Qingyu’s wedding that Xiao Yuanbao last visited the Lin residence. The estate was no smaller than the Ren family’s, and even closer to the Imperial City—far beyond what ordinary officials could afford. He’d heard the Emperor had granted it as a wedding gift to the Junjun.

After a winding walk through courtyards and corridors, they reached the private garden where Gu Yanyu resided.

“I’ve been thinking of you these past few days,” Gu Yanyu said with a bright smile when he saw him. He immediately sent servants bustling for tea and refreshments—so many that Xiao Yuanbao felt almost uneasy.

He offered the small gifts he’d brought, feeling they were meager beside such grandeur. But Gu Yanyu accepted them graciously, even having the soup opened and tasted at once.

“The weather’s warming, and this is refreshing and smooth—quite good,” Gu Yanyu said. “Did you order it from that new shop outside the city? I heard there’s a place called Changchun Lou that serves medicinal cuisine. It sounds rather novel.”

Xiao Yuanbao was startled that word of their restaurant had reached even here. He couldn’t very well admit it was his own, lest it sound like self-promotion, so he smiled lightly. “No, I made it myself. The weather’s been fickle—hot one day, cool the next. I thought it good to take something restorative. It’s nothing special, really—just a bit of soup.”

Gu Yanyu laughed. “Ah, I’d forgotten you mentioned last time you enjoy cooking. I never imagined your skill would be this fine, nor that you’d be thoughtful enough to bring soup just for me.”

“It’s hardly any trouble,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “When one feels a little unwell, it’s better to make a light tonic than to wait until sickness calls for medicine.”

After Gu Yanyu finished half the bowl, he finally set the spoon down and dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief.

He turned his gaze toward Xiao Yuanbao, as though about to make idle conversation, yet there was a hint of awkwardness in his tone. “I can see that you and Qi Daren are deeply affectionate. It must be because you are so attentive and considerate.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s brow moved slightly. He smiled. “Junjun teases me.”

Gu Yanyu shook his head. “Not teasing—truly.”

“I don’t know that I’m so considerate. Lately he’s been busy at the office, and once home, he buries himself in his study until dark, often still working by candlelight. I can’t help with his duties, so all I can do is make him a tonic soup now and then, something to keep his eyes from tiring.”

Hearing this, Gu Yanyu felt a quiet ease. So Lin Qingyu really was busy—that must be why he spent so much time in the study.

Following the thread, he said, “Yes, I’ve seen how busy he’s been too, and I can’t share his work. I was even thinking of asking my father to arrange an easier post for him, so he might rest instead of toiling day and night.”

At that, Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes widened slightly. That wouldn’t do at all.

Qi Beinan had told him before that Lin Qingyu disliked interference—his marriage had been arranged, but that much was natural; every man must marry. Yet if the Duke of Jingguo meddled further with his official duties, it would surely deepen resentment.

Still, Xiao Yuanbao could hardly speak so plainly. “If Lin Daren knew the Junjun thought so much of his wellbeing, he’d surely be moved. But Lin Daren rose as top scholar from the provincial examinations—clearly a man of ambition. At his age, he’s eager to make his mark. To force him into idleness—he might find it harder to bear than the work itself.”

Then, to soften the topic, he added, “Think of the heroes in those storybooks you like. Which of them ever lives like a man keeping caged birds? If an ordinary idle fellow were the hero, the tale would lose its charm entirely.”

Gu Yanyu was quiet for a moment, his eyes flickering with thought. “You’re right. I was just thinking of the chivalric tale I read the other day—if that swordsman hadn’t cared for the people of the world, if he hadn’t stood for justice, he’d be an empty character indeed.”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled, seeing he wasn’t a stubborn man unwilling to listen. He took a sip of tea, content.

But Gu Yanyu sighed, his gaze dimming.

Xiao Yuanbao quickly set down the cup. “What’s wrong?”

“If not that, then I don’t know what else I can do for him,” Gu Yanyu said with frustration.

Xiao Yuanbao considered. Lin Qingyu was as reserved and upright as Gu Yanyu himself—two people bound in marriage without truly knowing one another beforehand. How could such formality not turn to distance?

“May I say something blunt?” Xiao Yuanbao asked gently.

Gu Yanyu looked up at once. “Please do. I can’t even bring myself to ask the elders for advice about this. You and I are of similar age—tell me how you and Qi Daren live together.”

Seeing he was sincere, Xiao Yuanbao said, “There’s nothing remarkable about us. If I had to name one thing—it’s simply that we speak our hearts. Whatever’s in our mind, we say it, and our words and actions match.”

Looking back, he thought, that had always been their way. Since childhood, they’d grown up side by side. When he was shy and quiet, Qi Beinan would gently ask what he’d eaten, what he’d done that day, what he liked—small, trivial questions, but always with patience.

Over time, Xiao Yuanbao began to speak more, to trust more, and closeness followed naturally.

When he learned new skills, he told Qi Beinan everything he’d practiced and discovered. When Qi Beinan studied at the county school, he’d return with stories of his classmates, his teachers, the small joys and troubles of the day.

They had always been close; the only hardship was when they first realized their feelings for each other.

There had been sleepless nights then, hearts tight with uncertainty. Looking back, wasn’t all that unease born from not speaking plainly?

If they had confessed their hearts earlier, there’d have been no need for guessing—no fear, no distance. Guessing another’s mind is hard; when guessed right, it brings joy, but when guessed wrong, it only breeds misunderstanding, and over time, affection turns to bitterness.

“Words and actions in accord?” Gu Yanyu repeated softly, grasping the meaning but not quite the depth.

Xiao Yuanbao explained, “I mean, speak what you truly feel. If I crave noodles, I say noodles—not claim I want wontons just to please someone else.”

Understanding dawned on Gu Yanyu’s face, though uneasily.

He thought of the nights he wished Lin Qingyu would leave his study and rest with him. To say such a thing outright felt unbearably shameful. Lin Qingyu treated him with respect—too much, perhaps—and to voice such a plea would sound improper, even childish, unbefitting a noble house’s son. Worse, what if he were refused?

“At the end of the day,” Gu Yanyu said, “you and Qi Daren grew up together—your bond is different. For me and him, how could I possibly speak so freely?”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled. “Even so, Qi Beinan and I—despite growing up side by side—still can’t read each other’s hearts without words. If the Junjun can’t bring himself to speak, then perhaps he should go pray to the Bodhisattva for a divine treasure—one that lets him hear another’s heart without ever opening his mouth.”

Gu Yanyu couldn’t help but laugh at Xiao Yuanbao’s teasing, but when the laughter faded, he realized how much sense those words held.

The two of them talked for quite some time, and Gu Yanyu kept Xiao Yuanbao for lunch before letting him leave. During the meal, he noticed how much Xiao Yuanbao enjoyed shrimp; when he departed, Gu Yanyu even had a basket of large, fresh prawns packed for him to take home.

“Junjun seems very fond of that Xiao Fulang,” Ye Fulang said later with a smile as he came in to serve.

“I find him pleasant,” Gu Yanyu replied, plucking a grape and slipping it between his lips. “But it’s not that sycophantic charm common to small households. He’s sensible—and has some depth.”

Ye Fulang nodded. “As long as those Your Grace befriends are decent and sincere, it matters little what their rank is.”

The Duke’s household had power enough; Gu Yanyu needed no scheming through acquaintances to climb higher.

After finishing the grapes, Gu Yanyu lay back slightly. He had eaten more than usual, cheerful from the conversation, and now felt too full to rest. “I think much of what he said today makes sense,” he mused. “I won’t ask Father to change Lin Qingyu’s post after all.”

“And what will you do then?” Ye Fulang asked.

“I’ll make him a tonic soup for the eyes,” Gu Yanyu said after thinking a moment. “When he comes home from the office, I’ll have it ready for him.”

He hesitated, blushing faintly. “I can’t bring myself to say it outright—so I’ll just tell the servants to say it’s from my own hands.”

Ye Fulang froze. “Ah?” His face turned uneasy. “But, Junjun… you’ve hardly stepped into the kitchen twice in your life. How will you manage something like that?”

Gu Yanyu frowned. “When I donate silver to the Temple of Marriage, you tell me it’s useless. Now I want to make soup, and you tell me it’s no good again! Then what am I supposed to do?”

“All right, all right! Soup it is,” Ye Fulang said quickly, seeing temper rise again. “I’ll have Madam Wu from the kitchen show Your Grace how to make it.”

At that, Gu Yanyu’s expression softened, and he went off to the kitchen in good spirits.

By evening, though, Ye Fulang’s earlier fears proved right. The Junjun had spent the entire afternoon toiling in the kitchen, and when he returned to his chambers, exhausted and tearful, he collapsed onto the soft couch in defeat.

That same day, Lin Qingyu came home earlier than usual. The sky looked heavy with rain, and fearing the roads would flood, he had left the office ahead of time.

As his carriage stopped at the gate, he saw Ye Fulang hurrying out, apparently on his way to fetch a physician.

“What is the matter? Why are you calling for a doctor?” Lin Qingyu asked.

Ye Fulang startled at the sight of him and bowed quickly.

Gu Yanyu had been mortified at the thought of anyone learning what had happened and had forbidden him to speak of it, so Ye Fulang dared not say a word.

“Is the Junjun ill?” Lin Qingyu pressed.

“N-no, not ill,” Ye Fulang stammered.

Lin Qingyu frowned. Without another word, he turned and headed for Gu Yanyu’s quarters.

Ye Fulang followed in alarm. “Please, Junjun, don’t distress yourself again,” he pleaded quietly once inside the garden path. “You were born noble—cooking and boiling water are work for servants. It’s no shame that you couldn’t manage it.”

Gu Yanyu sat pale and miserable, feeling utterly useless. There seemed to be nothing he could do right. He was just about to dismiss everyone and sit alone in silence when a servant outside lifted the curtain and announced a visitor.

His eyes flew wide. “He’s here?!”

“It’s that hour already,” Ye Fulang whispered. “Daren would normally be home from the office by now.”

“But he always goes straight to his study after work,” Gu Yanyu said in panic. “Why has he come here first?”

He ran a hand through his hair, realizing how disheveled he must look. “Go, tell him I’m asleep—don’t let him in!”

“Sleep? At this hour?” Lin Qingyu’s voice came coolly from outside, sharper now that he’d overheard. “Is the Junjun unwell?”

“No,” the servant answered quickly. “This morning the Junjun hosted Qi Daren’s husband, Xiao Fulang. His nap was delayed, so he’s only just fallen asleep.”

Lin Qingyu paused, faintly puzzled. Since when had Gu Yanyu and Qi Beinan’s spouse become acquainted?

Still, that didn’t concern him much. What did concern him was that just moments earlier, the servant had been sent to call for a doctor—now they claimed the Junjun was sleeping and mustn’t be disturbed. Two stories couldn’t both be true.

He looked at the closed door for a long moment.

If the Junjun didn’t wish to see him, there was no need to insist.

“Very well,” he said at last. “Let him rest.”

Inside, Gu Yanyu had been standing behind the screen, listening. Hearing Lin Qingyu’s calm, detached voice through the door, his lashes lowered. His eyes fell to the table, where the bowl of soup sat dark and murky like a failed decoction. His chest ached with embarrassment.

He was about to turn back toward the bed when that voice sounded again from outside—closer this time.

“I’ll go in and look at him myself.”

Lin Qingyu had started toward his study, but he hesitated mid-step. If Gu Yanyu truly were unwell, how could he, as his husband, ignore it?

When the servants hesitated to obey, he simply pushed the door open himself.

And there, standing right in the middle of the room, was Gu Yanyu.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Lin Qingyu took in the scene—the Junjun perfectly well, not the least bit sick, certainly not asleep.

There was no mistaking it now: Gu Yanyu had simply not wanted to see him.

Even knowing what he knew now, Lin Qingyu still maintained the courtesy between them.

“I saw Ye Fulang calling for a physician,” he said calmly. “I thought you were unwell. I didn’t realize you were resting—pardon me for disturbing you.”

Gu Yanyu felt mortified. In his current disheveled state, he must have looked ridiculous. He forced himself to answer, “It’s nothing.”

“Then I won’t intrude. Rest well, and rise when it’s time for supper.”

He was about to leave when Gu Yanyu, words turning over and over in his mouth, finally managed to speak before he could stop himself. “I’m awake—I’m not resting anymore. You… you must be tired from the day’s work too. Sit a while, have something to eat before going to your study.”

Ye Fulang immediately took the cue. “A-zhu, pour a cup of tea for Daren, and bring some pastries for him to take the edge off.”

Lin Qingyu, seeing there was no polite way to refuse, came inside and sat down.

Ye Fulang dismissed the attendants to wait outside.

Once the servants had gone, Gu Yanyu began to regret everything. Why had he asked him to stay? And after lying half the afternoon, his hair must be a mess—how improper he must look.

“What’s this?” Lin Qingyu asked, noticing a bowl of brown liquid on the table.

Gu Yanyu froze. The soup. How could he have forgotten the soup? He wanted to throw the whole thing out the window.

“You really are sick?” Lin Qingyu asked, frowning as he caught the faint medicinal scent. Gu Yanyu’s eyes were a little red, his complexion not its usual even tone. “Where do you feel unwell?”

“No!” Gu Yanyu blurted, then, seeing the concern in Lin Qingyu’s face, added hastily, “It’s… it’s something I made. Soup.”

Lin Qingyu blinked, silent for a moment.

Gu Yanyu wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

“Why are you making soup all of a sudden?” Lin Qingyu asked. “Is this some new fashion of the day?”

Something in his tone—mild as it was—sparked a flicker of hurt in Gu Yanyu’s chest. Xiao Yuanbao’s words from earlier that day came suddenly back to him.

“I only meant… to make it for you,” he murmured.

Lin Qingyu looked up.

“I see how busy you are after work,” Gu Yanyu continued softly. “I can’t help with your duties, so I thought to make a tonic for your eyes—to ease your weariness.”

And as he said it, he realized that what had seemed so difficult to confess before—once spoken—was not difficult at all.

Lin Qingyu stared at him for a long moment. “You…”

He had meant to tell him there was no need—that someone of his standing could easily ask a servant to do it. But then he noticed the flush of red across one slender finger. “You burned yourself?”

Gu Yanyu was caught off guard. He instinctively hid his hand behind his back. “It’s nothing. I was careless, that’s all.”

Lin Qingyu stepped closer and gently drew the injured hand forward.

They rarely stood this near; close enough that each could smell the faint warmth of the other’s scent.

“I have an ointment I brought from the provinces,” Lin Qingyu said quietly. “It works well—better than most salves for cuts or burns. If you don’t mind, I’ll fetch it and put some on.”

The way he examined the burn with such steady attention made Gu Yanyu’s heart beat faster. He nodded lightly.

“You’ve never worked in a kitchen before,” Lin Qingyu said, his tone soft rather than reproachful, tinged with something almost tender. “Leave such things to the servants next time. There’s no need to hurt yourself.”

“I wanted to make it myself,” Gu Yanyu said. “If a servant does it, it isn’t truly from me.”

Lin Qingyu looked up at him.

That face—fine and luminous—was one of the most beautiful in the capital. He had always thought the Junjun proud and distant, but this… this was something else entirely.

Perhaps he had misunderstood him all along.

“I can make soup,” Lin Qingyu said after a pause. “On my next rest day, I’ll teach you.”

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚