Author Archives: Thingyan

The dazzling fireworks lingered in the sky above Ghost Street, refusing to dissipate. Jiang Lin craned his neck, staring at the brilliant display, and the dazed look in his eyes gradually gave way to clarity.

It was as though a hand had swept away the thin mist shrouding his memories, bringing the blurry images into sharp focus.

He remembered.

The events from four years ago, everything about Ghost Street, and the reason he and Cai Yuxing had walked into the DIY workshop.

Jiang Lin shifted his gaze slightly and saw Cai Yuxing standing beside him.

She, too, was watching the fireworks in the night sky, just as she had four years ago.

Across from the DIY workshop, a handful of patrons in the “Abyss” bar had left their seats and walked outside. They glanced curiously at the people across the street before tilting their heads up to admire the fireworks.

Lu Yao noticed that the bartender from last night had also stepped out of the bar at some point.

Unlike the others, he wasn’t looking at the fireworks—he was looking at her.

The octopus atop his head seemed even larger than it had been the night before, its tentacles covered in countless protrusions.

Strangely, no one else appeared to notice anything unusual.

This man’s condition seemed different from Jiang Lin’s.

Lu Yao lowered her gaze slightly and, as she had the previous evening, gave him a polite nod.

The loud, vibrant five-minute fireworks show finally came to an end, with every shell made that afternoon expended.

After several seconds, the effect of the nightfall firework faded, revealing the softly glowing hues of twilight as the sun neared the horizon. The tranquil dusk once again wrapped itself around the street.

Lu Yao clapped her hands and called out to Jiang Lin and Cai Yuxing, who were still standing at the door in a daze. “For a first attempt, it’s pretty impressive. Come on, let’s go eat.”

After a busy afternoon, Lu Yao was indeed hungry.

She pulled out her phone, ready to order food from one of the snack shops nearby. Before she could enter, someone ran up behind her.

“Hey, those fireworks—were they really handmade?”

Lu Yao turned to see a middle-aged man with a thick beard hurrying toward her, his eyes bright and fixed intently on her.

“Of course,” Lu Yao replied.

The man glanced at the advertisement board next to her, his expression briefly stunned before regaining composure. He quickened his pace. “I want to try.”

Lu Yao was about to agree.

It wasn’t yet six o’clock. If she grabbed a quick bite, there was still time to fit in another session before midnight.

But Xu Zhengrong and Ren You reacted faster, stepping in to block the man.

She couldn’t hear what they said, but the man cast her a deep, reluctant glance before turning back toward the bar across the street.

The other onlookers, having witnessed this exchange, seemed to understand something. Gradually, they began to disperse.

Lu Yao’s gaze cooled as it swept over Xu Zhengrong and Ren You.

Liu Jing tugged at her arm and shook her head. “The church will send someone soon. It’s better not to accept any more guests.”

Lu Yao withdrew her gaze. “Fine, I’ll cooperate.”

Liu Jing lingered at the door. “I should head back to the office. I’ll visit again tomorrow—save me a slot to try the activity.”

With so much happening, Lu Yao didn’t have time to ask Liu Jing about her situation.

Liu Jing seemed busy herself. She said her goodbyes and turned to leave, only to be stopped by Xu Zhengrong.

The security team needed to stay and watch over Jiang Lin until reinforcements from the church arrived. Without anyone available to escort her back to the management office, Liu Jing had no choice but to stay at the workshop for now.

Lu Yao shrugged indifferently. “If you’re stuck here, you might as well join us for a simple meal. I was just about to order.”

Back inside, Lu Yao placed an order for six classic set meals.

Xu Zhengrong and Ren You hadn’t expected the shop owner to include them in her order and hurriedly, though earnestly, declined.

The aroma of the delivered meal was utterly enticing, far more tantalizing than the usual fare at Ghost Street’s snack stalls.

Xu Zhengrong and Ren You silently turned away, swallowing hard to stifle their hunger. Yet, unable to resist, they cast furtive glances back at the shopkeeper and the other three guests.

The snack shop, prepping ingredients for its evening barbecue stand, had thoughtfully included a three-tiered seafood barbecue set as a treat for Lu Yao.

The guests, already captivated by the delicious scent, were practically salivating.

Then, the top layer of the box was lifted, revealing charcoal-grilled squid and small octopus sprawled generously across the first tier.

Everyone except Lu Yao sprang back, retreating several steps, their faces pale, bodies trembling as if they were leaves in a storm.

It suddenly dawned on Lu Yao: Ghost Street’s absence of seafood shops, combined with other peculiarities, likely meant its residents harbored a deep-seated fear of such creatures.

But the snack shop’s chefs had truly outdone themselves. The seafood was perfectly grilled, rich with sauce and emitting a tantalizing smoky aroma.

Lu Yao removed the first tier, exposing the second layer of garlic butter oysters and the third, filled with grilled shrimp and conch meat. “These are just normal snacks; there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Despite their watering mouths, the others shook their heads vigorously.

Understanding that such fears couldn’t be easily overcome, Lu Yao didn’t push them to try the seafood.

Fortunately, the standard meal boxes were equally delectable: short-grain rice with a pearly sheen, braised premium magical beast meat from Alexander Continent, stir-fried bamboo shoots with pork, sautéed seasonal vegetables, a hearty three-flavor soup, and a cooling summer-exclusive dessert.

Jiang Lin, Cai Yuxing, and Liu Jing calmed down and chose seats farther from Lu Yao to eat.

One bite was all it took to hook them—they couldn’t stop. The meal’s deliciousness was simply irresistible.

Meanwhile, Xu Zhengrong and Ren You clung to their unopened meal boxes, unwilling to let go yet too stubborn to give in to their hunger.

As the Church’s security team arrived at the DIY shop, the rich aroma from within hit them before they even reached the door. Entering, they were greeted by the sight of the shopkeeper devouring grilled octopus with evident relish.

Xu Zhengrong immediately handed his boxed meal to Ren You and stepped forward to meet the newcomers.

The team leader, Qin Qiuming, surveyed the scene, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. His hands trembled slightly as he watched Lu Yao down three octopus in quick succession before moving on to the squid. He urgently gestured for Xu Zhengrong to step aside and report.

The other four team members stood rooted to the spot, their expressions frozen in disbelief.

Ren You quickly joined them.

A veteran security officer pulled him into the group and glanced at the meal box in his hands with a peculiar expression. “Which one is the transitional lamb’?”

Ren You discreetly pointed toward Jiang Lin. “That boy.”

The officer followed his gaze, his frown deepening. “Didn’t the report say his symptoms were severe?”

Ren You quickly summarized what had transpired before their arrival.

The four officers shifted their wary gazes from Jiang Lin to Lu Yao, their apprehension growing.

A senior officer, whose face had been grim from the start, asked, “Does she have a god seal?”

Ren You’s face turned white as he shook his head vigorously.

The god seal, occasionally found on Ghost Street’s residents, was said to mark those chosen by Him.

Intelligence gleaned at great cost—countless lives and souls of security officers—indicated that bearers of the god seal often possessed extraordinary, terrifying powers.

Such individuals used these powers to aid Him in luring and misguiding Ghost Street’s ordinary inhabitants into their doom.

The last god seal bearer had nearly turned the South District into a wasteland. Thousands of guests, shopkeepers, and even district administrators were dragged into the abyss, transformed into grotesque creatures to serve as His sustenance.

The Church had paid a staggering price to eliminate that threat, leaving the security division critically understaffed.

If this new shopkeeper in the North District turned out to be another god seal bearer, they weren’t sure they’d survive the fallout.

While the others whispered among themselves, Lu Yao quickly finished her dinner. Across from her, Jiang Lin and Cai Yuxing had also emptied their plates.

Qin Qiuming, seeing Lu Yao clearing the table, steeled himself and approached her cautiously. “Hello, I’m Qin Qiuming, the director of the West District Church Security Office.”

Lu Yao stood up and greeted him calmly, “Hello.”

Qin Qiuming avoided her gaze, lowering his eyes slightly. “I assume Xiao Xu has already explained the situation. Jiang Lin has exhibited severe signs of transformation. For the safety of the street, we must take him back to the church.”

Lu Yao had been observing carefully. While the security team didn’t seem as helpless as Cai Yuxing had described, their intent to take Jiang Lin was evident.

In the past, Lu Yao would have let them handle it. As long as it didn’t affect her shop or tasks, she rarely intervened.

But recently, she had begun to reflect more deeply on small matters. Perhaps she had grown stronger than she imagined over the past year, capable of achieving far more than she once thought possible.

She walked over to Jiang Lin and removed his mask.

Cai Yuxing gasped in shock.

Jiang Lin’s appearance had significantly improved. His skin and limbs had mostly returned to normal, leaving only a pink, tumor-like protrusion beneath his left eye.

Even Xu Zhengrong and Ren You were astonished.

Ren You’s voice trembled, “He’s really recovering!”

The other security officers, who had just arrived, were confused, not knowing the full context.

Lu Yao, now confident her hypothesis was correct, turned to Qin Qiuming. “Apologies, but Jiang Lin is my guest. Since the incident occurred in my shop, I have a responsibility to help him recover. Judging by his current progress, he should be fully healed by tomorrow.”

Qin Qiuming felt a headache forming.

This shopkeeper was unlike anyone he’d ever encountered. Even after witnessing the transformation process, she seemed entirely unafraid.

After a pause, Qin Qiuming firmly reiterated his stance: Jiang Lin must be taken to the church.

At this, Liu Jing, who had remained silent, finally spoke up. “I spent some time in this shop before going to the church earlier today. The guest’s transformation symptoms genuinely disappeared. Maybe this could be an opportun—”

“Enough!” Qin Qiuming’s voice suddenly rose, his cold gaze cutting Liu Jing off. “You are no longer a North District street administrator. You have no authority to interfere in our work.”

Liu Jing bit her lip, her eyes reddening.

Lu Yao interjected calmly, “There’s no need to lash out at others over your frustrations.”

Qin Qiuming’s expression darkened further, his breathing heavy.

Lu Yao’s tone was steady. “Let me be clear: Jiang Lin and Cai Yuxing will both stay in my shop tonight. And until dawn tomorrow, none of you will be able to leave this place.”

Everyone in the room froze and stared at Lu Yao in disbelief.

Ren You, unwilling to accept her claim, bolted toward the door.

Despite appearing just a few steps away, the door seemed like a mirage—no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get closer.

Lu Yao clapped her hands lightly. “No need to panic. I don’t eat people, nor do I have peculiar hobbies. I simply want to observe Jiang Lin’s condition without distractions. Please stay here tonight.”

The guests and security officers stared at her in stunned silence, their expressions shifting to one of growing fear.

Lu Yao lowered her gaze.

At some point, a strange mark had appeared on the back of her right hand.

One of the security officers clutched his head and cried out in despair, “It’s a god seal!”

Lu Yao raised her left hand and pressed it against her right. Activating her ability, intricate golden patterns spread across her entire left arm, glowing faintly as the seal was slowly erased in front of everyone.

“I’m not really a fan of tattoos,” she remarked nonchalantly.

The security officers and guests were speechless.

Not a fan of tattoos, but here she was with a full sleeve.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Jiang Lin’s condition was far from good. Nearly half of his skin and limbs had undergone mutation, becoming smooth, sticky, and an unsettling shade of fleshy pink. His head was dotted with protrusions that, if opened, might reveal golden vertical pupils. His limbs hung limp, as though devoid of bones.

Lu Yao put away the Regulation Rod, bent down, and lifted Jiang Lin from the floor, placing him back onto a chair.

Cai Yuxing, still dazed, stood up and moved closer to Lu Yao, her voice trembling with residual sobs. “Can he recover?”

Lu Yao didn’t answer directly, instead asking, “Have you encountered this before?”

Jiang Lin’s rapid mutation stood in stark contrast to Liu Jing’s earlier condition, which seemed significantly less severe. Lu Yao speculated that Liu Jing might have experienced her first instance of such a phenomenon, whereas Jiang Lin and Cai Yuxing had likely faced it numerous times before.

Once someone lost the ability to recognize their own humanity, they could gradually transform into one of those beings. It was clear that the god of Ghost Street had a dark and twisted sense of humor.

Cai Yuxing nodded. “Many times. But this is the first time it’s been this severe. When someone reaches Jiang Lin’s state, they usually transform completely very quickly.”

Years of survival experience on Ghost Street had taught Cai Yuxing that Jiang Lin was beyond saving. Yet, something about the shopkeeper’s demeanor inspired a fragile glimmer of hope—perhaps she had a way.

Lu Yao asked, “When this happened before, how did you deal with it?”

Cai Yuxing explained, “We’ve always been together, so one of us is always alert. At night, we take turns keeping watch. When we notice something wrong, we wake the other up—sometimes even resorting to hitting them to bring them back to their senses. But every time this happens, the effect of these methods weakens. Based on how often it’s happened, Jiang Lin and I don’t have much time left.”

When they first arrived on Ghost Street, they were young and pure-hearted, their bond enabling them to endure for so long. Most of the people who had come with them three years ago had already succumbed to His influence.

Lu Yao lowered her gaze in thought. Loss of self-recognition seemed to be the root of human mutation. Reestablishing a sense of humanity might reverse the symptoms.

Recalling Liu Jing’s earlier condition, an idea began to form. “In that case, why don’t we try making a few fireworks?”

Cai Yuxing was taken aback. Watching the shopkeeper’s serious expression, she assumed Lu Yao was considering an effective remedy—but then this?

Lu Yao didn’t elaborate on her hypothesis, as it was still unverified. She simply said, “If Jiang Lin’s condition is discovered by the church…”

“He can’t go to the church!” Cai Yuxing interrupted, her voice rising in alarm. “The church is one of his pawns. Anyone who mutates and goes there is just food delivered to the dining hall.”

Lu Yao: “…”
So that’s how it is.

Cai Yuxing hesitated before relenting, “Alright, let’s make fireworks.”

With no way out, even if this was merely a distraction, it was better than facing their fate immediately.

While Cai Yuxing and Jiang Lin understood the concept of flame reactions, they didn’t know how to actually make fireworks.

Fortunately, Lu Yao had done her homework. She started by playing a video on the demonstration platform, explaining the principles of firework creation.

They watched the video repeatedly until they had a rough grasp of the process. Then, they followed the steps shown in the video to start making the fireworks.

The color of a firework’s explosion is determined by the heavy metal materials mixed into the powder, which are then processed into small spheres called “stars.”

The shape of the firework is determined by how these stars are arranged inside the launch tube—a part that could be freely designed.

Jiang Lin, whose consciousness was still hazy, moved with the clumsy motor skills of a young child.

Lu Yao occasionally praised Jiang Lin: “Jiang Lin, you’re doing great! This star is so perfectly round!”

For safety reasons, Lu Yao strictly controlled the materials and proportions used for the handmade fireworks, ensuring that the guests could safely enjoy the fun of the activity.

Jiang Lin visibly brightened at her words. His large orange-yellow eyes gleamed as he reached into the materials again. Before long, he held up a blackish star-shaped piece in his soft, boneless hand, proudly showing it to Lu Yao.

Lu Yao smiled encouragingly: “Jiang Lin, you’re getting better and better!”

Cai Yuxing watched Jiang Lin with increasing sorrow in her eyes as she absentmindedly placed the star she had made onto the tray in front of her.

Jiang Lin noticed that Cai Yuxing’s stars were neater than his. His orange-yellow eyes darted between her work and his own hand.

Cai Yuxing, absorbed in her grief, didn’t notice Jiang Lin’s reaction.

Lu Yao gently patted Jiang Lin’s shoulder. When he turned to look at her, she spread her hand wide, demonstrating a gesture for him to follow.

After repeating the motion several times, Jiang Lin began to imitate her actions. He picked up a portion of materials, placed it in the mold at his side, and pressed it into a uniform sphere.

Lu Yao clapped her hands in delight. “Amazing! Would you like a candy?”

Jiang Lin tilted his head curiously. “Candy?”

Lu Yao pulled out a handful of fruit and milk candies from her pocket, giving a few pieces to Jiang Lin before turning to offer some to Cai Yuxing.

This time, without needing Lu Yao to guide him, Jiang Lin watched Cai Yuxing remove her rubber gloves and shuffle over to the sink to wash her hands. Slowly, he mimicked her, peeling off the wrapper and putting the candy into his mouth.

As the sweet strawberry-flavored candy melted on his tongue, the little monster-like boy’s eyes sparkled with joy.

Cai Yuxing was equally surprised as she chewed the candy, the sweetness spreading in her mouth. “Lu Yao, your candy tastes so different from the ones on this street!”

Lu Yao, caught off guard, replied vaguely, “Oh?”

Cai Yuxing pulled out two pieces of candy from her pocket and handed them to Lu Yao. “Try these, and you’ll see.”

Lu Yao unwrapped one, and though the scent was rich, the taste was disappointingly bland—like an overly diluted soda from a self-service restaurant.

Cai Yuxing asked eagerly, “How is it?”

Lu Yao shook her head. “Not great.”

Cai Yuxing frowned. “Why is your candy so much better? It’s sweet and full of flavor.”

Lu Yao gave a nonchalant explanation: “Maybe because it’s handmade in the shop? That might make it taste better.”

Cai Yuxing’s expression grew complicated. “If that’s true, your shop will soon become one of the hottest spots on this street.”

Lu Yao recognized the potential business opportunity but remained cautious. Ghost Street wasn’t like Dreamland. Based on what the two patrol guards and Cai Yuxing mentioned, many snack shops on the street seemed to have mediocre flavors despite their trendy decor and thoughtful designs.

The disparity puzzled her. Why did these shops neglect the most crucial aspect—the taste?

For now, however, she set the thought aside. The immediate priority was solving Jiang Lin’s problem.

…

Outside the Quiet Room, West District Church.

The employees of the security office and reception area gathered at the entrance, whispering in astonishment and puzzlement as Liu Jing stepped out of the quiet room.

Liu Jing removed the restraining device and emerged, her heart equally full of questions. After being forcibly restrained for four hours, she had managed to leave the quiet room unscathed.

Around her, the murmurs grew:

“That’s her!”

“They’re really letting her go?”

“Management staff showing signs of mutation—shouldn’t the ritual have started immediately?”

“Her mutation stopped midway. During the four hours in the quiet room, she didn’t lose herself once.”

“Who is she?”

…

Ignoring the prying stares, Liu Jing walked steadily through the crowd, her expression composed despite the storm of thoughts swirling within her.

Xu Zhengrong and Ren You waited at the back of the crowd.

They were tasked with escorting Liu Jing back to the North District.

Although she had safely emerged from the quiet room, the fact that she had once succumbed to a loss of self remained undeniable. Even if she returned to the management office, she would no longer be fit to work as an administrator. Her return would be limited to collecting her belongings. From now on, she would be just another ordinary guest on Ghost Street, perpetually monitored by the church’s security personnel.

As evening approached, the streets began to buzz with activity.

The patrol motorcycle entered the North District’s streets.

When Liu Jing spotted Lu Yao’s shop, she couldn’t help but say, “Stop for a moment; I want to see the shop owner.”

Ren You noticed the sign at the entrance and remarked, “The available slots dropped by two.”

Xu Zhengrong stopped the motorcycle.

The three of them dismounted and walked toward the DIY workshop.

Upon reaching the entrance, they found the hall empty.

Liu Jing noticed a sign pointing toward the adjoining activity classroom, gesturing toward it before stepping forward. She led the way toward the classroom.

Before they reached the door, they heard voices coming from inside.

Ren You grew curious. What could be so interesting about a craft activity?

Liu Jing was the first to reach the doorway, already preparing what she would say to Lu Yao. But the sight inside froze her in her tracks.

Xu Zhengrong, right behind her, frowned as she blocked the doorway. He looked up to urge her forward, only for his face to turn pale.

Ren You, the last to arrive, complained, “Why are you all just standing there? Let’s go in.”

Xu Zhengrong turned back to glare at him.

It was then that Ren You saw the distorted creature sitting beside Lu Yao in the classroom. His scream was halfway out of his throat when he slapped a hand over his mouth, sweat pouring down his face.

Lu Yao noticed the three clustered at the doorway and stood up to greet them. “Oh, you’re all here. Are you also interested in trying out today’s activity?”

Liu Jing, her legs trembling, stepped forward and grabbed Lu Yao’s wrist, pulling her outside. “Shop owner, why… why is there that kind of thing in your shop?”

Inside the classroom, Cai Yuxing and Jiang Lin noticed the commotion at the door.

Jiang Lin appeared curious.

Cai Yuxing, however, recognized Liu Jing’s and Xu Zhengrong’s uniforms, representing the management office and the church, respectively. Despair rose like suffocating smoke, threatening to engulf her completely.

Lu Yao glanced back at the two in the classroom, making a reassuring gesture before turning back to speak. “They came to the shop shortly after you left and encountered an accident. But compared to how he was at first, he’s already improved a lot.”

As Lu Yao spoke, a shadow butterfly responsible for real-time recording fluttered over.

The butterfly’s wings stirred, scattering luminous powder that formed a palm-sized projection in front of the three.

The projection displayed footage of Jiang Lin during his initial stage of mutation—a ghastly, mindless creature far more horrifying than his current state.

The accelerated video showed Jiang Lin’s body slowly and noticeably recovering, with his actions gradually regaining coherence.

Xu Zhengrong’s composed demeanor cracked, his eyes widening and pupils constricting. “How is this possible…”

Liu Jing’s astonishment was no less than Xu Zhengrong’s. A sudden thought flashed in her mind: Could her safe emergence from the quiet room also be related to this shop?

Ren You was speechless.

He had never heard of someone recovering from mutation. In their understanding, once symptoms of mutation appeared, they were the prelude to an endless descent into despair.

Xu Zhengrong pressed a hand to the communicator in his ear, the other hand pinching his thigh to force himself into composure. He suddenly felt a need to hide his unease from the young shop owner. “What do you want?”

Lu Yao smiled faintly. “After this afternoon’s tests, I’m confident Jiang Lin can fully recover—if I’m given enough time. Simply put, I hope you won’t interfere.”

Ren You took a deep breath.

Completely misjudged!

This wasn’t some sweet and innocent newbie—it was someone with an attitude that could outdo their director.

Xu Zhengrong kept his composure. “Apologies. The situation is indeed unusual, but we lack the authority to make decisions. I’ll report this faithfully to our superiors.”

With that, Xu Zhengrong began dialing and gave a detailed report on Jiang Lin’s condition in front of Lu Yao.

Lu Yao knew this wouldn’t be resolved easily. Pressuring the two patrol officers would be futile. She turned to Liu Jing instead. “You’re fine now?”

Liu Jing nodded. “Yes.”

Lu Yao smiled faintly. “Good.”

She returned to the classroom and picked up one of the completed fireworks shells, calling out to Jiang Lin and Cai Yuxing: “Since we’re done, let’s go test these outside.”

After confirming with Cai Yuxing that Ghost Street had no “prohibition on fireworks” rules, she saw no reason to hold back.

Cai Yuxing hesitated but eventually tugged Jiang Lin along. The two were the most ordinary of residents on this street, powerless to resist the street, the church, or the whims of Him. Their fates had been sealed the day they arrived four years ago, though they had stubbornly refused to accept it.

As they reached the doorway, Lu Yao tossed a white mask to Jiang Lin. “A little prop I made while I was idle earlier. Wear it—you’ll feel safer.”

Jiang Lin fumbled with the mask, unsure how to put it on. Cai Yuxing helped him secure it over his face.

Xu Zhengrong, mid-report, felt Ren You urgently tugging his sleeve. Translated on Hololonovels. Annoyed, he turned to scold him but followed his gaze back to the classroom.

The mask on Jiang Lin’s face began to expand, transforming into a translucent membrane that tightly enveloped his distorted body. Golden light intertwined with black threads, gradually reshaping the monstrous figure.

Within thirty seconds, the grotesque form of Jiang Lin had returned to his human teenage self.

Faced with the stunned and slightly fearful expressions of the onlookers, Lu Yao remained calm. “Question: what fundamentally distinguishes humans from animals?”

Silence.

Unfazed, Lu Yao continued, “Humans possess consciousness, subjective initiative, and the ability to create and use tools to fulfill their needs… Don’t tell me you’re all science students? Never studied politics?”

“…”

“…”

“…”

The group was left speechless, struggling to find a proper response.

Seeing them frozen in confusion, Lu Yao didn’t bother further. “Xiao Cai, Jiang Lin, let’s go set off some fireworks.”

…

At the West District Church, the security office quickly assembled a team upon receiving the report, preparing to head to the DIY workshop in the North District.

The summer evening sun cast a golden glow over the streets, though it wasn’t yet six o’clock. The sky was still bathed in orange and gray light.

“Whoosh—”

A single nightfall firework shot into the air, the descending dusk suddenly sweeping away the daylight.

Darkness fell abruptly, and passersby wandering aimlessly through the streets paused, confused, and glanced upward.

“Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—”

“Boom, boom, boom—”

Eyes widened in amazement.

In the pitch-black sky above, fireworks with long trailing tails exploded and didn’t simply vanish in an instant. They twirled and danced in the air, almost as if they had a will of their own.

At the church gates, the security squad preparing to leave spotted the dazzling display over the North District.

Suspended among the fireworks, glowing text began to form:

—Lu Yao’s Creative DIY Workshop is in full swing!

—Come experience the magic of handcrafted fireworks!

—Only two days left! Act now before it’s too late!

One of the security officers murmured, “What kind of bigshot just arrived here?”

His colleague’s expression darkened to an extreme. “Abilities like this aren’t the work of an ordinary person.”

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Customers?

Lu Yao could hardly believe it. She had assumed today would be a blank slate, but luck had arrived unexpectedly.

She hurriedly abandoned the unfinished flower materials on the table and jogged to the door.

Standing outside were a young man and woman, seemingly together.

The man greeted her cheerfully upon seeing her. “Boss, is this event really free?”

Lu Yao stepped aside to let them in. “Three days of trial operations, six free slots each day. Once they’re filled, you’ll need to pay to participate.”

Given the current situation, it was likely the free slots wouldn’t even be used up.

Lu Yao had set up this rule partly because she was tempted by the enticing street food in Ghost Street. During mealtimes, the delicious aroma that wafted through the streets was simply irresistible. She wanted to earn some money to indulge in it.

The man’s smile grew wider. “You’re straightforward, Boss. Alright, the two of us will sign up for the free activity.”

Lu Yao took out a registration book and had them complete a simple registration.

During the trial operation, to engage with more customers, each person could only participate in the free experience once.

She explained this to them, and after a moment of hesitation, they wrote down their names in the book.

Later, Lu Yao noticed they had both used pseudonyms, but it didn’t affect her records.

In a way, as long as the names were written down personally, they were valid in her system.

Once the customers completed their registration, the slot counter on the advertisement board at the door automatically updated to “4.”

Before taking them to the workshop, Lu Yao hung a sign on the door indicating they were in the adjacent classroom.

In the first workshop, customers Ah Jiang and Xiao Xing sat together, with the materials and tools for making fireworks spread before them.

Lu Yao stood at the demonstration table. “I assume neither of you has experience in this kind of crafting?”

The average person might have tried baking, origami, or weaving, or played with educational toys like Legos or puzzles.

But making fireworks—something that carried a bit of danger—required a certain level of expertise.

Ah Jiang picked up a glass bottle containing heavy metal raw materials and examined it with curiosity. “Boss, you must have some solid connections to get all this stuff.”

Lu Yao shook her head. “What connections? This little shop of ours is just at the level of a middle school chemistry lab—it’s all about the experience.”

Xiao Xing, a bit shy, spoke softly. “It’s the first shop like this in the North District. He must really favor you.”

Lu Yao mentally noted the implications of her words but kept things light. “No more small talk; let’s get started. Do you know why fireworks burst into so many colors?”

Ah Jiang played with a glass bottle in his hand, his carefree expression briefly flickering with something resembling nostalgia. “Flame tests. By mixing different heavy metals into the raw materials, you get various colored flames when they ignite.”

Xiao Xing added quietly, “Potassium purple, sodium yellow, lithium red, rubidium purple, copper green, barium yellow-green… Never thought I’d actually use this knowledge someday.”

Lu Yao nodded approvingly. “Solid basics. Before we officially begin, one last question: When was the last time you watched fireworks?”

Ah Jiang frowned, as though recalling a distant memory. “Four years ago.”

After arriving on Ghost Street, he had never seen fireworks again.

Xiao Xing furrowed her brows lightly, then gave the same answer.

It was during the New Year’s Eve holiday four years ago. They had been high school students, meeting at the square to watch the fireworks display together.

Since then, they had never gone home.

They had been brought to Ghost Street by Him, given new identities as residents of Ghost Street.

Here, they didn’t have to go to school, cram for exams, or worry about the future.

Because their identities were merely “guests,” every day felt like a task—wandering the streets of Ghost Street aimlessly.

Like ghosts.

Lu Yao: “Since it’s been so long, how about a preview before we start making fireworks?”

Lu Yao had no idea that for Ah Jiang and Xiao Xing, fireworks displays were tied to the most terrifying memories of their lives.

The fear was so overwhelming that merely imagining reliving that nightmare left them stiff and slow to react. By the time they shouted out “No!” in a panic, the workshop’s setting had already changed.

One moment, the brightly lit classroom was vibrant with light; the next, it was enveloped in the shadow of night.

Whoosh!

A firework shot into the sky, trailing a long, bright tail. It exploded with a thunderous boom, burned out, and vanished.

Ah Jiang and Xiao Xing froze. Their deep-seated fear momentarily replaced by confusion.

Weren’t we just in the workshop?

Why are we casually setting off fireworks indoors?

Where’s the ceiling? Won’t it explode?

What kind of shop is this?

No… what kind of person is this shop owner?

The people of Ghost Street had long accepted humanity’s insignificance—no one could ever defeat Him.

Whoosh—
Whoosh whoosh whoosh—
Whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh—

Fireworks filled the sky, their bursts echoing as they formed a massive, looming creature in the heavens. Sharp, thick claws, wings as vast and heavy as storm clouds, shimmering scales along its chest and belly.

“It’s a dragon!” Ah Jiang couldn’t help but exclaim.

Roar—ROAR ROAR ROAR!

The fiery dragon flapped its wings, letting out an earth-shaking roar akin to the thundering charge of ten thousand horses.

The next moment, the fireworks dissipated, leaving the night sky silent and starless.

Xiao Xing, still looking upward, muttered, “People are like fireworks—brief and fleeting.”

As soon as she finished speaking—Bang! Bang! Bang!—a new wave of fireworks shot skyward, this time forming an even larger, six-winged, three-headed golden dragon.

For five minutes, a cool breeze carried the scent of heavy smoke through the air.

Lu Yao heard Xiao Xing sneeze and promptly turned off the holographic projection device.

The fireworks display they had just seen was a hologram from last year’s Dragon Festival on Alexander Continent.

Most humans there revered dragons from birth. Since dragons adored anything shiny, yet most humans couldn’t afford to offer real treasures, they turned to crafting dazzling fireworks instead. Over time, fireworks became a staple of the Dragon Festival.

Every year, every city held fireworks displays during the festival. Thanks to magic, the patterns were endlessly creative.

Last year, Lu Yao, Harold, and Budu attended the festival and were utterly amazed.

She had found the ephemeral beauty of the fireworks fleeting and regrettable, so she had captured the data and turned it into a permanent holographic display.

As the workshop lights brightened, Ah Jiang and Xiao Xing turned to Lu Yao.

Lu Yao explained at the right moment, “This shop has special equipment that allows guests to immerse themselves in unique experiences.”

“Holograms,” Ah Jiang muttered. “But aren’t we already living in a holographic world created by Him?”

Xiao Xing interrupted, “It’s not the same.”

Ah Jiang lifted his gaze, fixing his eyes on Lu Yao. “You’ve created your own world within the world He made? Who… what are you?”

Lu Yao furrowed her brows, momentarily lost in their line of questioning.

Her understanding of this world was still far too shallow.

Lu Yao was still debating whether to confess or feign ignorance when sudden changes overtook Jiang Lin.

He clutched his head in agony, slipping off his chair and collapsing to the floor, as though his strength had been drained.

Cai Yuxing, terrified and panicked, dropped to her knees and shook him desperately. “Jiang Lin! Jiang Lin! Stop thinking!”

Jiang Lin slowly opened his eyes, his eyeballs protruding uncontrollably, pupils narrowing into vertical slits.

His face twisted grotesquely, like bark soaked in bitter yellow water. Translated on Hololonovels. Biting down hard on his tongue, he fought to stay conscious. “Cai… Yuxing… I’ve been caught. I’m… so… sorry… Run!”

Cai Yuxing sobbed uncontrollably, shaking her head.

Since arriving at Ghost Street four years ago, they had never been apart.

In this world full of traps and monsters, they had anchored each other’s hearts and survived countless desperate situations.

For four years, they had remained constantly vigilant, never relaxing for even a moment. Yet their path remained shrouded in darkness, offering no hope. Deep down, they had always known this day would come.

Cai Yuxing had thought she would be the one to go first.

Jiang Lin’s pupils began to lose focus, his limbs collapsing bonelessly onto the floor.

Lu Yao’s mind raced as she processed the situation. Summoning her Regulation Rod, she moved swiftly.

With the blade of the staff, she gently tapped Jiang Lin’s grotesque, distorted face. Her voice was calm and soft: “Jiang Lin, look at me.”

The massive pupils in his eyes turned slowly, as if trying to comprehend her words.

Lu Yao pressed the blade down harder, puncturing a hole in Jiang Lin’s increasingly smooth and slimy skin. He let out a scream of pain.

Cai Yuxing, who had been sobbing moments earlier, froze in shock.

Lu Yao: “What’s one plus one?”

It took a long time, but the mutated Jiang Lin eventually croaked out, “Two?”

Lu Yao nodded. “Correct. Do you still remember the mnemonic your chemistry teacher taught for flame tests?”

Jiang Lin was silent even longer, several minutes passing before he haltingly recited two fragments of a mnemonic.

Lu Yao: “Good. Now… do you remember what humans look like?”

Jiang Lin instinctively flopped his limp arm. “Humans… humans…”

Lu Yao’s voice remained steady: “Humans have two eyes, two ears, one nose, one mouth. Most importantly, humans have two hands and two legs, not soft, floppy, twisted tentacles… Does that ring a bell?”

Jiang Lin remained silent.

Lu Yao: “Do you remember what we were doing just now? Preparing to make fireworks?”

Jiang Lin’s eyes shifted slightly. After a moment, he gave a slow nod.

Lu Yao sighed inwardly, realizing there was no avoiding the next step. She steeled herself, her tone earnest. “Fireworks are a gift for the great Omniscient God. I sincerely ask for your help in completing them.”

Jiang Lin’s bulging eyes, filled with sorrow, stared at Lu Yao. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded with great difficulty.

And in that instant, the mutation spreading across Jiang Lin’s body stopped.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

In the second month, when spring thunder stirs the earth—
it was the day of Jingzhe.

That morning, after many days of cold rain, the sky suddenly cleared.

Xiao Yuanbao rose early, pleased by the sunshine, and ate a full bowl of porridge with an easy appetite.

Not long after, though, he felt something amiss. A sudden heaviness pressed low in his belly.

Startled, he grabbed Qi Beinan’s hand, his delicate brows tightening together.

“I think—it’s today. My belly hurts.”

“What?”

Qi Beinan froze for half a heartbeat, then moved at once, sweeping Xiao Yuanbao up into his arms and carrying him straight to the birthing room.

As he walked, he kept his voice steady. “Don’t be afraid. Everything’s prepared. Just breathe and keep calm. The physicians all said your health is strong—you’ll deliver safely.”

Sweat soon beaded on Xiao Yuanbao’s brow. It was his first childbirth; no matter how much he had prepared, fear still rose when the moment came. The pain made his heart race faster.

Sensing something wrong, Xiao Hu immediately sent servants running to fetch Bai Qiaogui.

Qin Jiang dashed out like the wind, while Jiang Fulang arranged for the midwife and attendants to prepare inside, urging the kitchen to boil water without delay.

The midwife, who had been staying in the household since the New Year, hurried in with the birthing assistant.

They had gone through such alarm once before—when false pains came and passed—but this time, the tension was real. The household dared not relax; every heart was caught in the throat.

“Sir, your husband truly is in labor now. You shouldn’t remain inside—please, step out.”

The birthing attendant, seasoned from long experience, checked Xiao Yuanbao and knew the time had come.

But turning back, she found Qi Beinan still gripping Xiao Yuanbao’s hand beside the bed, unwilling to let go, and had to urge him again to leave.

Qi Beinan could hardly bear it. Just that morning, Yuanbao had been smiling, full of life—and now he lay sweating, body twisting in pain.

He knew it must hurt terribly. His own heart felt pierced with needles. Still, he refused to loosen his grasp.

“I’ll be all right,” Yuanbao said between breaths. “Go on. I promise—I’ll give you a beautiful, healthy child.”

He himself was trembling, but seeing how pale and stricken Qi Beinan looked, he found the strength to soothe him instead.

“Go out, quickly. If you stay here, I can’t concentrate.”

“Then I’ll wait right outside the door—just there. If anything happens, call me at once.” Qi Beinan’s voice broke. “Xiaobao, all I want is for you to be safe.”

He repeated the words several times, before finally, urged by the midwife, he forced himself to back out—looking over his shoulder again and again.

Jiang Fulang stayed close, able to go in and out to check.

Qi Beinan and Xiao Hu, however, could only wait. One stood by the door, the other paced the courtyard, hands clasped behind his back.

When cries of pain came from within, both men flinched as if burned.

Bai Qiaogui arrived panting, just as the servants were carrying in hot water.

“Please—go see him!”

The moment Qi Beinan saw her, he rushed forward, desperate. “He sounds in such pain—what if something’s wrong?”

Bai Qiaogui glanced at his furrowed brow, so tight it could crush a fly. Even in the chill of February, sweat shone on his temples.

The man usually so composed now looked utterly undone. She remembered his mother had died giving birth, and so chose her words carefully, avoiding anything that might worsen his dread. Translated on Hololo novels.

“Lord Qi, don’t worry. Bao-ge’er will deliver safely. Every birth brings pain—it’s natural. I’ll watch over him myself.”

Qi Beinan nodded quickly.

Time blurred after that. Bowls of clear water went in, and red-stained ones came out.

No one knew how long the hours dragged; by the time the sun began to set, the courtyard had gathered five or six anxious onlookers.

Ming Guanxin, newly arrived in the capital, came soon after Bai Qiaogui, followed by Gu Yanshu.

Morning turned to afternoon. None outside had the heart to eat—only cup after cup of tea, cooling in their hands as they waited.

At last, as dusk fell, a clear infant’s cry rang from within the room.

The sound cut through the long silence like light through clouds.

Qi Beinan’s whole body went weak; after so many hours of fear, relief nearly made him collapse.

“Was that—was that the baby? He’s born?”

Ming Guanxin, flustered, echoed him, but before anyone could answer, Qi Beinan had already shot through the doorway like an arrow.

“It’s done—it’s done! Both husband and child are safe!”

The midwife emerged beaming, announcing the words everyone had prayed for.

At last, the household’s hearts settled.

“Congratulations, Uncle Xiao,” Ming Guanxin and Gu Yanshu said together, bowing to Xiao Hu before hurrying toward the birthing room. “Our Bao-ge’er is remarkable—four hours and the child’s safely born!”

Inside, Qi Beinan was already kneeling by the bedside.

Xiao Yuanbao lay pale and utterly spent, his hair damp with sweat and plastered to his cheeks, his face drained of all color.

Qi Beinan bent over him, pressing his face against his shoulder, holding back the sting of tears that welled despite himself.

When he finally lifted his head again, his voice was hoarse.

“You’ve suffered enough.”

Seeing the look of raw relief on Qi Beinan’s face, Xiao Yuanbao reached up with trembling fingers to touch his cheek. His strength was nearly gone; even his voice came faint and slow.

“Look at you… all in a panic. Go on, see the child. I want to see him too.”

At once, Qi Beinan went to fetch the small bundle already wrapped in soft swaddling cloth.

The newborn, who had cried heartily just moments before, was quiet now.

Qi Beinan held the tiny, warm body with the utmost care and carried him to the bedside. “It’s a boy.”

“A boy?”

Xiao Yuanbao was taken aback. He gazed at the little creature nestled in the blankets—skin as tender as new flesh, lips slightly parted, eyes still closed.

His heart melted. He turned his face close to the baby’s downy quilt. “All through the pregnancy he was so calm and gentle. I thought for sure it was a quiet little daughter or son-girl. Never imagined it’d be a boy.”

“So long as he’s close to his xiao die’s heart, he’s a good child,” Qi Beinan said with a smile. “He’s born on a fine day—how about calling him Jingzhe?”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. “Good.”

The attendants, who had been holding back so as not to intrude, stepped forward now, all smiles and laughter. After half a day’s waiting, the household was finally filled with joy.

“Bao-ge’er, you’re amazing—what a lovely little one you’ve brought into the world!”

“Come now, let me hold him too! I need to borrow some of that baby luck…”

Ming Guanxin and Gu Yanshu took turns fussing over the infant, while Bai Qiaogui, exhausted after hours of strain, finally sat down and drank three cups of tea in a row.

Jiang Fulang rewarded the midwives and attendants with heavy red envelopes for their work.

Xiao Hu, after checking that Yuanbao was safe, had been itching to hold the baby as well. Several times he reached out, but others got there first. Finally he stood up and said, half laughing, “Let Ahzu have a turn!”

The remark set the whole room laughing—Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao among them.

Amid the cheerful bustle, Xiao Yuanbao turned his head toward the window.

In the garden, the magnolia tree was in bloom again. In the early spring of the second month it was all soft pink and lavender, radiant in the sun. By May the petals would fall, giving way to green leaves; by midsummer it would stand thick and full once more.

Year after year, the same cycle repeated—quietly, endlessly.

And yet, looking closer, the trunk that had once been thin as a wrist was now sturdy as a child’s leg.

“Xiao Die,” a small voice piped beside him, “the tree’s grown big enough to climb!”

“The tree has,” Yuanbao said with a smile. “But have you grown?”

“I have! I’m almost up to your waist already!”

Under the flowering tree stood a bright-eyed boy, explaining himself with solemn seriousness.

Yuanbao couldn’t win an argument with him. He reached out and pinched the soft round cheeks of his little son. “Qi Jingzhe, you rascal—just wait till your father’s off duty. I’ll tell on you!”

“I’m not being naughty,” the boy protested, holding up a small bird’s nest. “This is the prettiest tree in the garden, so I want the hurt bird to live here. Then it’ll get better faster.”

Yuanbao leaned in to look. Inside the nest was a tiny bird, eyes bright as beads, its wing bent awkwardly. He stroked its feathers—they were fine and smooth as silk. “Where did it come from?”

“It flew to the study window while I was practicing writing.”

Yuanbao tapped his son’s nose and took the nest, meaning to set it on a branch, but even on tiptoe he couldn’t quite reach.

Seeing this, little Jingzhe hurried to the trunk, crouched down, and patted his own back. “Step on me, Xiao Die.”

Yuanbao burst out laughing. “If I step on you and your Ahzu sees it, he’ll scold me half to death!”

He pulled the boy upright and took his hand. “We’ll wait till your father’s home—he can do it. He’s been gone in the southwest long enough. Once he’s back, we’ll make him do all our chores.”

“When will he be home today? I miss him.”

At that, Yuanbao also glanced toward the courtyard. “Probably not yet for a few hours—it’s still morning court.”

He took his four-year-old’s hand and led him back inside. “The sun’s strong already; let’s not stay out and catch the heat. Come inside and have a piece of cold melon.”

“Another summer come and gone,” he murmured as they walked. “Hard to believe—it’s already the thirty-fifth year of Kaide…”

Meanwhile, under the blazing light pouring through the palace gates, morning court had just ended.

Officials filed out of the great hall in neat procession. Their layered robes, heavy and stifling, clung to their backs with sweat as the air grew warm.

But spirits were light: after four long years, the cleanup of the southeastern salt smuggling was at last complete. The work had been done cleanly, His Majesty was pleased, and though few had been promoted, the emperor’s good mood was reward enough.

Pairs and trios of officials murmured among themselves—whether to go to Anhua Lou for the new-season fruit, or to Hantian Pavilion for chilled wine and ice.

Before they could decide, a brisk figure passed them by, the motion stirring a faint breeze.

“Lord Qi looks radiant today—so that’s what true success must feel like!”

“He worked with the duke to bring the private salt case to a clean resolution. Not only did the duke himself recommend him, even His Majesty spoke highly of his conduct. Now he has been promoted from the Hanlin Academy to the Ministry of Personnel as Vice Minister—barely past thirty.”

“Boundless prospects indeed! If even now his face isn’t bright with spring cheer, then I truly don’t know what kind of honor could please him.”

After leaving the palace, Qi Beinan stepped straight into the waiting carriage. “Home,” he told the driver.

“Yes, my lord.”

The carriage rolled smoothly through the city streets, turning into the familiar lane before long. Lifting the curtain, Qi Beinan caught sight of the courtyard ahead.

“Father!”

A small head popped up, peering eagerly toward him.

Before Xiao Yuanbao could stop him, their son had already bolted across the courtyard, and he could only call out after him, “Slow down—watch your step!”

Qi Beinan climbed down from the carriage just in time to catch the little boy flinging himself into his arms.

He lifted him high, turning to Xiao Yuanbao, who was coming over with a smile. “Have you been waiting long?”

“It’s Jingzhe who insisted on waiting. I was just about to nap.”

Qi Beinan kissed his son’s cheek. “So it’s my little Jingzhe who knows how to love his father. Your xiao die doesn’t care about me at all, isn’t that so?”

Jingzhe shook his head solemnly. “Xiao die does care about you! I wanted three pieces of cold melon and he wouldn’t let me—he said he had to save them for you. All morning xiao die’s been talking about you, lots and lots!”

“How many times exactly?”

The boy spread both hands. “Ten times!”

Qi Beinan laughed. “You’re not just saying that, are you?”

Xiao Yuanbao watched them with a quiet smile. “How was court today?”

“I was promoted,” Qi Beinan said. “From now on, I’m Vice Minister of Personnel.”

He squeezed Xiao Yuanbao’s hand. “This time, I should be able to stay in the capital for a while.”

That made Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes light with joy. “And how is it you came home so early? The duke helped you so much—shouldn’t you go thank him?”

“No rush. He’s holding a banquet in a few days; we’ll go together as a family. After so many years dealing with the southwest, His Majesty granted a few days’ leave. I can finally rest.”

Talking and laughing, they entered the house and shared a comfortable lunch together.

After eating, little Jingzhe grew drowsy, and the two of them put him to bed.

The afternoon sun glowed bright and warm.

In the small garden, banana leaves stood broad and green against the wall, and twin rows of bamboo cast mottled shadows across the ground.

Qi Beinan sat beside the reclining chair where Xiao Yuanbao rested, fanning him slowly.

“I’ve five full days of leave,” he said. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you and Jingzhe to Little Dragon Hill for some cool air. We can stay two days.”

“That would be nice. Jingzhe’s been wanting to go out. He’s still talking about the time you took him to the country estate to catch rice fish last year.”

“The weather’s hot,” Qi Beinan said. “Let him play in the stream—catching fish and shrimp will be just right. The water up the mountain is cool and clear.”

“Then I’ll listen to you.”

Xiao Yuanbao gazed at the vivid green of summer, feeling utterly at peace.

He laid a hand on his belly, smiling softly. “There’s something else I ought to tell you.”

Qi Beinan paused, lowering the fan, curious. “What is it?”

Xiao Yuanbao’s voice was quiet. “I’m expecting again.”

The fan slipped from Qi Beinan’s hand and hit the ground. “Truly?”

Seeing his astonished face, Xiao Yuanbao gave him a sidelong look. “Sister Gui took my pulse—how could it be false?”

Qi Beinan broke into a laugh, his eyes gleaming. For a moment he could only stare at him, then he threw back his head and laughed outright.

“My little Bao, how can you be so good to me? This news makes me happier than any promotion ever could!”

Xiao Yuanbao chuckled. “You’re already a father once. Still so excitable.”

Sunlight shimmered through the leaves; the air was gentle with breeze and birdsong, their shadows swaying softly together.

Such an afternoon—such a life—one could live it forever and never tire of it.

—End of Main Story—

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Xiao Yuanbao looked up and saw a man standing just beyond the hall—his figure wrapped in a dark cloak, the fabric dusted with snow.

Tall and straight as a pine, Qi Beinan seemed to have weathered a long wind and frost. He had grown thinner, his once sharply handsome face now leaner, the bones beneath his skin more defined. A faint stubble shadowed his jaw, and dark circles marked the skin beneath his eyes.

Yet in those calm, deep eyes shone a warmth mixed with ache.

“Anan…”

The name caught in Xiao Yuanbao’s throat; his voice trembled. The next instant, his blood seemed to surge all at once. Bracing a hand on his back, he tried to rise and go to him.

But Qi Beinan had already crossed the threshold in haste, reaching him first and steadying his slow, unsteady steps.

He had ridden day and night, almost without pause, through snow and wind. The capital was blanketed in white, the roads near impassable. Yet from the distant slopes outside the city, when he saw the bright glow of the festival and heard faint sounds of revelry, the pull of home only grew stronger—and so he had pressed on, arriving just in time for the reunion meal.

He was chilled to the bone and knew he must look travel-worn and rough. Translated on Hololo novels. Those who knew the truth would say he had returned from a successful mission inspecting the salt trade; those who didn’t might think he had come back from defeat, ragged and dispirited.

He had meant to return with composure—to wash and change before seeing Xiao Yuanbao. But as soon as he stepped through the gates, the thought of the one he’d longed for all these months overtook him. He could not wait even a quarter of an hour longer. He went straight to the hall.

There, in the soft amber light of the lamps, he saw Xiao Yuanbao sitting quietly, murmuring to the child in his belly—speaking of him.

When he left, Yuanbao had been slender and light. Now his belly was round and full. A child did not grow to eight months in a day, yet this was the first time Qi Beinan had seen him since learning the news—and already the baby was nearly due.

A thousand emotions welled up within him. Gratitude. Guilt. Relief.

At least he had made it home. To miss the new year with his spouse and child would have felt like failing both husband’s and father’s duty.

Xiao Yuanbao clasped Qi Beinan’s hand, his gaze never leaving him. The once-smooth hands were now cold, rough, the palms thick with calluses.

“Why didn’t you send word you were coming? I could have gone out to meet you.”

Seeing how weary and worn he looked, Yuanbao’s heart ached. His voice softened with distress.

“I thought I wouldn’t be back until after the new year,” Qi Beinan said, his tone gentle. “But the final audits ended sooner than expected, and His Grace allowed me to return early. A letter would never have reached you faster—and I wanted to surprise you and the baby.”

He smiled faintly. “It seems I made it back just in time.”

At that, Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes grew red. “You’ve lost weight.”

“It’s nothing,” Qi Beinan reassured him. “The food in Yuanping didn’t suit me, and I ate little. Then the long ride home through wind and snow—traveling with a troop of men, there’s little care for appearance. That’s all.”

He released Yuanbao gently. “I’m still cold from the road, carrying half the winter with me. I daren’t hold you long. If the chill passes to you or the baby, that would be no good.”

He smiled, trying to ease the moment. “Let me wash and change before I see Father. I can’t have him look at me in this state.”

Yuanbao laughed softly. “He’s seen you looking worse. You’re not afraid I’ll see you like this, but you’re worried about him?”

“A son-in-law should at least look respectable,” Qi Beinan said, feigning solemnity.

Yuanbao could tell he was teasing—mostly to hide his exhaustion and the cold still clinging to his skin.

“Go back to your room,” he said gently. “I’ll tell the kitchen to bring you hot water.”

“Good.”

Qi Beinan bent to kiss his flushed cheek, then strode off toward Xingyi Pavilion.

“He’s back!” Yuanbao called out as he turned toward the kitchen.

The household stirred at once. He told Xiao Hu and Jiang Fulang that Qi Beinan had returned. Both were overjoyed.

Jiang Fulang, busy at the stove, said, “I’ll make two of his favorite dishes. Luckily we have plenty prepared—it won’t take long.”

Xiao Hu grinned. “Now the evening’s perfect. I’ll finally have someone to drink with.”

Yuanbao smiled and reminded the servants to add slices of old ginger to the bathwater to drive out the chill.

That night, what was meant to be a three-person reunion dinner became a true family gathering.

It was strange—adding just one person made the whole house feel warmer. Laughter filled the rooms, and the spirit of the festival seemed to glow brighter.

Two tables were set: one in the main hall for the family, and another in the servants’ quarters.

Once all the dishes were arranged, Yuanbao sent the servants off to enjoy their own New Year’s meal. Before they left, he handed out red envelopes. Hongtang, Wenge’er, and the others bowed gratefully before hurrying off, smiling.

Only the family remained at the table.

“Father,” Qi Beinan said with a smile, helping Yuanbao sit beside him before turning to pour wine for Xiao Hu, “now that you’re settled here in the capital, don’t be thinking of leaving the moment you see me home again.”

Xiao Hu chuckled. “Not this time. I’ll stay in the capital and teach my little grandson how to shoot an arrow.”

Xiao Yuanbao laughed lightly. “Girls and boys both need to learn archery now?”

Xiao Hu replied, “All the better if they’re strong and healthy. I won’t have them growing up frail like you did.”

“The manor back home—Tian Ken is still managing it?”

Qi Beinan was reassured by Xiao Hu’s tone; it was clear he meant to remain in the capital for good.

“Yes,” Xiao Hu said. “That lad is a real hand at farming. He’s done much for our family over the years, and he runs the estate like a master. When he married, as you two wished, we gave him his deed of freedom—let him decide whether to stay or go.

“But he said his father was buried in Ling County, and that he owed our family kindness. He wouldn’t leave. Said he meant to serve us for life. Seeing his loyalty, I let him be. Lucky we did—had he gone, I’d not know who could have managed the estate after I came to the capital.”

“Now with him and his wife keeping watch, I’ve nothing to worry about.”

Qi Beinan smiled. Much of what they had built over the years was thanks to capable people like Tian Ken. Men of such talent were rare; great households would never so easily set them free.

Yet Qi Beinan had long felt that Tian Ken had given too much to their family already. A man of ability should not live and die as another’s servant, nor have his children born into bondage. So, after discussing it with Xiao Yuanbao, he had granted Tian Ken his freedom at his wedding.

That the man chose to remain in service was repayment beyond expectation.

“I heard he even had a fine, plump boy last year.”

“Indeed,” Xiao Hu said, smiling. “A sturdy little rascal—strong as an ox, crawling everywhere the moment he learned to move. One day his mother turned her back for a blink, and he wriggled right under the bed, fell asleep there without a sound. Took them ages to find him.”

When there was nothing to do on the estate, Xiao Hu liked to play with the child, always bringing him soft cakes. Seeing other people’s grandchildren only made him long for the day he’d have a little grandson of his own.

So when he received Yuanbao’s letter about the pregnancy, he’d packed up at once and come to the capital—faster even than when he’d rushed up for their wedding.

Xiao Yuanbao took a bite of the fish Qi Beinan had picked clean of bones for him and smiled. “You weren’t here to know, but later that year Brother Fang wrote too. They’ve had a second child—a boy. The whole family was overjoyed.”

Qi Beinan raised his brows. “He married late, but he’s made quick work of it. Two children already?”

“Exactly. Second Sister married before him and only has one child. Third Brother too—just one.”

“The Fang family was lively enough before,” Yuanbao went on, “but now that Old Master Fang and Madam Sun have both grandsons and granddaughters—well, it’s a merry house indeed.”

Xiao Hu chuckled. “When Fang Youliang’s second son had his full-month banquet, I went into town for the feast. All those children gathered round—one wanting water, one wanting sweets—poor old Fang sat in the middle of the din, surrounded by the lot of them, near driven mad. I’d have fled if I could’ve stood.”

The table burst into laughter.

“How’s their business now?” Qi Beinan asked.

“Good,” Xiao Hu said. “Fang Youliang’s a capable one. He’s built a fine network in town and beyond. Though, truth told, he’s gotten fonder of drink—his wife’s the only one who can rein him in, tugging him home by the ear. Her family’s tofu shop has doubled in size; they even hired two more hands. When I pass that way, they always recognize me and stuff tofu into my basket, won’t take a coin for it.”

“Second Sister and her husband’s rouge shop is thriving too,” Xiao Yuanbao added. “They’re planning to open a second branch this year. Both of them clever and hardworking—but with only one daughter so far, the elders keep urging them to have another or two while they’re young.”

“As for Third Brother,” Xiao Hu said, “they’re not in trade, but his wife’s family are ambitious folk. They’ve come to buy fertilizer from our estate more than once, hearing our crops were good.”

Qi Beinan listened with quiet pleasure. Hearing that everyone back home was well brought him comfort.

He refilled Xiao Hu’s cup, smiling. “Father, you used to be the quiet one—never knew a thing about the village gossip. Now you seem to know every family’s story by heart.”

“Ha,” Xiao Hu said, taking a drink. “Since I’ve stopped going up the hills, the neighbors come to me for wine. After enough rounds of that, what’s left to learn?”

“More likely my brother told you over drinks,” Jiang Fulang said, smiling. “And he and his wife—are they getting on well in the village?”

“Getting on? Of course,” Xiao Hu replied. “The village head’s as sharp as ever—used to keep things in fine order, and now with Guangzong doing so well in Jinling, with a powerful father-in-law to boot—those two have status and ability both. Their life’s as good as it gets.”

Jiang Fulang chuckled.

Xiao Yuanbao, seeing his teacher in good spirits, said, “The other day, Third Brother Zhao sent over New Year’s goods. He wrote in his letter that Teacher mustn’t play favorites—said that once Atuan’s expecting, we’ll have to send for you again to take care of her, just as you’ve looked after me.”

Jiang Fulang, though delighted, sighed with mock complaint. “One after another—are you all set on working me to death?”

Xiao Yuanbao laughed softly, picked up a morsel of food, and placed it in Jiang Fulang’s bowl. “Teacher, you’ve worked hard enough. When Atuan becomes pregnant, once I’ve finished my confinement, I’ll go with you to Jinling to visit her. She still complains I didn’t go to her wedding.”

Jiang Fulang smiled. “That would be best.”

Once they had begun reminiscing about family and friends, more memories rose to mind. Xiao Yuanbao took Qi Beinan’s hand. “Anan, did you hear? Scholar Ma finally passed the provincial exam.”

Qi Beinan set down his cup. “I remember mentioning him during the last round of exams, but afterward I was buried in the salt bureau’s affairs and never had time to ask. Truly, I hadn’t heard.”

“Before Mid-Autumn I received a letter from Xin-ge’er. He told me Ma-juren did well—his ranking was quite high. After three years’ pause, he’s improved greatly.

“And Xin-ge’er himself is coming to the capital. He’s proven quite the merchant. Somehow he managed to persuade the weaver who makes Wanyue gauze to work under him. At the start of the new year he’ll open a silk shop here in the city, right as Ma-juren arrives for the metropolitan exam.”

Qi Beinan raised his brows. “Remarkable indeed. Then by next spring, you, Sister Gui, and Xin-ge’er will all be together again.”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled with delight. “Exactly.”

So many pieces of good news—such letters had been his only comfort during those long months away in Yuanping.

The reunion feast stretched on happily for more than an hour. Afterward they went out to the garden to set off firecrackers.

Qi Beinan, who was never one for such amusements, surprised them all by lighting a few himself.

They played for a while in the garden before the family, knowing how long the couple had been apart, urged them to return early to their rooms to rest and talk in peace.

Xiao Yuanbao and Qi Beinan walked back together to Xingyi Pavilion.

“I thought the salt investigation would take longer,” Xiao Yuanbao said after a while, cheeks flushed as Qi Beinan held his hand.

Though his husband’s hands were warm again, he could not forget how cold they had been earlier.

“Once I slowed down, my thoughts only wandered to you and the child,” Qi Beinan said quietly. “The worry made me restless, so I threw myself fully into work instead. Strangely enough, that made everything move faster.”

“You worked yourself thin,” Xiao Yuanbao said, touching his face with a hint of distress. “Teacher whispered earlier that you look more weathered.”

Qi Beinan smiled. “Not weathered—just becoming a father. That alone adds years.”

He caught Xiao Yuanbao’s hand and said playfully, “Let me see if our little xiaodie looks older yet.”

“I’m not even that old! I’m still—ah!”

Before he could finish, Qi Beinan swept him up in his arms.

Xiao Yuanbao widened his eyes. “And they say fathers-to-be should be steady! Look at you.”

Qi Beinan only laughed, spinning them gently around the room. “How could I not be happy? I’m going to be a father! Our Qi family and Xiao family will have a child!”

Xiao Yuanbao clung to his neck, meaning to scold him and make him put him down—but seeing the pure joy on his face, he couldn’t help smiling too.

This long-delayed joy seemed at last to make up for all that had been missed.

When their laughter finally subsided, Qi Beinan set him carefully on the bed.

He wrapped an arm around Yuanbao and with the other hand gently stroked the curve of his belly. Their heads rested close together.

“You can’t know how frantic I was when I read your letter,” Qi Beinan said softly. “So happy that we’d have a child—and so frustrated it came at such an inconvenient time. In Yuanping, no matter how busy I stayed, my heart never stopped worrying for you and the baby.”

“Everything’s been well looked after,” Yuanbao murmured, placing his hand atop Qi Beinan’s. “See? All is fine now. Sister Gui checks my pulse often—she says this pregnancy is strong and steady, nothing to fear. Though lately this little one’s been livelier, perhaps knowing you were on your way home—always kicking.”

“Then he must have felt his father drawing near,” Qi Beinan said with a smile. “Happy because you were happy.”

Yuanbao laughed, nestling closer against his neck. “Tell me, do you think it’s a boy or a girl?”

“Our child—whatever comes, it’s good. I’ll welcome either with the same heart.”

He kissed Yuanbao lightly. “Son or daughter, I’ll raise them well.”

“Father says the same,” Yuanbao replied. “He says boy or girl, he’ll love them all the same. He only hopes we’ll have two or more so the house will be lively.”

“I’d like that too,” Qi Beinan said. “A full house of laughter. But seeing how hard it is for you—pregnancy, all its discomforts—how could I wish that burden on you too often? I’ve heard women weep easily, feel ill and fragile. When I was gone, did you ever cry alone?”

Yuanbao laughed. “I don’t think so. With this first child I’ve been fine—barely any sickness, and certainly no tears. Though today, when you walked in looking so thin and worn by the road, I almost did.”

Qi Beinan sighed softly. “Then it’s good I came home when I did.”

“Don’t say it like that. Seeing you like this—travel-stained, thinner than before—while I’ve been resting, eating well, and treated like royalty by Father and Teacher—I only felt guilty, not proud.”

“If you’re well, that’s all that matters,” Qi Beinan said. “Had you not been, I truly would have wasted away.”

Xiao Yuanbao brushed a kiss across his brow. “Even if you look a little older, you’re still just as handsome—and I’ll never stop liking you.”

They spoke on in low voices, trading every little story from the six months they’d been apart, as though trying to fill the missing time between them.

Outside, snow whispered against the windows. Across the capital, lanterns glowed, and fireworks crackled long into the night.

In Qi Beinan’s arms, Xiao Yuanbao drifted to sleep, warm and safe.

That night was the warmest of the whole winter—peaceful, steady, and filled with quiet joy.

Qi Beinan touched the tip of his nose and murmured, “May every year be like this—may we always stay side by side.”

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

In early September, the air was thick with the scent of blooming osmanthus.

Qi Beinan and his party had been in Yuanping for over a month.

“It feels like another round of the provincial exams,” he thought. “Next spring will bring the metropolitan exam, and after the palace examination, more new officials will enter the court.”

At midday, returning from the salt administration office, Qi Beinan stepped into his quarters and was immediately greeted by a heady fragrance. Overnight, the osmanthus tree by the veranda had burst fully into bloom.

Clusters of small golden blossoms filled the branches. He paused beneath them, smiling faintly, and his thoughts drifted to the old days of the provincial examinations—to the classmates who would be taking the test again this year.

Earlier that spring, he had received a letter from Ma Junyi, saying he intended to try once more. The results must have been announced by now, though news from other provinces was hard to come by. Qi Beinan found himself hoping Ma Junyi had done well this time.

“Sir, the tea is ready.”

Hearing the servant’s voice, Qi Beinan turned from the tree and went inside.

He had spent the entire morning reviewing ledgers; his eyes ached with fatigue. A cup of tea and a short rest would do him good.

Back home, Xiao Yuanbao had always made him herbal soups to soothe the eyes. Thanks to that care, his vision had been sharp and clear. But after only a few weeks in Yuanping—staring day after day at mountainous piles of accounts—his sight had begun to blur.

He had wanted to work quickly, to finish the salt investigation sooner: partly to return home earlier, partly to see the corrupt officials punished without delay. But at this pace, he knew he would soon exhaust himself. Better, perhaps, to proceed steadily.

He was just thinking this when Qin Jiang came running in from outside. “My lord, a letter from the capital!”

At that, Qi Beinan set down his cup and rose at once. “At last! I’ve been waiting for days. A letter from home.”

He tore it open eagerly and sat down to read.

It was five or six pages long—he didn’t mind. He read it slowly, savoring each word.

It began with small household details—everything at home was well, everyone missed him and kept him company in his absence. Xiao Yuanbao had been busy managing the restaurant, and the days, he wrote, passed quickly enough.

Qi Beinan smiled as he read. But when he reached the third page, his expression suddenly changed.

He shot to his feet.

“The earlier pages were all trifles,” the letter read, “but there is one important matter to tell you. Before I say it, let me warn you not to worry—this is happy news.

“What you and I have long hoped for has finally come true. By the time you finish your duties in Yuanping and return to the capital, our home will have one more member. To tell you plainly: I am with child.

“I imagine when you read this, your first reaction will not be joy, but worry. So let me assure you—you should only be glad. By the time this letter reaches you, Father has already arrived in the capital, and Teacher has moved back into the house to look after me.

“I am well cared for each day. The tonics and decoctions are taken as prescribed, and the baby is quiet and well-behaved…”

Qi Beinan read on, the tightness in his chest slowly easing.

He gripped the letter hard between his fingers, a rush of emotion swelling through him.

What ill timing, he thought bitterly—and yet Yuanbao was right. If he had known earlier, he never would have come to the southwest.

Such is fate.

Though the letter described everything as well arranged—his father in residence, his teacher watching over Yuanbao, the household secure—his heart could not rest entirely.

After losing a child once before, that shadow never truly faded.

Now, hearing that he was to be a father again, any thought of rest fled him. The cautious plan to proceed “steadily” with the salt investigation vanished.

All he wanted was to sprout wings and fly back to the capital.

But he was already in Yuanping, and leaving midway was impossible.

Knowing that, he resolved to finish the work as swiftly as he could, then return home at once.

Fortunately, he had handled a salt case before, and the experience made everything move more smoothly.

Qi Beinan steadied himself and plunged back into the work—harder than before, driven by urgency and longing.

“Always diligent, but now even more tireless,” remarked the Duke Jingguo, watching him clear box after box of tangled accounts with astonishing speed.

He couldn’t help but praise the man’s ability when he later spoke with Lin Qingyu.

“Lord Qi has always been exceptional,” Lin Qingyu said simply.

The Duke’s eyes held clear admiration. Soon after, he assigned Qi Beinan to join him on the salt inspection tours rather than remain buried in ledgers at the office.

Free from deskwork and out in the field, Qi Beinan was in his element.

Working side by side with the Duke, he rooted out illegal salt traders and exposed the officials in league with them.

Step by step, the entire investigation unfolded in rapid succession.

In less than half a year, the Yuanping salt case was nearing its conclusion.

Of course, the corruption in the greater southwest could not be eradicated in a few months.

But the Duke’s commission extended only to the prefecture of Lianping; once that was done, he could return to the capital to report. Whether he would then be sent to continue the work elsewhere remained to be seen.

This time, everything progressed so smoothly that even if the investigation did not immediately extend to other southwestern prefectures, it would still shake the corrupt and force them into restraint.

“You truly are a man of talent,” said the Duke Jingguo with satisfaction. “I was right to recommend you for the salt affairs in the southwest.”

He was genuinely pleased, unreserved in his praise. “Once we return to the capital, I shall personally report your merits to His Majesty.”

“If not for your favor, my lord,” Qi Beinan replied, “how could I have gained such a chance to serve the people? I ask for nothing else—only that I might complete this work before the year’s end and return home in time to celebrate the new year with my family.”

The Duke laughed. “I knew you were a man with a heart for home. Half a year away already, and with the year’s end approaching—the cold air and the scent of the festivals do stir one’s longing for home. If we can conclude the last of this business swiftly, I shall see your wish fulfilled.”

Qi Beinan bowed. “I am deeply grateful for your consideration, my lord.”

Meanwhile, in the capital—

“The winters here in the capital are truly bitter. Once the snow starts, it falls for days and days. Step outside, and all you see is white—nothing else at all.”

Xiao Hu came in from outdoors shivering, muttering about how cold it was.

“Father, you refuse to take a carriage, fine—but why didn’t you at least bring an umbrella?”

Xiao Yuanbao looked up to see his father’s hair and shoulders covered in snow. He couldn’t help scolding gently as he rose from beside the brazier to brush the snow off him.

“You won’t sit inside with me, and when you go out, you don’t even take care of yourself.”

Jiang Fulang, who was sewing nearby, stood quickly and pressed Xiao Yuanbao back into his seat. “Sit properly. You’re heavy with child now—you can’t be moving around like before when you were alone.”

Jiang Fulang watched over him constantly, treating him like his own younger brother. Now that Yuanbao was expecting, he guarded him even more carefully.

Xiao Hu laughed, shaking the snow from his coat. “It’s not that I didn’t want to keep you company. I went out to buy you a treat.”

From inside his robe, he brought out a paper bag of freshly roasted chestnuts and handed it to Xiao Yuanbao.

“I didn’t go far,” he said, “but the snow came down harder than I thought—like a summer downpour. I only stopped a street vendor for some chestnuts, and just look at me now.”

Xiao Yuanbao took them eagerly, peeling one open. The chestnuts were still warm, large and sweet, the shells split for easy peeling. He ate two, soft and fragrant, and reached for a third before Jiang Fulang stopped him.

“Careful—you’ll get heat in your system.”

Yuanbao obediently set them down, smiling as he stroked his rounded belly. His gaze fell on the little tiger-head baby shoes in Jiang Fulang’s sewing basket. Picking them up, he examined them closely. “They’re almost finished.”

Winter had set in deep by then. Snow fell day after day; icicles hung from every eave, and the ground froze hard beneath the sweepers’ brooms.

Even with people clearing the paths daily, there was no guarantee someone wouldn’t slip.

Earlier, at the start of the winter month, Bai Qiaogui had given birth. Yuanbao had rushed over to see her.

There had been no snow that day, only a heavy frost. In his haste, he had nearly slipped at the doorway, frightening everyone half to death—including himself. But once he saw that Bai Qiaogui had safely delivered a daughter, his heart finally eased.

After that, the cold deepened, and he grew wary of going out. He stayed home instead.

Xiao Hu and Jiang Fulang, fearing he’d feel lonely, kept him company. When snow fell, they sat together by the fire, chatting and watching it drift outside—just as they had in their old village winters.

It wasn’t lively, but with the whole family gathered around the brazier, the days felt warm and steady.

“The year’s nearly done,” Xiao Hu said one evening, listening to the faint crackle of firecrackers outside. “Still no letter from Beinan. I wonder how cold it is down there. Looks like he won’t be back for the new year.”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled. “Father misses him more than I do, it seems.”

“His last letter said the work there was heavy,” Xiao Yuanbao went on. “Salt administration isn’t a small matter. It takes at least half a year to complete. When he left, he took clothes for every season. I stopped expecting him to return for the festival long ago.”

Xiao Hu nodded. “He’s serving the state; his duty comes first. We’re here to mind the home.”

Jiang Fulang added teasingly, “You’re just saying that to keep Brother in good spirits. You dote on him enough already.”

Xiao Hu chuckled but couldn’t think of a retort. He was a restless man—barely a few weeks in the capital, and he had already persuaded Yuanbao to buy more land on the outskirts and start building a small manor. Come spring, he’d be off managing it again.

Xiao Yuanbao laughed softly. Watching the two elder men bicker good-naturedly was one of his quiet joys.

On the thirtieth of the twelfth month—the eve of the new year—fireworks and firecrackers lit up the capital one after another.

That night, the family gathered in the great hall for their reunion dinner.

Xiao Yuanbao, his belly round and heavy, insisted on cooking at least one dish himself—a chicken-braised bamboo shoot stew, fragrant and rich.

He had wanted to prepare a full feast as in past years, but his strength was no longer the same. After finishing that one dish, Jiang Fulang shooed him from the kitchen and told him to rest in the hall.

Sitting in the warm, fire-heated room, Xiao Yuanbao gazed out the window. The snow outside was falling thicker than ever, and above the rooftops, he could just make out the bloom of fireworks lighting the night sky.

He hadn’t meant to think of him. Yet amid the noise and cheer of the festival, there came a quiet moment—and in that stillness, thoughts of him rose unbidden.

Everywhere his gaze fell—inside the room, beyond the window—it seemed that man’s presence lingered. He could almost hear his voice at his ear.

Once the longing stirred, a heaviness settled in his chest, dull and restless.

Whether it was the snow that delayed messengers or something else, not a single letter had come through—not even for the New Year.

Xiao Yuanbao lowered his head and gently touched his rounded belly. “I wonder what your father is doing now,” he murmured. “Has he even a moment to think of us?”

No sooner had the words left his lips than a rough, familiar voice came from the doorway:

“How could mere longing be enough to speak of it?”

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

“Every meal and drink depends on salt,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “We were both born common folk—we know how vital it is. Your assignment to manage the salt affairs is a fine thing indeed.”

When Xiao Yuanbao heard that Qi Beinan had been recommended by the Duke to go to Yuanping to oversee the salt administration—and knowing this was something Qi Beinan had long wished for—he was truly happy for him.

To serve as an official is to bring honor to one’s household. Yet once seated in such a position, one must work for the good of the state and the people.

Otherwise, to take the court’s stipend, enjoy its honors and privileges, and do nothing in return—what justice could there be in that?

Xiao Yuanbao knew Qi Beinan was never one without ambition.

The reason he had not striven harder in the bureaucracy before was only because he had been unwilling to leave Xiao Yuanbao unguarded.

When they first arrived in the capital, they had neither kin nor friends, and knew nothing of its ways.

Qi Beinan’s quiet, steady years in the Hanlin Academy had been spent so he could remain by Xiao Yuanbao’s side, to protect him and manage any trouble before it reached him.

But now, more than two years had passed. Their home was secure, their business thriving.

Xiao Yuanbao had grown adept at navigating life in the capital. With the restaurant running well, he was no idle man with empty days.

He had both old friends and new acquaintances, elders to turn to, and nothing left to cause worry.

“These years, you’ve done so much for our family—for me,” he said softly. “Now you should go and do what you’ve always wanted.”

“I can take care of everything at home. You needn’t worry.”

Qi Beinan took his hand. “I believe you can. Our little Bao has long since stopped being that child who used to hide from strangers—you’re more than capable now.”

“When I travel this time, I won’t have to leave with my heart hanging in my throat, as I did in my student days.”

He looked at the bright, gentle eyes before him and said quietly, “Only, Xiao Bao…”

“All I’ve done for you, for our home,” he went on, “I’ve done gladly, without regret. Never once did I feel I had lost anything for it.”

The years they had shared since childhood—those were the memories that visited him in dreams, the happiest he had ever known.

He truly… truly could not imagine a life more complete than this one.

Xiao Yuanbao suddenly lifted his arms and embraced him, resting his cheek lightly against Qi Beinan’s neck.

“Thank you… Anan,” he murmured. “Thank you for coming into my life.”

Perhaps it sounded overly formal, but it was something he had long wanted to say.

Thank you for your integrity.
Thank you for your constancy.
Thank you for every lesson, every quiet kindness since we were young.

He had once been too naïve to see it all. But after coming to the capital, after everything he had experienced, he finally understood—had Anan not been by his side all these years, guiding him step by step, he would never have found such steady footing, even here in the capital.

He often thought himself too fortunate, to the point of fear—that one day, he might lose this man who was too good for him.

But reality had proved otherwise: Qi Beinan always gave him peace.

Qi Beinan drew him close and said with a soft sigh, “If you wish to thank me, then spend the rest of your life doing so.”

Xiao Yuanbao laughed. “That’s a bargain in my favor. I’d be glad to agree.”

…

The expedition to the southwest for the salt investigation departed in late July.

The procession of carriages and horses was vast. Translated on Hololo novels. Though Xiao Yuanbao had said his farewell at home, he could not help running up to the city wall to see Qi Beinan off.

The flags snapped in the wind; his hair whipped across his brow.

He watched Qi Beinan, upright on horseback, as the convoy moved slowly toward the city gates—his heart seemed to follow after him.

This journey would last at least half a year, perhaps longer. With so many days and nights apart, how could one not feel the ache of parting?

Xiao Yuanbao took a deep breath, pressing down the heaviness in his chest.

Everything about the capital was fine—except its suffocating summer heat.

The air was stifling, the cicadas loud. Standing long beneath the burning sun, he soon felt weary.

He was just turning to go when he caught sight of Gu Yanyu beside him, weeping silently, eyes glistening like dew on jade.

“What’s this? Why are you crying?”

Gu Yanyu sniffled and dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief.

“My father is so cruel,” he said, voice trembling. “All because Qingyu and I made a dish together without saving him any, and now—barely married a few months—he’s sent him away to the provinces!”

Xiao Yuanbao couldn’t help laughing at the complaint.

“The Duke didn’t mean to separate you two. But once you enter official life, you must gain experience beyond the capital. It’s the only way to rise.”

“I know that,” Gu Yanyu said tearfully, “but knowing doesn’t make it hurt less.”

His voice wavered. “When he’s here, I can bear it. But now, he’s going so far to the southwest—what if he forgets me?”

“How could that be?” Xiao Yuanbao consoled him. “With the Duke overseeing things, Lin Daren wouldn’t dare forget the Junjun. Most likely, you’ll be getting letters every three days and gift boxes every five.”

“Truly?” Gu Yanyu asked, eyes red and hopeful.

“How could it not be true? When a man sees someone every day, he may take them for granted. But when distance divides you, he begins to long for what he’s lost. As the saying goes, ‘what is distant smells sweet; what is near, too familiar.’ Once he can’t see you, Lin Daren will surely miss you all the more.”

When Gu Yanyu heard that, his heart eased a little.

The two walked down together from the city wall, and Gu Yanyu begged Xiao Yuanbao to come home with him for a chat.

Xiao Yuanbao agreed and went with him to the Lin residence, where they lingered for half the afternoon.

By the time he returned home, the sun had already sunk behind the western hills.

“I don’t know why,” he murmured once inside his carriage, “but I feel so tired.”

He yawned twice, half-asleep as the wheels rumbled on.

Wen-ge’er, the servant driving him, said, “You rose early to see the master off, then spent half the day talking with the Junjun. In this summer heat, who wouldn’t be weary?”

“That may be true, but I haven’t done anything strenuous,” Xiao Yuanbao replied with a small frown. “Feels like I’m not as strong as before.”

Back at home, he ate a little and went to bed early.

He had gone out to see Qi Beinan off, feeling heavy-hearted, yet compared with Gu Yanyu—who was newly married and now parted from Lin Qingyu—his own sorrow was mild.

He had spent the morning comforting the Junjun, and whether his words had helped or not, at least he himself felt lighter.

That night, instead of lying awake missing Qi Beinan, he fell asleep quickly and did not stir until daylight filled the room.

Still groggy, he blinked at the brightness outside and sat up in alarm.

He’d slept so long—dreams tumbling one after another through the night.

But what exactly he’d dreamed, he couldn’t quite recall. Only fragments lingered: soft, fair little children with round bright eyes and plump cheeks, laughing at him, showing two tiny teeth.

They looked oddly familiar—so adorable that he couldn’t resist picking one up.

The child was even softer than he’d imagined, and when the little one planted a kiss on his cheek and called him “Little Father,” his heart melted.

Qi Beinan had been laughing beside him, teasing that he too had been that cute as a child.

Remembering it now, Xiao Yuanbao couldn’t help smiling.

Then, with a start, he realized—it had only been a dream.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, then flopped back into the pillows.

That man was far away in the southwest now; for the time being, talk of children was no more than wishful thinking.

He kicked at the quilt a few times, then suddenly sat upright again.

Still, since Qi Beinan wasn’t home, he might as well take the chance to nourish his health. When he returned, wouldn’t it be all the easier to conceive?

The thought made him brighten. He climbed down from bed with new energy—only to pause mid-step.

If he meant to condition his body, he’d have to find someone to take his pulse.

That would mean going to Gui-jie’er, of course—but just the thought made him blush with embarrassment.

The last time he’d visited her, she had teased him mercilessly, urging him to hurry and have a child with Anan so their little ones could grow up and play together.

It was a lovely idea—but since nothing had happened yet, he had stubbornly said he wasn’t in a rush.

Now if he went to her for a consultation about “nourishing the body,” she’d laugh at him for sure.

He sighed, hesitated, then his eyes flickered with resolve. He dressed neatly, took his purse, and slipped out to the street.

Only, instead of going to Bai Qiaogui’s house, he quietly directed the carriage toward an apothecary outside the city gate.

“Has the young master felt any particular discomfort?” the physician asked.

“Not really,” Xiao Yuanbao admitted, a little shy. “I only wanted to have a check-up—to strengthen my body, so that… I might have a child.”

His examiner was an older man, clearly long accustomed to such matters. “Very well,” he said mildly. “Let me feel your pulse first, then we’ll speak.”

Xiao Yuanbao rolled up his sleeve quickly and held out his wrist.

He’d always been in good health, seldom ill, and rarely saw a doctor. With Gui-jie’er usually tending to him when needed, this visit felt almost furtive—like sneaking about for something shameful.

The old physician pressed his fingers lightly against the pulse for a while. Then his brow lifted in surprise as he looked up at Xiao Yuanbao.

The sudden expression made Xiao Yuanbao’s heart lurch. “Doctor—is something wrong with me?”

The physician withdrew his hand, still staring in mild astonishment. “You said you came to strengthen your body to have a child?”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded nervously, unsure what to make of it.

He was about to ask further when the physician said, “You’re already with child. For a moment I thought my hearing was failing—mistook ‘nourish the body’ for ‘nourish the pregnancy.’”

Xiao Yuanbao’s mouth fell open in shock.

It took him a long moment to find his voice again. “D-doctor… do you mean I’m already pregnant?”

The physician chuckled. “Would I jest about such things in my own clinic?”

“You truly are inattentive—already carrying for months and still unaware, coming here to ask for tonics!”

Seeing the doctor’s certainty, Xiao Yuanbao instinctively laid his hand over his lower abdomen.

Thinking back, he did recall lately feeling hungrier, sleepier—but he had blamed it on the summer weather, never imagining this.

“H-how far along am I?” he finally asked, almost whispering.

“Just over two months,” the doctor said. “I’ll prescribe a few gentle herbs to stabilize the pregnancy. Be cautious for the first four months. You’re fortunate—though unaware, you’ve managed these past weeks without harm. It helps, too, that your health is sound.”

“No matter how healthy the body, once there’s a child, you must take great care,” the physician had warned. “A moment’s carelessness could cost you the baby—and harm your health besides.”

Xiao Yuanbao drew in a deep, steady breath. His head was still light, as if he had just woken from a dream.

The surprise was almost too much to grasp—so sudden, so unforeseen—that for a moment he could not react at all.

He had come with the hope of conceiving, yet it turned out he already had.
And worse, he had just seen Qi Beinan off. If only he had known a day earlier, they might have shared the joy together.

Thinking this, he felt a pang of fear. The doctor was right—he truly had been careless. To think he’d gone about unaware, carrying a child for months!

When he left the clinic, his thoughts were still in a blur.

Perhaps because the blessing had come so easily and so unexpectedly, part of him dared not believe it was real.

Though he already held the prescription in hand, he turned his carriage toward Bai Qiaogui’s house all the same.

Only after she confirmed it with her own hands, he thought, could his heart settle.

When he arrived at the Luo residence, Bai Qiaogui was taking her midday rest.

Ordinarily, he would never have disturbed her at this hour, much less woken her from sleep.

“What urgent matter could be worth waking a pregnant woman?” she muttered, sitting up. She hadn’t been asleep long, but she was surprised to see Xiao Yuanbao at such a time.

She gave him a teasing look. “Now that Lord Qi’s gone to the provinces, you’ve learned to wander about at any hour, have you?”

“Good Gui-jie’er, don’t tease me,” he said, flustered. “It’s important.”

He helped her sit up, then rolled up his sleeve. “Quickly, take my pulse.”

Seeing his anxious expression, Bai Qiaogui thought something serious must have happened. She set aside her laughter and took his wrist, face turning grave.

A moment later, her brows lifted, and she broke into a delighted smile. “My dear boy—you’re with child!”

Xiao Yuanbao blinked at her, his face slowly relaxing before breaking into an astonished grin.

“So it’s true—it really is a pregnancy pulse!”

The two of them rejoiced together, talking excitedly for quite a while.

At last Bai Qiaogui sighed. “Ah, but how unlucky in timing. You’ve just conceived, and Lord Qi’s been sent off to the southwest. Who will look after you now?”

But Xiao Yuanbao was still lost in the wonder of it. He couldn’t stop laying his hand over his stomach—flat though it was. Just knowing that a tiny life had begun there filled him with a fullness of joy beyond words.

From the moment he heard the news, that simple gesture—touching his belly again and again—had already become instinct.

“I do think his timing was poor,” he said at last, smiling. “If I’d known sooner, he would have been so happy. But then again, perhaps it’s for the best. If he knew I was pregnant, he would never have agreed to go to the southwest.”

He laughed softly. “So this little one of mine is already thoughtful—doesn’t want to delay his father’s duties.”

Bai Qiaogui couldn’t help laughing. “Listen to you! You’ve only just found out, and already you’re praising the child. I can only imagine how spoiled it’ll be once born.”

“Loved, yes—but not spoiled,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “I won’t raise a wayward child.”

“Very well, very well. In any case, Lord Qi knows how to raise children—look how well he’s raised you.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s cheeks flushed faintly.

Bai Qiaogui smiled, then grew serious again. “Jests aside—you’re with child now, and Lord Qi’s away. I truly can’t rest easy about that.”

“I’ll be careful,” he promised. He’d never borne a child before, nor seen much of pregnancy up close; he dared not take it lightly. Everything must now revolve around the baby.

“I’ll make proper arrangements.”

When he returned home, he told Jiang Fulang the news.

Jiang was overjoyed—then immediately concerned, since Qi Beinan had just departed. Without hesitation, he packed his things and moved back into the house to watch over Xiao Yuanbao day and night.

Xiao Yuanbao discussed writing home to summon his father.

When they had last parted, Xiao Hu had said that he’d come to the capital as soon as there was a grandchild to dote on. Now that day had come, and with Qi Beinan away in the southwest, there was no reason his father would refuse.

And even if city life bored him, they had already bought land outside the capital, building cottages for the mushroom farmers there. When tired of the bustle, his father could always spend time at their own estate.

The man had always loved tending to fields and soil; now that they had money, Xiao Yuanbao planned to buy a few more plots and build him a small manor to manage—enough to keep him content.

Once his father arrived, Xiao Yuanbao would send another letter to Qi Beinan, telling him the happy news.

By then, with his father in the capital and Gui-jie’er watching over him, everything would be well in hand. Knowing that, Qi Beinan would be able to focus on his duties without worry.

When the letter home was written and sealed, Xiao Yuanbao went to stand by the window.

The moon outside was round and bright.

He felt a deep happiness as he imagined his father’s delight upon reading the letter—but beneath the soft summer wind, there lingered a quiet emptiness.

Anan loved children. They had long dreamed together of having one.

Now that dream had come true—but he was alone in the joy of it.

In his heart, he longed to tell Qi Beinan at once, to share it without delay.

But reason held him back.

The good news was not going anywhere; sooner or later, Anan would know. There was no need to rush.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

In mid-June, the weather was stifling.

After the morning court session, the sun burned high above the palace eaves, and even a faint breeze could not be found.

Today’s audience had lasted far longer than usual. Still, every minister listened with solemn attention.

In the fifth month, the Ministry of Appointments had completed its annual evaluations of all officials and submitted the memorials to the emperor. This day, the emperor personally announced the promotions and demotions.

Many received honors and advancement, while just as many were reprimanded or dismissed.

By the time court was dismissed, Qi Beinan’s legs were stiff from standing so long.

He made his way slowly back to the Hanlin Academy. Three officials in their office had been promoted, and when he arrived, the hall was full of congratulatory laughter.

Qi Beinan offered his own words of felicitation before returning to his desk.

Without realizing it, he had already spent a full year at the Hanlin. His record for the year was solid; among the new scholars, his performance was one of the best.

Yet most of his duties were routine. The few notable cases he had taken part in were temporary assignments to other offices—more as an assistant than an independent official.

Thus, when the results were announced, his rank remained unchanged.

Life in the Hanlin was mild and steady, peaceful enough, yet he knew that at his age he could not afford to drift along without achievements.

To rise, he needed tangible merit—but opportunities for merit were not his to choose.

With so many officials in service, the emperor might never recall his name unless someone spoke for him, and without recommendation, advancement was near impossible.

After work, Qi Beinan rode home in the sweltering carriage. As he turned into their lane, he saw a fine carriage pulling out from his gate.

He recognized it immediately—it was the carriage of Junjun Gu Yanyu.

“Junjun has been here?” he asked upon returning home.

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. “He came by this morning. He invited me to go with him in a few days to offer incense at Little Dragon Hill.”

Qi Beinan wiped the sweat from his brow while Xiao Yuanbao called for water from the kitchen to prepare his bath.

“Little Dragon Hill is shaded with tall trees,” Xiao Yuanbao added. “It’s cooler than the city, and they say one doesn’t even need ice there to feel refreshed.”

As Qi Beinan loosened his official robe, he said, “You two seem to have grown quite close these past couple of months.”

Once, it had always been Gu Yanyu inviting him out for idle amusements. At some point, though, the Junjun himself had begun calling on them in person.

Qi Beinan had once doubted Xiao Yuanbao’s description of Gu Yanyu as “easy-going,” but now it seemed true enough—their friendship had clearly deepened.

“Indeed,” Xiao Yuanbao said cheerfully. “He came early this morning to learn how to make pickled cucumbers from me—said Lin Daren likes that dish. Once he’d mastered it, he hurried home to cook it for him before noon.”

Qi Beinan stared. “He came here to learn cooking for Lin Qingyu?”

“I’ve no reason to make that up,” Xiao Yuanbao replied, amused by his disbelief. “The Junjun can already make several dishes now. He even learned to make fish soup—says Lin Daren taught him.”

Qi Beinan took a long moment to absorb that. Recently, Lin Qingyu had been more talkative than before, and he often left the office earlier. Qi Beinan had thought it was some sign of promotion; who knew it was because life at home had finally turned harmonious.

“They used to be like oil and water,” he said, half in wonder. “How did they make peace?”

Xiao Yuanbao tilted his chin in mock pride. “A man becomes brighter in the company of the good.”

Qi Beinan couldn’t help laughing. “Was it your doing? For someone as proud as the Junjun, to roll up his sleeves and cook—surely that took some persuasion.”

“You misjudge him,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “He cares for Lin Daren deeply. He even asked me how to get along with one’s husband, so I told him how you and I live together. I don’t know exactly what passed between them afterward, but it’s plain enough they’re happier now.”

Xiao Yuanbao was truly glad for Gu Yanyu. He and Lin Qingyu were a golden pair—handsome, talented, and well-matched. It was only right that they should live in harmony. To become resentful spouses wasting each other’s lives would have been a pity.

Qi Beinan looked at Xiao Yuanbao for a long moment, his gaze thoughtful.

Once, his feelings for Xiao Yuanbao had been pure affection—whatever Xiao Yuanbao did, right or wrong, he cherished him without question.

But now, seeing the calm confidence in him, that affection had deepened into admiration.

He took Xiao Yuanbao’s hands and drew him closer.

“What is it?” Xiao Yuanbao asked, looking down at him, his expression puzzled but gentle.

Qi Beinan tilted his head up and smiled. “I think I’m growing fonder of you by the day.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes curved with laughter. “So before, you didn’t love me enough?”

Qi Beinan pulled him into his lap, arms circling his waist. “Then tell me—have I not done well enough?”

Xiao Yuanbao thought for a moment. “Roughly speaking, no faults come to mind. And if I think carefully…” He paused. “Still none.”

Qi Beinan laughed softly. “If I’m so good, shouldn’t I be properly rewarded?”

That morning Xiao Yuanbao had spent his time teaching Gu Yanyu how to make summer pickles. He hadn’t done much else, and, perhaps from skipping his nap, felt a pleasant drowsiness.

He hadn’t meant to indulge Qi Beinan’s teasing, yet he recalled visiting Sister Gui two days ago—her pregnancy was over five months along, her belly already rounding gently. Translated on Hololo novels. Watching her resting in the garden’s shade, he had felt a quiet envy.

Each time he saw her, he found himself sighing, wondering when he and Qi Beinan might have a child of their own.

With that thought in his heart, this time he didn’t refuse him.

When Qi Beinan lifted Xiao Yuanbao into his arms, Xiao Yuanbao clung to his shoulder and murmured, “Don’t make it last too long.”

“There’s nothing else to do. The sun outside is blazing—surely you don’t mean to go out?”

Xiao Yuanbao pressed his lips together. “I just feel a little tired. I want to sleep.”

Qi Beinan chuckled. “That won’t spare you.”

But Xiao Yuanbao hadn’t been bluffing. After a brief while, with the heat of the bed curtains and the steady warmth at his side, he truly drifted off.

Qi Beinan looked down at him—his breathing even and soft.

He pinched the pale, faintly flushed cheek before him. Xiao Yuanbao didn’t even stir, not pretending in the least.

Qi Beinan gave a helpless sigh, bent to kiss his forehead, and stayed where he was, holding him as he too dozed for a while.

Meanwhile, at the Lin residence, Gu Yanyu had hurried home, eager to try his hand in the kitchen.

He made a plate of cool, crisp pickled cucumbers—bright in flavor, tart and refreshing.

Tasting one, he thought it even better than the batch Xiao Yuanbao had praised at the Qi household. Hearing that Lin Qingyu had returned from court, he joyfully took up the dish and went to meet him.

“Ayu! You’re back—I learned a new recipe today, come and try—”

Gu Yanyu came out smiling, but when he saw that Lin Qingyu was not alone, the words caught in his throat. Standing beside him was the stern-faced Duke of Jing. He lowered his head and said softly, “Father.”

The duke stared at the sight before him—his son wearing an apron and carrying a plate of cucumbers—and for a moment didn’t recognize him.

After a long pause, he finally said, “Since when have you learned to cook?”

Gu Yanyu bit his lip. “I was… just trying it for fun.”

Lin Qingyu stepped forward, took the plate from his hands, and gently wiped away a stray cucumber seed from Gu Yanyu’s cheek. “Father-in-law and I have business to discuss. I’ll eat it later.”

Gu Yanyu brightened at once. “All right.”

The Duke of Jing watched the exchange as if seeing an apparition. For a while, he said nothing. Then, glancing at the cucumbers in Lin Qingyu’s hands, he remarked, “I happen to be a little hungry. Business can wait—bring those cucumbers here.”

“I made those for—”

Seeing his father’s gaze, Gu Yanyu quickly closed his mouth.

The Duke remained in the Lin household through supper, talking of nothing at all. When he finally prepared to leave, he called Gu Yanyu’s attendant, Ye Fulang, aside in the garden.

“How have the Junjun and Lin Daren been getting along of late?”

Ye Fulang smiled. “Very well, my lord. The past two months they’ve grown more harmonious than ever. A while back, when Lin Daren had leave, he even took the Junjun to Little Dragon Hill for a day’s stay.”

“When Daren returns from the office, they’re seldom apart,” he added. “Even when he works in the study, the Junjun insists on sitting with him.”

Once, the Duke would have taken such words as a servant’s foolish flattery. But after what he had seen today—how natural their closeness seemed—he could not doubt it.

When they had first married, the two had been distant. He had heard servants whisper that his son was often unhappy, that Lin Qingyu buried himself in work and seldom kept him company.

The match had been the Duke’s own arrangement; it had weighed on his mind to see his son unhappy. Yet since Gu Yanyu had never complained, he could not easily interfere.

Now, at last, it seemed he need not worry.

Still, he asked, curious, “What caused such a change between them?”

Ye Fulang thought for a moment. “Nothing in particular. Only that in the fourth month, the Junjun tried to make soup for Lin Daren, burned his hand, and from that day, things improved.”

The Duke of Jing understood his son’s temperament too well. For him to enter the kitchen—much less burn himself doing so—was no small matter.

“Has the Junjun been seeing anyone new lately?” he asked.

“No one unfamiliar,” Ye Fulang replied. “Only those he used to visit. Though early this year, at a banquet in the Ren residence, he met Qi Daren’s husband, Xiao Yuanbao. They’ve become close. In fact, today the Junjun went to the Qi household to learn that dish from him.”

“Qi Daren,” the Duke mused. “The one who serves in the same bureau as Lin Daren?”

“Yes, my lord. They were top scholars of the same examination year.”

“The family of the Qi who took third place, then—the tanhua?”

“Exactly so,” said Ye Fulang. “Qi Daren and his husband are deeply devoted. The Junjun, I think, was influenced by their example.”

The Duke nodded slowly. “I see.” After a pause, he added, “Serve your master well, and you’ll not go unrewarded. If anything important happens, send word to the Duke’s manor. Don’t hide matters.”

After leaving these instructions, he departed.

Days later—

“Private salt trade in Yuanping has grown rampant,” someone murmured as the court dispersed. “His Majesty was furious today—half the officials present were reprimanded.”

“It’s been festering for years,” another replied.

The ministers left with dark faces, few daring to speak.

Qi Beinan and Jiang Tangyuan left the palace together, whispering quietly as they walked.

“Looks like His Majesty means to take real action over the salt trade this time,” Jiang Tangyuan said.

Qi Beinan let out a slow breath.

In the southwest, corruption between officials and merchants had driven the price of salt sky-high. A single jin now cost several strings of cash; ordinary people could hardly afford their daily supply.

By the look of things, the emperor would soon appoint the Duke of Jing as Imperial Censor of Salt Affairs—to set things right.

In earlier years, when Qi Beinan had been serving in the provinces, he had happened to work under the Duke of Jing on salt administration. The duke had taken notice of his diligence and promoted him, setting him on the path of steady advancement.

Now, the salt issue had resurfaced—but the circumstances were no longer the same.

Qi Beinan wished to join the effort again, not merely for ambition’s sake, but because he knew how much the people of the southwest suffered under the corruption of the private salt trade. He could not, in good conscience, look away.

Still, he wondered how he might reestablish ties with the Duke of Jing—how to make himself useful enough to be brought into the affair.

Within days, the emperor indeed announced in court that the rampant salt smuggling in the southwest must be investigated. The Duke of Jing was appointed Imperial Censor of Salt Affairs, tasked with handling the matter and selecting capable assistants.

The duke’s first recommendation was his own son-in-law, Lin Qingyu.

That was expected. Lin Qingyu’s talent and composure were widely acknowledged; even had he not been the duke’s son-in-law, such a recommendation would have been deserved. None could object.

The emperor gave his assent.

“Furthermore,” the Duke said, “the task of auditing and accounting requires someone meticulous and steady. In the Hanlin Academy, Compiler Qi Beinan ranked top in last month’s evaluation. His previous work assisting the Ministry of Works on the night market project was well-executed. This minister believes he is a man of ability, fit for the assignment.”

Qi Beinan was taken aback to hear his name.

“Minister Qi,” the emperor said, his tone composed, “would you be willing to accompany the Duke to the southwest and assist in the salt administration?”

The moment he heard the emperor’s voice, Qi Beinan knew for certain—he had indeed been recommended by the Duke himself.

He stepped forward at once, raising his court tablet. “Your servant will, of course, do his utmost for the realm.”

After court, Qi Beinan saw the Duke of Jing leaving for his carriage and hurried forward to offer thanks. “Your Excellency, I am deeply grateful for your recommendation.”

The duke smiled. “You are a capable man. My intent in naming you is only that the southwest salt affair might be handled well. The matter is tangled and far-reaching—see that you devote your full effort to it.”

“I will, without fail,” Qi Beinan said.

Still, he could not quite discern the duke’s reasoning. By talent alone, there were many in court more accomplished than he. Why choose him?

Perhaps, he thought, Lin Qingyu had spoken a word on his behalf—but that didn’t quite suit Lin Qingyu’s temperament.

Perplexed, he brought the question to Lin Qingyu later that day.

“It was not by my doing,” Lin Qingyu said. “The Duke chose you himself.”

“I’ve had no dealings with him,” Qi Beinan said, frowning slightly.

Lin Qingyu put aside his papers, looked around to ensure they were alone, and then said quietly, “My father is… quite pleased with how the Junjun gets along with your husband.”

He left it at that.

Qi Beinan understood immediately.

He was silent for a moment, then broke into laughter.

Outside the window, the late June sun gleamed bright across the glazed roof tiles, scattering light like ripples.

Qi Beinan sat amid a pile of scrolls, momentarily dazed. A rare breeze lifted the edge of his robe; the air smelled dry and sun-warmed.

Who would have thought that one day he, too, would owe his rise in part to his little Xiao Bao?

The feeling in his heart was hard to name—surprise, quiet joy, and, most of all, a kind of tender pride.

The fledgling he had once shielded beneath his wing had grown strong enough to soar across mountains on his own.

He thought to himself that the June sky had never been so clear.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

“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.”

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

The restaurant’s revenue rose steadily—from sixty-three taels in the first lunar month to ninety-eight in the second, and then to a hundred and twenty in the third.

By mid-April, only half the month gone, the ledger already showed eighty taels.

Xiao Yuanbao ran a quick calculation. Apart from losing a little over ten taels in the first month after opening, the profits of the following two months had already covered that loss, leaving a surplus of fifty to sixty taels.

If business held steady, in another year or so they could recover the full investment.

Seeing Changchun Lou prosper so, both Xiao Yuanbao and Bai Qiaogui were delighted.

“Only, with few patrons dining in the hall, it’s hard to build connections that might later help you open the medical clinic,” Xiao Yuanbao said.

The shop was clearly thriving, but the dine-in trade still lagged behind other restaurants; only the food delivery orders were brisk.

Most who ate in the hall were ordinary townsfolk—middle-aged couples who cared little for gossip. They often ordered dishes and then went upstairs to the private rooms, where the female physician would take their pulse.

Business was neither empty nor bustling.

Bai Qiaogui said, “Now that things have settled, there’s no rush. Once the trade steadies, we can begin promoting individualized medicinal meals based on pulse diagnoses.

“If guests can have their pulses read and their condition understood, the food can be tailored to their needs, giving better results—and the process will help us build connections.”

Xiao Yuanbao thought that sounded sound. “Once the invested silver is earned back in a year or so, and you’ve built your network, you can open your clinic in peace.”

Bai Qiaogui nodded, then said a little shyly, “During this year or so, I’ll trouble you to keep a closer eye on the restaurant.”

“Don’t worry. It’s our joint business—I’ll naturally…”

He began to assure her, but then frowned, sensing something amiss, and turned toward her. “Why are you saying this all of a sudden?”

Bai Qiaogui pressed her lips together in a smile, meaning to tease him, but could not hold it in and said, “These past days I’ve felt something different in my body. This morning I was sure—I’m with child.”

Xiao Yuanbao blinked. “With what?”

She laughed even harder and scolded, “Has the abacus rattled your wits? What else can come of marriage between man and woman?”

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes widened in joy. “You’re having a baby!”

Bai Qiaogui nodded, one hand resting on her still-flat belly.

She and Luo Tingfeng had been married nearly two years. The coming of this child filled them both with happiness.

Their days were smooth now—a perfect time for pregnancy.

Xiao Yuanbao quickly helped her sit down carefully. “Come, sit here. You’re precious now. Don’t worry about the shop; just be the hands-off owner. What matters most is bringing this child safely into the world.”

Bai Qiaogui laughed. “It’s only been a month or two—such a tiny thing, yet you’re fussing already. What will you be like when I’m truly round-bellied?”

Her words made Xiao Yuanbao smile all the more; life, he thought, was growing fuller by the day.

Later that evening, Qi Beinan returned from the yamen.

That day the palace was holding the imperial beauty selection; the ceremony was grand enough that even in the outer offices the sound of court music could be heard. Translated on Hololo novels.

Six new consorts had been chosen, filling the harem once again.

By mid-April, the provincial autumn examinations were approaching, and the Hanlin Academy was busier than ever.

Qi Beinan reflected on how swiftly time passed—it had already been three years since he had taken his own provincial exam.

“Old Qi, any plans for your rest day in two days?”

Qi Beinan was packing his scrolls when Ren Heng called to him from the doorway.

“What, are you inviting me to drink?”

Ren Heng grinned. “You’ve never been much of a drinker, yet always speak of wine. The garden at my estate is in bloom—bring your husband when you come to admire the flowers.”

Then he glanced at Lin Qingyu, still at his desk. “Old Lin, bring the Junjun too. It’s my birthday.”

Knowing Lin Qingyu’s temperament, he repeated the last word for emphasis. Lin Qingyu could not very well refuse and agreed.

When Qi Beinan returned home, the family carriage was already at the gate, and to his surprise Xiao Yuanbao was still in.

Crossing into the garden, he saw him at a desk writing.

“You’re back,” Xiao Yuanbao said, setting down his brush and rising.

“Mm.” Qi Beinan lifted the teacup his husband had left half-full and finished it. “Writing to whom?”

“Xin-ge’er. Business at the restaurant’s going well, so I’m sending a letter of thanks—and telling him that Gui-jie has conceived.”

Qi Beinan set down the cup. “Lord Luo and Madam Bai are expecting?”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled.

“That is joyous news indeed. No wonder Lord Luo’s carriage has been racing of late. I’ve seen him at the palace gates a few times—he used to linger about, but now he’s gone in a flash.”

“They’re careful—it’s their first child,” Xiao Yuanbao said.

After handing Qi Beinan his robe, Xiao Yuanbao let out a long sigh.

He sat beside him, rubbing his stomach. “We’ve been married quite a while now, yet the only thing in my belly is still the pork knuckle I ate at noon.”

Qi Beinan found his sulking amusing. “Perhaps I simply haven’t worked hard enough then.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s face flushed; he shoved him lightly. “Nonsense.”

Qi Beinan slipped an arm around his shoulders. “They were married nearly two years before their child came. We’ve only just passed one—it’s not time to fret.”

“So you mean to wait until you’re over thirty to be a father?” Xiao Yuanbao raised his brow.

Qi Beinan frowned. “Do I seem that old?”

Xiao Yuanbao broke into laughter.

Qi Beinan pinched his waist in mock reproof, drawing a hiss from him.

“Come to think of it,” Qi Beinan said, “Guangzong’s letter back in the first month said his wedding with Tangyuan is set for June. It’s not far off now.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. “Yes. Tangyuan’s so busy preparing for the marriage he hardly writes me anymore.”

Qi Beinan fell silent a moment. That mattered little.

He recalled teasing Zhao Guangzong once, saying by the time his child was running about the courtyard, he’d still be unmarried. Yet now, it seemed, the man hadn’t been so late after all—he might even become a father before Qi Beinan did.

He turned to Xiao Yuanbao. “True, children can’t be forced before their time. But one must still put in the effort, don’t you think?”

The tips of Xiao Yuanbao’s ears went red, though he could not deny the logic.

The official robes fell away; there was no hurry to dress again in ordinary ones.

Two days later, Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao went together to the Ren residence for a banquet.

It was not a grand celebration—Ren Heng’s birthday, small but lively.

They arrived dressed properly, and already several carriages lined the gate.

Peeking through the curtain, Xiao Yuanbao said, “For such a minor birthday, the Ren household certainly draws a crowd.”

Qi Beinan smiled. “It’s only a meal. If you tire of it, send Hongtang to tell me, and we’ll leave early.”

Xiao Yuanbao no longer feared gatherings like he once had, yet most of the guests today would be strangers, and he had no taste for idle social climbing. It promised to be dull.

He nodded. “All right.”

As they stepped through the gates, Ren Heng himself came hurrying out.

The birthday celebrant was splendidly dressed, moving with the quick lightness of good humor. “At last! You two finally arrive—Old Lin’s already ahead of you.”

Qi Beinan said, “Lin Daren lives closer to here. Seems we’re not late after all.”

Ren Heng shook his head with a laugh, unwilling to argue.

Then, with a sweep of his wide sleeves, he spun once before them. “Well? Do I not dazzle today?”

Qi Beinan gave him a helpless look. “Are you going to let your guests in or not?”

Xiao Yuanbao used the moment to offer his greeting. “Many happy returns, Ren Daren.”

Ren Heng sobered, smiling with courtesy. “My thanks. Please, come through the garden—the blossoms are at their peak.”

He called for attendants to lead them in.

They had taken only a few steps when the sound of a grand carriage procession reached them from the street. Both paused and turned.

A magnificent coach drawn by four horses was arriving, eight attendants following on foot.

It was the first time Xiao Yuanbao had seen such an impressive display, and curiosity flickered across his face.

Moments later, the coach halted smoothly.

Ren Heng went forward quickly to greet the guest.

From the carriage emerged a young lady of sixteen or seventeen, round-faced and bright-eyed, graceful yet lively.

“Your Highness honors my humble home,” Ren Heng said with exaggerated deference. “This lowly official is blessed beyond measure.”

She cast him a sidelong look. “You invited me yourself—must you pretend surprise?”

It was Princess Changping. She stepped down and asked, “Have you prepared my favorite butterfly pastries?”

“Of course,” Ren Heng said with a grin.

Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao, not wishing to intrude, turned instead toward the garden.

“I’ve never seen the princess before,” Xiao Yuanbao whispered.

“That’s the Third Princess, Changping,” Qi Beinan told him softly. “Her mother is the Empress herself. She’s of high rank, and the Emperor dotes on her.”

“Ren Daren seems quite familiar with her.”

Qi Beinan nodded. “He once served in the palace as study companion to the Crown Prince. The princess and prince share the same mother—they grew up together. Their bond runs deep.”

Xiao Yuanbao drew in a quiet breath. He had known the Ren family’s standing was high, but not this high.

Qi Beinan smiled faintly. Of the three top scholars from their examination year, Ren Heng, Lin Qingyu, and himself, it was Ren Heng who had learned best how to live.

In talent they had been equals; Ren Heng might appear carefree, but his learning had been unmatched. Otherwise, he would never have ranked as second scholar in the very first sitting.

That he had not risen to greater heights in court was no fault of ability—merely that his ambitions lay elsewhere.

The Ren family had three sons; Ren Heng was the youngest. With two elder brothers shouldering the family’s responsibilities, he bore no burden of inheritance. Blessed with talent and leisure, he lived freely and as he pleased.

From an early age he had set his sights on marrying a princess and becoming an imperial son-in-law, caring little for the weight of court affairs.

In those earlier years, Qi Beinan had grand ambitions, and to him, men like Ren Heng seemed frivolous—too content to drift through life. Their paths were different, and thus their friendship never grew deep; Qi Beinan had always admired Lin Qingyu more.

Yet decades later, when the three former top scholars of their examination year met again over wine, their lives—and hearts—had all changed beyond recognition.

At thirty, Qi Beinan had lost his husband and lived thereafter alone, devoting himself to service across the provinces, his temples soon silvered with toil and wind.

Lin Qingyu fared little better. His marriage to Junjun Gu Yanyu was distant and strained. Though they had a son, they quarreled often over how to raise him, and Lin Qingyu lived long under the Duke of Jingguo’s strict control and pressure. His brow never quite lost its weight of worry.

Both men, in their later years, carried the air of weariness.

Only Ren Heng remained serene and content, his face kindly and his spirit youthful—looking easily ten years younger than the others.

He and Princess Changping shared a harmonious marriage; together they had accompanied the Emperor on tours through Jiangnan, traveling and enjoying the world’s pleasures. They had several children, all well raised.

“This way, gentlemen to the men’s garden, ladies and family to the inner one,” the servant guiding them said politely.

Xiao Yuanbao exchanged a glance with Qi Beinan; the two nodded and parted, entering separate courtyards.

As soon as Xiao Yuanbao stepped into the garden, a sweet fragrance met him. Looking around, he saw the vast courtyard filled entirely with blooming peonies—large and lush, radiant with color. The sight alone lifted the heart.

Within, family guests were scattered about, each at their own amusement—some chatting in groups, some admiring the blossoms, some feeding fish by the golden pond.

A stage had been set up at the center, and an opera was in full flourish. Tables and chairs stood nearby, tea served to the guests.

Xiao Yuanbao thought to watch a while, then join the banquet when it began.

“That seems to be the Xiao Fulang I saw at Little Dragon Hill the other day,” said Gu Yanyu from a shaded pavilion where he sat viewing the flowers. His gaze had fallen on the figure seated by the stage; the face seemed familiar, and he asked the servant beside him.

“Yes, Junjun. Lord Qi and Lord Ren serve in the same office—it’s likely both were invited.”

Gu Yanyu was quiet a moment. He placed a salted plum in his mouth and said nothing.

His attendant, Ye Fulang, seeing him distracted, asked softly, “I heard Princess Changping has arrived. Would Junjun care to go greet her? There’s still time before the meal begins.”

Gu Yanyu replied, “She’ll have no lack of company. The princess delights in teasing me—I’d rather not offer her another chance. I’ll greet her later at table.”

Ye Fulang inclined his head.

After a pause, Gu Yanyu said, “Go and invite Lord Qi’s husband over to talk with me.”

Ye Fulang hesitated. “I heard he’s from a small county town. I don’t know if Junjun will find him much of a conversational match.”

Gu Yanyu smiled faintly. “There’s only one way to know—by speaking first.”

Thus Ye Fulang went as instructed.

Xiao Yuanbao, absorbed in the opera, looked up when a gray-haired gentleman approached, saying that his master, Junjun Gu, wished to speak with him.

Following the man’s gaze, he saw Gu Yanyu seated at a pavilion, composed and elegant, surrounded by blooming peonies. When their eyes met, Gu Yanyu inclined his head in gentle greeting.

Had Xiao Yuanbao noticed him upon entering, he would have already paid his respects. It was unexpected that such a refined, reserved figure would take the initiative to invite him over.

“Junjun,” Xiao Yuanbao greeted respectfully, bowing properly.

“No need for formality,” Gu Yanyu said with a faint smile. “When I glimpsed you at Little Dragon Hill, I felt a sense of familiarity. Seeing you again today, I couldn’t resist asking you over for a word.”

He gestured for Xiao Yuanbao to sit beside him.

“The weather has turned warm,” Gu Yanyu continued. “I seldom see you outside these days. How do you pass your time at home?”

“I spend most days quietly,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “If not reading a few light books, then making a bowl of soup or two. My hands are slow, but the hours pass easily enough.”

Gu Yanyu looked a little surprised that he could read. “A fine way to keep occupied. What sort of books do you enjoy?”

“I’ve little talent for the classics, to tell the truth. You’ll laugh, Junjun—I rarely read poetry or histories, preferring miscellaneous works.”

Gu Yanyu’s eyes lit slightly, as if he had found a kindred thought. “Ah, you like miscellaneous writings too? Do you read plays? Which playwright do you favor?”

Ye Fulang, alarmed, gave his master’s sleeve a discreet tug.

Gu Yanyu’s brow moved—realizing his misstep, he fell silent.

Xiao Yuanbao, too, was caught off guard. By “miscellaneous books,” he had meant medical texts—material for studying dietary therapy. But such things were better left unsaid; he could hardly reveal he was engaged in trade.

It was safest to claim an interest in poetry, though one could never predict whether the other might press further and expose his lack of refinement.

Still, he had not expected the stately Junjun Gu to ask such a question at all.

Anyone with half a mind could tell that Gu Yanyu truly enjoyed opera tales.

Xiao Yuanbao, having rarely conversed with someone of such high standing, had always imagined that nobles like him preferred only the most elegant pastimes. It surprised him that Gu Yanyu delighted in such stories.

He smiled a little. “I do read them now and then, but lately I’ve found the newer plays less to my taste. It’s the older ones that still seem well written.”

Lowering his voice, he added, “I like stories of perseverance and happy endings—the kind where a tofu-seller’s wife builds her fortune, or a husband disguises himself as a man to travel and heal the sick. But these days the market is flooded with tales of poor scholars and wealthy maidens. The plots repeat themselves, all a bit trite. Or else it’s about celestial maidens descending to wed mortals—so much drama, yet all the same. I’m not fond of those.”

Gu Yanyu laughed softly, drawing a little closer. “You’re quite right. I’m tired of those too. Lately I’ve been reading a couple of plays about frail scholars and their capable, spirited husbands—much more amusing.”

Ye Fulang, seeing the two of them leaning close and chatting about such undignified tastes, frowned deeply. He dared not interrupt for fear of annoying Gu Yanyu and causing another sulk that would end with him refusing dinner again, so he could only glance around anxiously, making sure no one nearby overheard.

The two talked for quite some time, and when the call for the banquet came, Gu Yanyu was still reluctant to part. He kept Xiao Yuanbao by his side and even had him seated together at the main table.

Among the noble ladies and gentlemen, Xiao Yuanbao’s face was an unfamiliar one. At such high-born gatherings, every seat was arranged by rank and intimacy. Originally seated midway down the hall, he found himself brought to the front by Gu Yanyu’s invitation, drawing many curious looks.

“Whose husband is that? I’ve never seen him before—how did he grow so close with the Junjun?”

“His lord is Qi Daren, the newly appointed Hanlin scholar—the last imperial examination’s Tanhua.”

“Oh, I thought he was from some old family. Turns out he’s just an official’s husband. Small households like that know how to curry favor—see how quickly he’s latched onto the Junjun.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s senses were sharp; of course he noticed the glances falling on him, the murmured whispers. He didn’t need to hear the words to know they weren’t kind.

If this had been in his first months in the capital, he might have sat stiff with unease, heart fluttering with anxiety, too conscious of others’ judgment.

But now, his heart was calm.

He had done nothing shameful, sought no one’s favor, and provoked no one. If the Junjun chose to speak with him, who could fault him for it?

So Xiao Yuanbao carried himself with poise, eating and conversing as he would anywhere else.

His composure, in turn, drew the curiosity of several officials’ wives, who came over to exchange a few words with him.

When the feast finally ended, he stayed to play a few rounds of pitch-pot with Gu Yanyu before a servant came from Qi Beinan’s side, quietly reminding him it was time to leave.

Only then did Xiao Yuanbao take his leave and return home.

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