Author Archives: Thingyan

Ch 129: Guide to Running a Shop in Another World II

Lu Yao suddenly had an idea. She instructed the little black dragon to retreat a bit, creating some distance.

From her portable storage, she retrieved a voice-transmission talisman.

In the internet café’s lounge, the gaming team staff noticed a faint glow from the talisman on the table and called out to Shi Yan: “Boss, Cheng Ye’s stone is glowing.”

When the crowd began to grow restless earlier, Cheng Ye and the other staff had gone to calm the guests, leaving the talisman behind on the table.

The gaming team had seen it a few times before and knew it functioned like items in Tales of the Six Realms. However, they had never actually used it.

Shi Yan leaned over, picked up the talisman, and fiddled with it. By chance, he triggered something, and Lu Yao’s voice emerged: “Who’s there?”

Shi Yan recognized her voice. “…It’s me, Shi Yan.”

Lu Yao: “Is it just your team in the store?”

Shi Yan: “Who do you need? I’ll contact them for you.”

Lu Yao: “Find my staff and tell Xiao Ji to bring Alfred’s core body from the Childhood Tutoring Center. Also, have someone check if the doors are functioning properly.”

At this point, the teams in the finals were still inside their illusions. Shi Yan’s group, tasked with maintaining the programs in the lounge, had heard rumors about the trouble on Floating World Continent but didn’t grasp the severity.

Hearing Lu Yao’s request, Shi Yan immediately reported: “The ghost gate and the devil gate in the café seem to be malfunctioning. They’re not working.”

Lu Yao: “I suspected as much. The contestants and audience at the Celestial-Demon Conference are all trapped on Baixian Mountain. Please confirm whether the main entrance is operating normally, and get Xiao Ji to deliver Alfred.”

Baixian Mountain had been isolated by malevolent energy. The teleportation points were offline, leaving the demons, devils, humans, and cultivators stranded. But the stargate might still work.

Shi Yan stood up to head outside, but couldn’t help asking: “What’s happening out there?”

Lu Yao: “Imagine an event raid boss suddenly spawning. The boss’s location is in the physical realm—it’s a bit troublesome. We need to quickly figure out the optimal strategy to take it down.”

Shi Yan thought it sounded dire but still couldn’t picture the scene Lu Yao was describing.

When he reached the entrance and looked up, he froze. The sky was dominated by the phantom of the Evil God, and a massive dragon-like creature was engaged in battle overhead. The voice-transmission talisman almost slipped from his hand.

Shi Yan: “…Where are you?”

Lu Yao: “I’m on the dragon’s back. The little black dragon is Harold.”

Shi Yan: “…”

A surreal moment of breaking the fourth wall. The anime enthusiast Shi Yan felt as though his worldview had been completely reshaped.

Lu Yao, however, was under too much pressure to address Shi Yan’s shock. “Go through the stargate. Don’t bring anything from the café, and don’t drop the talisman. If the stargate still works, send Zhixin here to manage the café for me.”

Shi Yan, influenced by the owner’s calm and matter-of-fact tone, felt a strange sense of involvement. He quickly followed her instructions.

The main entrance was unaffected and operated normally.

Shi Yan relayed Lu Yao’s orders in the group chat on his phone.

Within five minutes, Xiao Ji and Ji Zhixin arrived at the café, accompanied by Budu.

Ji Zhixin used the voice-transmission talisman to contact Lu Yao. Alfred had already been delivered.

Lu Yao patted the little black dragon. “Let’s return to the café and pick up Alfred.”

Alfred, as an artificial intelligence, wasn’t a living being and wouldn’t be affected by the door restrictions.

The massive black dragon, towering like a small mountain, descended rapidly. At a height of ten meters from the ground, it dove, its enormous wings generating fierce winds that knocked nearby onlookers off balance.

The little black dragon shifted into his human form, holding Lu Yao as they gently landed at the café entrance.

The surrounding crowd watched in stunned silence as the massive dragon transformed into a young man with a high ponytail. No wonder he was so powerful.

Lu Yao quickly walked to the entrance, took Alfred from Xiao Ji, and instructed him to immediately procure food from other worlds.

Among the more than six thousand guests trapped on Baixian Mountain, about one-sixth were humans, with demons and devils also requiring a small amount of sustenance.

If this was part of the Evil God’s strategy, the café at least needed to ensure that no guests starved or died of thirst before the Evil God was defeated and sealed.

After Xiao Ji left, Lu Yao beckoned to Ji Zhixin, handing him a Regulation Rod about the size of a folding knife. “This is part of me. Keep it with you. While I’m not in the café, you’ll be in charge. Find Cheng Ye and Xiao Zhong, and have them open the Heavenly Ladder. Later, people will enter for training.”

Having experienced Lu Yao’s absence once before, the staff had improved in managing things independently.

This time, with Lu Yao still present, Ji Zhixin solemnly accepted the Regulation Rod and turned to leave.

Lu Yao then called Budu over. When the little one approached, she crouched down and said earnestly, “They’re all ordinary people. While I’m away, if anyone causes trouble, I’ll leave it to you.”

Budu was worried about the situation outside but couldn’t stop Lu Yao. He pursed his lips and nodded.

At the doorway, Budu couldn’t help but call out, “Mother, be careful.”

“Mm, don’t worry,” Lu Yao replied.

With the café affairs in order, Lu Yao carried Alfred and headed out. At the entrance, she ran into Xiong An’an, who was returning with Xiong Pingping on his back, with Qiuyu beside him.

Xiong An’an, now in his beast form, carried the unconscious Xiong Pingping effortlessly. His beast form had grown several times larger after his cultivation soared.

“Lu Yao, Lu Yao, my sister passed out!” the little bear demon cried.

A ghost official walking by glanced over. “Her soul has left her body. That’s why she hasn’t woken up. The people unconscious at the mountain’s base are all like this.”

Xiong An’an panicked. “Why would this happen?”

The ghost official looked up at the sky. “It’s likely part of the Evil God’s ploy. The malevolent energy shrouding Baixian Mountain traps us. Sooner or later, we’ll end up the same.”

Xiong An’an asked anxiously, “Can my sister wake up?”

The ghost official replied, “If her soul remains separated for seven days, she cannot return. But within seven days, there’s still hope.”

Xiong An’an carried Xiong Pingping back to the café and then dashed out again. “Lu Yao, I want to fight the Evil God. I need to save my sister!”

Qiuyu stood silently nearby, lost in thought, saying nothing.

Lu Yao told them calmly, “Don’t rush. Find a team and train on the Heavenly Ladder first. Wait for my signal before coming out.”

Harold, gazing at the sky, urged, “Lu Yao, hurry. Those people won’t hold out much longer.”

Without waiting for the little bear demon’s response, Lu Yao and Harold returned to the battlefield. “Alfred, analyze the Evil God and collect combat data.”

Alfred, who usually looked like a figurine, opened his eyes, flapped his tiny wings, and flew off.

The teams that had formed earlier were trying to attack the Evil God by flying on swords, using artifacts, or relying on winged spiritual pets. So far, their efforts were no better than scratching an itch.

When they saw the café owner return and release a small dragon resembling Harold, they couldn’t fathom her intent.

The battlefront stretched long, leaving little opportunity for communication.

However, the Evil God noticed Lu Yao’s reappearance and shifted her focus to attacking her.

With Zeyuan and Harold protecting Lu Yao, the others gained a brief reprieve.

After about fifteen minutes, Alfred returned to Lu Yao, carrying a piece of bloody flesh stripped from the Evil God’s phantom.

Lu Yao took it and compressed it into the shape of a key.

Alfred then flew back to the café with the key, where Ji Zhixin caught it at the entrance.

Twenty minutes later, two red and blue bars appeared above the Evil God’s phantom in the sky over Baixian Mountain.

The café staff, holding a megaphone at the entrance, broadcasted: “The optimal team configuration for Stage One of the Evil God raid has been determined. Guests can check their desktop for details.”

The crowd gathered at the internet café entrance, forming teams, turned their heads upon hearing the announcement.

First stage?

Does that mean there’s a second stage?

Wait, is the Evil God actually beatable?

Though they were preparing to form teams, no one present held much hope of defeating the Evil God.

Yet the café seemed far more optimistic, even providing a strategy guide.

But would such a guide really work?

The Evil God was something none of their generation had ever encountered—there weren’t even any credible accounts.

The broadcast continued:

“The Heavenly Ladder dungeon will open in fifteen minutes. Guests with accounts who meet the requirements may log in and wait.”

???

The Heavenly Ladder was supposed to be exclusive to the winners of the Celestial-Demon Conference.

Adjusting the rules due to the Evil God’s appearance was understandable, but it still felt like a bitter pill to swallow, especially after so many days of anticipating the conference results.

The broadcast continued:

“The owner has asked us to inform all players that the café acquired a Mustard Seed Realm two days ago. After the Evil God raid concludes, the café will launch the True Heavenly Ladder as a reward for the Celestial-Demon Conference winners. This adjustment to the rewards is an unavoidable decision, and we hope for your understanding.”

!!!

A Mustard Seed?

The café owner’s luck seemed unbelievable.

With this explanation, the dissatisfaction faded. Instead, guests began envying the conference winners and rushed to the counter to log in, check the strategy guides, or wait to enter the Heavenly Ladder.

Even cultivators, demons, and devils without game accounts crowded around the computers to study the guides and form teams according to the recommendations.

The strategy guide didn’t offer just one team configuration. There were numerous flexible options, but every lineup required a mix of different races.

With the Evil God at large, and experience from forming teams during the Celestial-Demon Conference, the six races trapped on Baixian Mountain finally began to work together.

Inside the lounge, the ongoing arguments remained heated, but outside, people were already organizing themselves to attack the Evil God.

Lu Yao released shadow butterflies and a long-unused miniature livestream dragonfly, capturing the battle from all angles and broadcasting it on the café’s third-floor screens.

The majority of mortal spectators, unable to contribute directly, stayed in their seats, watching the livestream to ease their anxiety.

As they gained a clearer understanding of the situation outside, they calmed down and stopped demanding to leave.

The high-ranking representatives in the lounge finally heard about the developments outside and rushed out. Seeing the six races forming teams and attacking the Evil God in an orderly manner, they realized there was no need for their leadership or decisions.

The café’s strategy guide proved effective, and with the Heavenly Ladder as a training ground, the Evil God’s health bar had been chipped down to roughly the size of a human pinky fingertip after an hour.

By the afternoon, the Celestial-Demon Conference officially ended. As the contestants emerged from the competition rooms, they found the world outside drastically changed. Barely recovered from the tournament’s exhaustion, they immediately gathered their teammates to join the fight against the Evil God.

Experienced players who had tackled game dungeons understood well—final bosses guarding events always had despair-inducing health bars. Even with the entire server working together, it could take days.

…

In the blink of an eye, three days passed. The Evil God’s health bar had been reduced by four-fifths. Jizhuang, who had been protecting Yu Yao, had long since perished from exhaustion.

Seeing victory within reach, everyone encouraged each other to push through one final time.

The Yu Yao within the Evil God’s phantom went berserk, her attack power doubling as she blasted everyone nearby and directed her assaults toward Zeyuan and Lu Yao.

Zeyuan leapt forward, shielding Lu Yao from every blade aimed at her like an unyielding wall.

Despite numerous attacks from the Evil God’s phantom, it couldn’t even graze the hem of Lu Yao’s clothes.

She suddenly raised her hand and removed the pendant from her neck. Her fingers formed a seal, and the golden lotus pendant slowly unfolded, transforming into a golden lotus flower.

Yu Yao’s expression grew distant. “Zeyuan, this is the memory I stole from your dream eight hundred years ago.”

Zeyuan stared at the golden lotus in her hand, a hint of confusion in his eyes.

Yu Yao extended her hand. “Eight hundred years ago, I was nothing more than a heartless, emotionless lotus by the Jade Pool. I accidentally entered your dream, developed an obsession, and ended up in this sorry state. If I could do it all over again, I’d wish never to have met you. To end this, I’m returning it to you, exactly as it was.”

Zeyuan gazed at the golden lotus, lost in thought.

Lu Yao frowned and flew over to block Zeyuan. “Something feels off. Don’t act rashly.”

Yu Yao smiled faintly and pinched the golden lotus stem between her fingers, aiming it at Lu Yao’s back.

The little black dragon was immobilized, unable to move or even make a sound.

Zeyuan snapped out of it, catching Lu Yao with one arm while using his other hand to grab the sharp stem of the golden lotus.

The moment the stem touched his fingers, it dissolved into a fine mist, merging into his body like water. Memories surged through him like a tidal wave.

“…Don’t follow me.”

“…Thank you.”

“Hey, come here for a moment.”

“Lu Mingxiao, Lu Yao.”

“Lu Mingxiao, I like you.”

“You like me? Hm? You don’t like me?”

“Lu Mingxiao, I want to see the snow on Qianmen Mountain.”

“…I like you the most.”

“…Lu Mingxiao, I’m sorry.”

“…Among the Six Realms, I like you the most.”

“…I’m fond of you.”

Cold sweat trickled down as Zeyuan raised a hand to support his forehead.

He remembered everything.

Originally, as long as he followed the plan, completing the tasks in each world, his wish would be granted.

Everything had been going smoothly…

Until he accidentally forgot her—and spoke aloud the words that should never have been uttered.

“Zeyuan, Zeyuan. Zeyuan!”

He returned to his senses, seeing Lu Yao’s worried face.

Lowering his gaze, he suppressed the turmoil within and gently touched her face. “Do you have an arrow?”

Lu Yao frowned. “What did you remember?”

Zeyuan didn’t deny it and replied steadily, “It’s just an Evil God. I’ll restrain it shortly. When I do, you shoot that arrow at its heart.”

“An arrow for slaying gods?”

“Yes. It won’t kill the Evil God but will weaken it. Then the Celestials can seal it, and this will be over.”

After speaking, he leaned forward slightly, pressing his forehead lightly against hers, his crimson eyes glimmering. “Among the Six Realms, I despise you most.”

Lu Yao: “…”

Before she could react, Zeyuan turned swiftly. His ink-black hair transformed into silver in an instant, like moonlight, and his armor became a black robe of god-slaying power.

Without any visible movement, five pitch-black chains shot out from the clouds, locking the Evil God phantom’s limbs and neck.

The little black dragon’s restraint was lifted as well.

Lu Yao called for Qiuyu.

The small demon dragon, who had yet to join the battle, flew to her side and glanced back at the Evil God phantom.

“What’s wrong?” Lu Yao asked.

Qiuyu’s eyes were filled with inner turmoil. “It’s calling to me, telling me to return.”

Ever since the Evil God awakened, a voice had echoed in Qiuyu’s mind, urging her to return to its side. It felt as though they had always been together through millennia and that she was simply returning to her rightful master.

Lu Yao’s gaze remained calm. “Do you want to go back?”

Qiuyu turned to her in surprise, her face full of conflict. “What…do you hope I’ll do?”

Lu Yao shook her head. “What I want doesn’t matter. What matters is what you think. Qiuyu, do you have your own thoughts? To break your shell, you chose to fall into demonhood and wandered the human world for a thousand years. Little demon dragon, do you truly wish to bow beneath the Evil God’s feet?”

Qiuyu shook her head hard, the hesitation in her eyes fading as resolve replaced it. “Lu Yao, call my name.”

“Qiuyu.” Lu Yao held the golden Qiuyu bow in one hand and drew the God-Slaying Arrow from her portable storage with the other. She nocked the arrow, aimed it at the Evil God phantom not far away, and commanded, “All groups, provide cover. Celestial team, prepare to seal.”

The arrow shot off the bowstring with the force of thunder, shattering the Evil God phantom and striking Yu Yao directly.

Sixteen golden chains burst forth from the arrow’s tip, and the prepared Celestial team swiftly grasped the chains.

At the same time, sixteen Divine Suppression Trees descended, pinning the Evil God at the center.

Once the sealing formation was complete, the Evil God would be contained.

Yu Yao gazed distantly at the café owner, the madness in her eyes chilling to behold. “My heart is his heart. You’ve killed him with your own hands. Ha ha ha ha!”

Yu Yao’s head snapped up.

Zeyuan struck Yu Yao’s primordial spirit with a backhand blow.

Stripped of her godhood, Yu Yao was no different from a regular Immortal. Unable to withstand the blow of a god-slaying attack, her body and soul were annihilated, leaving only the remnants of the Evil God’s phantom sealed within the formation.

Zeyuan knelt halfway in the clouds, blood gushing from his mouth. “Don’t blame yourself. She became a god because of me. It was my mistake, and I only corrected it. A single God-Slaying Arrow cannot kill me. Lu Yao, next time… when we meet again, don’t say… you like me. I truly… despise you.”

Lu Yao’s mind went blank. She dropped the Qiuyu bow and flew forward, trying to catch Zeyuan.

She was just a moment too late. Before her eyes, he dissolved into ashes.

…

After three long days, the six realms trapped on Baixian Mountain united and sealed the Evil God together.

The Demon Sovereign Zeyuan fell in battle.

[Evil God successfully sealed. Congratulations to the café owner for completing the ultimate task. You may now proceed to the next world!]

Riding on the little black dragon, Lu Yao showed no reaction.

A piece of paper fluttered from the void like a butterfly, spinning as it drifted toward Lu Yao.

Just as it was about to land in her hand, another identical piece of paper appeared out of nowhere and fell into her grasp first.

The burning heat in her palm jolted Lu Yao awake. She lowered her gaze.

The paper bore only four words: Lu Yao, save me!!!

Lu Yao’s reaction was delayed.

At that moment, the second piece of paper fell, landing squarely on top of the first. Its clue also contained four words.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Ch 128: Guide to Running a Shop in Another World II

Lu Yao was puzzled. The Celestial-Demon Conference hadn’t officially ended, yet the ultimate mission had suddenly begun.

Sealing the Evil God—this mission carried a strong air of the impossible.

Lu Yao no longer bothered to poke at the proxy bot to ask if there had been an error in the task.

She knew there would be no answer.

Back when the Dream Fulfillment System was still around, she could at least have a chat with it.

Now she had figured it out—at the beginning of the year, when the system left, it was likely paving the way for this very moment.

The only question was whether the system had known or if it had been manipulated as well.

After thinking for a moment, Lu Yao stood up and headed for the door, giving a casual order as she walked: “Xiao Zhong, notify the disciples to inform all influential seniors from every realm to meet in the lounge in half an hour.”

Xue Li rose from his seat and pushed his chair aside, walking over. “What’s going on?”

Lu Yao was prepared to go outside first to assess the situation.

If the Evil God had truly been resurrected, it would be a matter of life and death for all six realms.

She had no intention of facing such a task alone as the mission demanded.

It might sound odd, but after running her internet café for over a year, Lu Yao had encountered many bizarre people and events and gained some peculiar powers. Yet she had never considered shouldering such responsibilities by herself.

One person’s strength was ultimately limited.

“I sense something is wrong. I’ll take a look first. Please notify the ghost clan as well, Your Majesty.”

Xue Li was the Ghost King of the Tenth Palace of the Underworld.

There was no need to pass a message elsewhere. Among all the ghosts present at the café, he held the highest rank.

Lu Yao took out the Revolution Rod and walked out of the internet café.

Above Baixian Mountain, a massive vortex of malevolent energy had formed at some point.

Along the mountain path, mortals and demons who had been waiting with small stalls for the conference to end, as well as patrolling cultivator squads, lay collapsed on the roadside, dazed and lifeless. The air reeked of blood.

Trees had been snapped in half, boulders flew through the air, and small animals that had lived peacefully in the mountain were swept up by fierce winds, crashing around violently, their blood and flesh splattering everywhere.

Lu Yao stood at the entrance of the café, gazing up at the sky. Within the vortex of malevolent energy, a godlike statue seemed to flicker in and out of view.

Xue Li didn’t go to alert his clan but instead followed Lu Yao out. Seeing the chaos outside the café, his expression darkened slightly. “How did it come to this?”

At the vortex’s center, a few broken scarlet petals broke free, fleeing frantically before drifting down to the entrance of the internet café and coalescing into a human form.

Lu Yao stepped forward to catch the peach blossom demon, a bit surprised. “What are you doing here?”

Wuling’s robe was in tatters, his once-delicate pink garment stained with blood. He looked utterly disheveled. Upon realizing it was Lu Yao in front of him, he tried to push her away. “Run, quickly—”

That woman has already fallen into demonhood and become an evil god. The first person she’ll come for is the café owner.

WulLing felt a complex tangle of emotions. Initially, he had only taken pity on Jizhuang for being tormented by unrequited love and brought him to the Demon Realm to rescue the Immortal Yu Yao. He hadn’t expected it to unleash such a calamity.

At that moment, Qiuyu suddenly dashed out of the café. Her pupils were bright red, like blood, as she looked up at the godlike figure above Baixian Mountain and murmured softly, “She is calling me.”

Lu Yao was momentarily distracted and didn’t catch what Qiuyu said. Instinctively, she raised the Regulation Rod and shielded her behind. “It’s dangerous out here. Go back inside and find An‘An and Little Ginseng.”

Qiuyu clenched her fists tightly and didn’t move.

Lu Yao called her again. “Qiuyu?”

Qiuyu seemed to snap out of her daze. She cast a deep glance at Lu Yao before turning and heading back into the café.

Xue Li propped a hand against his forehead, staring for a long moment. “There’s someone else up there.”

Wuling coughed up another mouthful of blood, his voice weak. “It’s Jizhuang and the Demon Sovereign… It’s too late… the Evil God… has already… resurrected…”

Zeyuan is here too?

Lu Yao recalled her last conversation with Zeyuan about the peculiarities surrounding Yu Yao. He had been investigating what lay behind her mysterious background.

The situation seemed more severe than she had expected. Before the Celestial-Demon Conference started, Zeyuan hadn’t returned to the Demon Domain. They had only spoken briefly through a voice-transmission talisman the day before the conference began.

He hadn’t mentioned where he was at the time. Instead, their conversation drifted to a few trivial matters, ending with just four words:

“I’m fond of you.”

Since their visit to Zhongdu City, the two had officially started dating.

However, Lu Yao had been busy preparing for the conference and wasn’t the type to openly dwell on romantic matters. They didn’t see each other often, and Zeyuan had never said anything so straightforward before.

At the time, Lu Yao had found it odd and asked him about it. Zeyuan didn’t answer.

Now, just a few days later, Zeyuan was here, along with Jizhuang and Wuling. Could Yu Yao also be involved?

Lu Yao’s heart skipped a beat. She casually pushed Wuling toward Xue Li and pulled out Harold’s dragon-scale hairpin, brushing her fingers over its scales.

In an instant, a spatial portal materialized out of thin air.

Both Wuling and Xue Li looked mildly startled.

The sound of a doorknob turning came from beyond the portal. The door creaked open, and a young man with a high ponytail, dressed in a black robe, stepped out.

Harold’s cheeks were puffed out, and he held a meat bone in one hand, his eyebrows furrowed tightly. “I’m eating. Don’t tell me you’re making me deliver invitations again.”

Lu Yao had been so busy lately that she hadn’t returned to the nail salon for several days. Calling Harold over usually meant asking him to run errands.

Besides, there was a dragon at the café now, and Harold wasn’t happy about it. He was still sulking.

Lu Yao stepped forward and pointed to the sky. “Harold, take me up there.”

Harold tilted his head back, his expression turning grim. He tossed the meat bone aside, transformed into his dragon form, and lowered his head to scoop Lu Yao onto his back. Once she was seated securely, he flapped his wings and flew toward the vortex of malevolent energy.

It was Xue Li and Wuling’s first time seeing Harold’s true form. Their serious expressions took on a hint of astonishment.

So the café’s enforcer was a dragon.

But they had never seen a dragon with such a peculiar form.

Wuling stared blankly for a moment before snapping out of it. Watching Lu Yao approach the godlike figure, he urged Xue Li, “The Celestial Maiden Lotus Fairy has sacrificed the fate of the Six Realms to fall into demonhood and ascend to godhood. Jizhuang, the Demon Sovereign, and the café owner cannot stop her. Notify the Celestials at once!”

Xue Li shook his head. “It’s too late. She’s already attained godhood. Even if the Celestials arrive, they won’t be able to change anything.”

Wuling grew anxious. “Then what can we do?”

Xue Li replied, “Such overpowering malevolence can’t be dealt with by ordinary means. An Evil God, like a demon, is born from the heart, desires, and emotions. It cannot be killed—only sealed.”

Thousands of years ago, an Evil God had descended upon the world.

But that was during ancient times, when many powerful gods still roamed the earth. A mere Evil God could be crushed to dust with a flick of their fingers.

Now, millennia later, the gods had fallen, and there likely wasn’t anyone left capable of contending with an Evil God.

Xue Li had already reached his conclusion. He recalled Lu Yao’s instructions before she left and roughly guessed her intentions.

But it was all futile.

…

Riding on the little black dragon, Lu Yao soared into the sky in just a few breaths.

A strange red net, as thin as mist and as delicate as silk, had descended around Baixian Mountain, enveloping the entire peak.

Zeyuan stood with his long hair tied up, clad in pitch-black battle armor. The golden lotus branches entwining his weapon dripped blood from the blade’s tip.

Jizhuang stood across from Zeyuan, guarding the godlike figure. His crimson robes were soaked with dark stains, his sword broken at the hilt. The blood-red camellia on the sword had withered, its vibrant petals gradually fading to a pale white.

Zeyuan spotted Lu Yao and furrowed his brows with faint irritation. Raising the golden lotus branches, he pressed the blade to Jizhuang’s throat. “You’re not my match. Step aside.”

Jizhuang leaned on his broken sword, spat a mouthful of blood, and cast a fleeting glance at Lu Yao before focusing on Zeyuan. “If she falls into demonhood today, and you and I switch places, what would you do?”

Zeyuan’s expression remained cold. “I’m not you, and Lu Yao won’t become her.”

Lu Yao finally saw clearly that the “god” was merely a massive, translucent phantom.

Within the phantom was a person—Yu Yao.

Whether it was Lu Yao’s sudden appearance that agitated her, or something Zeyuan said, the once-sleeping Yu Yao within the phantom slowly opened her eyes, and the phantom itself followed suit.

The conscious Yu Yao inside the phantom let out a cold laugh toward Zeyuan before bursting into a maniacal cackle. “Lu Mingxiao, you cannot protect her. No matter how many times, you can only watch helplessly as she dies a tragic death before your eyes. You’re no Jizhuang, but you’re even more useless and pathetic than he is.”

Zeyuan frowned deeply.

Lu Yao’s expression darkened as well. Her gaze fell on the pendant around the phantom Lu Yao’s neck—the same one she had seen in Jizhuang’s recording talisman.

It was identical to the earrings Lu Mingxiao had gifted her.

Yu Yao had stolen his memories.

A heavy feeling settled in Lu Yao’s heart. She raised the Regulation Rod, and several jet-black nails shot toward the evil god’s phantom.

The nails sank into the phantom as though into a swamp, disappearing slowly.

With a flick of her finger, Yu Yao redirected the six nails, sending them hurtling back toward Lu Yao.

Before they could reach her, Zeyuan darted forward, deflecting them.

Yu Yao inside the phantom remained unbothered. She raised her hand and made a seal.

Following her gesture, the phantom summoned spiritual energy into countless blades and swords, encircling Zeyuan and Lu Yao.

Turning her gaze disdainfully from Zeyuan to Lu Yao, the phantom Yu Yao sneered, “You seem utterly clueless about your predicament. Like the Demon Sovereign, you’re useless and pathetic. How laughable that I once truly yearned to be like you.”

Harold couldn’t stand to hear it anymore. With a flap of his wings, he sent sharp black wind blades slicing through the phantom.

The evil god’s phantom was severed at the waist but rejoined almost instantly, completely unscathed.

The phantom Yu Yao cackled with unrestrained arrogance. “Futile, utterly futile. I am now a god. You ants cannot harm me in the slightest.”

Lu Yao was stunned by the drastic change in her counterpart. Restraining the furious little black dragon beneath her, her thoughts lingered on the earlier words. “Why would you want to be like me?”

The phantom Yu Yao let out a mocking chuckle. “Naivety of youth, that’s all.”

She had no interest in further conversation. Raising her hand, she brought it down heavily. Countless blades and weapons descended, all aimed at Lu Yao.

The little black dragon and Zeyuan shielded her as best they could.

Though Lu Yao remained unharmed, the falling blades struck Baixian Mountain below, threatening innocent lives.

Hovering in mid-air, Lu Yao quickly formed a barrier over the mountain path, intercepting the descending weapons.

The phantom Yu Yao scoffed, ignoring the mortals and cultivators below. With a wave of her hand, she sent a blast of black flames outward.

The sacred Bodhi tree, which had long shielded the internet café, was split apart, its branches scattering.

Inside the café, both competitors and spectators finally noticed the disturbance and descended into chaos.

In the lounge, the café staff had just gathered the key figures from the Six Realms when news came of the unrest among the six-thousand-strong audience. The staff immediately commandeered the livestream screens to calm the crowd, urging them to remain seated and avoid leaving their spots.

But few heeded the warning. Demon, ghosts, devils, celestials, and humans rushed downstairs, only to find Baixian Mountain completely engulfed in malevolent energy, with the phantom of the evil god looming in mid-air.

Humans moved slower, getting stuck and jostling each other at the third-floor stairwell.

At that moment, the livestream screens on the third floor synchronized, revealing Immortal Lingxiao.

Though the Celestial-Demon Conference had yet to declare a winner, and the celestials had lost points in the small-team competitions on the shopping street, their position in the Six Realms remained largely unshaken, especially in the eyes of mortals.

The moment Immortal Lingxiao appeared, the human audience, who had been noisy and pushing each other, gradually quieted.

In the lounge, key representatives from the Six Realms sat together. Seeing that the six-thousand-strong audience had been pacified by the celestials, they resumed their discussion.

The celestials: “Why did the Evil God resurrect on Baixian Mountain?”

The Cultivators: “It’s likely because demons and devils have frequented the internet café for too long, causing the buildup of malevolent energy over Baixian Mountain, creating an opening for the evil forces.”

The Demons: “Nonsense! The one who fell into demonhood is clearly a celestial. Don’t pin every blame on us demons and devils!”

…

Wuling had already been brought into the café by the Ghost King for treatment.

He shared all the information he had about the Evil God.

The Devil representative for the meeting was Mo Bao.

With Zeyuan absent, he was effectively the ruler of the Demon Realm.

The young Mo Bao had been happily watching the competition until he learned that Yu Yao had been rescued from the dark prison, throwing him into distress.

Now, hearing that she had fallen into demonhood and ascended to godhood filled him with guilt and frustration, leaving him in no mood for arguments.

Standing behind Mo Bao, Xuanfeng grew agitated. Watching these people argue endlessly while the Demon Sovereign and others were battling the Evil God outside infuriated him. He slammed the table but spoke in a remarkably calm tone:

“The priority right now is to eliminate the Evil God. Pointing fingers won’t help.”

The celestials sneered: “Eliminate the Evil God? Easier said than done. No one in the Six Realms has the power to suppress an Evil God anymore.”

Another celestial added: “If anyone’s to blame, it’s the devils for hiding that celestial in the Demon realm. Otherwise, how could she have fallen into demonhood?”
Xuanfeng clenched his fists. “Blame the devils? We haven’t even pursued the matter of celestials infiltrating the Demon realm and sneaking into the Demon Palace, yet you’re the ones making accusations first?”

…

The Ghost representatives remained silent in a corner.

“Living beings are always troublesome,” one of them muttered.

Xue Li, however, stayed patient for a few more minutes. Growing tired of the argument, he rose and headed toward the door.

The café staff were upstairs on the third floor, trying to calm the audience. Shi Yan and his team was still in the lounge, maintaining the game programs and inadvertently witnessing the high-level leaders of the Six Realms bickering.

No one noticed that the little bear demon, little ginseng demon, Qiuyu, and the small piglet had quietly slipped out, following behind the Ghost King.

For some reason, the doors connecting the café to the Underworld and Demon Realm were no longer functional, but the café’s main entrance, which had previously restricted demons, was now open.

Devils, demons, and cultivators crowded outside. Soon, the Ghost officials also followed the Ghost King out, gathering at the entrance and gazing at the Evil God’s phantom in mid-air.

Gradually, they realized that the figures fighting the Evil God were none other than the Demon Sovereign and the café’s owner.

Setting aside the Demon Sovereign, how could the café owner—a mere Golden Core-stage cultivator—be holding her own against the Evil God?

The sharp-minded among the demons and devils began to wonder: Could they join the fight too?

Xue Li watched the battle for a while before whispering something to his advisor.

The advisor counted the number of Ghost officials present—not many.

Being ghost officials, they couldn’t appear too ostentatiously in the mortal realm. Furthermore, since this was the third day of the conference, many participants had returned to the Underworld after being eliminated, leaving fewer than two hundred Ghost officials present.

Xue Li waved his hand decisively. “With you and me, plus some recruited demons, devils, and cultivators, we’ll take on the Evil God ourselves.”

The advisor couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. You make it sound so easy. The meeting room is in chaos, and the people outside won’t follow orders. Besides, against the Evil God, we’d be no more than cannon fodder.

Suddenly, a childish voice rang out in the crowd:

“Let’s form a team! Team up to fight the Evil God! I’m a ginseng demon, and I can use my roots to restore my teammates’ spiritual energy!”

The noisy crowd fell silent, as if someone had pressed a pause button.

In the middle of the group stood an adorable little girl, like a figure from a New Year’s painting. Tears welled in her large eyes as she raised her hand resolutely.

After a moment, a demon woman with elaborate makeup walked over to the girl. “Demon Zhu Ying.”

Two burly men followed suit. “Demon Wen Rong.”

“Devil Guan Zhong.”

A woman from the Devil Clan with a princess-cut hairstyle stepped forward as well. “Devil Dan Xi.”

The little piglet struggled to squeeze through the crowd, grunting as he registered for the team.

The Ghost King patted his advisor on the shoulder, raised his hand, and walked over. “Ghost King Xue Li.”

Some people glanced over, surprised.

Zhu Qingyun and Xiao Yi exchanged a look before stepping forward and stating their names.

“Kunlun Sect, Zhu Qingyun.”

“Kunlun Sect, Xiao Yi.”

“Beast Taming Sect, Jin Huaichen.”

“Jiujue Sect, Jian Buyi.”

“Qin Cultivator, Xue Qiaohua.”

…

The little ginseng demon’s team quickly grew to over twenty members.

The group formed a circle and had a brief discussion, deciding to organize into smaller squads based on configurations used in games to fight gatekeeper bosses, taking turns in the battle.

While they were still discussing strategy, the Ghost advisor began shouting as well.

“Form a team! We’re forming a team too!”

The watching demons, devils, and cultivators couldn’t help but get excited.

Though it seemed somewhat inappropriate, the idea of assembling teams on the spot and treating the Evil God like a gatekeeper boss was undeniably intriguing.

Up in the air, Lu Yao noticed the growing commotion below and lightly patted the little black dragon’s back. “What’s going on down there?”

Harold replied, “…They’re forming teams to take on the Evil God.”

Lu Yao was a bit taken aback.

So, they were preparing for a raid.

A massive raid involving over a thousand people—it really did feel like tackling an event boss.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Ch 106: Reborn to Raise My Husband

Qi Beinan saw Xiao Yuanbao smiling and leaned in again to kiss him—not on the lips this time, but along his ear and brow.

It had been so long since Qi Beinan last saw Xiao Yuanbao that the absence had hollowed him out; even in sleep, the emptiness followed him.

Now, holding this warm and pliant person in his arms—soft, fragrant, and real—he could not bring himself to let go.

By his count, this official journey had kept him away no longer than those years spent traveling for examinations. Yet after more than ten years under the same roof, he had never grown weary. Since their marriage, he found each separation harder to endure.

And he admitted it openly: his longing was not merely to see Xiao Yuanbao, but to do more than that.

Qi Beinan was like a loyal hound that had gone too long without its master. Once reunited, he pressed against Xiao Yuanbao again and again, as if to make up for lost time.

Xiao Yuanbao laughed helplessly, twisting as he tried to push away the ticklish head buried at his neck.

But laughter left him weak, and he could not push Qi Beinan off. Instead, Qi Beinan bit him lightly at the throat.

There was a small mole there, and Qi Beinan’s fingers worried it until the skin turned flushed and damp.

Xiao Yuanbao could only plead, his voice half-laughing, half-breathless. “Enough—stop teasing.”

“I’ve been gone so long and you didn’t send me even one letter,” Qi Beinan said, his tone half-serious. “Now that I’m back, shouldn’t you make it up to me?”

Xiao Yuanbao hesitated for a moment, then answered, “All right.”

But at once he added, “Only at night.”

Qi Beinan paused, lifting his head to look at the faintly red face before him, a little astonished. “So quick to agree?”

Xiao Yuanbao had already been shy enough when he said it; seeing Qi Beinan’s expression made him flare up in embarrassment. “Then forget it.”

Qi Beinan immediately caught him by the waist before he could pull away. “Don’t. Night is fine—I’m not particular.”

“But…”

Xiao Yuanbao narrowed his eyes. “What now?”

“Wear that cloth I sent before. Let me see it.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s face turned scarlet. He truly wanted to slap this shameless man, though he suspected Qi Beinan would only seize his hand and kiss it instead.

That thought brought another to mind. “You said the Ministry of Revenue approved stipends for officials’ families to buy gifts. Is that—recorded anywhere?”

Qi Beinan arched a brow and said nothing.

Xiao Yuanbao grew more anxious. “How can you not answer? If someone finds out—”

Seeing his panic, Qi Beinan laughed softly. “They don’t record each purchase one by one. Only the total amount is listed; the rest is left for us to choose.”

He added, “And that one, I bought with my own silver.”

At that, Xiao Yuanbao exhaled in relief—but the relief quickly gave way to indignation. If Qi Beinan had used the official stipend, that would be one thing. But to spend his own money on such an indecent gift was another matter entirely.

The more Xiao Yuanbao thought about it, the tighter his brows drew.

He turned his head, eyeing Qi Beinan suspiciously. “You’re so improper. You were away all that time on official business—did you find someone outside?”

Qi Beinan laughed out loud.

Xiao Yuanbao jabbed him in the waist. “Well? Answer me.”

“How could I dare? By day I was in the examination hall grading papers; after work, I stayed in the official lodgings with the others. There were even censors from the Imperial Secretariat among us. If I’d gone drinking or visiting courtesans, they’d have impeached me for moral misconduct. My career would have ended before it even began.”

Hearing that, Xiao Yuanbao finally relaxed.

“Does Lord Xiao have further questions for investigation?” Qi Beinan asked lightly.

Xiao Yuanbao gave a small huff. “I’ll trust you this once. But if you ever do stray, I won’t forgive you.”

“And what sort of punishment would that be?”

“I’ll stop earning money to feed you.”

Qi Beinan chuckled.

“I’ve been talking with Bai Qiaogui,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “We plan to open a food-therapy shop.”

Because Qi Beinan’s assignments had kept him moving from place to place, their letters had been rare and slow. Only now did he learn that Luo Tingfeng had been transferred to the capital, now serving at the Guozijian.

He had heard before leaving that the Ministry of Personnel planned to recall several provincial officials to make room for newly appointed degree-holders, but when he had last been in the capital, that plan had not yet been carried out.

So now Qi Beinan finally understood why no letters had come—Xiao Yuanbao had been busy, spending his days with old friends who had come to the city, his time filled and easily passed.

“I wasn’t idling,” Xiao Yuanbao said.

He slipped off Qi Beinan’s lap, bent under the table, and drew out a wooden box, setting it before him. “I’ve been working.”

Qi Beinan opened it in surprise. Inside lay a neatly stacked collection of recipe scrolls—formulas for nourishing the blood, strengthening the bones, improving the complexion, organized by purpose, thirty or more in total.

“Well?” Xiao Yuanbao said, smiling faintly. “I haven’t been idle, have I?”

Qi Beinan smiled and placed the scrolls back in the box. “So capable. The pickle shop has only just settled, and already you’re planning a new business.”

Xiao Yuanbao said, “While things are calm and I still have the energy, better to build for the future. Then life will be easier later.”

“Otherwise, how will we raise a child? When we have one, I want our child to have the best of everything.”

Qi Beinan froze at those words, his smile halting for an instant.

They had once… also had a child.

When Qi Beinan first learned that Xiao Yuanbao was with child, he could hardly describe his joy—he had wanted to treasure Xiao Yuanbao like something sacred.

The two of them had dreamed together of welcoming that child safely into the world.

At night, Qi Beinan would read through books by candlelight, searching for a good name, while Xiao Yuanbao sat beside him, sewing tiny garments for their unborn baby in the glow of the flame.

Becoming parents had not weighed them down with responsibility; it had filled them with quiet joy and a sense of purpose.

But that happiness had not lasted long.

When the child was four months along, Xiao Yuanbao’s uncle Xiao Hu went into the mountains to earn money for a longevity lock for his future grandnephew. He never returned.

The news struck Xiao Yuanbao hard. His health had never been strong, and the shock was more than he could bear. The child was lost.

Afterward, grief and guilt consumed him. One misfortune after another broke him down until his health failed entirely—until he came to the edge of his own life.

Even now, after so many years, when Qi Beinan remembered, a fine ache spread through his chest.

Seeing the change in Qi Beinan’s expression, Xiao Yuanbao frowned slightly. “What’s wrong?”

Qi Beinan forced a small smile and shook his head. “Nothing. What you said makes sense. Now that Bai Qiaogui and Luo Tingfeng are in the capital, it’s good that you have Bai Qiaogui for company. She’s skilled in medicine—that puts my mind at ease.”

He added softly, “Everything is different now. This time, we’ll bring our child safely into the world and raise him healthy and strong.”

Xiao Yuanbao felt something odd in Qi Beinan’s tone—distant, uncertain—but the thought of children still stirred warmth in his heart.

He moved closer, sitting beside Qi Beinan. “Then how many children should we have?”

Qi Beinan looked into Xiao Yuanbao’s bright eyes. “As many as you like. Their father can afford them.”

That made Xiao Yuanbao laugh aloud.

Qi Beinan stayed home for a day of rest. But rest, with Xiao Yuanbao, was hardly restful.

They slept little at night, napped long at midday, and the day slipped past in its quiet indulgence.

The next day, Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao cooked a full table of dishes and invited Luo Tingfeng and Bai Qiaogui, along with Jiang Tangyuan and Jiang Tangtuan, to join them for a small gathering.

Early that morning, Xiao Yuanbao sent Wen-ge’er and Hong Tang to the market to buy several catties of fresh live shrimp, and a basket of crabs heavy with roe.

They went early, and the shrimp were enormous—each nearly the size of a palm, two fingers thick and full of meat. Xiao Yuanbao chose the largest ones to braise, and steamed the smaller shrimp and crabs for dipping in vinegar.

The vinegar Bai Qiaogui had brought from Lantian County was wonderfully fragrant. Xiao Yuanbao had grown fond of using it for dipping.

He also marinated a bowl of raw shrimp and crab with yellow wine and spices—perfect for the lingering warmth before mid-autumn.

He roasted a rabbit, stewed deer tendons, fried loaches, and stir-fried spicy field frogs.

There were also seasonal vegetables and melons for balance.

This time, he prepared no medicinal dishes. After two months of experimenting with food-therapy recipes, everyone—his own household, the Jiang family, and the Luo family—had eaten more than enough herbal meals. If he served such food again today, no one would dare come back.

Instead, Xiao Yuanbao opened a jar of rose honey and made delicate pastries shaped like round mooncakes—an early nod to the coming festival.

By afternoon, Bai Qiaogui and Jiang Tangtuan arrived early. Luo Tingfeng and Jiang Tangyuan came later, after leaving the yamen and changing from official robes.

“Shall we have some wine?”

Qi Beinan came out of the kitchen carrying two jars of lamb wine and called to the men in the garden.

Jiang Tangyuan was tending the golden osmanthus tree, which was in full bloom. “Looks like good wine from a Jiangnan brewery,” he said, smiling. “A fine treat—but I’ll say it first, I’ll only take two cups.”

Qi Beinan laughed. “I know your tolerance. Why only two?”

Jiang Tangyuan sniffed the air and replied, “The Hanlin Academy’s assessment is done. I’ve turned in my leave request to the Ministry of Personnel. In two days, I’ll be heading back to Jinling.”

Luo Tingfeng, setting down an old text borrowed from Qi Beinan’s study, looked up. “Why the sudden trip back to Jinling?”

Jiang Tangyuan hesitated for a moment, then smiled. “For a wedding.”

Xiao Yuanbao came out carrying a plate of freshly baked rose pastries and caught those words mid-step. “So soon? You’re already going back to Jinling?”

He remembered Jiang Tangtuan mentioning it before—Jiang Tangyuan’s marriage had been arranged when he passed the provincial exam, the two families long in good standing. The wedding date was now set.

The bride’s family was also of official rank, a proper match in every way.

The Jiang elders lived in Jinling, and since the capital wasn’t far, it was natural to hold the wedding there.

Jiang Tangyuan said, “My parents are taking care of everything, but since I’m the groom, I should still return a few days early.”

With the Hanlin assessment completed and his affairs settled, his spirits were high; he could finally make the trip home with an easy heart.

“In that case, congratulations, Brother Jiang,” Luo Tingfeng said. “Two great fortunes in one year—success in the examinations and a wedding to follow.”

Everyone was glad to hear such good news for Jiang Tangyuan.

It was a pity they couldn’t travel to Jinling to attend his wedding feast, but Jiang Tangyuan promised that after the ceremony, once he returned to the capital, he would host another banquet so they could all celebrate together.

He had said he would only drink two cups, but once talk turned to happy matters, spirits rose, and before long the two jars of wine were gone.

The table of dishes was mostly cleared. Luo Tingfeng, who could not hold much liquor, fell asleep in the carriage before even reaching home, while Jiang Tangyuan, though better off, still had a flushed face.

“Be careful on the way,” Qi Beinan said.

“Don’t worry, the driver’s steady. You two go back in,” Jiang Tangyuan replied.

Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao saw both families to the gate, giving parting words of caution. They watched until the carriage turned out of the alley before walking back home under the moonlight.

“Lord Jiang’s marriage gladdens me,” Qi Beinan said. “But with his return to Jinling, Tangtuan will be going with him—and once he’s gone, he won’t be coming back to the capital.”

Qi Beinan had drunk quite a bit. Though he wasn’t truly drunk, the smell of wine clung thickly to him.

Xiao Yuanbao called for the servants to bring in buckets of hot water and urged him to bathe, so he wouldn’t carry the scent to court the next morning.

As Xiao Yuanbao helped Qi Beinan wash with fragrant soap, his heart felt a faint ache.

“How come Tangtuan won’t come back?” Qi Beinan asked.

“The match here in the capital didn’t work out,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “So the Jiang family plans to arrange another for him.”

“After what happened with the Qiao family, Tangtuan said his elders are now determined to find him a spouse they can keep firmly under control. They won’t risk marrying him into a household too powerful to manage.”

Qi Beinan understood well the caution behind the Jiang family’s decision—it had been much the same in earlier years.

Once, they had sought a match with a family of high rank, but that alliance had turned sour and left them mired in trouble.

After that, they changed course and found a humbler match for Tangtuan—a scholar from a farming household.

But Tangtuan’s fate had been bitter; the scholar, seemingly honest and mild, had only sought the marriage to climb into the Jiang family’s favor.

“This time,” Xiao Yuanbao said, “once Tangtuan returns home, his family will pick a proper husband for him. Most likely one of the official sons or scholars Lord Jiang knows in Jinling. Who knows when he’ll ever come back to the capital again.”

He sighed. How could he not feel melancholy? Tangtuan had been his first friend in the capital. Aside from old acquaintances, Tangtuan was the only one he had grown close to here.

Now that Bai Qiaogui had finally come to the city, Tangtuan was leaving.

Qi Beinan saw how it saddened him, this constant meeting and parting, and gently patted Xiao Yuanbao’s hand. “Once Tangtuan marries, if his husband also takes up an official post, they might well be transferred here someday.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. “That’s what I’ll hope for.”

Qi Beinan leaned back in the bath, exhaling a slow breath.

Tangtuan was a kind-hearted young ge’er; he should never again be entangled with someone faithless.

Qi Beinan had quietly asked about Tangtuan’s marriage through Jiang Tangyuan and had already told him to be cautious—to make sure the chosen match was sincere, so Tangtuan wouldn’t repeat the same painful path.

“Ah,” Qi Beinan said suddenly. “That reminds me of something.”

Xiao Yuanbao blinked. “What is it?”

“Guangzong passed the provincial exam and has been appointed assistant magistrate of Feng County, under Jinling Prefecture.”

Qi Beinan turned toward Xiao Yuanbao. “He knows Tangyuan. Since we can’t go to the wedding, Feng County isn’t far from Jinling—he can at least go in our place and drink a cup for us.”

Xiao Yuanbao brightened. “Then Third Brother Zhao has all the luck!”

Qi Beinan smiled. “I’ll write to him later tonight. He must have settled in Feng County by now.”

The next day, Qi Beinan went to the yamen, while Xiao Yuanbao went to the storeroom to prepare gifts.

He planned two—one for Jiang Tangyuan’s wedding, the other to send with Qi Beinan’s letter to Zhao Guangzong, to congratulate him on his success and appointment.

On the day before the Jiang brothers were to depart, Xiao Yuanbao brought the gifts over himself and stopped by to say farewell to Jiang Tangtuan.

“Your health isn’t the best,” Xiao Yuanbao told him. “So even though you shouldn’t go out and catch cold, you also shouldn’t stay shut indoors all the time. Go out for walks when the weather’s good.”

He smiled gently. “Still, you’ve lived in Jinling for years. Your closest friends are there. It won’t be like here in the capital, where you kept yourself cooped up at home.”

Jiang Tangtuan looked at the chest of things Xiao Yuanbao had brought—boxes of tonic herbs, foods he liked, and small comforts—and felt deeply moved by his care and his long list of reminders.

“You’ve brought more things than for my brother’s wedding gift!” he said.

“They’re not all from me,” Xiao Yuanbao said with a small laugh. “Some are from Gui-jie. She wanted to come herself, but one of Lord Luo’s relatives fell ill, and she had to go treat them, so she couldn’t make it.”

“A patient is more important. I’m only going home to Jinling—it’s nothing serious.”

Seeing him take it lightly, Xiao Yuanbao nodded. “Here are some food-therapy recipes too. Have your cook follow them to make you nourishing soups. Gui-jie took your pulse and chose these herself—they suit your constitution best.”

Jiang Tangtuan grasped Xiao Yuanbao’s hands. “Now you’ve gone and made me reluctant to leave. I was never fond of staying in the capital, but now that I’m really about to go, it feels hard.”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled. “We’ll write often. Jinling and the capital aren’t that far apart, after all.”

“When you go back,” Xiao Yuanbao said, “give my greetings to my brother at home.”

He added, “Third Brother Zhao has taken his post in Feng County. Beinan wrote to him, asking him to attend Lord Jiang’s wedding feast. If you see him there, tell him all is well with us here in the capital.”

Jiang Tangtuan looked surprised. “You mean Zhao-langjun has arrived in Jinling?”

“Mm.” Xiao Yuanbao smiled. “You really have a golden tongue—said he would pass, and he truly did.”

Jiang Tangtuan laughed. “That sounds as if I should take credit for it. I wouldn’t dare.”

The two talked for quite some time, and when Xiao Yuanbao finally left, he carried with him two small boxes—gifts from Jiang Tangtuan, one for himself and one for Gui-jie.

Time moved gently on. In the blink of an eye, it was already October.

After more than three months of refining recipes, Xiao Yuanbao and Bai Qiaogui had gathered dozens of food-therapy formulas.

Feeling the time was ripe, they contacted a property agent to look for a shop to lease and began hiring people—step by step preparing to open their food-therapy business.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Ch 105: Reborn to Raise My Husband

“Your mother’s family were physicians,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “You learned the craft from childhood. Healing and saving lives is a virtuous thing, and more than that—you’ve always loved the work. If you gave it up now for the sake of livelihood, your heart would never be content.

“It’s the same for me. I grew up learning to cook—if someone told me to weave cloth or sell clothes instead, I’d have no joy in it.”

To Yuanbao, food therapy was the perfect meeting of their skills. Medicine could not be separated from food, and food therapy required both medical understanding and culinary craft. It would join their two strengths into one trade, and neither would have to abandon what they had each studied since youth.

Besides, the two of them were close, both newcomers to the capital, and it was only right they support each other.

“I know your true wish is to open a proper medical hall,” he went on. “But there are too many obstacles for now—lack of capital, connections, and reputation. Yet because it’s difficult, you must prepare step by step.

“If we open a food-therapy shop first, we can earn money to fund the future clinic. And if you wish, you could choose certain days—say, the first and fifteenth each month—to sit in the shop and see patients. That would build your name and connections, so when you do open your own clinic, you’ll already have people who trust you.”

Bai Qiaogui listened closely. His words struck right to her heart.

She had always wanted to open a women’s clinic—not merely for livelihood, but because it was something she truly cared about. Her dream was to gather skilled female physicians and ge’er doctors to treat women and furlang.

In the common households of the empire, women and ge’er made up half the people, yet female healers were scarce. When wives or furlang fell ill, especially with disorders particular to their sex, they often hesitated to speak of it, too embarrassed to seek help. And if they did wish to be treated, it was awkward to face a male physician, while finding a reputable female one was near impossible.

That was one side of the hardship. The other was that women and ge’er who wanted to practice medicine found doors closed to them. Most medical families passed their art only to sons. Even in more liberal households that allowed daughters or ge’er to learn, marriage usually confined them to the inner quarters, serving husbands and raising children instead of seeing patients.

And those few who did manage to practice were often dismissed or scorned by male physicians, earning less and respected less though they worked side by side.

Having grown up in her maternal grandfather’s clinic, Bai Qiaogui knew all this too well.

The capital, vast and crowded, was filled with apothecaries and clinics, yet in all her walks through the streets she had never once seen a hall run solely by women. It was better than the provinces, to be sure—female physicians here were not as rare, and some clinics employed one or two—but none were wholly their own.

She had long dreamed of changing that: to found a place staffed by women and ge’er, serving only wives and furlang. Such a hall would be a true fulfillment of her craft.

But dreams required silver, and reputation, and backing—none of which she possessed. Opening such a place seemed near impossible.

Now, hearing Yuanbao’s proposal, she felt a spark of direction.

“You’ve spoken straight to my heart,” she said. “I’ll follow your lead. Still… even if we open this kind of shop, will anyone come?”

“You’ve never run a business, so your worry’s natural,” Yuanbao said. “But I’ve been in the capital over a year. I’ve watched carefully. To make a living here, one must be clever—one must offer something new.

“The city is full of the wealthy. And among the wealthy, illness is everywhere. These people want for nothing—they don’t worry about food or clothing. Do you know what troubles them most?”

Bai Qiaogui arched a brow. “What?”

Yuanbao smiled. “Once, Anan told me a story.”

He began: “There was a rich merchant in the old days, trading in salt and iron—so wealthy his fortune could rival a kingdom’s, and his life was luxury itself. What he ate and used was no less than what was sent to the imperial court. But all that extravagance wasn’t where his money truly went.

“Do you know what cost him the most?”

She shook her head.

“Alchemy,” Yuanbao said. “He poured rivers of silver into the hands of Daoist alchemists who claimed their elixirs could strengthen the body and lengthen life. A single small pill cost ten thousand coins, and he paid without blinking.”

Bai Qiaogui laughed. “Then that merchant was a fool indeed.”

“He wasn’t foolish,” Yuanbao said. “To run salt and iron trade and build such a fortune—he must have been shrewd. He paid for those pills because he feared dying before he could enjoy his wealth.”

“The rich live in ease and comfort,” he continued. “Their greatest fear is that they won’t live long enough, or well enough, to savor it. If there’s a way to preserve health and prolong life, of course they’ll pay for it.”

Bai Qiaogui fell silent, thoughtful. What he said made perfect sense.

“You worry no one will buy food-therapy if they’re not already sick,” Yuanbao said. “That’s because we come from modest homes, where a full meal is the first concern and luxuries are waste. But these nobles live differently. Their days are idle and rich—they’ll spend freely for a promise of health.”

He’d learned this truth himself after coming to the capital—ever since that banquet at Madam Lü’s, where the wealthy amused themselves by toying with others, he had seen clearly how extravagance and vanity ruled their world.

At Madam Lü’s banquet, everything had been exquisite—the food, the wine, the silks, the laughter. Those people were so idle that they took pleasure only in mocking others. Such cruelty came from their wealth. Ordinary amusements could no longer please them.

If not for the later misfortune that brought her down, would Madam Lü have ever wished her luxurious days to end? Of course not—she would have wanted them to last forever.

And look at Jiang Tangtuan. He was born into an official family; his father, uncles, and brothers all held posts, not high ones, but the family had served in government for generations and always had silver to spare. When he fell into the lotus pond as a child, his parents spent heavily to buy a charm for long life, burned it to ashes, mixed it with water, and made him drink it for longevity. Later, when illness left him frail, they still chased after every remedy they heard of—dew collected from the back of lotus leaves, taken before dawn because it had never seen the sun, said to cure all ills.

So those with some rank and means all longed for health and long life.

Even setting aside the rich—what ordinary person does not wish the same? Only the poor have too many troubles to think beyond daily hunger; they live too tightly to spare coin for preserving their health.

With these thoughts clear in mind, Xiao Yuanbao grew confident about the food-therapy business. Once the shop opened, there would be no shortage of customers. The only challenge was to develop enough good formulas before then.

Bai Qiaogui drew a steady breath. “All right,” she said. “Then I’ll join you in it.”

They struck the agreement on the spot and began testing recipes together.

The summer heat was heavy, but they still spent their days over the stove.

Jiang Tangtuan sent over a cartload of ice for them and insisted on tasting every new dish himself, giving notes on flavor and effect.

Medicinal broths simmered day after day; chickens, ducks, pigeons, and soft-shelled turtles came and went like flowing water.

Yuanbao could not finish what they made, so Qiaogui carried portions home. Luo Tingfeng, returning from the morning court each day, found a fresh tonic soup waiting for him.

After a few days of this, he was sitting in his study writing when his nose suddenly started to bleed.

“You two have too much energy,” he said, tilting his head back with a cloth pressed to his nose. “Yesterday pigeon soup, today pork-bone broth, tomorrow lamb kidneys… however good it tastes, I can’t keep up with all this nourishment!”

He started to add, “It’s my fault—if only—” but Qiaogui shot him a glare.

“Say no more. If you had both great talent and great fortune, we’d never have been husband and wife. As it is, you hold an official post, and I have my own work beside you. Managing our days together—nothing makes me happier than that.”

At that, Luo Tingfeng fell silent.

She dipped a cloth in cool water and wiped the back of his neck. “All these recipes I’ve been making with Yuanbao are for replenishing qi and blood. You don’t need any of that. In summer the heat rises easily, and strong tonics only make it worse. No wonder your body rejects them.”

Speaking of the summer heat sparked a thought.

She turned quickly to him. “This food therapy ought to follow the seasons. In cold months, warming tonics for qi and blood; in summer, cooling dishes to clear heat and purify the blood. No, I must go tell Yuanbao at once—we’ll draw up separate recipes for each season.”

And off she went before he could answer.

Watching her hurry away, Luo Tingfeng could only shake his head, half amused.

He truly wanted to write a letter to Qi Beinan, to tell him what had become of them in the capital—that between the two of them, he and Bai Qiaogui had been “nourished” almost to collapse.

But he had no idea where Qi Beinan was just now.

At that moment, far away in Yingju Prefecture, Qi Beinan was overseeing the provincial examinations. After reviewing hundreds of test papers, his eyes were sore and blurred, and his stomach empty.

When the day’s grading finally ended, he breathed out. Soon, when this round was complete, he could return to the capital.

The scent of gardenia drifted through the examination compound; he realized, almost with surprise, that midsummer had come. Over a month had passed since he’d left Kyoto, the journey through several provinces gone swiftly.

“Gentlemen,” said Lord Zhang of the Ministry of Rites, “the hour grows late. We’ll continue at the next dawn. You’ve all worked hard.”

Qi Beinan finished reading the last page in hand, laid it aside, and tidied his desk before leaving with the other examiners.

“I’ve heard the pickled vegetables at Tianxiang Ju here in Yingju are especially crisp and fragrant,” someone said. “Shall we all go and try them?”

“I’ve heard of the place,” another replied. “Never been.”

Qi Beinan had no objection; the Ministry’s travel stipend was generous. Since arriving, he’d already joined such dinners twice—extravagant feasts costing ten strings of cash at a sitting, every dish mountain or sea delicacy.

The food was fine, but the older officials loved their drink. Once the cups began to flow, they grew loud, urged one another on, and would not leave before midnight.

After a few such nights, Beinan had had enough.

He went to Lord Zhang and said politely, “I’m rather weary today and fear I might delay tomorrow’s duties. I’ll forgo the gathering and take my meal in the quarters.”

“That’s understandable,” Lord Zhang said. “It’s your first time on an examination tour—anyone would tire. A few more rounds and you’ll grow used to it.” He cautioned Beinan to mind his health, then let him go.

Walking back to his lodging, Qi Beinan found himself wondering why no letter had come from the capital. He had clearly written in his last message that he would be here in Yingju. Could it be that the post relay had lost the letter again?

As he was turning the thought over, Qi Beinan walked absently into his quarters—only to hear Qin Jiang’s delighted voice calling from behind.

“Langjun, a letter!”

Beinan’s face lit at once. “Is it from the capital?” he asked quickly, reaching out to take it.

“I didn’t look.”

Still smiling, Beinan carried it eagerly inside and tore it open before he’d even crossed the threshold. But at the sight of the sender, his joy faded a little.

It wasn’t from the capital. It was from Linzhou.

When he finished reading, the smile returned. Zhao Guangzong had passed the provincial exam.

According to the letter, twelve candidates had been selected, and Zhao ranked fifth. Posts had already been assigned—he was appointed assistant magistrate of Feng County under Jinling Prefecture.

Beinan felt genuinely happy for him. The county assistant’s rank was not high, below that of the magistrate, but if he served well, he could be promoted in time.

He’d never been to Feng County, but during his student years in Jinling he’d heard of it—a modest place, neither rich nor poor, much like Ling County. Not easy to make achievements there, but a fair posting all the same.

At least Zhao had succeeded. Future prospects would depend on fortune and his own ability.

Beinan took up his brush and wrote a letter of congratulations, adding some practical advice for Zhao’s new duties, two full pages in all. By the time he finished, the moon had climbed over the willow branches.

He set down his pen, fanned the ink dry, sealed the letter, and handed it to Qin Jiang. “Send this off first thing tomorrow.”

Outside, the moonlight was bright enough to cast his shadow under the eaves. He stepped on it as he exhaled a long breath.

Even Zhao Guangzong’s letter had reached him, yet nothing had come from the capital. The thought left a dull ache in his chest.

By August, the scent of osmanthus filled the air.

Qi Beinan returned to the capital just before the Mid-Autumn Festival.

He and the other officials who had gone out to supervise the examinations first reported to the Ministry of Personnel, where their superior presented a memorial to the emperor. The rest busied themselves sorting paperwork and archiving the exam scrolls.

After half a day of tedium, they were finally dismissed. Fortunately, beyond their usual rest days, they were also granted two extra days to recover from travel.

“The festival’s nearly here,” someone remarked. “There are mooncake stalls everywhere now—all colors, red and yellow, bright as lanterns. Quite a sight.”

Xiao Yuanbao was returning from the Luo household just as offices were closing for the day.

He hadn’t lingered—Luo daren had just come home from court, and husband and wife surely wanted time together. He had already taken up too much of Gui-jie’s hours; it would be ungracious to stay longer.

Leaning against the carriage wall, weary from the day’s errands and no noon rest, he half-dozed as Wen-ge’er spoke. At the mention of mooncakes, he lifted the curtain and glanced out. The streets were indeed full of vendors.

“Mid-Autumn is the festival of reunion,” he murmured.

This year, it would likely be only him and his teacher.

The carriage rocked gently, lulling him toward sleep, until Wen-ge’er’s call roused him as they reached the gate.

Supported down from the step, he had barely steadied himself when he spotted a tall figure by the porter’s lodge.

“Qin Jiang—is that really you?” Yuanbao called, eyes widening.

“Ge’er,” the man answered with a grin.

“When did you return?”

“Entered the city this morning. Just now went to the palace gate to fetch the master back.”

At that, Yuanbao could think of nothing else. He rushed into the courtyard and straight toward Xinyi Pavilion.

Sure enough, in the study stood the man he hadn’t seen for over two months.

For so long there’d been no word at all—his heart leapt between shock and joy. He hesitated only an instant before hurrying forward and throwing himself into the other’s arms.

He clung tight around Qi Beinan’s waist, pressing his cheek to his chest, silent for a long moment.

Beinan smoothed a hand over his back, feeling the familiar softness in his hold. His gaze warmed. “Seems you’ve grown rounder since I left.”

Yuanbao tipped up his chin, lips pouting. “So what if I have?”

“I was away all that time, and not one letter from you. I thought perhaps the roads were rough and the couriers lost it—”

Beinan looked down at him. “But now it’s clear it wasn’t the post’s fault at all. Someone simply never sent a letter.”

Seeing his faint scowl and the hint of wounded pride, Yuanbao couldn’t help but laugh.

He leaned up, brushed a kiss against Beinan’s cheek—and finding that too little, kissed his lips as well.

Beinan, never granted such tenderness before, drew him closer.

The room fell quiet, broken only by the soft, wet sound of breath.

When they finally parted, lips sore, Yuanbao stared at the glimmering sheen on Beinan’s mouth and felt his ears burn—it was his doing, after all.

In a low voice he murmured, “I did think of you.”

At that, Beinan’s mouth curved. “Then why didn’t you write?”

Xiao Yuanbao pouted, his expression shifting. “Who told you to send home all those strange things? I was afraid you weren’t focusing on your official duties, so I didn’t write at all.”

Qi Beinan raised a brow. “What, you didn’t like what I sent?”

“That pink pearl,” he added, “I searched for it a long time. It wasn’t cheap either.”

“Wasteful spending,” Yuanbao said.

“How’s it wasteful? The travel stipend was generous—they permit officials to buy gifts for family, to show thoughtfulness. If I hadn’t spent it, people might’ve said I was pretending to be aloof.”

“There was no reason not to use it,” Beinan continued.

Yuanbao frowned in worry. “But wouldn’t that count as corruption?”

Beinan laughed. “What are you thinking? It’s all legitimate, approved by the Ministry of Revenue.”

“Even after buying things, I still have over fifty strings of cash left—money I didn’t spend.”

Yuanbao’s eyes widened. “The allowance for those sent out is that good? Why didn’t you say so sooner? That’s nearly a whole year of your salary in the capital! And you were so reluctant to go, as if it were some hardship no one wanted. I thought they’d forced the worst assignment on a newcomer like you.”

“With benefits like that,” he said with a laugh, “I’m sure everyone would be fighting for the chance.”

In truth, the stipends for field assignments were remarkably generous—indeed a plum posting. Later, once the court reformed the system, such comfort would vanish; the allowances would barely cover food and travel, and men would have to dip into their own purses. Then it would truly be a burdensome task.

Beinan smiled faintly. “You really don’t know why I didn’t want to go, do you?”

Yuanbao pressed his lips together, a smile tugging at them all the same.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Ch 104: Reborn to Raise My Husband

It was only a few days later that Xiao Yuanbao received a letter from Bai Qiaogui, sent from Lantian County.

She wrote that she too would be coming to the capital. As for the food therapy business Yuanbao had mentioned, she proposed they discuss it in detail once she arrived in person.

Reading that line, Yuanbao shot up from his stool in surprise. He read the letter again, slowly, carefully, to be sure he hadn’t imagined it.

When he finished, a bright smile spread across his face.

Just then, Wen-ge’er came in carrying tea. Seeing Yuanbao grinning over a letter, he asked, “Is it a letter from the master? You look so happy.”

Yuanbao shook his head. “Not from him—Sister Gui is coming to the capital.”

Wen-ge’er set down the teacup. “Is Madam Bai coming especially to see you?”

“She’s not coming for me,” Yuanbao said, still beaming. “She’s moving here.”

In her letter, Bai Qiaogui explained that after the recent juren selection, His Majesty had expanded the number of appointments available, allowing more scholars to be assigned to posts.

Yet no matter how outstanding these men were, none could immediately serve in the capital; all had to begin their careers in the provinces. To make room, the Ministry of Personnel was recalling competent officials who had previously been sent out to local positions.

Luo Tingfeng, who had done well in the palace examination, had been posted to the provinces for lack of connections in the capital. Now, with new juren needing posts, he was being transferred back.

Bai Qiaogui didn’t specify what department Luo Tingfeng would serve in once they returned—her letter only said they would settle that after arriving.

For now, she asked Yuanbao to help make arrangements in advance; they would depart for the capital within ten days.

Since the juren selection exams were already underway—and these were simpler than the regular imperial exams, with results released quickly—the new appointments would follow soon after. Once the Ministry issued the recall order, the couple had to hand over their county duties and prepare for travel.

Though their time in office hadn’t been long, it was still enough that leaving required proper handover. Everything had just been put in order when the imperial decree arrived, bringing a rush of work.

Even if they hadn’t asked for help, Yuanbao would have stepped in. Upon learning they were coming, he immediately wrote back, assuring them to finish their business in Lantian County without worry—he would handle matters here.

The Luo and Bai families were modest but decent folk, with some means yet far from wealthy. Coming to the capital, the first concern was lodging.

Unlike a county appointment, where the magistrate and his family lived in the yamen’s official residence, capital officers had to rely on government quarters—and without connections, getting a decent one could take ages.

Even then, there was no telling whether one might be assigned a house near the outer wards or some cramped, noisy alley.

After his first appointment, Luo Tingfeng had learned what life in the capital was like. Rather than wait endlessly for a suitable official residence, he decided to rent a private home instead.

But to purchase one, as Qi Beinan and Yuanbao had done, was out of reach for them. They had only limited savings; they could not produce such a large sum at once.

So the most practical choice was to rent. Officials living outside their assigned quarters received a small stipend, but it wasn’t much. Luo therefore asked Bai Qiaogui to have Yuanbao help find a house before they arrived, so that settling in would go smoothly.

Yuanbao was more than happy to help—he only wished they might rent somewhere in the same lane.

Yet the inner city, where he lived, was expensive. Buying property was costly enough; even renting could be daunting.

Still, it wouldn’t do for them to live too far out—traveling to morning court from the outer districts would be tiring.

After thinking it over, Yuanbao suddenly recalled something.

Their previous rental house, before they had bought the new one, was in a good location and reasonably priced. They had lived there for nearly a year, and had it not been for the marriage and new home, they would have kept it longer.

Moreover, Bai Qiaogui had visited that house before and liked it.

Decision made, Yuanbao sent someone to find the property broker.

Fortunately, since they’d given up the lease in May and the big summer exams hadn’t yet begun, there weren’t many tenants searching. The house hadn’t been taken.

Renewing the lease was easy—no haggling over price; everything stayed as before.

Once the new keys were in hand, Yuanbao sent two idle servants to clean the place thoroughly.

Summer dust settled thickly; after a month closed up, the house had grown dull and gray.

By late June, the capital was sweltering. The air felt baked dry, as if scorched by fire.

Luo Tingfeng and Bai Qiaogui arrived with three or four wagonloads of belongings.

Having received their letter in advance, Yuanbao went to the city gate to meet them.

He had been waiting outside for some time, but the sun blazed down mercilessly, drenching him in sweat. He bought a block of ice from a street vendor, intending to cool off in his carriage—when, from afar, he caught sight of their caravan approaching.

“In this heat,” Bai Qiaogui called out as she stepped down, “whatever possessed you to wait at the gate? If you catch heatstroke, what then?”

Bai Qiaogui stepped down from the carriage, her face bright with both joy and mild reproach as she saw Xiao Yuanbao waiting there.

She drew out a handkerchief scented faintly with mint and dabbed the sweat from his forehead. “I still remember the way to that house. You needn’t have come all this way to the city gate.”

“I was waiting in the shade,” Yuanbao said with a laugh. “No matter how hot it gets, it’s not as bad as the heat you’ve suffered on the road. I’ve nothing to do at home anyway—coming out for a walk does me good.”

Then he turned and greeted Luo Tingfeng with a polite bow. “Master Luo, was your journey smooth?”

It had been a full year since they’d last seen each other. Luo Tingfeng was darker now, likely from the sun and wind of provincial service—no longer the pale scholar of old. Yet the tan suited him, lending a steadier, more mature air.

“The road was clear all the way,” Luo said. “Only the weather—sweltering. We kept shut in the carriage, it was stifling. We soaked indigo root in our water to fend off the heat; otherwise we’d surely have fallen ill after so many days on the road.”

He added with a smile, “If a few days’ journey was this trying, then Brother Qi’s examination tour through the provinces must be far worse.”

“He’s learned to ride now,” Yuanbao replied. “He doesn’t have to sit cooped up in a carriage all day—he’ll be fine.”

After a few more words, they climbed into the carriage and went to the house.

Yuanbao had already ordered water to be boiled—after such a journey, they would be soaked in sweat and nothing would feel better than a bath.

By noon he sent a servant to fetch hot dishes from a nearby tavern, and soon they were eating together.

Servants from both households busied themselves with unpacking. Luo and Bai had brought two attendants, but with a whole house to settle into, extra hands were welcome.

Yuanbao, having moved several times himself, knew well how troublesome it could be. Seeing everything clean, orderly, and ready for them to move in at once, the couple were deeply grateful for how thoughtful he’d been.

When the sun tilted westward, Yuanbao finally took his leave.

He had come empty-handed, but he went home carrying a chest.

Opening it, he found it filled with fine medicinal herbs—soft-dried wild goji berries, thumb-thick slices of danggui, crisp white lily bulbs, plump lotus seeds.

All could serve as both medicine and food: lily and lotus seeds made fragrant porridge, danggui enriched stewed chicken or pork, and goji berries had endless uses.

He guessed Sister Gui had gathered them herself back in Lantian.

Besides the herbs, there were local delicacies too: spicy-marinated smoked chicken, wrapped in oil paper that released a numbing aroma the moment he opened it. Steamed, it would surely be delicious.

He selected some lilies and lotus seeds into a round box, added danggui and goji berries, and packed two of the smoked chickens—sending the lot to Jiang Tangtuan’s household.

Just as his servant went off with the bundle, Wen-ge’er came in. “Husband, a letter’s arrived.”

He handed over not just a letter from the porter’s lodge, but also a small parcel.

Yuanbao had been sorting the chest; the strong scent of the smoked chicken had clung to his sleeves. He was rubbing his hands with bath beans when he heard there was a letter, and quickly wiped them dry before taking it.

The envelope opened easily, and on the back of the folded paper he saw a few familiar characters—To my beloved.

Seeing those four words, Yuanbao’s heart lifted. The letter was thick—four or five pages at least.

He didn’t open it right away but turned to Wen-ge’er. “Go tell the kitchen to make me shrimp dumplings for supper.”

“Yes, sir,” Wen-ge’er said, and went.

Then Yuanbao carried the letter into the main room and unfolded the paper.

Xiaobao, if you are reading this, I am well.

The examinations proceed smoothly; all is in order. Food and lodging are sufficient, though the night rains in Jinling come fierce and loud with thunder—I find it hard to sleep. I cannot help but think of those nights of rain when you and I were together…

Qi Beinan’s letter went on with small details of his days overseeing the provincial exams, asking how Yuanbao fared in the capital, whether he had missed him, and so on.

Because correspondence was slow, Qi had written at length. Yuanbao read carefully line by line. In later pages, Qi mentioned the bustling beauty of Jinling, its shops and wonders even grander than the capital’s.

During his free hours, he had bought a few gifts he thought Yuanbao might like and hoped they would please him.

Even before opening the parcel, Yuanbao was already smiling.

He hurried to untie the bundle. Inside was a long wooden box holding a delicately carved hairpin—simple and elegant, with a faint, refined fragrance rising from the wood.

There was also a small square box that fit in his palm. He opened it and found a pink pearl, perfectly round and luminous.

He lifted it between two fingers, marveling.

He had seen white pearls before, but never pink ones; such a gem must be rare and costly.

“Still spending money so freely,” he murmured—but the reproach was soft, full of warmth. He carefully set the pearl back into its box, smiling all the while.

Just when Xiao Yuanbao thought he’d finished unpacking everything, he noticed another folded length of fabric at the bottom of the parcel.

He glanced at it—it didn’t seem remarkable at first glance, just an ordinary piece of leather or cloth easily found in the capital. Why would Qi Beinan have gone to the trouble of sending this all the way back?

Curious, Yuanbao picked it up. It felt as though something was hidden inside.

He unfolded the cloth—and sure enough, a slim fabric-covered box was tucked within.

“What on earth—he even hid something inside…”

Before he could finish muttering, a flash of bright crimson caught his eye.

Inside the box lay a piece of red silk, no wider than a man’s waist, shorter even than a kitchen apron. A thin strap looped for the neck, two ribbons extended from the sides to tie around the waist—and across the middle, finely embroidered mandarin ducks played upon rippling water.

Yuanbao lifted the fabric in one hand; it was so small and soft he could easily crush the whole thing into his palm.

The material was supple beyond belief, cool and smooth to the touch, like dipping one’s fingers into a stream of spring water.

At the bottom of the box was a note. Yuanbao picked it up and read:

“Your skin is fair and your waist slender; this fabric is soft and gentle. You’ll look beautiful in it. When I return, I’ll have a proper look.”

In an instant, Yuanbao’s face turned crimson.

That tiny scrap of cloth—how could it possibly cover anything? It might reach the upper thighs at best, and behind, only two ribbons to tie it by. There was scarcely any difference between wearing it and wearing nothing at all.

Even holding it made his hands feel hot.

Flustered, Yuanbao shoved the silk back into the box and snapped the lid shut, his cheeks burning.

“This man—so shameless,” he muttered under his breath. “Out doing official business, and he still finds time to buy something like this?”

The nerve of him. Yuanbao couldn’t even stand to look at the thing without blushing; he could hardly imagine how Beinan had managed to buy it in broad daylight.

“And to write that he wants me to wear it for him when he comes back—if he dares bring it up, I’ll throw it in his face,” he fumed. “Utterly incorrigible.”

Muttering these fierce words, he dove under the quilt, face still red.

Yet for all his indignation, Qi Beinan’s teasing had stirred something.

Since their marriage, they had spent nearly every night together, intimate and frequent. Now Beinan had been gone almost a month, and Yuanbao had lived alone just as long.

It was like eating rich meat and fish every day—at first one tires of it and craves something plain, but after too many days of thin porridge, one begins to long for a single bite of meat again.

Lately, he’d been dreaming often—vivid dreams that left him flushed and sweating when he woke.

A few days later, Luo Tingfeng began work at his new post, their household finally in order. With things settled, Bai Qiaogui came by to visit Yuanbao.

“Though he’s been transferred to the capital,” she said with a sigh, “the position is a quiet one, with little future. The Ministry has assigned him to the Guozijian as a keeper of the archives. He spends his days tending to books—idleness itself. It’s not even as lively as serving in the provinces, where at least he could make something of himself.”

She gave a helpless smile. “Still, you know how he loves his books. When he studied at the county academy, he was just the same. There’s no real advancement in this post, but at least he’s doing something he enjoys.”

Yuanbao hadn’t known until then where Luo Tingfeng had been placed; he couldn’t help but feel a little sorry. In the capital, connections ruled everything. For those from small counties without roots or backing, progress was difficult.

“Let him work steadily a few years,” Yuanbao said. “With time and seniority, there’ll always be a chance to move up.”

“I know,” Qiaogui replied with a soft laugh. “I just needed to say it to someone. Truly, even if his career never rises high, I won’t complain. Living well together matters more than anything else.”

“You’re right about that.”

Then she smiled again. “In your last letter, you mentioned wanting to start a business. I think that’s wise. Once you have a household, you must find ways to sustain it. You know what officials earn—it’s barely enough to keep a family.”

“He has only the small properties from when he passed the examinations,” she went on. “They’re all rented out, and the rent covers our expenses, but what was comfortable in Lantian feels tight here in the capital.”

After only a few days in the city, Bai Qiaogui had already learned that Yuanbao hadn’t exaggerated in his letters—living in the capital devoured silver.

“This won’t do forever,” she said. “We’ve just been married, no children yet—but once they come, expenses will multiply.”

“I’ve been thinking of opening a medical hall while I have the time,” she added.

But that was no easy venture. She had no standing or connections in the capital, and skill alone seldom brought recognition. It was much like Yuanbao’s own beginnings when he first arrived in a new county.

And besides, opening a clinic would require a heavy investment to start.

Every step seemed difficult.

Yuanbao understood her worries perfectly. Had it not been for Qi Beinan’s foresight in buying those dozen shopfronts in Linzhou early on, their own life would have been no easier than Luo and Bai’s—perhaps even harder.

“Still, the two of you are fortunate to have some help from your families,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “It gives you something to fall back on. But now that you’re married, it’s not proper to keep asking for money from home.”

“No matter what, being willing to stand on your own feet and build a livelihood—that’s a fine thing.”

He paused a moment, then added, “Opening a medical hall in the capital is indeed difficult. Procuring herbs alone is an art in itself, to say nothing of the rest. And you’re an official’s wife—you can’t be sitting in the hall each day seeing patients. You’d have to hire someone trustworthy to do that for you. As for finding a suitable shop, that part is easier, but still not simple.”

Bai Qiaogui sighed. “Those are exactly the troubles I’ve been turning over in my mind.”

After thinking carefully, Yuanbao said, “Then why not join me instead? We could work together on food-therapy recipes—just as we used to. When the time comes, we’ll open a food-therapy shop together.”

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Ch 103: Reborn to Raise My Husband

The next morning, Xiao Yuanbao went to the Jiang household.

Jiang Tangtuan was sitting quietly on a bamboo couch woven with rattan, his posture languid. One hand held a book, the other toyed idly with a jade hairpin, rolling it along his cheek. Beside the couch stood a small red-lacquered flower stand, upon which bloomed a pot of white peonies, their petals full and luminous.

“How elegant,” Yuanbao said lightly. “Whose young master might this be?”

At the sound of his voice, Jiang Tangtuan lifted his head. Seeing Yuanbao, he quickly set aside the book and tried to rise, but a fit of coughing seized him. He pressed a handkerchief to his mouth, the pallor of his face turning unevenly flushed.

“Still coughing?” Yuanbao hurried forward and gently patted his back. “Haven’t you taken medicine or seen a physician?”

Jiang Tangtuan took his hand and drew him to sit. “It’s an old complaint of mine. If I stay clear of wind and chill, I’m fine, but once I catch cold, it never passes easily—half a month at least.”

“How can it be that bad?” Yuanbao said. He himself had been frail as a child, yet never so delicate as this.

Tangtuan smiled faintly. “You’ll laugh at me, but I was a mischievous boy. Once, climbing a tree with my brother to pick fruit, I fell into the lotus pond and nearly drowned. My brother was beaten soundly afterward, and while I lay in bed for days, he knelt in the ancestral hall for as long.”

“Since then, my health has been poor. I no longer dared to make mischief, and my temper grew quiet.”

Yuanbao drew a sharp breath. “That’s terrifying. Looking at you now—so calm and gentle—no one would imagine you ever got into such trouble.”

Tangtuan chuckled. “That was long ago.”

Then he sighed. “And now I’ve gone and burdened my brother again.”

“What burden? It’s that Lü family, petty and spiteful—never have I seen such narrow hearts.”

“They’ve already had their downfall,” Yuanbao said, reassuring him. “Don’t waste another thought on them.”

Tangtuan nodded. “It’s a relief that the matter ended cleanly. Otherwise, I’d still feel ill at ease.”

Yuanbao said, “Only your marriage may be delayed now.”

But Tangtuan seemed unbothered. He had never wanted that match with the Lü family. If not for his uncle and aunt’s insistence, he wouldn’t even have come to the capital.

“I’m in no hurry,” he said. “It was only because my elders praised that family that I agreed to the meeting.”

Yuanbao smiled. “You’re still young; there’s no need to rush. A fine ge’er like you will have no shortage of good matches. Why, I know someone—already older than you—who still hasn’t shown the least impatience.”

He teased Zhao Guangzong by implication, then suddenly remembered. “Ah—come to think of it, you must have met him before. He came to the capital with A’nan for the exams last time, though he didn’t pass.”

“You mean Zhao Langjun?”

Yuanbao nodded. “That’s right—you’ve seen each other then.”

Tangtuan thought for a moment, then smiled. “How could I not? We entered the city together halfway along the road, and we even ran into each other again at the announcement of the results.”

He pursed his lips a little, pretending to sulk. “But you—your mind must have been entirely fixed on Lord Qi’s success that day. You probably forgot it was our first meeting.”

“How could I forget?” Yuanbao laughed. “I remember it clearly—it was indeed our first meeting. When I saw you then, I thought I’d laid eyes on an immortal.”

That drew a genuine laugh from Tangtuan.

After a while, he pressed his lips together and asked, “So Zhao Langjun still isn’t engaged? He seems about Lord Qi’s age.”

Yuanbao nodded and told him briefly about Zhao Guangzong’s failed proposals and his current preparations for the official selection exam.

“I’d thought he was already married,” Tangtuan said in surprise.

Yuanbao replied, “A’nan says he’s like a block of elm wood—no blossom ever opens where marriage is concerned. It worries everyone.”

“With the exam before him, he’ll hardly have time to think of anything else,” Yuanbao added.

Tangtuan smiled faintly. “Zhao Langjun is steady and earnest. I’m sure this time he’ll get what he hopes for.”

As he spoke, another cough seized him.

Yuanbao at once handed him a cup of warm water and touched his forehead—thankfully cool, only the lingering cough remained.

“You can’t go on like this,” Yuanbao said. “Let me make you a lung-soothing broth.”

He meant it too. Leading Tangtuan to the small kitchen, he asked the servants for fritillary bulbs, dendrobium, dried snow pears, and codonopsis. Knowing Tangtuan was weary of bitter medicine, he added two pieces of pork bone for flavor.

He soaked the fritillary and pears, washed them clean with the dendrobium, then stewed them with the bones until the rich fragrance of the herbs melded with the sweetness of the meat.

Tangtuan stood nearby, watching him move deftly about the little kitchen. “You came to visit the sick, yet I make you labor over a stove. I’m really ashamed.”

“You’re always saying you’re sorry for this or that,” Yuanbao said. “It’s because you think too much that you never get better.”

He smiled as he stirred the pot. “This recipe was given to me by an old friend—she’s a woman physician, quite remarkable. Once you’ve tried it, if you find it helps, I’ll tell your attendants to make it often for you. Proper nourishment will do more good than a dozen tonics.”

Jiang Tangtuan looked at him then, deeply moved by such care.

“I’ll be sure to follow the diet recipe you left for me,” Jiang Tangtuan said.

By late morning, the soup had finished simmering. Its surface gleamed with oil, and the scent made his appetite stir. Though it was brewed from herbs, the broth was light, sweet, and smooth on the tongue—far better than any bitter medicine.

He drank a bowlful and even picked out several small pieces of pork rib, eating with real relish. The older maid attending him remarked that his appetite was the best it had been in days.

At noon, Xiao Yuanbao stayed to share lunch at the Jiang residence before returning home.

Jiang Tangtuan personally saw him to the gate and stood watching as Yuanbao’s carriage departed before turning back inside.

The summer heat pressed down. Riding in the swaying carriage, Yuanbao soon grew drowsy.

When he arrived home, he went straight in for a nap, meaning to rest for a short while—yet he slept far longer than he intended.

When he finally awoke, Qi Beinan was standing by the side of the room, changing into his court robe.

Yuanbao sat up abruptly on the cool couch. “What time is it—you’re already back from duty?”

Qi Beinan turned, smiling faintly at the bleary figure on the couch. “Nearly the hour of you, I’d say.”

“I slept that long? And you didn’t wake me?”

Yuanbao rubbed his head and started to rise, only to see Qi Beinan remove not just his court robe but the undershirt beneath it as well.

His breath caught. The man’s bare shoulders and solid back were suddenly in view.

“It’s broad daylight—aren’t you the least bit ashamed?”

Qi Beinan paused, a towel in hand. “Ashamed? I can’t change clothes in my own room now?”

“You’re changing clothes—why strip down completely?”

Qi Beinan wiped at the sweat along his neck, looking wronged. “It’s scorching outside. I rode all the way back in that carriage—my clothes are soaked through. Can’t I take off the wet ones?”

Yuanbao faltered, realizing he’d misunderstood. His face flushed deeper. “Then—I’ll fetch you a towel.”

He slipped his feet into his shoes and stepped down from the couch. But before he could go far, Qi Beinan caught him by the arm and drew him in.

Yuanbao stumbled; his palm landed squarely on Qi Beinan’s bare chest.

He could feel the slick warmth of skin damp with sweat, the heat radiating through his fingers. The faint, spicy scent that rose from Qi Beinan now was not the polished fragrance of an official’s perfume, but the vivid, masculine scent of exertion.

Yuanbao’s heart thudded wildly. He tried to pull back, but Qi Beinan only tightened his hold.

Knowing how easily embarrassed he was made the teasing all the more irresistible.

Holding his hand, Qi Beinan asked, “Do I smell bad?”

“No—no.”

Yuanbao’s lips pressed together, his eyes darting helplessly over the other’s exposed skin. He wanted to look away but couldn’t. Though they had been intimate many times before, it had always been in the privacy of the bedchamber. Seeing him like this elsewhere made his face burn.

“Smell carefully,” Qi Beinan said, slipping an arm around Yuanbao’s waist and tapping a finger against the back of his head.

Yuanbao found himself pressed against him.

“Yes,” he muttered faintly, playing along, “you really do smell.”

Qi Beinan paused, releasing him a little. “Then why is it that on the bed, when I’m sweating even more, you never complain?”

Yuanbao’s face went crimson; he had no idea how to answer.

Qi Beinan’s voice grew lower. “Or is it that the sweat smells different there?”

“I—I wouldn’t know.”

“Then we should find out, shouldn’t we?”

With that, Qi Beinan lifted him off the floor and started toward the bed.

After a few steps, he stopped and asked with mock seriousness, “Would you rather the cool couch or the bed?”

Yuanbao was speechless—he hadn’t even agreed, yet Qi Beinan was already assuming his consent.

“I don’t—”

“Good,” Qi Beinan said at once. “Then not the couch. You’re light enough; half an hour in my arms won’t matter.”

At that, Yuanbao’s eyes went wide. It was still broad daylight—just the thought of it made his skin prickle with shame.

“The bed,” he blurted out in a rush.

Qi Beinan’s smile curved, and he carried him there.

Outside, the evening sun spilled through the lattice, filling the room with a haze of gold. Only the bed curtains, clutched tight by a slender white arm, kept the light from falling inside.

By the time dusk deepened, the room had gone quiet again.

Yuanbao couldn’t bear to step outside afterward. He had the evening meal brought to the outer room, hoping for peace—but it proved a mistake.

Qi Beinan, apparently possessed by some lingering mischief, returned twice before he was satisfied, leaving Yuanbao so flustered he couldn’t lift his head.

He had slept for an hour that afternoon, and he thought he wouldn’t sleep again that night. Yet exhaustion won out; before the city had fully settled, he was fast asleep.

Two days later, preparations for the juren official selection were complete.

From the Hanlin Academy, Qi Beinan was appointed to accompany the Ministry of Rites as an examiner and provincial inspector.

The post had originally been assigned to Lin Qingyu, but since his marriage had just been arranged and the Grand Duke had chosen him as a son-in-law, the Hanlin Academy could hardly send him away on field duty at such a time.

When Xiao Yuanbao heard the news, he couldn’t help asking, “How long will you be gone this time?”

“The Ministry has arranged four inspection teams, each responsible for six provinces. Even at the quickest pace, it’ll take two or three months,” Qi Beinan replied. “Each province will need at least ten days’ stay, plus travel time. It adds up.”

Hearing that it would be so long, Yuanbao didn’t protest—it would be unreasonable to—but his heart still sank a little.

He had long known that an official’s life wasn’t one of freedom, that duties and assignments from above would often send one far from home. Yet when it came to his own husband, he still felt reluctant.

Qi Beinan patted the back of his hand. “I’ll leave early and return early.”

Yuanbao smiled faintly. “We’ve been in the capital for a year now. I’ve gotten to know people, and the teacher’s here too. I’ll manage just fine. You needn’t worry.”

In early June, Qi Beinan departed with the Ministry of Rites’ delegation to the provincial administrations.

To avoid any suspicion of favoritism, he was not sent toward Linzhou but instead to the Jinling region.

Yuanbao stood on a high platform, watching from afar as the line of carriages and horses left the city gate, then turned home with a heavy heart.

Two days later, Jiang Tangtuan came to visit.

“So your cough is finally better? About time you stepped outside again,” Yuanbao said, welcoming him in. With Qi Beinan away, the house felt emptier than ever, and company was a joy.

“That food therapy recipe of yours works wonders,” Tangtuan said. “They’ve cooked it several times for me since, and I really stopped coughing. Still, the taste’s not as good as when you made it—I eat less of it now.”

His complexion was brighter, his spirits improved.

“It’s not the soup’s doing,” Yuanbao said, smiling. “You took your medicine properly, that’s why you’re better.”

Tangtuan shook his head. “No false praise—it truly helped. It’s mild, pleasant, and nourishing, far better than bitter herbs.”

“Then I’ll study more recipes like it,” Yuanbao said. “Might be of use one day.”

Tangtuan laughed. Then he added, “With Lord Qi away on official inspection, the house must feel quiet.”

“It does,” Yuanbao admitted. “No family here in the capital—it’s not like home in the county. Time’s harder to fill. But I’m glad you’re here to talk with.”

They chatted for some time. Tangtuan stayed for lunch, rested through the hottest part of the day, and only then went home, promising to send over some ice next time. He’d recently acquired a finely made ice chest and wanted Yuanbao to have one.

After he left, the house fell silent again, even lonelier for the brief liveliness that had just passed.

Toward sunset, Yuanbao went to check on the pickle shop.

“You’ve been coming a lot lately,” Jiang Fulang said with a grin. “Aren’t you tired of this cramped, stuffy place?”

He set down a small round stool and a bowl of shaved ice with red beans and glutinous rice balls. “Here, eat this.”

Yuanbao sat down, leaned forward, and stirred the ice with his spoon. He scooped up a spoonful and let it melt in his mouth—sweet, cool, and refreshing.

On a summer day, there was nothing more delightful than that.

“It’s cooler here than at home,” he said contentedly. “The breeze in the alley blows strong.”

Jiang Fulang, counting beads on his abacus behind the counter, looked at the young man sitting on a low stool eating sweets—soft and bright-eyed like a lamb—and was struck by how much he resembled his younger self.

He knew Qi Beinan was away on duty, and with no one at home to keep him company, the ge’er would drift here day after day. He didn’t tease him, only said gently, “If it’s cooler here, then come as often as you like.”

Yuanbao finished half the bowl of sweet ice, then ate two skewers of grilled lamb and four marinated duck feet, until his stomach rounded full.

He sprawled lazily in his chair. “The food in this city is incredible. Even the street stalls are delicious.”

“Of course,” Jiang Fulang said. “If they weren’t, they couldn’t afford these rents.”

“How’s business for our shop lately?” Yuanbao asked.

“Good,” Jiang Fulang said. “After costs, we’re clearing forty or fifty guan a month. People say our pickles are tasty and keep well—travelers buy them for the road, whole jars at a time. The best customers are merchant caravans; they buy in bulk. Even the peddlers take stock from us to resell in the outer districts.”

Yuanbao smiled, relieved and pleased.

“There’s even something funny,” Jiang Fulang added. “One big restaurant tried to copy our pickles after seeing how well we sold. They thought to undercut our prices—relying on their wealth to drive us out. But they couldn’t even afford the mushroom supply. Tried for less than a month and gave up.”

He chuckled. “Turns out, those cheap mushrooms they thought they’d gotten were grown by the same farmers we buy from in the suburbs of the capital.”

Xiao Yuanbao had deliberately sold the fragrant mushrooms to that rival restaurant, earning a tidy sum and, at the same time, teaching every merchant who had thought to imitate their youjiangcai business a quiet lesson.

By now, the pickle trade was running smoothly. The shops in Linzhou had all been leased out one by one; just recently, Tienan had brought word of eight hundred guan in rent collected. Counting all their properties together, the yearly rent alone would come to more than a thousand guan.

Add to that two or three hundred guan of income from their estate in the countryside, and they were comfortably secure. In the capital, unless there was some large expense, the profits from the Xiangdangdang shop alone could more than cover their daily use.

Through years of careful management—loosening here, tightening there—their accounts had finally balanced cleanly. Life was easy now; no need to pinch every copper.

They were not yet a grand household of wealth, but by any measure, they had risen to the level of a solidly prosperous family.

Still, Yuanbao was not content to idle away his days as a comfortable gentleman.

The household might be relaxed now, but someday he and Qi Beinan would have a child, and children brought expenses. Raising and educating one was manageable; but when it came time for marriage, that was when silver flowed like water. Yuanbao had lived through it once before—he knew well what such costs meant.

After running the household accounts through his mind, he sighed. “I think I ought to find something new to do.”

First, it would bring in more income; second, with Qi Beinan away for three or even five months, the idle days were wearing on him.

Jiang Fulang looked up. “And what are you thinking of doing?”

“I don’t have much skill to boast of,” Yuanbao said. “Apart from the kitchen, I seem to have no other craft at all.”

Fulang hesitated. “I don’t mean to pour cold water on you, but the capital isn’t like our little county. Here, no one pays just because you can cook a good soup. I thought my own offal dishes were fine, but selling them by the street in the night market—business isn’t what it was back home.”

He wasn’t wrong. As Yuanbao himself had said before, even the humblest stalls in this city cooked well. Unless one had money to burn or a sideline that didn’t depend on food sales, a shop with nothing special would close before long.

Many never lasted to the end of their lease.

Jiang Fulang had lived in the capital long enough to see it with his own eyes, and the gossip of the market always turned to such matters.

“If it’s only about good flavor, without something unique to set you apart,” he said, “then starting a business here is hard indeed.”

Their pickle shop succeeded precisely because it was different—humble, inexpensive pickles made with costly mushrooms, rich in taste yet still affordable. That contrast was what sold.

Yuanbao understood the reasoning. Madam Feng had told him the same long ago: business couldn’t be built on impulse. The youjiangcai trade had taken him many trials before he settled on it.

“I think,” he said now, “I may have found an idea.”

Fulang leaned forward. “Let’s hear it.”

“In the county,” Yuanbao began, “when I lived with Sister Gui, Madam Feng—who taught me to cook—was often in poor health. The two of us used to come up with nourishing dishes for her to eat. She’d seen all kinds of food in her life, yet even she said ours were clever and truly effective.”

“I kept those recipes—soups to moisten the lungs and protect the liver, dishes to replenish yin or strengthen yang. Not long ago, when Tangtuan was coughing, I cooked one for him. His cough cleared, and he swore it worked.”

He continued, “Here in the capital, I’ve been watching the famous restaurants. Take the Anhua Pavilion—known for its extravagance. The building overlooks half the city, and they serve their dishes on gold and silver plates. There’s no delicacy under heaven one cannot eat there.”

“Or Chaoqi Pavilion—its hallmark is the twelve beautiful ladies and ge’er who keep patrons company over wine and food.”

One by one, Yuanbao listed the great establishments, all thriving for their distinctive appeal.

“In this city,” he said, “there are countless skilled cooks. But good taste alone isn’t enough. If I were to take wholesome food and give it the name of shiliao—dietary therapy—that would be my distinction. And not an empty one either—it truly has results.”

Jiang Fulang smiled. “That’s not a bad idea at all. The rich here have plenty of silver but poor health. If you opened a shop offering therapeutic meals, I daresay it would do well.”

Yuanbao’s eyes brightened.

“Only, I was never trained in medicine,” he admitted. “I know only a little, enough to put together ten or so recipes—but that’s hardly enough to open a proper shiliao shop.”

If only Sister Gui were in the capital; he could have worked with her to refine the recipes. Letters could still be sent, but correspondence was no match for face-to-face trial and tasting.

Still, a clear direction was far better than the aimless restlessness he’d felt before.

That very evening, back home, he wrote to Sister Gui, telling her of his plan to open a therapeutic food shop.

With this new purpose, his days no longer felt empty. He spent them poring over medical texts, copying notes, buying ingredients, and experimenting in the kitchen—testing how to blend nourishing herbs with meats and vegetables until the dishes were both flavorful and strengthening.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Ch 102: Reborn to Raise My Husband

On the first day of the month, the regular court assembly convened.

Civil and military officials alike gathered at the Taiji Palace for the imperial audience. They stood in ranks according to grade, the line stretching from the great hall all the way out to the open square.

Those standing in the square could not hear the emperor’s words within, so a relay officer was assigned to repeat each command aloud.

For an official of Qi Beinan’s rank, his place should have been among those in the square—yet as a scholar of the Hanlin Academy, he enjoyed certain privileges. The Hanlin was the emperor’s training ground for close advisers, and even during morning audience, its officials were permitted to stand at the threshold of the main hall, far nearer than most.

Qi Beinan held his ivory tablet calmly, listening to the memorials being presented.

The Ministry of Revenue reported that lifting the nightly curfew had increased the treasury’s income. Then the Grand Secretariat spoke of floods rising in Jiangnan; the court proposed offering prayers for relief.

From national matters the discussion shifted to the inner palace—some ministers urged that, with the treasury now full, the emperor should select new concubines to ensure the imperial line’s continuation.

So it went—on the first and fifteenth of every month, the same recurring topics.

After about the length of one stick of incense, the chief eunuch’s shrill voice rang out: “Those with petitions, step forward; those without, you may withdraw!”

No sooner had the words fallen than an official from the Censorate stepped out of line. “Your Majesty, this minister has a memorial to present.”

At once, every official who had been standing silently straightened a little, eyes cast down, following the movement of the man with wary tension.

The Censorate spent its days watching and recording the faults of all officials—no one knew when its venom might suddenly land on one’s own head.

“This minister impeaches Commander Qiao Sheng of the Capital Guard for failure to discipline his household. His son, abusing his family’s power, assaulted a man in the street, leaving multiple rib fractures.”

Qi Beinan, who had half been listening, raised his eyes slightly and glanced toward Jiang Tangyuan standing behind him.

Jiang Tangyuan met his gaze with a brief, knowing look.

“So such a thing has happened,” the emperor remarked mildly.

Compared with matters of state, this was a trifling scandal. Still, the commander of the Capital Guard was a military officer—his son’s thuggery reflected poorly on imperial discipline.

The emperor was already aware of several similar cases: sons and nephews of high officials bullying commoners under their protection. None had been formally reported, and he, as ruler, could hardly investigate every one. But now that the Censorate had chosen to act, taking this opportunity to remind the court of its duty would do no harm.

“Your Majesty,” said the censor, “the Censorate would not accuse any official without solid evidence.”

The emperor replied, “An official must be upright. The Commander of the Capital Guard is charged with protecting the people, not oppressing them. Let the Prefect of the Capital investigate this matter thoroughly and deal with it severely, so that all officials may remember to guide their sons and nephews properly. Even if they cannot serve the court with merit, they should at least know restraint.”

The meaning was plain: the emperor intended this as a warning to the whole court. Ministers bowed their heads and echoed their assent with dutiful gravity.

Commander Qiao Sheng himself was not present that morning. He had no idea that the Censorate had just lodged a memorial against him.

But two others turned ashen—the Lesser Minister of the Court of Imperial Banquets, Lü Xiaojing, and Doctor of the Five Classics Lü Liang of the Hanlin Academy. Qiao Sheng was their kin; the impeachment struck their household squarely in the face.

After the audience dispersed, Lü Xiaojing approached the censor who had spoken. “Lord Li, you are thorough indeed—so trivial a matter, and you bring it before His Majesty himself. Those who know might praise the Censorate’s vigilance; those who don’t might think you filed a baseless charge just to remind the emperor your office still exists.”

The censor gave a cold smile. “There is no matter too small when it concerns the court. Commander Qiao’s son, by sheer arrogance, beat another man until his ribs were broken. If such savagery is a ‘small matter’ in Lord Lü’s eyes, it chills the heart. Should he kill someone next, I wonder what Lord Lü will call that.”

Then, pointedly, he added, “The Commander of the Capital Guard is but a minor military man. For his son to act so brazenly, one wonders whose power he truly relies on.”

His glance flicked toward Lü Xiaojing.

The insult was clear. Lü’s expression stiffened; he cursed the old viper inwardly but said nothing, sweeping his sleeve as he left the hall.

That very day, the son in question—Qiao Jin—was arrested on imperial order by the Prefect of the Capital himself.

When the officials arrived, Qiao Jin was still sprawled in a drunken stupor in a courtesan’s chamber, half-naked and senseless.

Dragged from bed, he kicked and wailed, cursing and sobbing like an animal as he was hauled through the streets to prison.

Madam Lü, witnessing such disgrace for the first time, was aghast. However exalted her household’s guests had been, none had ever dared treat them so roughly.

She was furious and panicked, but before the Prefect’s iron face, even her influence faltered. She dared not speak out.

As her son was led away toward the city jail, she immediately sent servants to summon her husband and rushed by carriage to her parents’ home to plead for help.

She waited there like an ant on a hot pan until her father and brother returned from court. Before she could speak, they scolded her harshly—rebuking her for failing to raise her son properly.

Madam Lü protested tearfully, “He only ever liked his winehouses a little too much! Father, brother, you both knew this. When he’s drunk, he loses his head and gets into scuffles—it’s happened before without trouble. Why has it turned into such a disaster now?”

In the past, her father and brother had always covered things up for her. Why scold her now, and so severely, when this was hardly the worst of his offenses?

Hurt as she was, she could not ignore her son’s plight. She pleaded, “Father, brother—you must save Jin’er! The prison is harsh. He’s been pampered since childhood, dressed in silks and fine food—how can he possibly endure such suffering?”

“How could I not want to intervene?” Lü Xiaojing said grimly. “But this time it was His Majesty himself who spoke in court, ordering a strict investigation. The emperor means to warn the ministers to discipline their sons and nephews—and he’s chosen Jin’er as the example!”

Madam Lü went pale. “Then whom have we offended? Someone must be deliberately trying to ruin us!”

Hearing this, Lü Liang and his father Lü Xiaojing exchanged glances, unease passing silently between them.

When the trial of Qiao Jin began at the Capital Prefecture, neither the Lü family nor the Qiao family sat idle. Both scrambled to pull strings wherever they could.

The Lü family had cultivated wide connections over the years; in past troubles, those ties had always smoothed things over. But this time every road was barred.

Madam Lü went from house to house, finding every door shut. Former noble acquaintances refused even to receive her. Those of lesser rank whispered that the emperor himself had given the order—no one dared meddle under such an iron decree.

While she was still struggling to find a way, the prefect’s investigation deepened. Not only did they confirm that Qiao Jin had assaulted a man in the street, they uncovered an old homicide linked to him as well.

The more they dug, the more they found. How could the son of a mere military commander have committed so many crimes without exposure?

Within days, the inquiry reached straight up to the Lü household.

“A nest of snakes and rats,” the clerks said. “After only a few days of digging, the Capital Prefecture discovered that Lü Xiaojing had embezzled and taken bribes amounting to over a hundred thousand taels during his years in office. Even funds from the state banquets at the Court of Imperial Banquets—he dared to pocket money under the emperor’s very nose.”

“They found he extorted silver from the farmers who regularly supplied vegetables to the palace—every delivery, he demanded ‘gifts.’ If they didn’t pay, he accused them of offering spoiled produce, denied payment, even charged them with deceiving the throne until they were forced to submit.”

“With the silver he bled from them, his family hosted endless banquets, using food and wine to court influence.”

After court that day, Jiang Tangyuan invited Qi Beinan to his home for tea, the two discussing the fall of the Qiao and Lü families.

Seeing those two houses brought low, Jiang felt no pity—only grim satisfaction and relief that his own family had never been drawn into kinship with them.

Qi Beinan sipped his tea leisurely. “Families like the Lü clan think themselves secure because of their connections. Yet when disaster strikes, who truly stands by them? Every official in the capital now avoids their name. Many must be regretting ever having eaten at their table.”

“Before, they flaunted their glory, trusting that their allies would cover their tracks whenever they blundered. The more they deceived themselves, the bolder they grew. But corruption leaves a trail—once one thread is pulled, the whole fabric unravels.”

The Capital Prefect submitted his report to the throne. The emperor had meant only to issue a warning—strike the mountain to frighten the tiger—but what began as a street assault had unfolded into homicide and, beyond that, massive corruption.

Faced with such an unexpected “revelation,” the emperor’s anger flared.

Qiao Jin was convicted of murder and sentenced to exile. His father, Qiao Sheng, was demoted and stripped of command.

As for the Lü family: Lü Xiaojing was dismissed from office and imprisoned for embezzlement; Lü Liang, implicated through association, was expelled from the Hanlin Academy and reassigned as a minor county magistrate in the provinces.

The once-proud Madam Lü was left utterly disgraced. Both her husband’s and her own family’s fortunes had collapsed. With no face left to show in public, she shut herself indoors, seldom seen again.

“This time, I owe it to your reminder,” Jiang Tangyuan said, “that I gathered evidence of Qiao Jin’s crimes and handed it to the Censorate. Lord Li of the Censorate has long disliked Lü Xiaojing—once he saw a case linked to the Lü family, he leapt to impeach.”

“I only worried the evidence might not be enough to make them act,” Jiang continued. “But as you foresaw—truly, the enemy of one’s enemy is a friend.”

Qi Beinan smiled. “You also deserve credit. Without your family’s connections, we couldn’t have learned which officials opposed the Lüs. It was your information that made this possible.”

“And fortune was with us,” he added. “Had the emperor not been intent on disciplining his officials this season, the Lüs might have bribed their way free again. But stand too long by the river, and your shoes will get wet. This time, they finally slipped.”

Jiang Tangyuan nodded.

With Lü Liang exiled from the Hanlin, no one remained to obstruct him. His own days grew much easier, and the ordeal drew him even closer to Qi Beinan.

Before, they had been friendly colleagues, respectful but not intimate—mere acquaintances bound by shared rank.

Now, having weathered intrigue together, their understanding deepened. They trusted one another as true confidants.

When Qi Beinan returned from the Jiang household that evening, it was already late.

In the kitchen, Xiao Yuanbao was preparing supper.

Qi Beinan changed out of his court robes and stepped inside, drawn by the scent of stir-fried tender gourd shoots—fresh and faintly sweet.

Beside it, a small pot simmered gently. Inside, he saw pig’s jowl, duck feet, duck wings, and intestines—all steeping in a rich spiced broth.

The aroma of the braised meats filled the air. After a long day of talk and tea, Qi Beinan found himself suddenly hungry.

“Why are you making luwei tonight?” he asked.

“It’s from Teacher,” Yuanbao replied. “Now that the weather’s warm, the night market’s growing livelier. After closing shop, he plans to sell some braised dishes there for extra coin. He bought fresh offal and duck this morning—the feathers came off clean, the meat’s good—so he made plenty and sent us some to try.”

Xiao Yuanbao had already heard that morning that Qi Beinan would be stopping by the Jiang household after work. Since he hadn’t mentioned dining there, Yuanbao guessed that he’d come home hungry.

He ladled out a round porcelain bowl. “Here, fill your stomach first.”

Qi Beinan glanced down—it was a bowl of soft, milky-white pig’s brain. Taking it, he sat at the small kitchen table. “Perfect, just what I need to nourish my mind.”

He scooped a spoonful, mixed it with the rich soy sauce, and found it delicious.

Seeing that, Yuanbao simply laid out the rest of the dishes there in the kitchen, and the two ate together.

Over the meal, Qi Beinan told him about the Lü family’s downfall.

Yuanbao sighed as he listened. Though he wasn’t one to rejoice at others’ misfortune, he couldn’t help feeling a small satisfaction at the thought of the Lüs’ collapse.

It wasn’t just because of that banquet when Madam Lü had nearly made a fool of him; it was the memory of the young fulang they had mocked that day—the embarrassment on the man’s face had lingered in Yuanbao’s mind. Who knew how many others the Lüs had humiliated before? Now they themselves had become the talk of the town, subjects of ridicule over tea and wine. Perhaps that was simply retribution.

“I went to visit Tangtuan at the Jiang house two days ago,” Yuanbao said. “He never cared much for that match with the Qiao family, so when it fell through, he didn’t seem particularly upset.”

Because of the broken engagement, however, Madam Lü’s brother in the Hanlin Academy had begun to make things difficult for Jiang Tangyuan. Though Tangyuan never complained, he was gentle and perceptive—his younger brother noticed the change right away, how busy he had become, how the smile had faded from his face. With a bit of asking, he learned the reason, and guilt weighed heavily on him, believing his own failed marriage had brought Tangyuan trouble.

Troubled and restless, he caught a chill and had been coughing badly for several days.

“A broken engagement is nothing rare,” Qi Beinan said. “It was Madam Lü’s own deceit, hiding her son’s debauchery, that caused it. If anyone is to blame, it’s them. And to hold a grudge afterward, using their influence to make life hard for others—such a family has neither decency nor breadth of heart.”

Yuanbao nodded. “A household like that was never upright to begin with.”

Qi Beinan picked up a piece of stir-fried vegetable with his chopsticks and smiled. “Then we may call it fitting retribution.”

“Did you see Tangtuan today?” Yuanbao asked.

Qi Beinan shook his head. “Not today.”

“Maybe he’s still unwell. I’ll go check on him tomorrow.”

“All right.”

Yuanbao placed a duck foot in Qi Beinan’s bowl. “Try one—smells amazing. Teacher said even at three coppers apiece, people buy them eagerly at the night market.”

Qi Beinan laughed. “Then Jiang Fulang will soon be rich.”

“Teacher said he’s saving up. When Zhao San-ge gets married, he’ll help with the wedding—and when we have children someday, he wants to set something aside for them too.”

Qi Beinan chuckled. “Your teacher does think far ahead.”

At the mention of Zhao Guangzong, Yuanbao suddenly remembered. “A letter came from home today—it’s from Zhao San-ge.”

Qi Beinan’s brows lifted slightly. He had written to that young man some time ago; it was about time for a reply.

After the meal, he went to read it.

“What does he say?” Yuanbao asked. The room was warm and close—the heat of early summer made it stifling, though it wasn’t yet the season to use ice. Using it too early spoiled one’s health, and the expense was no small matter.

He opened the window for air, but the mosquitoes were relentless, buzzing in from the courtyard. Grumbling, he fetched a fan, and by the time he turned back, Qi Beinan had already finished reading.

Fanning gently, Yuanbao leaned closer. “So? What did he write?”

“He says he’s giving up the hui examination,” Qi Beinan replied. “He’s going to sit for the xuan’guan selection instead.”

Yuanbao’s eyes widened. “He’s taking the official appointment exam? Then if he passes, he can become a magistrate?”

Qi Beinan nodded. “Yes. If he passes, he’ll officially enter the bureaucracy. But an appointment through the xuan’guan system—what we call a ‘juren posting’—doesn’t carry the prestige of the jinshi degree. Such officials can’t rise as high.”

He went on, explaining patiently, “For example, jinshi can often stay in the capital after passing, or at worst be assigned as county magistrates or prefectural officers. But juren must start from the lowest ranks—as assistant magistrates, prefectural clerks, and the like. The ceiling is low. A truly talented one might reach the level of prefect, but none have ever risen to the Grand Secretariat. Most, lacking connections or brilliance, spend their lives in provincial posts and retire as county magistrates.”

Yuanbao frowned. “Then the prospects truly aren’t as bright as those who pass the hui exam and earn the jinshi title.”

“Of course not,” Qi Beinan said. “Those who labor through two more rounds of imperial exams deserve their greater honor. If it were otherwise, no scholar would bother striving beyond the xiangshi.”

He folded the letter. “Still, I agree with his choice.”

Zhao Guangzong came from modest roots. As a juren, he lived comfortably enough—no want for food or clothing—and could afford to study for years if he wished. But Qi Beinan knew him well: he was not the kind to idle away life in endless preparation.

“To enter government young,” Qi Beinan said, “to serve early and do some real work—that’s worth more than a lifetime chasing titles. If he succeeds, he’ll bring honor to his whole clan.”

After all, the entire Zhao clan pinned their hopes on him.

Moreover, Qi Beinan, who had already lived through one lifetime, knew well how the imperial examination system would change in the years to come. That knowledge only made him more inclined to support Zhao Guangzong’s decision to pursue an official appointment now.

If Zhao Guangzong were certain to pass the next hui examination, then joining the xuan’guan selection this time might seem a waste. But if he failed, the path would only grow harder with time.

Before long, the bureaucracy would overflow with idle officials; scholars would no longer be rare or precious.

Then it wouldn’t just be juren who struggled for appointments—even jinshi would find it difficult to secure real posts. Most would be assigned to ministries as probationary clerks, serving for years without ever being confirmed.

If Zhao Guangzong could take advantage of the present favorable tide to gain an official post, then after years of steady work he would have a solid footing by the time those lean years came. He would have no reason to worry.

Still, such talk was premature. It all depended on whether Zhao Guangzong could pass the selection in the first place; without that, every plan was empty speculation.

The letter said he was already preparing for the prefectural-level exam, though it was impossible to know how ready he truly was.

Qi Beinan’s feelings toward Zhao Guangzong were mixed. He had watched the young man study and take exams year after year—watched him grow from a timid boy into the warm, confident youth he was now. It had not been an easy journey.

To call them mere friends wasn’t quite right, for there was always a certain distance between them.

Rather, Qi Beinan regarded him as a personal student—someone whose progress he could not help but care about.

He sat down that night and wrote a letter in reply, affirming Zhao Guangzong’s decision and offering words of encouragement and hope for his future.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Ch 101: Reborn to Raise My Husband

In the Hanlin Academy, Qi Beinan was working with the Ministry of Rites to organize the appointment of newly ranked scholars.

For this year’s scholar selection, the exam questions were to be composed jointly by the Grand Academician of the Hanlin, two shidu xueshi, and the Left Assistant Minister of the Ministry of Rites, then distributed to the prefectures and provinces. In due course, both the Ministry and the Hanlin Academy would send officials to oversee the regional evaluations.

Qi Beinan, newly married, had hoped to avoid being assigned out of the capital. He had escaped the earlier round of examination inspections, but this time there was no avoiding it. Still, such postings would not last long, so he was not overly troubled.

After a busy day, he finally finished work and headed home.

The new residence was far closer to the government offices. From the palace gates to his doorstep took less than half an hour by carriage. He no longer had to rise so early in the mornings, and the eight or nine hundred taels spent on the new home had been well worth it.

“You’re leaving so early today?”

As Qi Beinan stepped out from the Hanlin offices, he ran into Jiang Tangyuan, who was also heading home.

In June, the Hanlin Academy would conduct its annual review. Those who failed would be reassigned, often to lower posts. Everyone in the Academy was therefore on their best behavior, especially the shujishi.

Qi Beinan, however, had little to worry about. His written assessments would surely be solid, and since his appointment he had worked diligently—he had nothing to fear.

“There are guests at home today, so I’m heading back a bit earlier,” he replied.

Jiang Tangyuan slowed his pace to walk with him. Since Qi Beinan’s new residence was not far from the Jiang household, the two often left the palace together.

As they made their way toward the palace gate, Jiang Tangyuan said, “My mother came up from the provinces. She wishes to call on the Lü family, who used to visit us often.”

Qi Beinan understood at once.

Xiao Yuanbao had mentioned before that Madam Lü hoped to arrange a marriage with the Jiang family for her eldest son. Even without Yuanbao’s reminder, Qi Beinan had already heard of it.

“Then you’re right to go home early,” he said.

Jiang Tangyuan clasped his hands and smiled faintly, clearly hoping things would proceed smoothly. He had only one younger brother and was protective of him, always wishing to find a trustworthy and well-matched household.

Qi Beinan, knowing his thoughts, said nothing further. They parted ways at the palace gate.

When Qi Beinan reached home, he did not find Xiao Yuanbao there. He changed out of his official robes and ate a small plate of steamed yam cake before Yuanbao finally returned.

“Where have you been? It’s late already.”

Seeing the boy’s flushed cheeks, Qi Beinan took up a fan and gently waved it at him. The May sun blazed fiercely, and the heat was stifling.

Xiao Yuanbao gulped down half a cup of his tea before answering. “I went to finalize the shop.”

Qi Beinan raised a brow. “Already? Why didn’t you let me go with you?”

“I’ve gone with you to look at several houses now, and seen how you negotiate shop rentals. Even if I were duller than I am, I should have learned something by now,” Yuanbao said, smiling. “You’re busy at the office—I can’t let you handle everything.”

Qi Beinan chuckled. “It’s my duty to manage our own household affairs.”

Then he pinched Yuanbao’s cheek lightly. “But with such a capable little Bao, I really have nothing to worry about.”

Yuanbao sat down beside him, pried his hand away, and said with bright eyes, “I chose the shop on the busy street in the outer city. It’s a good spot—Teacher thought so too.”

“The front space isn’t large—just enough for seven or eight customers at a time—but there’s a small courtyard behind it with a kitchen, and a ladder leading to an attic that can house two or three people.”

“It used to belong to a couple who ran the business themselves, but they’re old now and wish to retire to the suburbs. That’s why they’re leasing it out. The rent is five taels a month—quite reasonable for a busy district. The space out front isn’t big enough for food stalls to set out tables, so those wanting to sell meals all turned it down.”

“The notice had been posted for months without anyone taking it.”

“I thought since we’re selling youjiangcai, we don’t need a large display area. Even our old street stall worked fine, so this little shop will do perfectly. It has a kitchen and sleeping quarters—ideal for us.”

Jiang Fulang had taken one look and agreed it was an excellent find. But instead of signing immediately, Yuanbao had first made inquiries—whether trouble often arose there, whether the elderly couple had debts or lawsuits.

After confirming there were no such concerns, he negotiated the price down to four taels and six qian, paid a year’s rent in advance, and with other fees spent fifty-five taels in total.

Qi Beinan couldn’t help but praise him. “Our little one is becoming ever more prudent and shrewd.”

Yuanbao corrected him softly. “Not little one—fulang.”

Qi Beinan laughed. “Quite right. My mistake.”

With the weather warming, Yuanbao had shed his thick winter clothes, wearing instead a white silk inner robe and a spring-green patterned gauze overcoat.

The curve of Xiao Yuanbao’s neck showed pale and slender beneath the collar, carrying a faint scent of green bamboo and jasmine.

Qi Beinan looked at him, brows lifting slightly. “You seem fairer than before.”

Xiao Yuanbao touched his cheek. “It’s this spring-green silk. It makes one look paler. Teacher said the same this morning, so I bought another length of the same fabric for him—to make a robe of his own.”

Qi Beinan barely caught the rest of his words. His eyes had already lost focus, drawn to the whiteness of that throat.

He slipped his arms around Yuanbao’s slim waist and, with one motion, lifted him, setting him atop the flower-carved table.

Yuanbao knew at once what mischief he was planning.

Qi Beinan loved to draw him close, perch him higher, and do entirely indecent things—especially in bed, where he was never content unless Yuanbao sat astride him, coaxed into shameful acts that left him speechless.

Now, as the man leaned in, his warm breath brushed Yuanbao’s neck. Yuanbao flushed scarlet and pressed a hand against him to stop the kiss.

Qi Beinan kissed the center of his palm instead. “What’s the matter?”

“You know perfectly well,” Yuanbao said, turning his head slightly toward the bright daylight spilling through the window. “It isn’t even a day since last night.”

He truly could not understand how Qi Beinan had so much vigor. In the first month after their marriage, they had been together once every few days—but as time passed and Yuanbao had learned a little of the rhythm, Qi Beinan lost all restraint, sometimes every two days, sometimes several nights without pause.

He had once thought Qi Beinan the picture of composure, never showing the least worldly indulgence, yet once married, it was as though another man had taken his place.

Still, in all other things he was the same as ever.

“That was last night,” Qi Beinan said. “We ate dinner yesterday—does that mean we shouldn’t eat today?”

“How could you compare such things?” Yuanbao retorted. The man could twist any logic to his liking. “Doing this in broad daylight—it’s like something out of those indecent storybooks.”

Qi Beinan raised an eyebrow and pinched his chin. “And how is it the same? We’re lawful husbands. Whatever we do together is proper. Those storybooks—aren’t they about aunties and younger uncles? Tell me, is that the same?”

Yuanbao pressed his lips together, speechless.

“And besides,” Qi Beinan added, “you reminded me yourself that you’re not my little brother, but my fulang.”

He smiled faintly. “I took it as a hint from you.”

Yuanbao’s eyes widened. He had spoken plainly, and somehow it had turned into a provocation. How could a man so thoroughly twist another’s words?

His chest rose and fell; he drew a quiet breath. There was no reasoning with an official from the Hanlin Academy.

“Then… then…” He lowered his gaze, his face burning. “At least close the window.”

Qi Beinan’s mouth curved. He kissed the edge of Yuanbao’s ear, then went to shut the window.

Yuanbao stole a quick glance as he turned his back. The moment the shutters drew together, he slid off the table, and by the time Qi Beinan turned around, the table was empty—Yuanbao had already darted out the door.

From the threshold he called, “I still have to get the shop fitted up. No time to waste!”

Qi Beinan frowned. “So that’s how you repay my sincerity?”

Yuanbao wanted to say, Sincerity? You mean your broad-daylight wickedness, but servants were passing outside, so he merely pursed his lips.

Qi Beinan narrowed his eyes. This little one was growing ever more cunning.

Two days later, Yuanbao arranged for craftsmen to repair and fit out the rented shop.

They needed to install a counter for receiving payments, fix several rows of shelves along the walls, and build a flat table in the center for tastings. It wasn’t much work—the carpenters had already measured everything the previous day. Four of them came that morning with ready-made shelving, and by day’s end the shop would be set.

Meanwhile, Jiang Fulang had heated water on the stove and scrubbed the attic until it shone. The elderly couple who’d run the shop before had been fastidious folk; everything was spotless, the air clean and fresh with the window open.

From the attic window one could see the entire small courtyard below—a round-bellied water jar stood in the middle, with three glossy green gourds floating inside, lending the space a cheerful life.

Jiang Fulang thought he might stroll to the pottery workshop later to pick up a few cracked earthen jars. He could fill them with soil and plant scallions, garlic sprouts, and chives, just as Tian Ken did back at the manor.

It wasn’t as spacious as the countryside, but this was the capital—convenient for buying and selling. The night market was close by. Once the shop opened, he planned to make braised delicacies in his spare hours, to sell at the market when they closed each evening.

And when Master Qi and little Bao had children of their own, he would take more leisure and help care for them.

The thought filled him with a quiet, long-forgotten anticipation for the days ahead.

Yesterday he had sent a letter to the Zhao family, reassuring them that all was well in the capital and that he was managing life there in good order.

“Teacher, you should rest,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “I can easily hire someone from the street to help clean. In the capital, it’s not hard to find workers, and they don’t ask for much.”

When he returned to the courtyard, he saw Jiang Fulang bent at the waist, scrubbing the attic floor with great effort. Yuanbao quickly called up to him, “That’s hardly enough work to tire you out—no need to do it yourself!”

“It’s a trifle,” Jiang Fulang replied, not pausing in his work. “If I stay idle any longer, my joints will rust.”

Seeing him so determined, Yuanbao gave up trying to dissuade him and turned back toward the front.

But when he reached the shop, the carpenters who had been working were nowhere in sight. Stepping outside, he found them gathered in the street watching some commotion.

“Brat, open your dog eyes and see who you’re dealing with! You dare steal my woman? Try weighing what your bones are worth first!”

“You’ve gone too far! I paid fair silver—why shouldn’t she accompany me? You think her face belongs to your household now?”

Yuanbao hesitated, then joined the onlookers at the edge of the crowd. Before the doors of Meiyin Tower—a famous pleasure house—two finely dressed young men were arguing fiercely.

Beside them stood a strikingly beautiful courtesan, head bowed, dabbing her tears with a thin silk handkerchief, the very image of fragile sorrow.

It was clear enough what they were quarreling over—a courtesan.

The capital’s pleasure quarters were crowded with singers and courtesans of rare beauty and talent, and it was common for such disputes to arise among the wealthy patrons who frequented them.

Yuanbao had little taste for such scenes and was about to leave when a dull thud rang out. The two men, who had been trading words, suddenly came to blows.

The women inside Meiyin Tower screamed, and the heavily painted madam rushed out to intervene, only to be kicked aside by one of the fighting men. She cried out and fell heavily to the ground.

The scene turned chaotic. The man wearing a gold coronet stood back, letting his hired guards handle it. They surrounded the other man—who appeared to be alone—and beat him until he could only crawl away on the ground, bleeding.

The guards showed no sign of stopping.

When a few bystanders started murmuring about reporting to the authorities, the gold-crowned man barked, “Who dares meddle and call the constables? I’ll make you regret it!”

At that, the crowd fell silent.

The beaten man’s groans echoed through the street.

Yuanbao quietly slipped away.

“In so grand a capital, under the Son of Heaven’s very eyes,” he said as he returned, “how can such arrogance still exist?”

Jiang Fulang, hearing of the disturbance, came out to take a distant look.

Yuanbao had seen this sort of thing before—even in their county, merchants who thought themselves powerful had bullied others. He remembered the day one tried to seize Zhao Guangzong’s shop, hiding behind borrowed influence. The man he’d just seen, draped in gold, was surely another who relied on his family’s power.

“No doubt he’s from a great household,” Jiang Fulang murmured.

A nearby carpenter, overhearing, joined in the gossip. “You’ve the right of it. That’s the young master from the Qiao family—son of Commander Qiao of the Capital Guard. A real dandy, that one.”

At this, Yuanbao’s brows knit slightly. The name struck a faint chord. “This Master Qiao—his wife’s surname wouldn’t happen to be Lü, would it?”

The carpenter scratched his head. “Can’t say, sir. Don’t know the lady’s family name.”

Yuanbao didn’t press further, but the thought troubled him. How many Commander Qiaos could there be, and how many with a wife named Lü?

He asked again, “You’ve seen him before?”

“Not I,” said the carpenter. “Only heard the talk. That young master not only keeps favorites at Meiyin Tower, he’s got a pretty boy hidden away elsewhere. Lives in my very street, that one.”

“The fellow’s handsome and always dressed in jewels. No proper work to his name, yet he rides in sedan chairs whenever he goes out. Sometimes late at night, men are seen slipping into his house. Happens all the time in the capital—rich men keeping lovers in secret lodgings. Folks here aren’t surprised anymore.”

“But the boy’s tongue is loose, and he likes to show off. Told more than one person which high official keeps him, and so the story’s out.”

Yuanbao paid little heed to the gossip itself, but what he’d seen was enough. The man’s conduct alone marked him as unfit for trust. How could Tangtuan be given to someone like that?

Back home, he told Qi Beinan everything.

“This Qiao young master is utterly without restraint,” Qi Beinan said, his voice cool. “A reckless youth. Even with family rank behind him, such arrogance goes too far.”

“Should we inform the Jiang family?” Yuanbao asked.

“Of course,” Qi Beinan said. “I’ll speak to Master Jiang myself. You needn’t trouble over it.”

Yuanbao nodded. With Qi Beinan handling it, there was no need for him to say more. He would simply visit Jiang Tangtuan when time allowed.

A few days later, Qi Beinan invited Jiang Tangyuan out for tea after court.

Jiang Tangyuan knew Qi Beinan was not a man for idle leisure. Realizing he must have something to say, he urged him to speak plainly. They were of similar age and long acquainted—no need for ceremony.

When Qi Beinan told him what Yuanbao had witnessed, Jiang Tangyuan’s face darkened with anger.

“There may be some misunderstanding,” he said tightly. “But I’ll make inquiries and confirm it.”

Qi Beinan replied, “Marriage arrangements concern not only your brother’s future but your family’s name as well. A man’s conduct speaks for his household—if he’s not upright, trouble will follow sooner or later.”

Jiang Tangyuan said, “Thank you for coming to tell me about this.”

Seeing that Qi Beinan had spoken out of genuine concern for his family, he did not hide the truth. “The Qiao family’s rank is higher than ours. My parents, being stationed away from the capital, never intended to seek a match here for Tangtuan. It was my uncle and aunt who kept pressing for it, saying how fine the Qiao family was. Since our family had been meaning to arrange a marriage for Tangtuan, they persuaded me to come to the capital for this purpose.”

“I’ve been occupied with my own affairs—exams, appointments, new duties. All I heard were my uncle and aunt’s praises, and when I met the Qiao family, they were gracious and courteous. I assumed they were good people and never took the time to look deeper into that Qiao son’s conduct.”

Qi Beinan said reassuringly, “The capital’s circles run deep. The Qiaos have been established here far longer than either of our families. If they wish to maintain appearances, it would indeed be difficult to uncover the truth quickly.”

What Jiang Tangyuan said was true—he had been busy enough with his own progress, newly appointed and constantly preoccupied. It was easy to be deceived by a family that knew how to present a fine face.

Jiang Tangyuan’s tone hardened. “If that man is truly like this, then my uncle and aunt have greatly disappointed us.”

After parting with Qi Beinan, he quietly sent trusted men to investigate behind his relatives’ backs.

And just as Qi Beinan had said, the rumors were no slander—if anything, the truth was worse.

The young master’s scandals were even more numerous than expected.

Jiang Tangyuan was furious, all the more because his mother had come all the way from her post to see the marriage through. Only days before, the two families had shared a cheerful meal and nearly finalized the betrothal.

No doubt, Qiao Lang had grown careless once he thought the marriage secure, letting his true nature slip.

The Jiang family had never sought the Qiaos’ influence—once they learned what kind of man he was, the engagement was off at once.

But Jiang’s uncle and aunt continued to speak in defense of the Qiaos. “Young masters from great houses all have their tempers,” they said. “A little indulgence is no sin. Once he marries, he’ll settle down.”

Tangyuan suspected they had accepted favors from the Qiaos—or perhaps simply coveted their connections. He could not bring himself to argue openly with elders, so he wrote to his father instead.

When Father Jiang received the letter, his rage was so great that he sent back three letters in succession, each more scathing than the last. Were he not bound by duty at his post, he would have come to the capital himself to give that brother and sister-in-law a proper reckoning.

The household had been in turmoil ever since.

Family discord was one thing—it remained private. But the Qiaos, insulted by the broken engagement, put on a show of magnanimity in public while nursing a deep grudge in secret.

Madam Lü’s own brother was a jinshi, serving in the Hanlin Academy as well. Older than Qi Beinan and Jiang Tangyuan, he had risen from shujishi to the rank of Doctor of the Five Classics, an eighth-grade official responsible not only for teaching but also for overseeing the Academy’s evaluations.

Thus, when Jiang Tangyuan entered the Hanlin as a newly appointed shujishi, he fell directly under the man’s authority.

The Lü official began to trip him at every turn—assigning him petty, menial errands one day, berating him in front of others the next.

As the academy’s assessments drew near, the intent was clear: to have him fail the review and be expelled from the Hanlin altogether.

“I understand well enough now what sort of people the Qiaos and Lü family truly are,” Jiang Tangyuan said bitterly. “Even suffering their spite is better than becoming kin to such households.”

He spoke with composure, yet his frustration was plain. For a man only just entering official life, such humiliation was hard to bear.

After work that day, he invited Qi Beinan to a quiet tavern in the inner city. Cup after cup, he drank in silence.

Qi Beinan stopped him. “If you endure their bullying without response, they’ll only grow bolder, thinking you’re weak and easily trampled.”

Jiang Tangyuan frowned. “My father is away on duty—he can’t intervene here. The only relatives we have in the capital are my uncle and aunt, and after our quarrel over the marriage, I can hardly count on them for help. They’re probably waiting to see me humiliated.”

Qi Beinan said calmly, “It doesn’t have to be them. There are always other ways. Remember the old saying—‘the enemy of one’s enemy is a friend.’ Do you know if the Lü family has any rivals at court?”

Jiang Tangyuan was a perceptive man. With that single hint, he already knew what to do.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Ch 100: Reborn to Raise My Husband

Qin Jiang knocked on the door, but no one inside responded for quite some time.

He frowned. It wasn’t that late—surely they hadn’t gone to bed already?

Balancing the tray of food he’d brought from the kitchen, his arm was beginning to ache. He shifted the weight, preparing to knock again.

Just then, the older housemaid, who had been tending the stove to keep hot water ready for the night, saw him standing there motionless before the closed door. She hurried over and pulled him aside.

“Heavens above,” she whispered urgently, “what are you doing loitering here at this hour?”

“The master told me to bring some food for him and the young master,” Qin Jiang said. “But they haven’t answered. Should I knock again or just leave it?”

The maid chuckled, shaking her head. “You foolish boy, do you think anyone’s going to answer you right now? Go on, go rest somewhere. You’re no use standing here.”

Qin Jiang scratched his head, still reluctant to leave. He turned to carry the food back toward the kitchen but kept glancing over his shoulder, half expecting Qi Beinan to call out for him to deliver it inside.

The maid caught him doing it and waved him away with a laugh. “Truly a simple soul—no sense at all.”

It was close to midnight when she, dozing lightly on a stool by the corridor, finally heard someone call for hot water from within the bridal room.

She straightened at once. The master also asked for soup and some food to be sent along.

Grinning to herself, she bustled off toward the kitchen, full of quiet amusement. Their lord was not only handsome and learned, it seemed—he was also quite the vigorous man.

Inside the room, Xiao Yuanbao lay sprawled across the bed, a light quilt draped loosely over him.

His damp hair clung to his temples, and his skin still glowed faintly with warmth. It felt as though every inch of him had been washed in sweat.

He was hungry—but more than that, thirsty.

He hadn’t done much, really, yet his limbs felt weak, too heavy to move, not even a finger willing to lift.

Qi Beinan, on the other hand, seemed unaffected—calm as ever, rising and giving instructions as though nothing at all had happened.

If not for the slight disarray of his dark hair, one might have thought he hadn’t exerted himself in the least.

Before long, the maid brought in hot water, and Wen Ge’er arrived with soup and food.

Yuanbao hid under the covers and kept his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.

“They’ve gone,” Qi Beinan said with a small smile, lifting the curtain and glancing toward the bed.

Yuanbao opened his eyes. The candlelight spilled in, dazzling him for a moment.

When his eyes adjusted, he noticed that the two red candles on the stand had burned halfway down. Thinking about all that time passing made his face heat again.

He couldn’t quite meet Qi Beinan’s gaze under the bright light, so he lowered his eyes, murmuring softly in reply.

Qi Beinan, seeing his embarrassment, didn’t tease him. He closed the curtain gently and asked in a quiet tone, “Would you rather eat first, or bathe?”

Yuanbao thought about it. His body felt limp; there was no way he could manage a bath. “Eat something,” he said.

The moment he spoke, he realized his voice had gone hoarse, almost rasping. Startled, he quickly pressed his lips shut.

Qi Beinan drew him upright into his arms. “It’s fine,” he said. “You’ll be better by morning. I had them mix some honey water for you.”

Yuanbao sat up, clutching the quilt around him. When Qi Beinan handed him the bowl, he drank quickly, the sweet taste soothing his dry throat.

Then, with a sudden thought, he looked up in alarm. “You asked for honey water—won’t they all know, then?”

Qi Beinan chuckled. “We’re a proper married couple now. We bowed before the guests, shared the wine—it’s nothing shameful. People knowing it’s only natural. If no one heard a thing, they’d think it strange.”

Yuanbao fell quiet, half convinced, though his face still burned. He wasn’t used to anyone knowing such private matters.

“What food is it?” he asked at last.

“Lean meat porridge and a few side dishes. Do you want some?”

Yuanbao nodded.

Qi Beinan brought the bowl to the bedside and fed him by the spoonful.

When he’d eaten, Qi Beinan carried him to wash, then changed the bedding before lying down beside him in clean robes.

Yuanbao nestled in his arms, glancing up at the faint shadow of his collarbone beneath the nightclothes. In a quiet voice, he asked, “Did I do badly?”

Qi Beinan lowered his eyes to meet his. “Why would you think that?”

“When I said it hurt, you stopped. I thought I spoiled your mood.”

Qi Beinan made a thoughtful sound, the tone drawn out. “A little.”

Yuanbao stared up at him in disbelief. “You’re too honest,” he said, pouting slightly, brows furrowed.

“Well,” Qi Beinan said lightly, “you asked, and I answered truthfully.”

Yuanbao huffed. “Then—then I didn’t enjoy it either. It wasn’t pleasant at all.”

Qi Beinan raised a brow. “Nonsense. I know you better than that.”

Yuanbao had no reply for that and only pouted more.

Qi Beinan laughed softly and brushed a kiss across his lips.

“I only meant my own part,” he said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. If I wanted full satisfaction, how could you endure it your first time? I’d rather stop halfway than see you hurt.”

Yuanbao pressed his lips together, saying nothing, then shifted closer, curling against Qi Beinan’s chest, seeking his warmth.

“I’m sleepy. I want to rest.”

Qi Beinan drew him close, his voice warm and indulgent. “All right, sleep.”

The faint scent of bath herbs lingered on Xiao Yuanbao’s skin, soft and clean. Qi Beinan breathed it in, brushing his nose lightly against him.

He hadn’t been the least bit tired, yet before long both their breathing settled into a steady rhythm.

A peaceful night’s dream.

The next morning, Qi Beinan woke to the dull ache in his arm.

Opening his eyes, he saw Yuanbao still asleep in his arms and couldn’t help smiling.

Pulling the curtain aside just a little, he saw that the room outside was already bright with daylight.

He rarely woke this late; normally he rose before dawn. But today was different.

He slipped his arm back around Yuanbao, drawing him in again. Translated on hololo novels. So this, he thought, is what people mean when they say that tenderness makes men lazy.

Still, if life could go on like this, he wouldn’t complain.

There were no in-laws to pay respects to, so Qi Beinan stayed in bed, content to lie beside his sleeping spouse.

When Yuanbao finally woke, the sun was already high.

He washed up, ate breakfast, and then joined the others in the garden—Xiao Hu, Jiang Fulang, Bai Qiaogui—all drinking tea and chatting in the spring sunlight.

The flowers and greenery were in full bloom, the courtyard lively and full of color.

“When I married,” said Bai Qiaogui, teasing, “I only slept half an hour past dawn. Even then I had to rush to pay my respects to my in-laws. You, on the other hand, sleep until the sun’s halfway across the sky.”

She strolled beside Yuanbao through the garden, inspecting the new house.

“And your Lord Qi spoils you too—sleeping just as late! Truly, people like you make the rest of us look bad.”

Yuanbao’s cheeks reddened. “You make it sound as if life with Lord Luo is pure misery. Yet from the look of you—rounder cheeks, brighter complexion—you seem to be doing very well.”

“I didn’t say I was suffering,” Bai Qiaogui laughed. “I’m just saying your days are even better.”

Then, with a playful grin, she pinched Yuanbao’s waist. “You’ve grown sharp-tongued! I remember a little boy who used to hide behind others when strangers came by. Maybe that wasn’t you at all, and I’ve mistaken the child?”

Yuanbao winced. “You’re remembering wrong.”

Bai Qiaogui saw how he flinched from even that gentle pinch, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Looks like your Lord Qi is quite formidable. You’re sore just from a little touch.”

Yuanbao glanced around quickly, making sure no one else was near, then slapped her hand with a red face. “When did your mouth get so wicked?”

She laughed. “If anyone’s wicked, it’s not me. Why don’t you scold him instead of me? Always picking the soft target.”

Knowing he couldn’t win an argument against Qiaogui, married nearly half a year now and far more practiced at teasing, Yuanbao let the matter drop.

“Your wedding was such a fine affair,” Qiaogui said, softening. “A pity Xin Ge’er couldn’t come.”

Yuanbao nodded. “He wrote to me. It’s too far from the capital—one trip would take a month or more. Even if he could come, I’d have told him not to go through the trouble. His heart’s what matters, and business keeps him busy.”

Qiaogui sighed. “He’s quite something, that one. Since he started working, he’s been unstoppable—ran the Mu family clean out of competition.”

The two talked and wandered for a long while, but halfway through the tour, Yuanbao grew tired.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to keep her company; his body still ached from the night before. What had only been fatigue yesterday had become soreness everywhere now. Even lifting his arms felt like effort—especially in the places most tender to touch.

Seeing his discomfort, Qiaogui stopped teasing. She went out and had two herbal prescriptions written for him to keep on hand.

She stayed three more days in the capital before taking her leave.

Yuanbao was reluctant to part, but he couldn’t ask her to stay longer. She had a home and husband now; it wouldn’t be right to linger elsewhere.

After she left, he found himself missing the old days more than ever.

Back then, visiting her had been easy—a short ride from the village, or just a few streets’ distance when they both lived in town.

Now they lived far apart; even writing letters took effort, let alone seeing each other often.

So he packed food and fabric as gifts for Qiaogui to take back to Lantian County, tokens of his affection and gratitude.

Another week passed before Xiao Hu came to tell them he planned to return home as well.

“You’ve barely been here!” Yuanbao protested. “Why are you leaving so soon? Isn’t this your home too?”

“It is,” Xiao Hu said, trying to soothe him. “But the air here is too dry. My lips and nose feel parched every day. And summer’s coming—it’ll be worse then.”

Yuanbao said nothing, his expression sulky.

Xiao Hu looked helplessly at Qi Beinan, hoping for help.

Qi Beinan met Yuanbao’s pursed lips and dared not side with either of them. “Father, stay a little longer. If the dry air bothers you, I’ll have Qin Jiang fetch some tonic herbs from the apothecary.”

Now it was Xiao Hu’s turn to look displeased.

Qi Beinan pressed his fingers to his brow. Truly, he thought, there was no winning between the two of them.

Seeing this, Qi Beinan said, “If Father leaves, Jiang Fulang will surely follow him back. Once they’re both gone, Xiaobao will be left here all alone—it’ll be far too quiet. How about this: if Father insists on going, try to persuade Jiang Fulang to stay.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s brows lifted. “That’s a fine idea. If you’re set on leaving, then convince my teacher to stay. If you can’t, then you’ll both just have to stay in the capital a bit longer.”

Xiao Hu froze. “You want me to persuade Jiang Fulang?”

“Can my mouth persuade anyone?”

“Isn’t that Father’s job?” Yuanbao said, feigning innocence. “One or the other—you choose. Otherwise, I won’t agree to it. I’ll tell Qin Jiang to hide your horse and see how you plan to leave then.”

Xiao Hu felt as though he’d stumbled into a den of schemers—coming in was easy, but getting out was another matter entirely.

Since there was no reasoning with his son, he could only give in.

When he went to see Jiang Fulang, he blurted out awkwardly, “Why don’t you stay?”

Jiang Fulang blinked at him. “You’re the father and you won’t stay yourself. What would I stay for?”

“It’d be good if you did,” Xiao Hu said. “You could manage the business here in the capital.”

“I couldn’t live like that,” Jiang Fulang replied dryly. “I’m not suited for a life of bird cages and teahouses.”

“You don’t know how lucky you are,” Jiang Fulang continued, glancing sideways at him. “Plenty of people would give anything for that kind of peace, but you can’t even enjoy it.”

“I’ll enjoy it when there’s a grandson to spoil,” Xiao Hu said with a grin. “For now, you stay here. It’s not as if there’s much waiting back in the village.”

Jiang Fulang had been in the capital long enough to see clearly what was in Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao’s hearts. How could he not understand?

For them to care about him like this—how could he not be moved?

“I’ll think about it,” he said at last.

Xiao Hu left it at that.

Two days later, Jiang Fulang came to speak with Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao. “I’ll stay,” he said. “I’ll help Bao Ge’er look after the pickled goods business. But I won’t live here.”

Qi Beinan frowned slightly. “Why not? It’s convenient to stay in the residence. Living elsewhere would only make things harder.”

“I’ve lived alone for many years,” Jiang Fulang said. “I’m used to it.”

Qi Beinan looked toward Yuanbao for his opinion.

Yuanbao thought a moment and nodded. “So long as Teacher stays in the capital, it doesn’t matter where you live—we’ll still be close enough to take care of one another. The business shouldn’t always be run from the house anyway. I was thinking of renting a small shop. It could serve both as a workspace for making pickled goods and a storefront for selling them. You could even live there if you liked. Would that suit you?”

Jiang Fulang nodded. “That’ll do.”

By late April, the weather was mild and clear—neither hot nor cold, perfect for travel.

Qi Beinan and Yuanbao saw Xiao Hu off at the city gate.

When he had first arrived, there had been laughter and joy; now, as he departed, the air was tinged with quiet reluctance.

The lively noise of parting, like all bright moments, faded quickly—peace and stillness made up most of life.

Leaning lightly against Qi Beinan, Yuanbao watched the carriage disappear down the road. His heart felt much the same as it had long ago when he’d watched Qi Beinan leave—but this time, there was a different kind of calm beneath the ache.

On their way back, he looked up at the eaves where swallows darted and remembered a blessing once spoken at a spring banquet: “May we meet again, year after year.”

He and Qi Beinan now lived like those swallows—together every morning and evening—yet even so, he still wished his family could be near as well.

But he knew everyone had their own path, their own desires. Such things couldn’t be forced; they had to follow the heart.

Qi Beinan tightened his hold on Yuanbao’s hand. “Life is long,” he said softly. “Let’s take our time and live it well. One day, there’ll be another reunion, even better than this.”

Yuanbao smiled and nodded. He thought the same.

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