Author Archives: Thingyan

Ch 115: Reborn to Raise My Husband

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

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

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

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

Xiao Yuanbao knew Qi Beinan was never one without ambition.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s this? Why are you crying?”

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

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

Xiao Yuanbao couldn’t help laughing at the complaint.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Xiao Yuanbao’s mouth fell open in shock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Xiao Yuanbao’s cheeks flushed faintly.

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

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

“I’ll make proper arrangements.”

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

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

Xiao Yuanbao discussed writing home to summon his father.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The moon outside was round and bright.

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

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

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

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

But reason held him back.

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

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Ch 114: Reborn to Raise My Husband

In mid-June, the weather was stifling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gu Yanyu brightened at once. “All right.”

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

“I made those for—”

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

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

“How have the Junjun and Lin Daren been getting along of late?”

Ye Fulang smiled. “Very well, my lord. The past two months they’ve grown more harmonious than ever. A while back, when Lin Daren had leave, he even took the Junjun to Little Dragon Hill for a day’s stay.”

“When Daren returns from the office, they’re seldom apart,” he added. “Even when he works in the study, the Junjun insists on sitting with him.”

Once, the Duke would have taken such words as a servant’s foolish flattery. But after what he had seen today—how natural their closeness seemed—he could not doubt it.

When they had first married, the two had been distant. He had heard servants whisper that his son was often unhappy, that Lin Qingyu buried himself in work and seldom kept him company.

The match had been the Duke’s own arrangement; it had weighed on his mind to see his son unhappy. Yet since Gu Yanyu had never complained, he could not easily interfere.

Now, at last, it seemed he need not worry.

Still, he asked, curious, “What caused such a change between them?”

Ye Fulang thought for a moment. “Nothing in particular. Only that in the fourth month, the Junjun tried to make soup for Lin Daren, burned his hand, and from that day, things improved.”

The Duke of Jing understood his son’s temperament too well. For him to enter the kitchen—much less burn himself doing so—was no small matter.

“Has the Junjun been seeing anyone new lately?” he asked.

“No one unfamiliar,” Ye Fulang replied. “Only those he used to visit. Though early this year, at a banquet in the Ren residence, he met Qi Daren’s husband, Xiao Yuanbao. They’ve become close. In fact, today the Junjun went to the Qi household to learn that dish from him.”

“Qi Daren,” the Duke mused. “The one who serves in the same bureau as Lin Daren?”

“Yes, my lord. They were top scholars of the same examination year.”

“The family of the Qi who took third place, then—the tanhua?”

“Exactly so,” said Ye Fulang. “Qi Daren and his husband are deeply devoted. The Junjun, I think, was influenced by their example.”

The Duke nodded slowly. “I see.” After a pause, he added, “Serve your master well, and you’ll not go unrewarded. If anything important happens, send word to the Duke’s manor. Don’t hide matters.”

After leaving these instructions, he departed.

Days later—

“Private salt trade in Yuanping has grown rampant,” someone murmured as the court dispersed. “His Majesty was furious today—half the officials present were reprimanded.”

“It’s been festering for years,” another replied.

The ministers left with dark faces, few daring to speak.

Qi Beinan and Jiang Tangyuan left the palace together, whispering quietly as they walked.

“Looks like His Majesty means to take real action over the salt trade this time,” Jiang Tangyuan said.

Qi Beinan let out a slow breath.

In the southwest, corruption between officials and merchants had driven the price of salt sky-high. A single jin now cost several strings of cash; ordinary people could hardly afford their daily supply.

By the look of things, the emperor would soon appoint the Duke of Jing as Imperial Censor of Salt Affairs—to set things right.

In earlier years, when Qi Beinan had been serving in the provinces, he had happened to work under the Duke of Jing on salt administration. The duke had taken notice of his diligence and promoted him, setting him on the path of steady advancement.

Now, the salt issue had resurfaced—but the circumstances were no longer the same.

Qi Beinan wished to join the effort again, not merely for ambition’s sake, but because he knew how much the people of the southwest suffered under the corruption of the private salt trade. He could not, in good conscience, look away.

Still, he wondered how he might reestablish ties with the Duke of Jing—how to make himself useful enough to be brought into the affair.

Within days, the emperor indeed announced in court that the rampant salt smuggling in the southwest must be investigated. The Duke of Jing was appointed Imperial Censor of Salt Affairs, tasked with handling the matter and selecting capable assistants.

The duke’s first recommendation was his own son-in-law, Lin Qingyu.

That was expected. Lin Qingyu’s talent and composure were widely acknowledged; even had he not been the duke’s son-in-law, such a recommendation would have been deserved. None could object.

The emperor gave his assent.

“Furthermore,” the Duke said, “the task of auditing and accounting requires someone meticulous and steady. In the Hanlin Academy, Compiler Qi Beinan ranked top in last month’s evaluation. His previous work assisting the Ministry of Works on the night market project was well-executed. This minister believes he is a man of ability, fit for the assignment.”

Qi Beinan was taken aback to hear his name.

“Minister Qi,” the emperor said, his tone composed, “would you be willing to accompany the Duke to the southwest and assist in the salt administration?”

The moment he heard the emperor’s voice, Qi Beinan knew for certain—he had indeed been recommended by the Duke himself.

He stepped forward at once, raising his court tablet. “Your servant will, of course, do his utmost for the realm.”

After court, Qi Beinan saw the Duke of Jing leaving for his carriage and hurried forward to offer thanks. “Your Excellency, I am deeply grateful for your recommendation.”

The duke smiled. “You are a capable man. My intent in naming you is only that the southwest salt affair might be handled well. The matter is tangled and far-reaching—see that you devote your full effort to it.”

“I will, without fail,” Qi Beinan said.

Still, he could not quite discern the duke’s reasoning. By talent alone, there were many in court more accomplished than he. Why choose him?

Perhaps, he thought, Lin Qingyu had spoken a word on his behalf—but that didn’t quite suit Lin Qingyu’s temperament.

Perplexed, he brought the question to Lin Qingyu later that day.

“It was not by my doing,” Lin Qingyu said. “The Duke chose you himself.”

“I’ve had no dealings with him,” Qi Beinan said, frowning slightly.

Lin Qingyu put aside his papers, looked around to ensure they were alone, and then said quietly, “My father is… quite pleased with how the Junjun gets along with your husband.”

He left it at that.

Qi Beinan understood immediately.

He was silent for a moment, then broke into laughter.

Outside the window, the late June sun gleamed bright across the glazed roof tiles, scattering light like ripples.

Qi Beinan sat amid a pile of scrolls, momentarily dazed. A rare breeze lifted the edge of his robe; the air smelled dry and sun-warmed.

Who would have thought that one day he, too, would owe his rise in part to his little Xiao Bao?

The feeling in his heart was hard to name—surprise, quiet joy, and, most of all, a kind of tender pride.

The fledgling he had once shielded beneath his wing had grown strong enough to soar across mountains on his own.

He thought to himself that the June sky had never been so clear.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Ch 113: Reborn to Raise My Husband

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Xiao Yuanbao’s smile deepened.

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

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

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

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

At the appointed time, he set out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Xiao Yuanbao’s smile deepened.

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

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

At the appointed time, he set out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Gu Yanyu sighed, his gaze dimming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is the Junjun ill?” Lin Qingyu pressed.

“N-no, not ill,” Ye Fulang stammered.

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

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

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

His eyes flew wide. “He’s here?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looked at the closed door for a long moment.

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

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

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

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

“I’ll go in and look at him myself.”

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

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

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

For a long moment, neither spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ye Fulang dismissed the attendants to wait outside.

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

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

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

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

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

Lin Qingyu blinked, silent for a moment.

Gu Yanyu wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

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

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

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

Lin Qingyu looked up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lin Qingyu looked up at him.

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

Perhaps he had misunderstood him all along.

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

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Ch 112: Reborn to Raise My Husband

The restaurant’s revenue rose steadily—from sixty-three taels in the first lunar month to ninety-eight in the second, and then to a hundred and twenty in the third.

By mid-April, only half the month gone, the ledger already showed eighty taels.

Xiao Yuanbao ran a quick calculation. Apart from losing a little over ten taels in the first month after opening, the profits of the following two months had already covered that loss, leaving a surplus of fifty to sixty taels.

If business held steady, in another year or so they could recover the full investment.

Seeing Changchun Lou prosper so, both Xiao Yuanbao and Bai Qiaogui were delighted.

“Only, with few patrons dining in the hall, it’s hard to build connections that might later help you open the medical clinic,” Xiao Yuanbao said.

The shop was clearly thriving, but the dine-in trade still lagged behind other restaurants; only the food delivery orders were brisk.

Most who ate in the hall were ordinary townsfolk—middle-aged couples who cared little for gossip. They often ordered dishes and then went upstairs to the private rooms, where the female physician would take their pulse.

Business was neither empty nor bustling.

Bai Qiaogui said, “Now that things have settled, there’s no rush. Once the trade steadies, we can begin promoting individualized medicinal meals based on pulse diagnoses.

“If guests can have their pulses read and their condition understood, the food can be tailored to their needs, giving better results—and the process will help us build connections.”

Xiao Yuanbao thought that sounded sound. “Once the invested silver is earned back in a year or so, and you’ve built your network, you can open your clinic in peace.”

Bai Qiaogui nodded, then said a little shyly, “During this year or so, I’ll trouble you to keep a closer eye on the restaurant.”

“Don’t worry. It’s our joint business—I’ll naturally…”

He began to assure her, but then frowned, sensing something amiss, and turned toward her. “Why are you saying this all of a sudden?”

Bai Qiaogui pressed her lips together in a smile, meaning to tease him, but could not hold it in and said, “These past days I’ve felt something different in my body. This morning I was sure—I’m with child.”

Xiao Yuanbao blinked. “With what?”

She laughed even harder and scolded, “Has the abacus rattled your wits? What else can come of marriage between man and woman?”

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes widened in joy. “You’re having a baby!”

Bai Qiaogui nodded, one hand resting on her still-flat belly.

She and Luo Tingfeng had been married nearly two years. The coming of this child filled them both with happiness.

Their days were smooth now—a perfect time for pregnancy.

Xiao Yuanbao quickly helped her sit down carefully. “Come, sit here. You’re precious now. Don’t worry about the shop; just be the hands-off owner. What matters most is bringing this child safely into the world.”

Bai Qiaogui laughed. “It’s only been a month or two—such a tiny thing, yet you’re fussing already. What will you be like when I’m truly round-bellied?”

Her words made Xiao Yuanbao smile all the more; life, he thought, was growing fuller by the day.

Later that evening, Qi Beinan returned from the yamen.

That day the palace was holding the imperial beauty selection; the ceremony was grand enough that even in the outer offices the sound of court music could be heard. Translated on Hololo novels.

Six new consorts had been chosen, filling the harem once again.

By mid-April, the provincial autumn examinations were approaching, and the Hanlin Academy was busier than ever.

Qi Beinan reflected on how swiftly time passed—it had already been three years since he had taken his own provincial exam.

“Old Qi, any plans for your rest day in two days?”

Qi Beinan was packing his scrolls when Ren Heng called to him from the doorway.

“What, are you inviting me to drink?”

Ren Heng grinned. “You’ve never been much of a drinker, yet always speak of wine. The garden at my estate is in bloom—bring your husband when you come to admire the flowers.”

Then he glanced at Lin Qingyu, still at his desk. “Old Lin, bring the Junjun too. It’s my birthday.”

Knowing Lin Qingyu’s temperament, he repeated the last word for emphasis. Lin Qingyu could not very well refuse and agreed.

When Qi Beinan returned home, the family carriage was already at the gate, and to his surprise Xiao Yuanbao was still in.

Crossing into the garden, he saw him at a desk writing.

“You’re back,” Xiao Yuanbao said, setting down his brush and rising.

“Mm.” Qi Beinan lifted the teacup his husband had left half-full and finished it. “Writing to whom?”

“Xin-ge’er. Business at the restaurant’s going well, so I’m sending a letter of thanks—and telling him that Gui-jie has conceived.”

Qi Beinan set down the cup. “Lord Luo and Madam Bai are expecting?”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled.

“That is joyous news indeed. No wonder Lord Luo’s carriage has been racing of late. I’ve seen him at the palace gates a few times—he used to linger about, but now he’s gone in a flash.”

“They’re careful—it’s their first child,” Xiao Yuanbao said.

After handing Qi Beinan his robe, Xiao Yuanbao let out a long sigh.

He sat beside him, rubbing his stomach. “We’ve been married quite a while now, yet the only thing in my belly is still the pork knuckle I ate at noon.”

Qi Beinan found his sulking amusing. “Perhaps I simply haven’t worked hard enough then.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s face flushed; he shoved him lightly. “Nonsense.”

Qi Beinan slipped an arm around his shoulders. “They were married nearly two years before their child came. We’ve only just passed one—it’s not time to fret.”

“So you mean to wait until you’re over thirty to be a father?” Xiao Yuanbao raised his brow.

Qi Beinan frowned. “Do I seem that old?”

Xiao Yuanbao broke into laughter.

Qi Beinan pinched his waist in mock reproof, drawing a hiss from him.

“Come to think of it,” Qi Beinan said, “Guangzong’s letter back in the first month said his wedding with Tangyuan is set for June. It’s not far off now.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. “Yes. Tangyuan’s so busy preparing for the marriage he hardly writes me anymore.”

Qi Beinan fell silent a moment. That mattered little.

He recalled teasing Zhao Guangzong once, saying by the time his child was running about the courtyard, he’d still be unmarried. Yet now, it seemed, the man hadn’t been so late after all—he might even become a father before Qi Beinan did.

He turned to Xiao Yuanbao. “True, children can’t be forced before their time. But one must still put in the effort, don’t you think?”

The tips of Xiao Yuanbao’s ears went red, though he could not deny the logic.

The official robes fell away; there was no hurry to dress again in ordinary ones.

Two days later, Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao went together to the Ren residence for a banquet.

It was not a grand celebration—Ren Heng’s birthday, small but lively.

They arrived dressed properly, and already several carriages lined the gate.

Peeking through the curtain, Xiao Yuanbao said, “For such a minor birthday, the Ren household certainly draws a crowd.”

Qi Beinan smiled. “It’s only a meal. If you tire of it, send Hongtang to tell me, and we’ll leave early.”

Xiao Yuanbao no longer feared gatherings like he once had, yet most of the guests today would be strangers, and he had no taste for idle social climbing. It promised to be dull.

He nodded. “All right.”

As they stepped through the gates, Ren Heng himself came hurrying out.

The birthday celebrant was splendidly dressed, moving with the quick lightness of good humor. “At last! You two finally arrive—Old Lin’s already ahead of you.”

Qi Beinan said, “Lin Daren lives closer to here. Seems we’re not late after all.”

Ren Heng shook his head with a laugh, unwilling to argue.

Then, with a sweep of his wide sleeves, he spun once before them. “Well? Do I not dazzle today?”

Qi Beinan gave him a helpless look. “Are you going to let your guests in or not?”

Xiao Yuanbao used the moment to offer his greeting. “Many happy returns, Ren Daren.”

Ren Heng sobered, smiling with courtesy. “My thanks. Please, come through the garden—the blossoms are at their peak.”

He called for attendants to lead them in.

They had taken only a few steps when the sound of a grand carriage procession reached them from the street. Both paused and turned.

A magnificent coach drawn by four horses was arriving, eight attendants following on foot.

It was the first time Xiao Yuanbao had seen such an impressive display, and curiosity flickered across his face.

Moments later, the coach halted smoothly.

Ren Heng went forward quickly to greet the guest.

From the carriage emerged a young lady of sixteen or seventeen, round-faced and bright-eyed, graceful yet lively.

“Your Highness honors my humble home,” Ren Heng said with exaggerated deference. “This lowly official is blessed beyond measure.”

She cast him a sidelong look. “You invited me yourself—must you pretend surprise?”

It was Princess Changping. She stepped down and asked, “Have you prepared my favorite butterfly pastries?”

“Of course,” Ren Heng said with a grin.

Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao, not wishing to intrude, turned instead toward the garden.

“I’ve never seen the princess before,” Xiao Yuanbao whispered.

“That’s the Third Princess, Changping,” Qi Beinan told him softly. “Her mother is the Empress herself. She’s of high rank, and the Emperor dotes on her.”

“Ren Daren seems quite familiar with her.”

Qi Beinan nodded. “He once served in the palace as study companion to the Crown Prince. The princess and prince share the same mother—they grew up together. Their bond runs deep.”

Xiao Yuanbao drew in a quiet breath. He had known the Ren family’s standing was high, but not this high.

Qi Beinan smiled faintly. Of the three top scholars from their examination year, Ren Heng, Lin Qingyu, and himself, it was Ren Heng who had learned best how to live.

In talent they had been equals; Ren Heng might appear carefree, but his learning had been unmatched. Otherwise, he would never have ranked as second scholar in the very first sitting.

That he had not risen to greater heights in court was no fault of ability—merely that his ambitions lay elsewhere.

The Ren family had three sons; Ren Heng was the youngest. With two elder brothers shouldering the family’s responsibilities, he bore no burden of inheritance. Blessed with talent and leisure, he lived freely and as he pleased.

From an early age he had set his sights on marrying a princess and becoming an imperial son-in-law, caring little for the weight of court affairs.

In those earlier years, Qi Beinan had grand ambitions, and to him, men like Ren Heng seemed frivolous—too content to drift through life. Their paths were different, and thus their friendship never grew deep; Qi Beinan had always admired Lin Qingyu more.

Yet decades later, when the three former top scholars of their examination year met again over wine, their lives—and hearts—had all changed beyond recognition.

At thirty, Qi Beinan had lost his husband and lived thereafter alone, devoting himself to service across the provinces, his temples soon silvered with toil and wind.

Lin Qingyu fared little better. His marriage to Junjun Gu Yanyu was distant and strained. Though they had a son, they quarreled often over how to raise him, and Lin Qingyu lived long under the Duke of Jingguo’s strict control and pressure. His brow never quite lost its weight of worry.

Both men, in their later years, carried the air of weariness.

Only Ren Heng remained serene and content, his face kindly and his spirit youthful—looking easily ten years younger than the others.

He and Princess Changping shared a harmonious marriage; together they had accompanied the Emperor on tours through Jiangnan, traveling and enjoying the world’s pleasures. They had several children, all well raised.

“This way, gentlemen to the men’s garden, ladies and family to the inner one,” the servant guiding them said politely.

Xiao Yuanbao exchanged a glance with Qi Beinan; the two nodded and parted, entering separate courtyards.

As soon as Xiao Yuanbao stepped into the garden, a sweet fragrance met him. Looking around, he saw the vast courtyard filled entirely with blooming peonies—large and lush, radiant with color. The sight alone lifted the heart.

Within, family guests were scattered about, each at their own amusement—some chatting in groups, some admiring the blossoms, some feeding fish by the golden pond.

A stage had been set up at the center, and an opera was in full flourish. Tables and chairs stood nearby, tea served to the guests.

Xiao Yuanbao thought to watch a while, then join the banquet when it began.

“That seems to be the Xiao Fulang I saw at Little Dragon Hill the other day,” said Gu Yanyu from a shaded pavilion where he sat viewing the flowers. His gaze had fallen on the figure seated by the stage; the face seemed familiar, and he asked the servant beside him.

“Yes, Junjun. Lord Qi and Lord Ren serve in the same office—it’s likely both were invited.”

Gu Yanyu was quiet a moment. He placed a salted plum in his mouth and said nothing.

His attendant, Ye Fulang, seeing him distracted, asked softly, “I heard Princess Changping has arrived. Would Junjun care to go greet her? There’s still time before the meal begins.”

Gu Yanyu replied, “She’ll have no lack of company. The princess delights in teasing me—I’d rather not offer her another chance. I’ll greet her later at table.”

Ye Fulang inclined his head.

After a pause, Gu Yanyu said, “Go and invite Lord Qi’s husband over to talk with me.”

Ye Fulang hesitated. “I heard he’s from a small county town. I don’t know if Junjun will find him much of a conversational match.”

Gu Yanyu smiled faintly. “There’s only one way to know—by speaking first.”

Thus Ye Fulang went as instructed.

Xiao Yuanbao, absorbed in the opera, looked up when a gray-haired gentleman approached, saying that his master, Junjun Gu, wished to speak with him.

Following the man’s gaze, he saw Gu Yanyu seated at a pavilion, composed and elegant, surrounded by blooming peonies. When their eyes met, Gu Yanyu inclined his head in gentle greeting.

Had Xiao Yuanbao noticed him upon entering, he would have already paid his respects. It was unexpected that such a refined, reserved figure would take the initiative to invite him over.

“Junjun,” Xiao Yuanbao greeted respectfully, bowing properly.

“No need for formality,” Gu Yanyu said with a faint smile. “When I glimpsed you at Little Dragon Hill, I felt a sense of familiarity. Seeing you again today, I couldn’t resist asking you over for a word.”

He gestured for Xiao Yuanbao to sit beside him.

“The weather has turned warm,” Gu Yanyu continued. “I seldom see you outside these days. How do you pass your time at home?”

“I spend most days quietly,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “If not reading a few light books, then making a bowl of soup or two. My hands are slow, but the hours pass easily enough.”

Gu Yanyu looked a little surprised that he could read. “A fine way to keep occupied. What sort of books do you enjoy?”

“I’ve little talent for the classics, to tell the truth. You’ll laugh, Junjun—I rarely read poetry or histories, preferring miscellaneous works.”

Gu Yanyu’s eyes lit slightly, as if he had found a kindred thought. “Ah, you like miscellaneous writings too? Do you read plays? Which playwright do you favor?”

Ye Fulang, alarmed, gave his master’s sleeve a discreet tug.

Gu Yanyu’s brow moved—realizing his misstep, he fell silent.

Xiao Yuanbao, too, was caught off guard. By “miscellaneous books,” he had meant medical texts—material for studying dietary therapy. But such things were better left unsaid; he could hardly reveal he was engaged in trade.

It was safest to claim an interest in poetry, though one could never predict whether the other might press further and expose his lack of refinement.

Still, he had not expected the stately Junjun Gu to ask such a question at all.

Anyone with half a mind could tell that Gu Yanyu truly enjoyed opera tales.

Xiao Yuanbao, having rarely conversed with someone of such high standing, had always imagined that nobles like him preferred only the most elegant pastimes. It surprised him that Gu Yanyu delighted in such stories.

He smiled a little. “I do read them now and then, but lately I’ve found the newer plays less to my taste. It’s the older ones that still seem well written.”

Lowering his voice, he added, “I like stories of perseverance and happy endings—the kind where a tofu-seller’s wife builds her fortune, or a husband disguises himself as a man to travel and heal the sick. But these days the market is flooded with tales of poor scholars and wealthy maidens. The plots repeat themselves, all a bit trite. Or else it’s about celestial maidens descending to wed mortals—so much drama, yet all the same. I’m not fond of those.”

Gu Yanyu laughed softly, drawing a little closer. “You’re quite right. I’m tired of those too. Lately I’ve been reading a couple of plays about frail scholars and their capable, spirited husbands—much more amusing.”

Ye Fulang, seeing the two of them leaning close and chatting about such undignified tastes, frowned deeply. He dared not interrupt for fear of annoying Gu Yanyu and causing another sulk that would end with him refusing dinner again, so he could only glance around anxiously, making sure no one nearby overheard.

The two talked for quite some time, and when the call for the banquet came, Gu Yanyu was still reluctant to part. He kept Xiao Yuanbao by his side and even had him seated together at the main table.

Among the noble ladies and gentlemen, Xiao Yuanbao’s face was an unfamiliar one. At such high-born gatherings, every seat was arranged by rank and intimacy. Originally seated midway down the hall, he found himself brought to the front by Gu Yanyu’s invitation, drawing many curious looks.

“Whose husband is that? I’ve never seen him before—how did he grow so close with the Junjun?”

“His lord is Qi Daren, the newly appointed Hanlin scholar—the last imperial examination’s Tanhua.”

“Oh, I thought he was from some old family. Turns out he’s just an official’s husband. Small households like that know how to curry favor—see how quickly he’s latched onto the Junjun.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s senses were sharp; of course he noticed the glances falling on him, the murmured whispers. He didn’t need to hear the words to know they weren’t kind.

If this had been in his first months in the capital, he might have sat stiff with unease, heart fluttering with anxiety, too conscious of others’ judgment.

But now, his heart was calm.

He had done nothing shameful, sought no one’s favor, and provoked no one. If the Junjun chose to speak with him, who could fault him for it?

So Xiao Yuanbao carried himself with poise, eating and conversing as he would anywhere else.

His composure, in turn, drew the curiosity of several officials’ wives, who came over to exchange a few words with him.

When the feast finally ended, he stayed to play a few rounds of pitch-pot with Gu Yanyu before a servant came from Qi Beinan’s side, quietly reminding him it was time to leave.

Only then did Xiao Yuanbao take his leave and return home.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Ch 111: Reborn to Raise My Husband

Qi Beinan’s words had stirred something in Xiao Yuanbao’s mind, and after two days of thought, he finally found a way forward.

He hung a large sign outside the shop that read: Delivery Orders Accepted.

Many establishments in the capital offered this service—customers could stop by beforehand, give their order and address, and have the food delivered to their door at the appointed time.

When Xiao Yuanbao had guests at home and no dishes prepared, he too had used such services before; it was quick and convenient.

Delivery, of course, came with an extra fee. If a household servant brought the food box to fetch the order, that was one thing, but if delivery staff were sent to the customer’s residence, an additional three to five copper coins was standard depending on the order’s size.

When Changchun Ju first opened, Xiao Yuanbao had avoided the idea, worried the kitchen would be too busy with dine-in customers. And since the dishes were already priced high, he feared adding a delivery fee would make people complain even more.

Yet it was just as Qi Beinan had said: he had never truly considered who the restaurant was meant for. He had been preoccupied with keeping prices low so that ordinary townsfolk would come, without realizing that a health-food establishment was never meant to serve the same customers as his old pickle stall.

It was like the cloth trade: some dealt in fine silks for nobles, others in coarse linen for the common folk. The silk houses sold expensive goods, catering to the wealthy, and though a commoner might occasionally save enough to buy a bolt or two, the shopkeepers never lowered their prices to suit them.

Xiao Yuanbao had mixed up the order of things entirely.

Once he understood the problem, he didn’t lower prices—he raised them slightly for the signature dishes instead.

Within two days of offering delivery, results began to show.

Orders started coming in—five or six each day—and when combined with dine-in sales, the shop finally felt alive again. The staff were busy, no longer idle and muttering that the restaurant might close at any moment.

What amused him most was that the dishes ordered for delivery were nearly all tonic soups for vitality and strength.

Those too embarrassed to dine publicly could now eat in comfort at home.

However, Xiao Yuanbao noticed that these delivery orders came mostly from street regulars—the idle sort of the middle class. There were still no servants or maids from noble households.

That meant the very clientele Changchun Ju needed still didn’t know the place existed.

“These orders are mostly for tonic soups,” he analyzed with Bai Qiaogui. “Likely from those men who saw the menu during opening week, wanted to try them, but were too embarrassed to be seen ordering such dishes. So they send others instead.”

“In short, our customers are still ordinary folk.”

Bai Qiaogui said, “We must find a way to make the wealthy households hear of us.”

“I think so too,” Xiao Yuanbao replied, “but how, that’s the problem.”

He thought aloud. “I once heard of a merchant who tried to advertise by tossing printed flyers over the walls of noble mansions. People certainly learned of his shop—but his reputation was ruined, and everyone avoided him after that.”

“Exactly,” Bai Qiaogui said. “Promotion has to be done well; if done poorly, it backfires.”

Xiao Yuanbao reassured her, “At least the delivery orders are improving. We don’t need to rush. We’ll take it slowly. I’ve written to Xin-ge’er for business advice. His family has traded for generations, and his silk shop is thriving. He’s bound to have some ideas.”

Bai Qiaogui slapped her forehead. “Of course—how could I forget him? We should’ve written long ago.”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled. “Only after managing a business do you see how truly demanding trade is. People say merchants are sly and stinking of copper, but before I ever ran a large venture, I thought the same—that traders were all of questionable character. Now I see it’s just the envy of those who lack the skill.”

He chuckled softly. “Only the truly capable can run a business properly—and still make a profit.”

Bai Qiaogui agreed. “That’s the truth.”

By the end of the month, a letter arrived from Ming Guanxin.

He congratulated them on opening Changchun Ju, wrote that he admired their life working side by side, and scolded them gently for not telling him sooner.

Then he filled several pages with detailed advice on how to build reputation among the upper class.

Xiao Yuanbao read every word carefully, his brows gradually relaxing. When he finished, he shook his head with a rueful smile—he truly was a novice compared to a family born to trade. The man’s methods were endless, clever and practical all at once.

He lost no time. He sent people out to inquire, paid a few coins to have things arranged.

By the second day of the second month—Dragon Raising Its Head day—Qi Beinan happened to be on leave.

Spring had come early that year. Translated on Hololo novels. The grass outside the capital was already green, and the air smelled of fresh earth and new shoots.

With the weather so mild and gatherings everywhere, Xiao Yuanbao took the chance to go with Qi Beinan to the temple fair at Little Dragon Hill for a day of spring outing.

As they left the city, the main road was already crowded with carriages and travelers. Once they reached the mountain, the crowd grew thicker still.

Little Dragon Hill was not a large temple, but it was close enough to the city that most who went out for spring walks came here, so people filled every path.

From the parking ground below, where carriages and horses were kept, Xiao Yuanbao and Qi Beinan climbed the stone steps hand in hand. The stairs were not very steep, yet by the time they reached the mid-slope, Xiao Yuanbao’s forehead was damp with a fine sheen of sweat.

“It’s been too long since I moved about outdoors,” he said, breath quick. “A few steps and I’m already winded.”

Qi Beinan smiled, taking out a handkerchief to wipe his brow. “We’re no longer boys running wild through the hills and fields. The body doesn’t keep up as it once did.”

Around them, the forest shimmered with new buds. The air was cool and clean, the distant noise of the city fading beneath the quiet rustle of the mountain.

While Xiao Yuanbao was taking in the view, his gaze fell upon a man standing beneath a pavilion not far away—a fulang in a long robe of violet silk, a jade pendant hanging at his waist, posture composed and straight. The lines jun jing ru ye, wen hua ruo jin—“graceful as jade, radiant as brocade”—flashed through Xiao Yuanbao’s mind.

He paused, glancing twice more, when unexpectedly the man’s eyes turned toward him as well.

Though Xiao Yuanbao did not know who he was, the four attendants at his side and his calm bearing made his rank clear: a man of high birth.

It was no surprise to see nobles or official households on Little Dragon Hill; he meant only to nod politely and move on.

Then Qi Beinan’s gentle voice sounded above him: “That is the junjun, Gu Yanxu.”

Xiao Yuanbao started slightly, then, following Qi Beinan’s lead, bowed from afar. Gu Yanxu returned the gesture with a nod.

When they had walked on, Xiao Yuanbao asked softly, “Is that the junjun who married Lord Lin?”

Qi Beinan nodded.

No wonder, Xiao Yuanbao thought, his presence carried such refinement. He had glimpsed Gu Yanxu only once before—at the wedding banquet, when the veil still covered his face. Meeting him now by chance, he found the man’s appearance indeed exceptional.

Yet Gu Yanxu’s expression seemed subdued, his complexion paler than most, as though he were not in strong health.

Qi Beinan murmured, “It’s precisely because of his frailty that the Duke would not let him enter the palace. Had he remained unmarried before the imperial selection, with his looks and lineage, his entry into the palace would have been near certain.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded in understanding.

At the pavilion, Gu Yanxu asked, “That was the Qi family couple, was it not?”

His attendant replied, “Yes, junjun. They’re likely here to burn incense and enjoy the spring air while Master Qi is on leave.”

Gu Yanxu had seen Qi Beinan once before—when he paraded as the top scholar of the imperial examination—and had heard that he was the tan hua of that year.

At that time, his father had known the emperor intended to hold a selection for the palace and had planned to find Gu Yanxu a match among the new scholars.

All three top scholars were outstanding in both looks and learning. Word was that the tan hua was already engaged, while the other two remained unbetrothed. One was the zhuangyuan, now his husband; the other was Ren Heng, from a noble family in the capital whom he knew well.

The Ren household was unruly; his father favored Lin Qingyu instead and arranged their marriage.

Gu Yanxu remembered seeing Qi Beinan again just now—walking hand in hand with his fulang, gently wiping his sweat away, nothing like the solemn, austere man he appeared at court.

“They seem deeply affectionate,” Gu Yanxu murmured.

His attendant fulang smiled. “I’ve heard they grew up together, betrothed since childhood. Master Qi cherishes his husband greatly.”

He went on to recount how, when Xiao Yuanbao first came to the capital and was nearly mocked by others, Qi Beinan had stepped in and taught the offenders a lesson.

Gu Yanxu listened with quiet fascination. Such a bond, he thought, existed only in plays—how tender, how enviable.

Seeing his master lost in thought, the attendant’s heart sank. He regretted speaking so freely and tried to comfort him. “My lord is only busy with official duties. That’s why he couldn’t accompany you today.”

But the words had the opposite effect.

“In the same office, holding nearly the same rank, yet he alone has no time? If he’s so endlessly busy, Father might as well assign him a leisure post.”

Every day Lin Qingyu came home only to shut himself in his study, often not emerging until the moon was high. Gu Yanxu would wait until he fell asleep from exhaustion, then make up the lost rest during the day just to stay up again at night, hoping to see him.

His attendant, Ye Fulang, knew this petulance well. “A man must put his future first. If he took a leisure post, how could he aid the Duke?”

Gu Yanxu’s voice turned dull. “Then go to the Temple of Marriage and donate two hundred strings of coins. Ask the abbot for a charm to bless the bond between husbands.”

He paused, then added, “Make sure it’s for husbands, not for husband and wife—they might give the wrong one.”

Ye Fulang frowned. “We just made an offering there the other day.”

Gu Yanxu pursed his lips. “If you don’t go, I’ll go myself—and if people see me again, they’ll start gossiping.”

Meanwhile, Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao finished offering incense and, seeing that it was already noon, decided to stay for the vegetarian meal before returning.

The temple’s meals were known for their delicacy; many nobles favored dining there.

They found a table and sat down, resting their legs after the climb.

Qi Beinan asked, “Xin-ge’er wrote you about trade and advertising. What method did he suggest?”

Xiao Yuanbao picked up a roasted bean and fed it into Qi Beinan’s mouth. Just as he was about to speak, voices drifted over from behind the screen that separated their tables.

The hall they were in served the most expensive temple meals—only officials’ households and the wealthy could afford it. Each table was enclosed by a screen, so though they shared the same hall, every group dined apart.

Through the carved lattice, Xiao Yuanbao could faintly see three or four figures at the next long table, talking idly.

“What rouge are you using? Your cheeks are glowing—so fair and rosy!”

“Do you really think my complexion’s better?”

“Truly,” said a plump woman. “Just look—ask the others if you don’t believe me.”

The companions nodded at once.

The woman being praised hid a laugh behind her round fan. “It isn’t rouge at all—I haven’t touched a bit of the stuff. You’re seeing the effect of a medicinal diet I’ve been taking lately.”

“Your color’s lovely—so bright it looks like you’ve powdered and painted your cheeks.”

At that, Xiao Yuanbao nudged Qi Beinan with his chin, gesturing for him to listen closely.

“What kind of medicinal diet works so well?” another asked. “Keeping it to yourself all this time, and only now you tell us?”

“My dear sisters, I wasn’t hiding anything,” the woman said cheerfully. “I’d only just started taking it myself and didn’t dare brag before I saw results. Now that you see me looking well, I’ll tell you plainly.”

“There’s a shop on Ping’an Street, outside the city wall—called Changchun Lou. They specialize in food for health and restoration. I heard of it from someone else and ordered their Blood-Tonifying and Beauty Soup. The flavor was delicious and rich. I treated it as an ordinary meal, not expecting much… and to my surprise—well, you’ve seen the result yourselves.”

She smiled, embarrassed by their praise, covering one cheek. “I suppose I should thank you for noticing.”

The others leaned closer. “Truly?”

“If you doubt me,” she said, “order from them yourselves. Changchun Lou has all kinds of dishes—tonics for blood and complexion, for yin and yang balance, sleep and digestion. Whether you want to slim down or fill out, they’ve a recipe for it.”

“I’m too poor with words to recall them all, but when I get home, I’ll send a servant to fetch one of their illustrated menus.”

The ladies murmured among themselves. “Imagine, a place like that in the capital! It sounds marvelous.”

Hearing this, Qi Beinan chuckled softly, leaning to whisper in Xiao Yuanbao’s ear. “Who’s that lady you know, speaking so well of your shop?”

“I don’t know her,” Xiao Yuanbao whispered back.

Qi Beinan raised a brow. “You don’t?”

Smiling, Xiao Yuanbao quietly explained.

When Ming Guanxin had written, he’d advised that if one wished to spread reputation among the wealthy, it had to come from within their own circles.

Back when Xiao Yuanbao first came to the capital, he’d thought to build some connections at banquets, but after being humiliated once, he’d lost all interest. Since then, he hadn’t cultivated any ties with official families—and besides, he’d always been embarrassed to advertise his own business.

What he hadn’t known was that among the noble households were people who made a trade of such promotion.

These were well-spoken, lively individuals—fond of socializing and always welcome at banquets, where hosts often paid them simply to liven the mood.

They would attend feasts across the city, dropping casual mentions of new goods or shops over wine and conversation—praising one thing here, another there. In a few days, the gossip spread like fire through silk.

Such word of mouth cost silver, of course; their own status was not low, and they wouldn’t stoop to such work for free.

When Xiao Yuanbao first heard of this, he was astonished—but after some thought, it made perfect sense.

Even among the gentry, not every household was rich. Some found their purses tight, and speaking a few flattering words at a banquet to earn a purse of coins was easy work indeed.

It was the Ming family—long in trade—who had used this very method to promote their fine timber among the noble houses. They knew how to find the right people, how to bargain the price.

Following their example, Xiao Yuanbao did the same—found a contact, paid the fee, and set things in motion.

With spring’s arrival, flowers opened across the capital, and banquets bloomed as quickly as the blossoms. The news spread fast.

“The woman I hired asked a hundred strings of cash,” Xiao Yuanbao whispered. “I thought it outrageous, but I had no better plan—so I gritted my teeth and paid. Now I see the money wasn’t wasted. She’s doing her job well. If I didn’t own the place myself, I’d be tempted to try it after hearing her talk.”

“I’ve also hired a painter and a print shop to remake our menu—illustrated and elegant. Just looking at it should make people want to order something.”

Qi Beinan laughed, tapping Xiao Yuanbao’s forehead. “You found the right teacher, and he’s set you on a good path.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded in agreement.

If not for Ming Guanxin’s guidance, he thought, he could’ve spent ten more years in business and never discovered such a method.

Why, had someone sung praises like that in his hearing before, he’d have thought them merely kindhearted—sharing something good, never guessing they’d been paid to do it.

From that day onward, the restaurant’s delivery business suddenly flourished.

At first, people came just to ask for menus; soon after, they began placing orders in earnest.

Where once there had been only four or five delivery orders a day, by the start of the second month there were no fewer than a dozen on slow days, and thirty or forty on busy ones.

The restaurant’s own staff could no longer keep up, so Xiao Yuanbao hired extra help—idle men from the streets who ran errands and deliveries.

Those same men had once dismissed Changchun Lou, seeing how quiet it was even after announcing home delivery. They thought the restaurant’s own workers had more than enough time to handle the few orders that came in, and saw no reason to wait there for business.

Now, seeing the constant flow of servants fetching food boxes and customers coming and going, they crowded outside hoping for a turn.

The restaurant treated them kindly. A great clay urn of coarse tea was set out in the courtyard, always kept hot and free for anyone waiting to drink.

By the fourth month, when Xiao Yuanbao and Bai Qiaogui went over the accounts again, both were smiling from ear to ear.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Ch 110: Reborn to Raise My Husband

At year’s end, taking advantage of the bustle before the New Year, Xiao Yuanbao and Bai Qiaogui finally managed to get everything for their shop in order.

After some discussion, they decided to open it just before the holiday.

On the twenty-fourth day of the twelfth lunar month, amid a string of snowy days, the sky at last cleared for half a day.

Amid the beat of drums and clash of gongs, the red silk was lifted from the signboard, revealing its name—Changchun Ju (“Ever-Spring House”).

From early morning, acrobats performed at the door to draw a crowd.

They had originally thought a few strings of firecrackers and a drumming troupe would be enough.

But at year’s end, when every street had its own spectacle, such things no longer stood out.

So Xiao Yuanbao hired a lion dance team and an acrobat troupe.

“Slow down a bit—wait for me,” he called.

By the time Xiao Yuanbao and Bai Qiaogui arrived, the red silk had already been lifted.

Red scraps of firecracker paper were strewn over the snow at the entrance, looking like a scatter of crimson petals.

They didn’t act the part of shopkeepers greeting guests. Instead, they had hired a manager, a man surnamed Yu, to handle affairs at the front.

They were the household of an official; managing a business quietly behind the scenes was nothing unusual, but showing themselves too openly in the marketplace would invite talk. People might say they had lost propriety, and gossip like that could easily harm the reputation of the official branch of the family.

So, to keep everything proper, they hired a manager and stayed behind the scenes.

From the upstairs private room, they stood by the window watching the festivities below.

The acrobat, with his yellow-tanned face and narrow eyes, leapt up and down across high-stacked benches, making the onlookers gasp in alarm.

Soon a crowd of townsfolk gathered, cheering loudly when the lion dance ended.

Then the acrobat performed again—breathing fire, juggling spears—until the square outside was thick with people.

When the excitement had built to its height, Manager Yu cleared his throat and announced in a ringing voice, “Good people, neighbors, today our humble Changchun Ju opens its doors! In thanks for your support, all dishes will be buy-one-get-one-free for the first three days. Please come in and honor us with your presence!”

Someone called out, “I see the board outside says ‘nourishing and healthful food.’ Manager, what kind of dishes does this Changchun Ju serve, and what’s your specialty?”

Yu smiled. “Ah, that’s a fine question, sir.

“We all eat grain and rice, live through sun and snow, and none of us escape a few aches and ills. If the body isn’t cared for, how can one manage a long and steady life? Changchun Ju specializes in dishes that strengthen and restore.

“For weakness of the spleen, coughs, poor lungs, excess liver fire, stomach pains—every ailment has a corresponding dish to ease it. And for those unsure where their weakness lies, we have an in-house physician. Anyone who dines here may have their pulse taken for free!”

At this, the crowd murmured.

“Well, that’s unusual—a restaurant and a clinic all in one.”

“I just hope it’s not neither one thing nor the other—nothing but a gimmick.”

“Still, buy-one-get-one, might as well go in and see what it’s about.”

“Even if it were buy-one-get-three, I wouldn’t go. I’m not sick—why eat those so-called healing dishes? Waste of silver. Give me roasted mutton from the street any day!”

It was Bai Qiaogui’s first time running a business, unlike Xiao Yuanbao, who had traded before, and she couldn’t sit still.

From upstairs they could hear the chatter outside, but not clearly enough to tell whether the talk was praise or ridicule. Her heart hung uncertain.

From the recipes to negotiating herb prices, choosing the shop, hiring and training staff—they had spent half a year on Changchun Ju. Not just effort, but a great deal of silver too.

If business were poor, all that labor would be wasted.

Thankfully, before long, someone stepped through the doors. Then another, and another.

Bai Qiaogui finally breathed out in relief.

“I was afraid no one would come on opening day. If it’s empty even with all this fanfare, how will we have customers after the festivities are over?”

It was Xiao Yuanbao’s first time managing something of this scale too, and his nerves were no steadier than hers.

“So long as we have guests, that’s enough,” he said. “Let’s go down and see how the staff handle them.”

“Mm.”

They went down together.

By then, four or five tables were already filled in the main hall.

“This place is clean and spacious,” one woman said, rubbing her hands by the brazier. “And it’s warm too.”

A quick-witted attendant came over with tea.

“The private rooms upstairs are warmer still, madam. Would you care to sit there?”

The women took the steaming cups and drank. “Oh! Ginger tea.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the attendant said with a smile. “It’s winter, and we serve ginger tea in season. If you prefer, I can bring ordinary tea instead.”

“No, this is lovely. Warms you right through.”

“Do the upstairs rooms cost extra?” one of them asked.

“Not these three days, ma’am. During our opening, there’s no added charge. If the room’s free and not reserved, you’re welcome to go up.”

The two women exchanged a glance. “Then let’s go have a look.”

Bai Qiaogui noticed that the two women clearly wanted to take advantage of the free offer and whispered to Xiao Yuanbao, “Why did you decide not to charge for the private rooms these three days? Each one has its own brazier, and we’re burning good coal.”

“If people don’t first go in and see for themselves, how will they ever appreciate what’s special inside?” Xiao Yuanbao replied. “Everyone knows the upstairs rooms are quiet and comfortable, but only by actually sitting there can they feel it. Without that experience, they’ll only remember the extra charge.”

Bai Qiaogui understood at once.

Some guests chose to go upstairs, but others—mostly sturdy men unafraid of the cold—sat right in the main hall.

One man reading the menu let his eyes linger on lamb-whip soup, and a sharp-tongued server chimed in, “Good sir, our lamb-whip soup is the finest in the capital! With goji berries added—it’s unmatched for nourishing one’s vitality!”

The table beside him burst out laughing. “Order that dish, man, you look pale as paper—you could use the help!”

The man flushed crimson and snapped at the server, “What nonsense! I don’t eat such things.”

“Get that away—who’d eat your so-called tonic dishes? I’m not sick; what would I need healing food for?”

Grumbling, he left in a huff.

Bai Qiaogui shook her head, half angry, half amused. “That fool of a waiter—what man could stand being introduced to lamb-whip soup like that?”

Xiao Yuanbao said, “The first day of opening always shows you where you’ve gone wrong. I’ll tell the manager to remind them not to shout about those dishes. We worked hard to design that page of tonics, and with introductions like that, who’d dare order them?”

He called the embarrassed server over, spoke to him kindly, and sent him back to work.

From their corner, the two watched waves of customers coming and going. The performances outside never stopped, and new patrons kept walking in.

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes followed each person entering or leaving. Most were ordinary townsfolk; only a few carriages stood outside.

They stayed at the shop until noon before heading out.

Rather than going straight home, they climbed into their carriage and sent Wen Ge’er and Hongtang to ask departing customers what they thought of the food, pretending to be passersby considering a meal themselves. Translated on Hololo novels.

“It wasn’t bad at all,” one man said. “Everything tasted mild and nourishing. My feet were frozen when I came in, but after a pot of pig-trotter soup, I was warm through—even my soles burned a little. I don’t know what ingredients they put in, but I saw bits of herbs.”

Hongtang asked, “If they added herbs, wasn’t it more like a pot of medicine?”

“Not really,” said the man. “The flavor was good—it didn’t taste like medicine at all. The shop even has doctors inside, taking pulses for diners. A lady physician and a gentleman, both quite kind. I didn’t have the nerve to have my pulse taken, though.”

“That doesn’t sound bad,” Hongtang said.

“Just one thing,” the man added.

“What’s that?”

“The price. Too high. That pig-trotter beauty soup—one lotus bowl of it—cost sixty-six copper coins. It was good, sure, and they use herbs, but other taverns sell pig-trotter soup for barely fifty.”

“And the buy-one-get-one offer?”

“Oh, they do that, but the free portion’s only half-sized. Same as other places, really. Right now it’s fair, since they’ve just opened, but when the promotion ends, the prices’ll be steep.”

Hongtang said, “Different shops, different quality. At a place like Anhualou, that same soup would be over a hundred coins.”

The man laughed. “True enough. I was only complaining.”

Hongtang thanked him and went back to report to Xiao Yuanbao and Bai Qiaogui.

When they heard, both fell silent.

They had already known their prices ran a little high.

For the same ingredients, their dishes cost ten or fifteen coins more than the average tavern’s—not because they were greedy, but because the herbs and produce they used were of better quality. After all the expenses, that pricing barely left a modest profit.

Even so, they had worried before opening that the higher cost might drive people away.

Now that fear seemed to be showing signs of coming true, and both of them felt uneasy.

Xiao Yuanbao said, “Diners always complain about price. When we eat out, we do the same. Let’s run things for a while and see. If it really doesn’t work, we’ll find another way.”

Bai Qiaogui nodded. “It’s all we can do.”

By the time they got home, Qi Beinan had already returned from work.

“How went the opening? All smooth?”

He had just changed out of his official robe and was about to head over when they arrived.

“Everything went as planned,” Xiao Yuanbao said, undoing his cloak. “The performers drew a crowd, and that brought diners in.”

He didn’t mention the problems yet. The shop had only just opened—too soon to judge the business fully.

In two days Qi Beinan would have time off; if the shop still showed trouble then, Xiao Yuanbao would tell him.

Two more days passed like that.

Xiao Yuanbao and Bai Qiaogui still went by the shop every day to have a look, but business remained the same—steady with guests, yet far from prosperous.

When they checked the ledger, they saw that although the opening discounts kept the place lively, the profits were poor.

On the fourth day, the promotions ended, and the true state of business began to show.

They went around midday, when the lunch crowd should have been at its peak. Even from outside, they could see that the door wasn’t nearly as busy as it had been.

Inside, the emptiness was even more obvious.

Only two tables were occupied in the main hall, and only one private room had been booked.

“Running a business takes time,” Xiao Yuanbao said quietly to Bai Qiaogui. “We can’t lose heart so soon.”

In the following days, the New Year arrived.

Between reunion dinners and household visits, both grew too busy to stop by the shop each day.

It wasn’t until the fourth day of the new year that Xiao Yuanbao and Qi Beinan went together to take a look.

The manager reported that business had been lukewarm ever since the fourth day of opening.

Xiao Yuanbao examined the accounts: daily earnings had fallen to less than two strings of coins.

His brows knit tightly. At that rate, they would barely cover expenses.

Back home, he locked himself in the study to go over the numbers.

The monthly rent alone was eighteen strings; wages for the cooks and servers totaled more than thirty. Add in ingredients, herbs, and firewood—the monthly costs were staggering.

With the current income, they were running at a loss.

He thought about raising prices but, after recalculating the costs, realized he couldn’t; any higher and no one would come.

Frustration burned in his chest.

When they’d started the business, he’d been confident, even persuaded Gui-jie to join him.

But now that it was open, nothing matched what he had imagined.

Losing money was part of trade, he knew—but it was different when others’ savings were tied to his own.

The Guijie couple didn’t have much to spare. They’d poured their savings into this venture, trusting him. If it failed, how would she ever fund her medical clinic?

Qi Beinan came in with a bowl of eight-treasure porridge and saw him hunched over the desk, head down, hands tangled in his hair.

“What offense has your hair given you that you torment it so?” Qi Beinan teased.

Xiao Yuanbao lifted his head, looking up pitifully. “You saw the shop today. What should I do?”

Qi Beinan sat beside him. “You barely ate at lunch. Have this porridge first, then we’ll talk.”

Looking at Qi Beinan’s calm face, the straight brows and clear eyes, Xiao Yuanbao’s anxious heart eased a little. He obediently finished the bowl.

When he set the spoon down, Qi Beinan said, “I know how carefully you planned Changchun Ju. Everything was well thought out. Still, business hasn’t gone as expected.”

“I asked the diners,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “They said the flavor was good, even felt the dishes had effect—but they all complained about the price.”

Qi Beinan nodded. “When you started the shop, did you think about what kind of customers you wanted?”

“What do you mean?”

“Take Anhua Lou, for instance. Luxurious and grand—they cater to the wealthy. In business, you can’t please every class of people. You choose your patrons and serve them well; that alone can sustain you.”

Xiao Yuanbao frowned, then realization dawned.

He remembered the story he had told Gui-jie about the rich merchant seeking an elixir of life—how even the richest people longed for longevity. Surely, he had thought, those with money would gladly spend it to preserve their health.

He should have known then that Changchun Ju was meant for the wealthy.

On opening day, he’d noticed the lack of carriages outside, but since crowds of common folk had come for the show and the discounts, he’d ignored the sign.

The result: ordinary townsfolk, not wealthy ones, filled the seats. They liked the food, even praised it, but after two visits, their purses couldn’t bear the expense.

Meanwhile, those who could easily afford the prices never came at all.

“Then why didn’t they?” Xiao Yuanbao asked in frustration. “Other shops—silk houses, pastry stores—open the same way, even less grand than ours, and all the noble families still go. Carriages lined up outside!”

Qi Beinan chuckled. “A health-diet shop isn’t like a silk store or pastry stall. It’s meant for those tending their bodies. People only think of such things after they’ve suffered—after they’ve learned the cost of ill health. The strong and hearty rarely consider ‘maintenance.’”

“That’s just it,” Qi Beinan said. “The very word ‘nourishment’ makes people feel it’s only for the weak or the sick.”

“Those from wealthy families care deeply about appearances. How could they openly walk into a health-food shop to eat ‘tonic dishes’? It’s one thing for one’s own household to know of a frailty, but if outsiders see it, the gossip begins. They’ll say someone is weakly, unwell, perhaps barren—and such talk can even hinder marriage prospects.”

Understanding struck Xiao Yuanbao like a splash of cold clarity.

In truth, a frail body ought to earn sympathy and care, yet how many truly pity another’s weakness?

Especially among the highborn and well-fed, whose comfortable days leave them idle—there’s nothing they enjoy more than watching others stumble.

Qi Beinan went on, “It’s like that time on opening day, when your waiter recommended the lamb-whip soup. The man wanted to try it, but being laughed at made him blush and storm off instead.”

He looked at Xiao Yuanbao. “Think of a way to let these wealthy patrons dine discreetly, without drawing attention. If even the people your shop was meant to serve won’t come, then we can reconsider whether the business should go on.”

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Ch 109: Reborn to Raise My Husband

When Xiao Yuanbao heard what scheme Qi Beinan and Jiang Tangyuan had come up with, he thought to himself that Beinan really never ran short of cunning ideas.

To forbid concubinage wasn’t some impossible or life-threatening demand. Many men in the world lived with only one spouse; it was hardly unheard of.

Back in their home village, aside from the landlords and the wealthier heads of estates who might keep more than one wife, most ordinary folk were simply husband and spouse.

Those who took concubines were usually the well-to-do—merchants with money enough to keep several women, who treated it as a show of wealth.

Among high-born scholar-official families, having a few secondary rooms was ordinary custom; a household without one or two would instead be considered strange.

People outside would talk, of course—saying the family must be poor and unable to support concubines, or that the official’s wife or husband was jealous and domineering.

At best, someone might say something pleasant—that the couple were affectionate and faithful.

In truth, to have no concubines harmed no one; it didn’t cost a piece of flesh. Idle gossip was nothing, and no censor would impeach a man merely for keeping a single spouse.

When traced to its root, talk about lacking “proper dignity” without several wives or about needing many heirs usually came from meddling relatives—or from men lustful at heart who wanted a respectable excuse for it.

Xiao Yuanbao said, “You’d better not let Third Brother Zhao know this was your idea.”

Qi Beinan smiled. “I’m not afraid if he does. The Jiang family’s rank may not be the highest in court, but they’ve held office for generations—a century of standing. Their gate is far above what the Yangs ever had.”

“To speak plainly, if Guangzong marries into the Jiang family, he’s marrying upward. If he isn’t willing to give up a little, it’d be like having a pie drop from the sky into his lap—how could such luck exist?”

“Besides,” he added, “no one is forcing his hand. If he disagrees, he can refuse. The Jiangs are an upright family—they won’t make things hard for him.”

Qi Beinan said, “A man can’t want everything both ways. And since I’ve set the example myself, Guangzong will have nothing to say.”

At that, Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes flickered, and the corners of his mouth curved. “Those are your words.”

Qi Beinan nodded. “They’re mine. I gave my word long ago—I won’t break it.”

As winter came on, Xiao Yuanbao was busy with preparations for the new shop.

Now that all the staff were hired, he had to train the cooks and servers before opening day.

The cooks needed to become familiar with every dish on the menu, preparing each in turn to taste.

Flavor was one matter; more importantly, they had to follow the recipes precisely. A wrong combination of ingredients could turn a medicinal meal harmful—a danger that could never be risked.

The servers, too, had to learn which dishes suited which conditions, so they could introduce the right meals to customers.

Everything had to be categorized and memorized; that took time.

After the first round of practice, Xiao Yuanbao and Bai Qiaogui came to test them.

“If I say I’m weak in qi and need nourishment,” Xiao Yuanbao asked, “what would you recommend?”

The servant answered promptly, “If the gentleman feels weak in qi and blood, he should order a bowl of Dangshen and Longan tonic soup, stewed with an old black hen for replenishing qi and blood.”

Xiao Yuanbao shook his head. “I don’t like black chicken.”

“That’s no matter,” said the servant quickly. “Our shop has many nourishing dishes. Besides the Dangshen Longan soup, there’s pigeon soup, or egg with red dates and brown sugar…”

He trailed off, unable to recall the rest, and quickly handed over the recipe book. “See here, sir—there are many more listed. You can choose whatever suits you.”

Xiao Yuanbao laughed. “Not the best memory, but a quick wit—that’s better.”

“Next,” he said.

After several rounds, he found that all the servers were nimble-minded and could respond well. For such work, quick thinking mattered more than rote memorization, and he was satisfied.

“Gentlemen,” one young man asked hesitantly, “it’s easy enough if customers order their own dishes. Every restaurant works that way. But if they come for the food therapy and don’t know what they need—say they only complain of dizziness or sore back—and ask us to recommend something, what should we do?”

Another added, “We’re only serving staff, not physicians. We can’t diagnose or prescribe. If we guessed wrong, it’d be one thing, but if we harmed someone’s health, what then?”

Xiao Yuanbao and Bai Qiaogui exchanged glances—they hadn’t thought of that, and found the point well made.

Xiao Yuanbao rewarded the young man with half a string of coins and told them the matter would be discussed and decided later.

“This is important,” he said. “Most who come for medicinal food will know what ails them, but there will always be some who don’t.”

As they returned home, Bai Qiaogui said, “To diagnose properly, we’ll need a professional.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. “Then it must be a physician.”

“Exactly,” she said. “Without a proper doctor, even if the staff know a little medicine, customers won’t trust them.”

Xiao Yuanbao thought for a moment. “We had planned to have a doctor sit in only on the first and fifteenth of each month—but it seems now we’ll need one present at all times.”

“You can go once or twice a month, that’s fine,” Bai Qiaogui said, “but it won’t do for you to be there every day. We’ll have to find someone from outside. Only, most physicians already work in clinics—it won’t be easy to find one willing to sit in a restaurant.”

“I’ll handle that,” she added. “I studied medicine; it’ll be easier for me to find someone.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. “All right.”

The matter of the shop wasn’t yet fully settled when news arrived—word of Jiang Tangyuan’s marriage match.

Xiao Yuanbao had been quietly waiting for it, though he hadn’t dared send a letter to ask. Translated on Hololo novels. At last, some reply came—but not from Jiang Tangyuan’s brother, Jiang Tangyuan himself, or even through Qi Beinan. Instead, it arrived as a letter from Zhao Guangzong.

It filled three whole pages, the once-steady handwriting now a little uneven, the tremor of emotion showing plainly between the lines.

“Anan,” it began, “if this letter finds you well, then all is well.

I have joyous news, yet none with whom to share it, so I write this to tell you.”

He wrote of how Elder Jiang, Jiang Tangyuan’s father, wished to bestow his beloved child in marriage—and how he, Zhao Guangzong, could hardly believe such fortune had fallen upon him.

It was the ordinary joy any man might feel at such a match. But more than that, Zhao Guangzong confessed that he had long harbored feelings for Jiang Tangyuan.

Back when he traveled to the capital for the imperial examination, he had first seen Tangyuan along the road.

That spring, the plum blossoms were white as snow. Tangyuan had been standing on a balcony, gazing at the moon, and a handkerchief blown loose by the wind had landed against Zhao Guangzong’s chest—striking not only his body but his heart.

A still pond had rippled; calmness was lost.

He had never known such a feeling before—it came late, but it came beautifully. For the first time, the scholar who had lost sleep only for his studies lay awake thinking of a person.

It was easy enough to give away one’s heart, but to have two hearts meet—that was life’s hardest thing.

When he learned of the Jiang family’s standing, his delight turned to shame. The Jiangs and the Zhaos were worlds apart; he dared not speak of what he felt, fearing only to trouble the other.

After he failed that year’s examination, he believed their fates forever parted.

But later, when he passed the provincial exams and became an appointed official in Jinling, chance brought him once more to a Jiang family banquet—where he saw Tangyuan again, and his joy was beyond measure.

Then came what he had never even dared to dream: Elder Jiang summoned him several times afterward, quietly inquiring after his family background.

Zhao Guangzong had begun to sense the man’s intent, and that night he was so happy he could not sleep at all.

To him, it was a miracle beyond imagining. From that day, he was all courtesy to the Jiangs and diligence in his duties.

Soon, however, he learned that Elder Jiang was considering not one candidate but two—the other, a promising young scholar of good reputation.

Zhao Guangzong feared the precious thread of fate might once again slip from his grasp.

Then, Elder Jiang privately asked him: if Tangyuan were given to him in marriage, could he promise never to take a concubine nor keep a mistress, and would he still agree to such a union?

To marry Jiang Tangyuan—how could he want anyone else?

Zhao Guangzong swore on the spot and signed his name to the pledge, wholly unashamed.

Thus Elder Jiang chose him as his son-in-law. By the time the letter reached them, the engagement had already been formally agreed upon and acknowledged by both families.

Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao were both truly happy for him.

After so many years alone, Zhao Guangzong had found his match—and not only the one he loved, but one who returned his love. What greater joy could there be?

In truth, Qi Beinan had guessed the outcome the moment he saw Zhao Guangzong’s letter, but seeing it confirmed still brought quiet satisfaction.

Xiao Yuanbao set the letter down on the table and leaned back, smiling with delight.

“So now we can visit Tangtuan often. When we’re old and retired, we can all return to Ling County together.”

Qi Beinan laughed. “You’re already talking about retirement? We still have decades ahead of us.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Xiao Yuanbao said cheerfully. “I like thinking about the days to come—it gives me something to look forward to.”

Qi Beinan smiled. “You’re not wrong. The Jiang family’s from Jiangzhou, right next to Linzhou—hardly far from home.”

Xiao Yuanbao swung his legs happily, then paused. “But Zhao Third Brother only said that Elder Jiang chose him. He didn’t mention what became of the other scholar.”

He frowned. “Could it be that the man didn’t even dare give his word—that he refused to live with only one spouse, unwilling to part from the idea of three wives and four concubines?”

Qi Beinan gave a short laugh. “Who knows? Perhaps that scholar had already pledged himself elsewhere, and so couldn’t accept Elder Jiang’s condition.”

Xiao Yuanbao looked puzzled. “If he already had someone, why chase after Tangtuan at all? He could have married the one he loved and everyone would be happy. Elder Jiang wasn’t forcing him to break any bond, only asking a question.”

Qi Beinan tapped his forehead lightly. “Why else, if not to borrow the Jiang family’s name for an easy rise?”

Xiao Yuanbao frowned deeper. “That’s only our guessing. The truth, we can’t yet know.”

Qi Beinan merely smiled, and said nothing more.

Xiao Yuanbao learned the full story not long after—it seemed the Jiang family had written back to young Lord Jiang with the news.

When Qi Beinan took Xiao Yuanbao to dine at the Jiang residence, Jiang Tangyuan told them everything.

Here was how it had gone.

After receiving Qi Beinan’s suggestion, Jiang Tangyuan had immediately written home. Elder Jiang found the idea sound and decided to test both young men separately.

He first questioned the scholar.

Elder Jiang asked how many concubines the man planned to take after marrying Tangyuan.

The scholar replied smoothly that matters of the inner household would be decided by his husband, and that such arrangements—concubines and other affairs—should follow the will of family elders.

There was nothing wrong in what he said, but it left Elder Jiang far from satisfied.

Then Elder Jiang pressed further: if he were to marry Tangyuan, and concubinage were forbidden, how would he feel about that?

The scholar did not answer at once. After a moment, he said that in his heart he was willing—but he must first consult his parents. If they had no objections, he would agree.

He spoke of loyalty and prudence, of being a dutiful son who would not act rashly.

Elder Jiang let him return home to discuss it, and turned to question Zhao Guangzong.

Neither matter was settled immediately.

But at that very juncture, a young woman appeared at the Jiang gates, weeping and crying.

She said she and the scholar had grown up together, childhood playmates who had long pledged their lives to each other.

Now, she sobbed, the wealthy Jiang family sought to steal away her betrothed. Even if they meant to take him, could they not at least leave her a way to live—allow her to become his concubine, if nothing else?

She wept bitterly before the main gate, so pitiful that passersby thought she had suffered some great injustice at the Jiangs’ hands.

The Jiang family was furious. Whatever the truth, with such a scene made in public, how could they still proceed with the match?

A marriage was meant to bring peace and respectability—if trouble erupted before the wedding, what chaos would follow after?

Jiang Tangyuan said, “My father later sent men to investigate. It turned out the tale of childhood affection was not empty talk. The scholar’s family once lived in a distant village under Jinling. After he passed the local exams and was rewarded, they moved into the city.”

“The girl was a distant cousin. They played together as children, and affection grew between them. He had promised that once he made his name, he would marry her.”

When the scholar came to the capital for the examinations and met Elder Jiang, the elder was impressed by his essays and diligence, and took him under his wing.

The scholar never thought such fortune would come his way. Though he already owed the Jiangs much, their favor was not yet secure. If he became their son-in-law, everything would change.

So, though he had pledged himself to his cousin long ago, he could not bear to give up the chance for wealth and advancement.

Somehow the cousin learned what he was scheming. Seeing that the Jiangs forbade concubinage, she must have realized all hope was lost—and so she came to the Jiang gates to make a scene.

That was all the Jiang family knew.

What they did not know was that after the scholar heard Elder Jiang’s condition, he and his parents discussed it and decided his future came first. A family like the Jiangs’ was too rare a chance to waste, and he meant to cut ties with his cousin entirely.

But the cousin was not one to suffer in silence. Furious at his ingratitude, she resolved to ruin him too. If he meant to discard her for high status, she would drag everything down with her—so she went to the Jiangs’ house, and in doing so destroyed his prospects altogether.

Even without knowing all these details, just understanding the man’s intentions left Xiao Yuanbao sighing deeply.

Since coming to the capital, he had learned how hard life could be for those without connections—but it was the first time he had seen someone go so far for ambition.

Qi Beinan had been right all along: that scholar truly had already pledged himself elsewhere.

Jiang Tangyuan sighed. “If not for that suggestion, we might never have seen his true character. On the surface, both men looked decent enough—but only when tested does one see who is genuine and who is false.”

Had Zhao Guangzong not come along, his father might easily have chosen the scholar instead.

And with his temperament, once the marriage was settled, he would surely have brought that cousin into the house as a concubine.

Taking a concubine was no great crime—but it revealed what kind of man he was: calculating, untrustworthy. And with ten years of old affection behind them, Tangyuan could never have managed such a person.

Thinking of it, Jiang Tangyuan said he had lost sleep for nights.

That was why he was all the more grateful to Qi Beinan.

“Don’t speak of gratitude,” Qi Beinan said, raising his cup to clink against Jiang Tangyuan’s. “We’re friends. When friends are in trouble, how could I stand by and watch?”

He smiled. “When Tangyuan and Guangzong are wed, if Guangzong ever dares treat him poorly, I’ll be the first to set him straight.”

Jiang Tangyuan laughed. “With those words, I can rest easy.”

When they left the Jiang residence, Xiao Yuanbao’s heart was full of feeling.

The winter wind was sharp and bitter, stinging his cheeks. He reached out and clasped Qi Beinan’s hand.

Qi Beinan felt the warmth of Xiao Yuanbao’s hand in his palm and, raising his brows slightly, glanced at him. “What’s got into you today to be so good?”

Then he turned his hand and held Yuanbao’s more tightly.

Xiao Yuanbao let out a slow breath. “I just suddenly feel very fortunate.”

Qi Beinan asked, “Why do you say that?”

“The world’s affections are tangled and complicated,” Xiao Yuanbao said softly. “People go round and round, facing all manner of hardship—and even after all that, not everyone ends with happiness.”

He looked at Qi Beinan. “Compared to that, I think my own path has been too smooth.”

At those words, Qi Beinan looked at the bright eyes before him—eyes that had deepened with age and thought, yet still held that same clear light.

Without thinking, he drew Yuanbao into his arms and said gently, “Xiaobao, it’s right that your life should be smooth.”

The last life had been too bitter; every misfortune had been tasted already.

Now, it was only just that all should be calm and well, days lived in peace and ease.

Xiao Yuanbao rubbed his face lightly against Qi Beinan’s broad cloak. “You’re far too partial toward me.”

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Ch 108: Reborn to Raise My Husband

Two days later, Xiao Yuanbao went with Qi Beinan to attend the Lin family’s wedding banquet.

He had imagined a grand affair—red banners and music filling ten streets—but it was nothing of the sort.

Lin Qingyu had invited few guests, about the same number as at Xiao Yuanbao and Qi Beinan’s own wedding. Most of the celebration took place at the duke’s residence.

Lin Qingyu, dressed in crimson robes, rode at the head of the procession to escort the young lord from the Duke of Jing’s mansion. Handsome as he already was, as a bridegroom he drew every eye.

Crowds lined the streets, nearly as many as had gathered for his triumphant parade as top scholar. Yet compared to that youthful day of pride and brilliance, this occasion, though joyous, seemed dimmer in spirit.

Among the guests, Xiao Yuanbao turned his head slightly to look at the person stepping down from the bridal sedan.

The figure stood tall and elegant, the wedding robes shining richly in the sun. The red veil hid the face, but the graceful posture and swan-like neck spoke of nobility.

They crossed the fire basin, bowed before the ancestral hall, each rite performed precisely as prescribed.

Holding the two ends of a red silk ribbon, the couple appeared the perfect pair. Yet for all that they were joined by the ribbon, there was a strange distance between them, as if something invisible kept them apart.

Xiao Yuanbao couldn’t name what felt wrong. He leaned toward Qi Beinan and whispered, “When we were at the altar, did you sneak a look at me?”

Qi Beinan turned to him, smiling. “Of course I did.”

That day, while kneeling before the hall, he had stolen many glances at Xiao Yuanbao—too happy to resist, yet unable to speak. All he could do was look.

Xiao Yuanbao thought to himself, that was as it should be.

The newlyweds, however, were all formality—bowing and offering tea to the elders with impeccable composure, not exchanging even a single lingering glance.

To others, they were flawless—proper, dignified, harmonious. But anyone who had truly known love could feel it: between the two stood a quiet emptiness.

When the ceremony ended and the pair withdrew to the bridal chamber, no one followed to make mischief. The young lord’s status was too exalted for that. The night was hushed, almost solemn.

After witnessing the rites, Xiao Yuanbao stopped wondering about it. Outside, laughter and conversation filled the courtyard again.

He joined the other guests for tea, traded polite remarks, and soon the feast began.

Whatever else might be said, the meal itself was excellent. The dishes were prepared by chefs from the Four Divisions and Six Bureaus—Xiao Yuanbao couldn’t tell which kitchen exactly, but the braised shrimp in the tripod bowl and the wine-braised fish in the long-leaf dish suited his taste perfectly. He ate several bites before forcing himself to stop out of courtesy.

By the time they left, the moon was already caught in the willow branches.

Late autumn brought a chill to the air. Translated on Hololo novels. The moonlight fell over the persimmon trees, turning their golden fruit silver-white.

Qi Beinan pulled Xiao Yuanbao back inside the carriage when he leaned too far out the window. He lowered the curtain, shutting out the cool night breeze.

“Careful not to catch cold,” he said. “Autumn air turns on you easily.”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled. “I’ve been drinking those seasonal tonics for warmth. I won’t catch a chill.”

Qi Beinan laughed softly. “Was the banquet lively?”

“Oh, lively enough,” Xiao Yuanbao replied. “But it’s the first time I’ve seen a wedding from start to finish like that.”

“When we married, as soon as the veil came down, I was half-dizzy—I couldn’t tell north from south.”

Qi Beinan said, “As long as you can tell north from Beinan, that’s enough.”

Xiao Yuanbao shot him a look. “I’m speaking seriously, and you’re teasing again.”

Qi Beinan only chuckled.

They returned home late. The autumn chill had deepened; after washing up, they slipped beneath the blankets early.

Perhaps it was the warmth of the wedding still lingering, but neither fell asleep quickly.

When it was over, Xiao Yuanbao’s cheeks were flushed, his brow damp with sweat. He rested against Qi Beinan’s chest, dazed for a while before his thoughts cleared.

Qi Beinan brushed the messy hair from his forehead and asked in a low voice, “What are you thinking about? Still not sleepy?”

After a pause, Xiao Yuanbao said, “I was just wondering… today’s bride and groom looked like strangers. Do you think, tonight, they’ll…”

Qi Beinan pinched his cheek. “Still thinking about other people?”

“Then maybe I should ask at court tomorrow?”

Xiao Yuanbao quickly clapped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t you dare! That’d be terribly rude.”

“I just can’t picture it,” he admitted.

If he and Qi Beinan had been bound by arranged marriage—decided by parents and matchmakers, scarcely knowing each other before the wedding—how awkward and restrained that wedding night would have been. Could such a night even turn intimate?

Qi Beinan bit his finger lightly and thought him far too innocent.

“Why not?” he said. “Those men who frequent brothels don’t need love to do what they do.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes flicked up, realizing he was right—and for some reason that annoyed him. He gave Qi Beinan’s chest a sharp pinch and turned away to sleep.

Qi Beinan winced. “What did I do? I wasn’t talking about myself.”

A few days later, the shop’s renovation was halfway done.

Xiao Yuanbao oversaw the progress—hiring a bookkeeper, cooks, and waiters—while Bai Qiaogui visited the apothecaries to negotiate the price of medicinal herbs.

If they had been a household of true wealth, all these matters would have been handled by retainers. The master would simply sit in the main hall, give orders, and make the final decisions.

But for people like them, newly risen and without deep roots, every task still demanded their own hands. Staff was scarce; they were far from the kind of fortune that allowed idleness.

Everything had to be built from the ground up, piece by piece.

Over the years, those who had worked alongside them had proven steady and loyal. With time and trust, some had been taken in as part of their own household.

Looking back now, Xiao Yuanbao realized their small circle of dependable helpers was hard-won—gathered through years of labor and care.

Once the shop opened, he, as an official’s spouse, could not linger there like a common tradeswoman. He would need capable people to manage it day to day. His role would be to oversee the accounts and continue developing new recipes.

Because the medicinal dishes were of their own invention, he was especially cautious in choosing the cooks.

Those hired would have to sign both a long-term contract and a confidential agreement, binding them not to use any of the recipes for profit after leaving the establishment.

Once the terms were settled, they began spreading word to hire workers.

In a city as vast as the capital, there was no shortage of people seeking employment. Within three to five days, a dozen or so applicants had arrived—bookkeepers, cooks, waiters, and kitchen hands.

The bookkeeper and cooks were the most crucial; the rest were easier to find, as their work required less skill.

Qi Beinan prepared two account ledgers for testing the bookkeepers, having them calculate the entries to see how they worked.

For the cooks, Xiao Yuanbao handed out two or three sample recipes from their menu of medicinal dishes, asking each candidate to prepare them. Whoever produced the best flavor would be kept.

Skill, at least, was easy to judge. Character was harder. Such things could not be known in a few words or days—it took time to learn a person’s true nature.

In the end, Xiao Yuanbao chose three cooks: a man, a married husband, and a woman.

For the bookkeeper, he hired an older scholar who had never passed the examinations. His arithmetic was slower than the others’, but his work was steady and meticulous—qualities Xiao Yuanbao valued far more than speed.

As for the waiters, he picked six with quick tongues and lively manners.

Six more helpers were hired for the back kitchen—two to carry dishes, four to tend the fire, chop vegetables, and wash.

Running a large restaurant demanded far more effort than managing a small household shop.

Time slipped by, and nearly two months of preparation had gone.

In the first days of the twelfth lunar month, Qi Beinan left the ministry after a long day.

The sky, gray since morning, had finally given way to sharp cold wind and drifting flakes of snow.

The capital always saw its first snow early.

“It’s bitter out,” someone called. “Come have a bowl of mutton soup at Anhualou.”

Qi Beinan turned and saw Jiang Tangyuan approaching with an umbrella.

Before he could answer, Jiang said with a grin, “My treat.”

Qi Beinan laughed. “When Lord Jiang is this generous, how could I refuse?”

They left the palace gates together and headed to Anhualou.

Qi Beinan sent Qin Jiang ahead with a message home, then joined Jiang Tangyuan upstairs in a private room. The hall below already had braziers burning; the private rooms were warmer still, scented with mild incense. It was far more comfortable than the drafty offices of the yamen.

Pouring tea for both of them, Jiang Tangyuan smiled. It had been some time since they had sat down together like this.

Since his marriage in Jinling, he had barely found a moment to spare. He’d returned to the capital within a month, and though his younger sibling Jiang Tangtuan had stayed in Jinling, his new wife had come with him.

Ten days after returning, the couple had hosted a banquet for their friends in the capital—Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao among them.

Now newly married, Jiang Tangyuan’s wife proved a gentle and gracious woman. He spent his evenings at home with her, no longer roaming tea houses as he once had.

Qi Beinan considered that a good sign.

“So,” he asked, “what brings you to me today?”

Jiang Tangyuan laughed. “You make it sound as if I never call you out unless there’s business.”

“These days aren’t what they used to be,” Qi Beinan teased, lifting his cup with a smile.

Jiang Tangyuan only smiled wider.

“Well,” he said after a pause, “I won’t hide it—there is a family matter I wanted to tell you about.”

“A family matter?”

“You’re no outsider,” Jiang said. “I can speak freely.”

Qi Beinan’s eyes softened with amusement.

“My marriage’s settled,” Jiang continued, “so my family’s turned their worries to Tangtuan. The last engagement ended poorly, and a few new troubles arose besides, so my parents have been even more concerned.”

He took another sip of tea. “A few days ago, my father wrote saying he’s found two potential matches and asked for my opinion.”

Qi Beinan listened quietly.

“The first,” Jiang said, “is a young scholar my father favors—born to a farming family, of clean conduct and good reputation. I’ve read some of his essays; they’re quite decent. If fortune favors him, he could have a fine future.”

“Sounds promising,” Qi Beinan said.

Jiang Tangyuan gave a small smile. “And do you know who the other one is?”

Qi Beinan’s brow lifted slightly. “From that tone, I’d say someone I know.”

Jiang laughed but didn’t answer—only lifted his cup again and drank.

A moment later, Jiang Tangyuan said slowly, “The other candidate is Brother Zhao.”

Qi Beinan had already guessed as much from his earlier words, yet hearing it confirmed still made his brows lift. “Guangzong?”

“Who else?” Jiang said with a laugh. “On my wedding day, he came with a gift to offer congratulations. Only then did I learn he’d been appointed to Feng County under Jinling as a county deputy. I should have congratulated him first, but I hadn’t heard the news.”

Qi Beinan pressed his lips together, smiling despite himself. “Tell me then—how did old Lord Jiang come to favor him?”

Jiang Tangyuan replied, “After the matter with the Qiao family, my father decided Tangtuan should marry into a modest household. He thought a quieter match would make for steadier days. As luck had it, that day Brother Zhao came to the feast. My father saw him—young, refined—and made a few inquiries.”

Zhao Guangzong was no dazzling beauty, but he was a man of calm and upright bearing. His speech was measured, his manner gentle, and his learning solid. Now that he held office at such a young age, any family with a son or daughter of marriageable age would surely take note.

When asked, it turned out he was still unmarried—another good sign.

“My father thought well of him,” Jiang continued. “And since I traveled to the capital with you and him before, I could say he’s easygoing, not difficult to get along with.”

He hesitated, then added, “More than that, Tangtuan treats him differently than others.”

At first, Jiang had been wary of that difference—fearful that Zhao, now serving away in Jinling, might harbor improper thoughts and try to charm or entangle his sibling. But after some quiet inquiry, he found no sign of secret correspondence between them and finally set his mind at ease.

“My father was curious,” Jiang went on. “Zhao’s talent and character both seem good. How is it that he’s already twenty-three and still unwed? There must be some reason.”

He looked across the table. “You know him better than anyone. You’re fair-minded—you won’t speak with bias.”

Qi Beinan gave a small, helpless laugh. “You do enjoy putting me in a corner. If I praise Guangzong too highly, neither you nor my husband will believe me; but if I criticize him, I’d hardly be speaking truth. He’s not a man one can fault much.”

He leaned back, considering. “Since I know you both well, I’ll just tell you what’s true. He’s diligent in his studies, single-minded, perhaps to a fault. I think he’s put all his heart into books and never once turned his thoughts to marriage. In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him show the slightest interest in any young lady or gentleman.”

Qi Beinan deliberately added, “And as for any romantic mischief—there’s been none. Nor does he have any childhood sweetheart or secret affair back home.”

“Though,” he went on, “the year he passed the provincial exams, the local education commissioner took a liking to him and wanted to make him a son-in-law. The two families exchanged a few visits, but Zhao didn’t meet the commissioner’s expectations, and the proposal quietly faded. After that, came the capital exams, a failed attempt, then his return to serve as an examiner… and so it went.”

Jiang Tangyuan listened carefully. Qi Beinan’s account matched what little the estate had heard—and even included details no one else knew, such as the matter with the commissioner.

Qi Beinan concluded, “You and I are friends, and Guangzong and I share a long acquaintance. I’ll not speak for either side. In fairness, his character is steady, his nature kind. Life with him would be peaceful and well-ordered. But his path as an examination official is uncertain. It won’t be as smooth as a jinshi’s career.”

“I know,” Jiang said. “If my father cared only for prospects, he’d have looked the other way and gone through with the Qiao match. He wouldn’t be considering anyone of lesser rank.”

“What matters most,” he added, “is that the man treats Tangtuan well. Good character makes for lasting days.”

“True enough,” Qi Beinan said.

Still, Jiang looked troubled. Both candidates were decent men. The scholar had passed the provincial exam and was now preparing for the capital one. He was obedient to the Jiang family and diligent in study—hard to fault as well.

Qi Beinan read the worry in his face. “If the choice were easy, you wouldn’t have found that last one either,” he said mildly.

“It seems,” he went on, “that in virtue and learning, the two are evenly matched. That only makes it harder—which one to choose?”

Jiang Tangyuan smiled ruefully. “Nothing escapes you.”

Qi Beinan asked, “Forgive my bluntness—have you tried to learn what the two young men themselves think?”

“Of course,” said Jiang. “Marriage can’t be forced. Both must be willing.”

“And Tangtuan?”

“I wrote to ask,” Jiang said. “As I said before, Tangtuan seems to hold Zhao in slightly higher regard. But claimed it wasn’t proper to test a man’s heart and would trust our judgment instead.”

Qi Beinan smiled faintly. “Always so obedient.”

Then, after a pause, he said, “To help Tangtuan find a worthy husband, I’ve a rather wicked idea.”

Jiang raised a brow and leaned closer to hear.

When Qi Beinan finished, he couldn’t help laughing. “A bit unorthodox, but not a bad idea. I’ll write home and see what truth it brings to light.”

Cheered, he waved for the waiter. “I knew calling you out today wouldn’t be in vain. Order what you like—my treat.”

By the time Qi Beinan returned home, the snow had thickened, blanketing the road in white.

He stepped down from the carriage carrying a large food box filled with dishes from Anhualou.

Xiao Yuanbao, seeing him bring in glossy braised goose, tender bamboo shoots stewed with quail, and slices of roasted lamb still clinging to the bone, teased, “So generous of Lord Jiang—has he been promoted already?”

These fine dishes were far from cheap in an ordinary restaurant, and at Anhualou they would cost even more.

Qi Beinan rubbed his chilled hands together and told the servants to warm the food. Then he took Xiao Yuanbao by the hand and led him inside.

Outside, snow was falling thickly. Xiao Yuanbao had stayed in all day keeping accounts; his hands were warm, and the feel of them in Qi Beinan’s grasp was pleasant.

Once they were settled indoors, Qi Beinan told him the reason Jiang Tangyuan had invited him out for food and wine.

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes went round. “Those two?”

He rubbed his face in disbelief. “I never would have thought Third Brother Zhao, that piece of wood, would catch Tangtuan’s eye.”

Then he clicked his tongue, half laughing, half astonished. He recalled the time he had spoken of Zhao Guangzong with Tangtuan—he had indeed praised him at length.

At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it, only considered it polite conversation between old acquaintances. Who knew there had been something more behind it?

He shook his head. He really hadn’t been observant enough.

Then, suddenly remembering, he asked, “So what did you tell him—what kind of test?”

Though Xiao Yuanbao secretly hoped Tangtuan and Third Brother Zhao might truly become a pair, he also knew such things couldn’t be pushed by anyone’s will; they had to follow fate.

Qi Beinan said slowly, “Both young men present themselves well—everything seems proper and pleasing on the surface. But such outward polish means little. True sincerity shows only when a person is asked to give something up.”

“So,” he continued, “I told young Lord Jiang to set them both the same condition: once married, they may never take a concubine. And words alone don’t count. They must write and sign a formal pledge—if either should break it, the marriage is to be annulled through the official matchmaker, and the man himself will bear the blame.”

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Ch 107: Reborn to Raise My Husband

After several days of searching, Xiao Yuanbao and Bai Qiaogui finally found a shop they liked—a two-story standalone building just outside the city walls.

It stood near the end of a side street beyond the busy market district. Yet in the capital’s maze of lanes, the “end” of one street often led directly into the “head” of another. Though far from the market’s center, this street connected to Ginkgo Avenue, and from the second floor of the shop, one could see the golden trees in autumn.

There was a small courtyard in front, large enough to hold four tables, and behind it a kitchen yard and two storage rooms.

Though not in the heart of the market, Xiao Yuanbao was pleased. The main streets were crowded and profitable, but rent there was exorbitant. This location, quieter and more refined, suited their business better.

Their food-therapy venture was unlike a common eatery. It was meant to nourish the body, and such things were better served in calm surroundings. Finding a peaceful, pleasant setting was essential.

The previous tenant had sold cloth and fabrics but had gone out of business. Xiao Yuanbao minded it little. Shops failed all the time—it was nothing unusual.

As long as the place carried no lawsuits or bad debts, he cared nothing for talk of ill luck or bad feng shui. Those, he thought, were merely excuses for poor management.

“This courtyard is good,” he said. “We could build a flower wall here, and plant a few blooming herbs—it would fit our theme perfectly.”

Bai Qiaogui agreed, smiling. “And upstairs we can make private rooms. On the first and fifteenth of each month, I can see patients there for consultations.”

As they walked through the shop, they were already mapping out the layout in their heads.

Both satisfied, they asked the property agent about the price.

“The rent is twenty strings of cash per month,” the agent said. “If you take it by the year, it comes to eighteen.”

The agent was someone they already knew—he had helped them lease their current residence—and had seen how sharp Qi Beinan could be in bargaining, so he named a fair price straightaway.

Bai Qiaogui sighed. “This costs more than our house.”

“Shops always do,” Xiao Yuanbao replied. They had already looked at several; smaller shops in the main market ran up to thirty or even fifty strings a month, enough to ruin a household.

After a short discussion, they asked the agent to speak with the owner: they could take the shop for six months at eighteen strings, or, if necessary, a full year for two hundred ten.

The agent agreed and went off to negotiate, while Xiao Yuanbao and Bai Qiaogui decided to stroll down Ginkgo Avenue. The autumn leaves had turned gold and carpeted the street—too lovely to miss.

“Most likely he’ll only manage the two hundred ten,” Bai Qiaogui said as they walked.

“He’s handled several of our matters already,” Xiao Yuanbao replied. “He arranged the lease for our house, and Beinan knows him—says he’s reliable. Don’t worry, he won’t play tricks. But you’re right: two hundred ten will probably be the final number. I offered the lower figure just to set the owner’s expectations. Once he sees a fairer price, he’ll agree more readily.”

Bai Qiaogui laughed. “You’ve become quite shrewd.”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled. “In business, you must be a little sly. Otherwise, it’s not trade—it’s charity.”

“Are you two here to look at the shop?”

A voice came from ahead.

They looked up to see a woman waving a fan as she approached. She was in her thirties, graceful and smiling.

“I’ve seen this place stand empty for some time,” she said warmly. “Today it’s lively again—saw the agent come by and guessed someone might be viewing it. From afar I could tell you two had fine bearing; I couldn’t help but come over.”

“I keep a cosmetics shop just across the street. We’ve just stocked fine goods from Jiangnan. If you don’t mind the size of my place, you should come by for a look.”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled politely. “We’d love to, though we have business to finish today. But if we find the time, we’ll certainly visit.”

The woman took the refusal easily. “No offense taken. If you lease this shop and open your business here, there’ll be plenty of chances to visit later. When you do, I’ll bring out my best powders and give you both a fair price.”

Bai Qiaogui found her enthusiasm fitting for a merchant. “Thank you, that’s very kind.”

The woman fluttered her fan and asked, “May I ask what trade you plan to open here?”

Xiao Yuanbao meant to stop Bai Qiaogui from speaking, but she was quicker. “A food house.”

“Ah, I see,” the woman said with a smile. “A fine choice—no one can live without eating. If I had the skill, I’d do the same myself.”

Then she paused, her gaze flicking toward the shop again. “It’s a good business,” she said softly, “only…”

She left the thought unfinished and fell silent.

Bai Qiaogui immediately caught the hint of hesitation in the woman’s tone and asked, “Is there something wrong with this shop?”

The woman only smiled. “How could I say? I’ll just offer this—perhaps the lady and gentleman should take some time to think it over. Don’t be too quick to decide.”

With that, she excused herself and left.

“We never heard the agent say there was anything wrong with this shop,” Bai Qiaogui muttered as they left the street. “We asked around too—no lawsuits, no accidents. The last tenant just failed at business. Could it really be bad feng shui?”

The woman’s vague warning had left her uneasy.

Xiao Yuanbao frowned. “There’s something off about that woman.”

“What’s off? She just seemed warm and friendly.”

Xiao Yuanbao gave a quiet laugh. He had grown wary of “friendly” people—especially those who went out of their way to show kindness without cause.

“Didn’t you notice?” he said. “She came up praising our looks first. Empty flattery, but it puts people at ease. Then she said she ran the cosmetics shop across the street. Anyone would think she was just trying to bring in customers and wouldn’t suspect more.”

“After that, she made it sound like we were all merchants on the same street, offering discounts and good will. Clever—she never asked outright if we were leasing the shop, just spoke as though she already knew we were.

“If we had truly liked the place, we’d naturally talk about our plans. If not, we’d say it wasn’t fated. Either way, she’d get her answer without asking. Then she asked what kind of shop we were opening, and you told her—‘a food house.’”

Bai Qiaogui stared, startled. “You think she meant all that on purpose? Maybe we’re overthinking.”

Xiao Yuanbao shook his head. “We mean no harm, but we still have to be cautious. You’ve never been caught like that before. I once trusted too easily and got played for it.”

Bai Qiaogui’s brows knit. “Then should we still take the shop or not?”

“I’ll ask around more carefully,” Xiao Yuanbao said.

Back at home, he sent two men to make inquiries—one to learn more about the shop itself, and another to investigate the woman across the street.

The results were telling.

The man who checked the shop came back saying the place had bad luck—previous tenants had failed, and strange things happened at night. Rumor had it someone had once been killed there, and the ghost still lingered.

The second man reported that the woman did indeed own a cosmetics shop nearby. She was a native of the capital, and her brother ran a mutton restaurant at the end of the same street.

Xiao Yuanbao relayed everything to Qi Beinan. “The agent said there’d never been trouble, and the last tenant just failed at business. But now we hear this other story. Which one’s true?”

Qi Beinan listened to the full account and smiled. “You already know the answer.”

“I’m just afraid I’ve judged wrong.”

“She came to pry for information, then dropped a warning about the shop—just to make you curious enough to start asking around. She’d already arranged for people to feed you those ghost stories, to scare you off so you’d give up the lease.”

Qi Beinan went on, “Now that we know her brother runs a restaurant across the street, her motive’s clear. What else could it be?”

Xiao Yuanbao sighed. “Even if I know her intent and that the shop’s fine, it worries me. The business hasn’t even opened yet, and she’s already stirring trouble. Once we move in, won’t it be worse?”

Qi Beinan pinched his cheek, smiling. “No business runs without trouble. Even if you switched streets because of her, who’s to say there aren’t others with the same schemes elsewhere? At least now you know what kind of person she is—you can deal with her openly. That’s better than those who plot behind your back.”

He added, “Besides, if you avoid this for fear of trouble, you’ll only invite more later—more searching, more delays. Better to face what’s in front of you.”

Xiao Yuanbao thought it over and nodded. “Then if the price settles right, we’ll take that shop.”

Qi Beinan smiled. “Don’t worry. If trouble comes, I’ll stand behind you.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s heart warmed. He squeezed Qi Beinan’s hand. “Then I’ll go talk to Gui-jie.”

“Go on,” Qi Beinan said. “Be back soon.”

When Xiao Yuanbao left, Qi Beinan stepped outside and called for Qin Jiang.

Two days later, the agent returned. The landlord had agreed to lease the shop for two hundred ten strings a year.

Qi Beinan served him tea, signed the contract, sealed it, and handed it over. “Give this to the owner.”

The agent opened the paper and frowned deeply. “So that woman truly meant to harm others. No wonder I couldn’t make sense of it before. Another shopkeeper once tried to lease this same place—deposit paid, everything set—and suddenly canceled. I never knew why. Turns out someone was working against them all along.”

Qi Beinan carefully folded the signed statement and set it aside. “Good thing I looked closely,” he said. “Otherwise that merchant woman would have harmed who knows how many others.”

The property agent agreed. The woman had spread lies about the shop’s feng shui—claiming it was haunted and unlucky—to scare away anyone who might lease it for a restaurant. Not only did it hurt the landlord, leaving the shop vacant for months, it cost the agent his commission as well. There was no angle of it that wasn’t malicious.

The agent returned to the landlord and, in vivid detail, recounted the whole scheme—the deceit of the cosmetics-seller and her brother across the street. When the landlord seemed doubtful, he produced Qi Beinan’s signed testimony.

The document, written by the very man the woman had bribed with a few coins to spread her rumors, was irrefutable proof of her manipulation.

Such matters were not worth taking to court, but they were enough to enrage a respectable merchant. And the landlord was no small figure; a man who owned such a large property in the capital was not one to suffer deceit in silence.

Five or six days later, Xiao Yuanbao and Bai Qiaogui finalized the lease and called in craftsmen to renovate the place.

Still uneasy, Bai Qiaogui hung a charm from a temple beneath the courtyard tree. Xiao Yuanbao laughed. “You really are superstitious.”

“It’s not about ghosts,” she said. “The charm is just for peace and good fortune.”

“That’s fair enough,” he said with a smile.

They were still talking in the courtyard when sudden shouting rose from across the street.

They went to look and saw trouble in the mutton shop opposite. Two rough men were waving bowls of soup, shouting that they had found three large dead flies floating inside.

The men made a great scene, showing the flies to the customers and cursing that the restaurant was stingy—serving flies in place of meat. They accused them of using spoiled meat, saying only rotten food could draw such swarms of insects.

The place was in uproar.

Bai Qiaogui clutched her chest in disgust. “Just seeing it from here makes me sick. Who could still eat after that?”

Before the shouting had even died down, chaos erupted again—this time at the cosmetics shop.

A young woman burst in, crying and screaming that the face powder she had bought there had brought her out in red welts. The crowd gathered, gossiping and pointing.

Xiao Yuanbao watched the commotion—first one shop, then the other. Even a fool could see something was off.

He hurried home, and as luck had it, ran into Qi Beinan returning from the yamen at the mouth of the lane. He clambered into the carriage. “Was that your doing? Those two shops across from our new place?”

Qi Beinan looked amused and asked what had happened. After hearing the story, he laughed. “His Majesty’s selecting courtiers, the Hanlin are drafting reports, and the ministries are drowning in work. Do I look like I have time for such games?”

Xiao Yuanbao exhaled in relief. “Then maybe they just brought it on themselves.”

Qi Beinan smiled. “Everything has its cause. Bad luck doesn’t come without reason.”

He told Xiao Yuanbao about the statement and the landlord’s anger. “Most likely, the landlord decided to take matters into his own hands.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes widened. No wonder it all seemed so coincidental.

Qi Beinan said, “Those siblings ruined other people’s business with dirty tricks—it’s no wonder someone repaid them in kind. Let them deal with the mess they made.”

Xiao Yuanbao frowned. “Anyone can see someone’s getting revenge. Those two are shrewd—won’t they notice too? If they accuse the landlord, could it affect us, since we leased the place from him?”

“This won’t go to court,” Qi Beinan replied. “Even if they trace it back to the landlord, both sides have dirt on each other. They can bluster all they like, but they’d have to admit their own misdeeds first—and that would ruin them faster. In the end, they’ll have to swallow the loss quietly.”

Xiao Yuanbao couldn’t help laughing. “You always see three steps ahead.”

Sometimes he fancied himself clever, but beside Qi Beinan he always felt like a child.

Qi Beinan let out a long breath and drew him close. “Let anyone else take the loss—just not you. I wouldn’t call myself a man if I let that happen.”

Then he added, “By the way, prepare a proper gift. Lord Lin’s wedding is in two days—I received his invitation, so we must attend.”

Xiao Yuanbao blinked. “You mean the new top scholar who placed first on the list with you?”

Qi Beinan nodded. “The very one. I told you before—he caught the Duke of Jing’s eye and was promised his son in marriage. He was supposed to go on provincial assignment, but since he needed to prepare the wedding in the capital, they sent me in his place instead.”

“It’s been a few months now—about time for the ceremony.”

“We took the exams together, work in the same office, and get along well. It’s only right I go.”

“I remember seeing his name in our wedding guest book,” Xiao Yuanbao said.

Qi Beinan smiled. “He came, yes.”

Xiao Yuanbao said, “Lord Lin is blessed indeed. I heard the Duke of Jing has only one son—pampered since birth—and now his heart’s treasure is to be Lin’s husband.”

Qi Beinan raised a brow. “And how did you hear that?”

Xiao Yuanbao grinned. “Tangtuan told me before he left the capital.”

Qi Beinan gave a quiet sigh. “True enough. Many scholars would dream of such a match—and not just them. Even among the court nobility, plenty envied him. Yet somehow, it’s Lin who won that fortune. He should be the happiest man alive.”

Xiao Yuanbao caught a hint of something unusual in Qi Beinan’s tone and asked quietly, “Then Lord Lin isn’t happy?”

Qi Beinan smiled faintly. “Not quite as joyful as others might think.”

In truth, he and Lin Qingyu had once been close—perhaps not intimate friends, but men who could share wine and speak freely together.

When the emperor last held the court selection for noble spouses, the Duke of Jing, unwilling to see his only son taken into the palace, had chosen Lin Qingyu early as his son’s husband.

Lin Qingyu was a rare talent.

He had risen from a humble county school to the capital’s examinations, never once failing a round, and finally took first place as zhuangyuan.

As aloof as his appearance suggested, he was a man of pride.

Like most gifted scholars, he bore his share of stubbornness. He disdained the thought of relying on a powerful father-in-law’s favor. To him, that would cheapen his own worth. He would rather carve his path alone.

Yet when the duke had chosen him, there was no polite way to refuse. Forced acceptance only deepened the quiet resistance in his heart.

After the marriage, he never treated the young lord of Jing badly, but affection between them remained faint—more distant even than formal courtesy.

Outsiders, however, thought them the model couple.

Qi Beinan, having once been among those the duke had sponsored, had seen the truth. They worked in proximity, and he was one of the few who knew what lay behind appearances.

That same year, when Xiaobao had died, Qi Beinan had fallen into despair. Translated on Hololo novels. The emperor sent him to the provinces for tempering, and Lin Qingyu likewise volunteered for an obscure post.

One served in the west, the other in the north; they kept in touch through letters about governance and duty.

Later, both proved their merit and were recalled to the capital.

Xiao Yuanbao said, “If Lord Lin and the young lord had never met before, it’s no wonder they weren’t fond of each other right away. But maybe they’ll grow close afterward—fall in love after the marriage.”

Qi Beinan lifted a brow. “And where did you learn such notions?”

“From opera scripts,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “They tell of couples with no affection who marry first, then slowly learn to love one another. That’s the story, simple enough.”

Qi Beinan chuckled. “And what would you call us then?”

Xiao Yuanbao grinned. “Why, childhood sweethearts, of course.”

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