Author Archives: Thandar

Lin Shuishi was no longer as afraid of the two wolves as before; he had a strange feeling that the man from earlier had instructed them to watch over him. Besides, the wolves didn’t look particularly fierce—just clever and a bit greedy…

He picked up the bone knife and started cutting into the deer’s neck, slicing off a few chunks of neck meat, which he then skewered onto sharpened sticks and placed over the fire to roast.

He was incredibly hungry! But he didn’t dare eat the snake meat in the fire, fearing it might be poisonous, so he anxiously waited for the venison to cook. Lin Shuishi kept turning the skewers, listening to the sizzling of the meat as it cooked, with fat dripping into the flames and occasionally causing them to flare up.

The smell was delicious! As the meat began to cook on the outside, Lin Shuishi cut off small pieces to eat. Even though it had no seasoning, the fresh taste of the meat was the best flavor he could have imagined in his hungry state!

The neck meat was tender and chewy, but stuffing his mouth full of it made him choke a little. Feeling parched, he scooped up some clean snow nearby, melted it in a half-broken ceramic bowl, and drank it. However, unlike the snow from his village, which had a sweet taste, the snow water here had a faint sulfuric flavor! But Lin Shuishi didn’t care; he drank it down in big gulps.

With something in his stomach, he no longer felt as dizzy and shaky as before and now had the strength to work. Lin Shuishi added more wood to the fire, making it burn brighter, then took the somewhat dull bone knife and began to skin the deer. After struggling for a while, he finally found a technique.

He slit the skin at the legs and slowly pulled the hide off from the back to the front, using the bone knife to cut through the tendons and connective tissue. After a long time, he managed to get a fairly complete hide, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

Since he couldn’t eat all the meat, Lin Shuishi decided to separate the limbs from the torso at the joints. As for the bones, he couldn’t break them with the small, dull knife he had, so he left them alone.

The heart, liver, and kidneys inside the deer were difficult to preserve but were highly nutritious. In the wild, only the core members of a wolf pack had the privilege of eating these organs.

Lin Shuishi initially planned to bury the organs in a pit, but after glancing at the two green-eyed wolves in front of him, he reconsidered. He decided to discard the intestines but carefully placed the liver and kidneys on a few vines and cautiously pushed them toward the wolves.

These two sentinel wolves were already on the fringes of their pack, rarely getting to eat such prized parts. Ever since they had found Lin Shuishi, the wolf king’s revered two-legged brother had ordered them to watch over him, and now they were quite hungry.

One wolf initially stepped back cautiously, seeing that Lin Shuishi didn’t approach but rather returned to the fire after leaving the organs behind. It sniffed the air intensely.

The other wolf couldn’t hold back any longer, quickly grabbed the organs, and retreated into the bushes to devour them. Seeing this, the cautious one also stopped hesitating, but it was smarter—it bit onto one end of the vine and dragged all the organs away.

Hiding behind the bushes, the two wolves gnawed on the liver with their front paws, squinting in satisfaction! But they still didn’t forget to look up now and then to cautiously watch Lin Shuishi’s movements.

Lin Shuishi sighed in relief, thinking that if the wolves were busy eating the deer, they wouldn’t be thinking about eating him! He then threw a few more pieces of meat toward them…

After seeing the wolves finish off the deer’s heart and liver, Lin Shuishi carried the few remaining pieces of meat into the wooden house. He roughly wove a large mat from sturdy yet flexible vines, wrapped the meat in it, and placed it in the cold, shady area behind the house. Although there was no salt to preserve it, the cold weather would keep it from spoiling for a while.

By the time he was finished, it was completely dark, and the forest was alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures. The calls of nightingales and the continuous chirping of crickets made the night seem peaceful. But Lin Shuishi knew that behind this tranquility lay many hidden dangers.

He sat by the fire for a long time, adding wood several times as it burned down to embers, but the man with the golden wolf eyes didn’t return. Lin Shuishi thought it over and decided not to wait any longer. He needed to figure out how to survive the cold night in the forest without freezing to death.

The treehouse was safer, but it was too cold, and he couldn’t light a fire inside. All he had was a freshly skinned deer hide, which could easily lead to freezing to death in his sleep.

Lin Shuishi looked at the pile of hot ashes left by the fire and came up with an idea!

Lin Shuishi spread the warm, ember-laden wood chips and ash evenly on the ground beneath the ancient tree, then covered it with a layer of soil. After that, he laid the raw deer hide on top. In just a short time, the heat rose up, creating a makeshift heated bed, much like a small kang (heated platform)!

It wasn’t difficult to do, and Lin Shuishi sat down on it, leaning against the ancient tree, though the cold wind still managed to cut through. Resigned, he gathered the remaining unburned wooden poles, used the red rope that had been used to bind him for the sacrificial ceremony to tie them into a frame, and then pulled down some of the thick vines from the ancient tree, weaving them into a tight mesh to cover the frame. He mixed the wet, hard mud with dead leaves and spread it over the net.

Finally, after all his efforts, he had fashioned a simple triangular tent! Lin Shuishi couldn’t help but smile—who would have thought that the weaving skills he had learned out of boredom while sitting in his wheelchair would come in handy now? This thought reminded him of the unfinished gloves he had been knitting for his father, filling him with a sense of regret and sadness.

Taking a deep breath, he said to himself, “Enough, there’s no point in dwelling on it!”

Forcing himself to focus on the little shelter in front of him, Lin Shuishi brushed off the dirt and bits of grass from his body and crawled inside to test it out. It worked wonderfully!

The sides were covered with dirt and dead leaves, blocking out the wind. The back was sheltered by the tree trunk, keeping it warm. The only part left open was the front, but Lin Shuishi was too exhausted—his strength and energy were completely drained.

Dragging himself out, he extinguished the fire and covered the deer’s blood with ash and grass to conceal his tracks. Satisfied with his efforts, he crawled back into the small shelter and collapsed onto the deer hide, falling into a deep, warm sleep.

Despite the ache in his body from exhaustion, Lin Shuishi’s sleep was troubled by vague worries about whether wild animals might attack the tent. He wanted to be ready to wake up and escape to the treehouse if needed!

But as his consciousness faded, he found himself oddly accepting the possibility of death, thinking, “Whatever happens, I’ve done my best to survive. I’ll leave the rest to fate!”

The two well-fed wolves watched with boredom as the weak two-legged creature busied himself. They exchanged confused glances as he dug here and there, eventually creating a nest. “Is this a mother beast digging a den to give birth?” they wondered.

But the soft snoring coming from inside the tent soon told the two inexperienced male wolves otherwise—it was just for sleeping.

“…?” They were perplexed.

Despite finding the sleeping creature strange and weak, the wolves recognized that he understood “the rules” well enough, having offered them the prime liver—such a large piece of deer liver!

Alright, they thought, we can work with this!

The wolves, acting like big brothers, decided to guard this weak creature. Even though they were the lowest-ranking members of their pack, they strutted over to Lin Shuishi’s small shelter with a sense of pride. Lowering their heads, they sniffed the warm air coming from the open front.

After a moment’s hesitation, and with another cold gust of wind making their noses itch, one of the more cunning wolves twitched its ears, cautiously squeezing into the tent. It awkwardly turned around in the cramped space, facing outward, with half its body resting on the deer hide.

The other wolf followed suit, curling up warmly at the entrance of the tent. The two wolves took turns keeping watch over the forest, their instincts of caution and vigilance deeply ingrained. Even though this forest was the territory of the wolf god, they couldn’t afford to relax!

Lin Shuishi, fast asleep, knew nothing of this. The descendants of the wolf god in this forest were top-tier hunters, able to approach any wary prey silently, let alone a human who had never experienced the harshness of nature!

All he knew was that he was getting warmer and warmer, as if he were wrapped in a soft, self-heating blanket, feeling incredibly comfortable.

Meanwhile, deep within the wolf pack, Ashina Fuli, a legendary figure among the wolves of Dongshan, sat in his den, frowning deeply.

He watched as the enormous and sturdy white wolf king and his mate, each as tall as a calf, carefully carried yet another pup into his den. Including the two in their mouths, that made six.

With a sudden turn, he faced the two wolves, communicating with them in low growls, his golden eyes flashing as he bared his teeth. His teeth were straight and white, but what stood out were two exceptionally sharp canines that gleamed slightly in the dim light.

There was a reason for his reaction.

The wolves of Dongshan were different from ordinary wolf packs. They were larger, stronger, swifter, and more intelligent. For generations, a white wolf had led the pack, guiding the core bloodline of the group that lived in the wolf den. The most exceptional members of this bloodline could live up to 40 years. Every leader had to undergo rigorous training and education before they were deemed worthy to lead the pack.

It was an unchanging custom for the strongest in the pack to mentor the next generation from a young age.

Fuli, who had been adopted by the previous wolf king as an infant, was raised on the milk of the wolf queen. He was considered the older brother of the current wolf king, and it could be said that he had watched this young wolf king grow into the leader he was today.

When it came to mentoring the next generation, no one was more suited than the “brother” of the wolf king. Moreover, Fuli, though not a wolf in body, had long become the strongest member of the pack, commanding the respect and submission of all the wolves.

Fuli glanced at the newly weaned, still whimpering “nephews” with some irritation. It was clear that the wolf king wasn’t really asking him to mentor the pups but simply didn’t want to raise so many!

Without saying much, he picked the quietest one, tucked it into his fur-lined clothes, and left the den, heading into the forest.

The wolf king and his mate, still in their early teens and relatively young, watched him leave, then awkwardly carried the remaining five noisy pups back into the den.

To be honest, the wolf king still held great respect for this “brother.” As a leader in his prime, both powerful and wise, he still felt a mix of closeness and submission whenever he looked into Fuli’s deep golden eyes.

Carrying the quiet little white wolf in his arms, Fuli thought of the creature he had recently saved. According to hunter He, it wasn’t called a beast, but a human—a creature with a red mark on its forehead, possibly belonging to the female kind. No wonder that little thing was so weak; it must have been abandoned by its tribe.

Hunter He had suddenly appeared in the mountains one day and, with the consent of Fuli’s “mother,” the old wolf queen, had lived among them, teaching Fuli how to speak, shoot arrows, practice martial arts, and use tools.

But he didn’t last more than a few years before he died. So, at the age of ten, Fuli returned to living with the wolf pack. Since then, he had rarely spoken human language.

Fuli knew he was different from the other “brothers and sisters” in the pack. Although he lived among them, he was also independent. Perhaps his younger wolf king brother, who had been raised by the same mother, was afraid that Fuli might feel lonely without pups to care for, which was why he kept bringing them to Fuli’s den. But to be honest, it was incredibly annoying.

Thinking of the “human” he had picked up, and then looking at the white-furred pup in his arms, Fuli frowned. He certainly had a lot to take care of lately.

Might as well put them together…

Lin Shuishi was awakened by the warm tongues of two wolves.

As soon as he opened his eyes, he was greeted by two enormous wolf heads. The two green wolves, each standing taller than a person, had fluffy fur and were crowding their faces close to his, their mouths open, revealing sharp, interlocking teeth as they eagerly licked his face with a “slurp, slurp” sound.

Startled, Lin Shuishi instinctively jerked back in fear, his heart pounding wildly—he thought he was about to be eaten!

The two green wolves, surprised to see that he could move, jumped back cautiously and quickly retreated outside the house, watching Lin Shuishi closely. They squinted and licked their lips before finally running off together, the sound of their paws on a wooden ladder echoing as they left.

Only then did Lin Shuishi dare to relax a little and begin to take stock of his surroundings. He found himself lying in a wooden house, covered in dust but otherwise well-preserved. Nearby on the ground were remnants of the large red silk cloth that had been used to bind him, now torn to shreds.

The rest of the house was filled with miscellaneous items: stone tables and stools, bone knives, wooden bowls, furs, and coarse fabrics. However, except for the bone and stone objects, everything else was old and weathered. A thick layer of dust covered everything, suggesting that the place had been abandoned for a long time.

Lin Shuishi, still groggy from the cold, vaguely remembered being carried after fainting in the snow. It seemed someone had brought him to this wooden house, though they probably didn’t live here, given the abandoned state of the place.

His movements had stirred up a large cloud of dust, which now made him cough uncontrollably. As he raised a hand to wave away the dust, he noticed that his severely frostbitten hands, feet, cheeks, and ears were covered in a thick green paste. The paste felt numb on his skin and had a faint sweet scent.

He brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed carefully, detecting the fresh fragrance of herbs. It seemed that whoever had saved him had also applied this green medicinal paste to prevent frostbite.

Now it dawned on him that the two large green wolves had been licking his face because of the sweet-smelling frostbite ointment. They had scared him half to death!

Thinking of this, Lin Shuishi shivered with a mix of fear and cold. The house was chilly, but it was still better than the bone-chilling cold outside in the snow-covered mountains. Even so, the wolf saliva on his face was freezing in the cold air, making his skin sting, so he quickly wiped it off with his hand.

Lin Shuishi thought to himself that he was probably somewhere midway up the mountain. He had at least some understanding of the natural world and had read poems like “In April when all blossoms have faded on Earth, the peach flowers begin to bloom in the mountain temple.”

Although he had been too disabled to attend school normally, his parents had hired tutors to teach him to read and study. Just the day before the car accident, he had received his admission ticket for the national college entrance exam for disabled students. He had planned to take the exam after a medical check-up.

It wasn’t that he had any particular desire to go to university; he just wanted to reassure his parents and give them some hope. But in the end, who could have predicted how fate would play out?

“Sigh,” he sighed as he touched his now perfectly healthy legs. He made up his mind—since he had been given this second chance, he would live well and not waste the life he had been given.

But right now, he was both cold and hungry, and waiting was not an option. He didn’t know who had brought him here, but his immediate priority was to find warmth and food.

So, he wobbled to his feet and began to look around the house. The place was bare, with nothing much to see. The air was thick with the smell of mildew and dust, but thankfully, it was winter, so there were no snakes, insects, or rodents to worry about.

With no other choice, he decided to step outside and see if he could find any water or wild fruits to stave off his hunger.

But as soon as he reached the doorway, Lin Shuishi was stunned. This wasn’t just a wooden house—it was a treehouse!

This square little house, about fifty square meters in size, was built on a massive ancient tree that would take five people joining hands to encircle it. The house was suspended roughly fifteen or sixteen meters above the ground. Lush branches hung thickly over the roof, and the wooden pillars supporting the structure gleamed with a glossy finish, showing no signs of rot or insect damage.

There was a platform outside the door, enclosed by a sparse wooden railing. On the right side of the platform was a stairway leading down, formed from tree vines that had been trimmed and shaped into steps. The staircase spiraled down the tree’s trunk, and it was surely from this path that the two wolves had fled. The vine ladder was sturdy and wide enough that even wolves, not accustomed to climbing trees, could move up and down freely.

What surprised Lin Shuishi even more was that after coming from the snow-covered winter landscape below, he expected to see bare trees around him due to the temperature difference. Yet, as he looked out, he saw that the trees here still had leaves clinging to their branches, with many green leaves still visible.

As he marveled at the wonders of nature, a piercing cold wind suddenly blew straight through his thin clothing, making him shiver.

“Achoo!” He tightened the collar of his drafty clothes. For the sake of survival, he needed to start a fire immediately. It would provide warmth and also keep the beasts at bay.

A fire couldn’t be lit inside the treehouse. Lin Shuishi knew he had no experience with wilderness survival; he had only read books and seen movies about it. He was afraid that a small mistake might set the finely crafted house on fire!

Reluctantly, he shivered his way down from the treehouse. His legs were becoming more and more accustomed to movement. He even jumped down the last step with a little hop!

He gathered some dry branches and bits of grass, and then, somewhat clumsily, squatted under the tree, feeling a bit frustrated. How was he supposed to start a fire? In the memories of the young ger, the villagers used flint and steel, but he had nothing in his hands, and there was no sign of these life-saving tools in the wooden house.

Never mind, the most primitive methods are often the most useful! He took the bone knife he had brought from the treehouse and carved a small hole in a piece of rotten wood. He filled it with fine, fluffy grass and began to rub a smooth branch vigorously between his hands.

He rubbed until his palms were red and blistered, but eventually, in that cold and desolate place, he felt the warmth of fire…

Fearing that a gust of wind might blow the flame into the forest, Lin Shuishi carefully placed a few stones around the fire to contain it. The warm glow of the fire illuminated him, and he felt a deep sense of peace.

But before he could fully warm up, the mountain echoed with wolf howls and the sound of wild animals in a frenzy. Lin Shuishi cautiously glanced around, feeling a chill of fear. He added more wood to the fire, building it up higher.

It was as if this blazing fire was his only refuge in the eerie, silent forest.

After a long time, his tense muscles had grown stiff, and the howling of wolves gradually subsided, as if they had finally secured their prize and were now contentedly feasting.

He relaxed his grip on the torch he held, but suddenly, two familiar wolf heads emerged from the bushes ahead! The sky was darkening, and the wolves’ eyes glowed eerily from behind the foliage. They lingered, watching the fire, but did not approach.

Lin Shuishi felt a cold fear creeping over him as he raised the torch defensively. When had they gotten so close? He hadn’t noticed at all!

The man and the two wolves stared at each other for a while, neither side making a move. The wolves only made low growling sounds to communicate with each other, then their ears twitched, and they both lowered their heads, bowing toward the dark forest behind them.

Lin Shuishi focused intently, his hunger and tension making his vision blur. He could just make out a strange figure rapidly approaching the treehouse from the shadowy forest, making his hair stand on end!

As the figure emerged from the forest, illuminated by the firelight and the last rays of the setting sun, Lin Shuishi felt a little relieved. The figure was actually a burly man draped in animal skins, carrying a large stag with sharp antlers over his shoulder.

Though he couldn’t see the man’s face clearly, it didn’t matter—at least it was a human being!

Just as Lin Shuishi was about to cautiously speak to the man, he saw the burly figure suddenly fling the bloodstained deer off his shoulder onto the ground. The man then raised a wooden spear and, in a few swift steps, lunged toward him!

Lin Shuishi only had a torch in hand, but he reacted too slowly. The man moved with the speed of a nimble predator, like a panther, and in an instant, he was right in front of Lin Shuishi. His muscular arm gripped the wooden spear, which he drove straight into the tree trunk behind Lin Shuishi.

The torch in Lin Shuishi’s hand clattered to the ground, his heart pounding wildly. He stiffly raised his head and found himself staring into a pair of deep golden wolf eyes. The narrow pupils of the man before him contracted and expanded with the changing light, giving Lin Shuishi a solemn look.

That look was something Lin Shuishi would never forget. It was filled with the raw power and coldness of a wild beast, as if he didn’t even register Lin Shuishi’s presence—only the unceasing flow of wild blood in his veins.

“You, you, you’re…” Before Lin Shuishi could finish his stammered question, the man suddenly stood up and pulled the wooden spear out of the tree. A dull gray snake, impaled on the spear, hung there with a vibrant green belly, clearly venomous.

With a flick, the man tossed the snake, pierced through its vital spot, into the fire. He then stood up, his dark golden eyes glancing at Lin Shuishi—the weak creature abandoned by its tribe and left in his territory.

Without waiting for Lin Shuishi to finish speaking, the man turned, kicked the dead deer towards the fire Lin Shuishi had started, and then strode back into the forest without a backward glance.

Lin Shuishi was left speechless, staring as the towering, muscular figure was swallowed by the darkness. He felt both a deep fear and an overwhelming admiration. In his short twenty years of life, he had never seen anyone like this—a man so fierce and wild, exuding danger and strength.

This man was powerful, agile, and full of confidence and pride, as if all the creatures of the forest should bow before him…

Lin Shuishi took several deep breaths, the scent of the snake roasting in the fire snapping him back to reality. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, leaving him no time for idle thoughts. The man, it seemed, had no ill intentions and had even saved him, albeit seemingly as an afterthought.

But at least the man had remembered him and even brought along a fat, strong stag!

However, as Lin Shuishi touched the still-warm deer, he realized its hide was tough and thick. Where should he even start? He had only ever handled chickens and ducks in the kitchen before.

But reality was forcing him to adapt. If he wanted to survive here, he would have to think and learn quickly. He believed that with practice, he would improve!

Lin Shuishi assessed the situation: it would be best to carefully skin the deer to use the hide for warmth. The meat, which he couldn’t eat all at once, needed to be preserved somehow, and the scent of blood needed to be masked to avoid attracting other predators. Thankfully, the treehouse could provide some shelter.

Just as he was about to start working, he looked up and noticed that the two green wolves had not followed the man into the forest. They were still lying in the nearby bushes, watching the fat deer by the fire, licking their lips…

‼️ WARNING ‼️

MC is a ger. ML is a demi-wolf-god. Chill forest living in the beginning but will have some action scenes later. Not much farming, but more like MC foraging. Romance is subtle. Please only continue to read if you can accept these facts.

…

Lin Shuishi found himself dazed and lost in deep darkness, with the surroundings dim and unclear, and shadows flickering and floating uncertainly.

At that moment, a faint howl of a wolf echoed from afar, growing closer and closer, seeming like both a call and a guide.

Vaguely, a large white wolf with a red flame on its forehead approached him against the dark currents, bringing light with it. The wolf studied him for a while before letting out a loud roar.

Startled by the soul-shaking howl, Lin Shuishi suddenly woke up!

Having held his breath for too long, he sat up straight and took a deep breath into his lungs! The cold air rushed into his chest, causing him to cough violently, as if his lungs were being torn apart.

“Hey, he’s awake, he’s awake!”

“Someone who was already cold actually woke up, this is definitely ominous; we should offer him to the wolves.”

“But what if his father’s old acquaintances come looking for him, what will we do then…”

“What do you know! His uncle sold him; if anyone comes looking, they should find that black-hearted uncle of his, Big Head Sun! What does that have to do with us!”

“A ger who’s lost his parents and has no one to care for him—if he doesn’t go, should your husband go instead?”

“I… I didn’t say that! You old hag, don’t drag my husband into this!”

“…”

As soon as he opened his eyes, Lin Shuishi saw that he was lying in a dilapidated thatched hut, surrounded by men and women dressed in ancient cotton-padded clothes. They were staring at him strangely, whispering among themselves.

“Where am I? Who are these people?” Feeling the cold and hunger in his body, Lin Shuishi was struck by a thought—he had thought he should have died in that car accident.

He had been born paralyzed, and in the end, had to undergo amputation. With the meticulous care of his family, he had managed to live to the age of 20 in a wheelchair. To avoid worrying his parents, he often wore a smile. Life was hard—why not make his family happy?

But on the way to a regular hospital check-up with his mother pushing him, a large truck suddenly hurtled towards the small woman!

His mind went blank, and he used all his strength to lift himself from the wheelchair and leaped forward, pushing his mother out of harm’s way.

He had never thought he could muster such strength! Nor had he ever felt so at ease.

With a loud crash, the world went dark. He was swept into the torrent between life and death, until a tall white wolf woke him up…

“Where am I? Mom should be okay, I need to check on her.” He habitually reached around for his wheelchair, but instead of finding it, he found a pair of legs!

He froze for a while, staring at the healthy, slender, and straight legs beneath him!

Shocked, Lin Shuishi kept rubbing his legs through the tattered cloth covering them. Could this be a dream? But he couldn’t care less; his heart was pounding, and he lifted the tattered cloth, about to get up and find his parents and show them this miracle!

But in his excitement, his head suddenly grew heavy, and with a buzzing sound, a flood of unfamiliar memories surged into his mind.

These were the memories of another person, named Lin Shui’er, a ‘ger’ who had lived in prosperity in Rehe Village under Dongshan Mountain since childhood. However, after his hunter father and mother were killed by wild bears from the mountain, he was taken in by a distant relative, his uncle, from Yuanshan Village, and endured the harshness of human nature.

Not long ago, the village head’s son led a group of ruffians to hunt treasure on Dongshan Mountain, setting traps everywhere and killing a gray wolf, thus offending the wolf pack on the mountain. The village head’s son was immediately torn apart by the wolves, and the rest of the group fled in terror. The next night, the wolf pack descended on the village, slaughtering all the livestock in a single night.

This threw not only the village head’s family but the entire village into panic! In desperation, they traveled over forty miles to a town to find a sorcerer, who said that only a living sacrifice could quell the wrath of the wolf god!

Lin Shui’er’s distant relatives, wanting to exchange him for five taels of silver, offered him as a sacrifice to the wolves! He had already been mistreated by his uncle’s family, was emaciated, and even the birthmark on his forehead, typical of a ger, had faded.

Now, in the dead of winter, dressed in only a single layer, he was thrown into a straw hut to fast before the sacrifice. This frail young man couldn’t endure the suffering and died, which allowed Lin Shuishi to wake up in this straw hut.

Scenes of this ger’s fragmented life flashed through Lin Shuishi’s mind. Apart from the joy of his childhood when his parents were still alive, the rest of his memories were filled with the suffering of being bullied, forced to labor day and night, and struggling with hunger and cold in this village.

He sighed for the unfortunate ger while lying dazed on the cold earthen bed.

No matter what, he had transmigrated.

He had become a ger, someone who could be married off as a fulang (male wife) and bear children, but in society, their status was generally low.

Fortunately, he didn’t have the chance.

Because he was about to be carried off to the wolf’s den on Dongshan and sacrificed alive…

Lin Shuishi’s lips twitched, unable to tell if he should feel joy or sorrow!

He thought about escaping, but seeing the guards around him, it seemed impossible.

He wanted to live, but recalling the memories of the young ger, that also seemed difficult.

In his original life in Rehe Village, there was an ancestral rule—Dongshan had wolves, and humans were not to enter.

For years, humans and wolves lived in harmony, never disturbing each other, but who could have predicted that the more distant Yuanshan Village, which was closer to the town, would become greedy?

While he was in a daze, lost in thought, a commotion arose outside the earthen house, and a sharp voice called out, “Is the person ready?”

The villagers who had been talking inside immediately replied, “Ready! We’re just about to take him to the great immortal.” With that, a few of them grabbed some ropes, rushed to the earthen bed, and tied up the groggy Lin Shuishi. A rough-looking man with a lecherous gaze grabbed him and flung him out the door.

Lin Shuishi was thrown so hard that his head spun, and he couldn’t get up from the snow-covered ground. His body was weak, and he had never used his legs to walk before, so he lay there in the snow, unable to rise, his head buried in the snow, his mouth full of it.

But as he tasted the melting snow in his mouth, there was a faint hint of sweetness. He sighed inwardly, thinking, “Such beautiful mountains and waters, how could they raise such a bunch of scoundrels!”

As he struggled to stand up, he suddenly felt someone pressing him down, wrapping him in several large red silk cloths. The bearded great shaman, who looked like a crazed rat, circled around him, muttering strange words while hopping about. Then he raised his hand and poured white rice all over Lin Shuishi.

Some women, eyeing the plump grains greedily, crouched down to pick them up one by one. The shaman, displeased, waved his nearly hairless whisk, and the village chief behind him quickly scolded the women, driving them away.

After the ritual was complete, Lin Shuishi was blindfolded and thrown onto a bamboo sedan chair.

Just like that, the newly transmigrated disable was carried up to Dongshan, where the wolves roamed, by a few strong men.

By the time they trembled their way up the mountain, the sun was already setting, and night was about to fall—the time when the wolves were most active.

The carriers, trembling with fear, looked at each other and then, abandoning the bamboo sedan, fled down the mountain as fast as they could.

Lin Shuishi was left alone, dragging a pair of “new legs” he was still unfamiliar with, freezing in the vast snowy mountain, his whole body turning purple from the cold.

Gazing at the red sun setting at the edge of the forest, he sighed, “Am I going to die again?” But then he thought, perhaps this was heaven’s pity, giving him one last experience.

Letting him feel what it was like to run and jump through a snowy forest, to sprint beneath a setting sun—wasn’t that something worth experiencing?

With that thought, he no longer felt bitter. He struggled with all his might, tumbling out of the bamboo sedan into the snow. He began to experiment with how to use his legs, and fortunately, the body’s muscle memory kicked in. Before long, Lin Shuishi managed to stand up, albeit clumsily.

He took a deep breath, as if he could smell the sharp scent of snow-covered pines and the fresh buds beneath the snow.

“Ah!”

Lin Shuishi let out a loud shout, releasing the pent-up frustration of more than twenty years from his past life! With his long legs, he stumbled and dashed across the crimson-dyed mountain ridge, sprinting through the snow.

It didn’t matter if he stumbled and fell, or if the cold made his teeth chatter—as long as he was still alive, he would struggle to stand up and keep running!

He raced against the setting sun’s afterglow, against the whistling wind and snow, against life and time itself.

“Hahahahaha! This feels great!” His laughter echoed far and wide across the empty wilderness.

Before long, his limbs began to freeze. Lin Shuishi had been wearing thin clothes, and now there was barely any warmth left in his body.

At that moment, his voice, echoing through the forest, drew out a series of howls from the wolves in the mountains, resonant and grand.

Lin Shuishi, already exhausted and with lips turning purple from the cold, felt a buzzing in his head. He glanced back at the source of the howls deep in the mountains, but instead of feeling fear, he found the situation somewhat ironic.

After all, he was about to die, and it was too bad for the wolves that they were too late to enjoy a warm meal…

Finally, his vision blurred, and he could only vaguely see shadows moving through the forest before his knees gave out and he collapsed into the snow.

As soon as Lin Shuishi fell to the ground, two green wolves cautiously emerged from the bushes nearby. They crept forward, sniffing the unconscious Lin Shuishi, before tilting their heads to exchange a puzzled look.

The wolves didn’t understand. They thought this two-legged “creature” on the ground might be suffering from some kind of madness!

What Lin Shuishi didn’t know was that when the strong men had carried him into the mountains, they had already been spotted by the sentinel wolves. One of the wolves had gone back to report, while the other two had followed the group stealthily all the way.

They watched as the healthy humans escaped the mountain, while this scrawny figure crazily ran toward their den like a sick antelope!

Such a situation needed to be reported to their leader immediately to prevent the sheep on the other side of the valley from getting infected. They were the noble descendants of the wolf god, both predators of the forest and guardians of the creatures within…

To put it simply, the wolves were scared. They didn’t want the disease to spread to them! They had old wolves to care for and a litter of pups to feed—there was no way they could risk it!

So, the two wolves started frantically pawing at the snow, trying to bury Lin Shuishi. They dug with incredible speed, their four paws flying as their strong survival instincts kicked in…

Halfway through burying him, however, their ears suddenly twitched. They quickly backed away, lowering their heads and ears, letting out low growls in a show of submission.

A tall, powerful figure with the body of a tiger and the waist of a wolf strode out of the forest, approaching the two submissive wolves. He extended a muscular, slightly tanned arm and patted their heads.

The man tilted his head, observing the unconscious Lin Shuishi, who was half-buried in the snow.

With his rugged but handsome features furrowing slightly, the man grabbed the large red silk cloth wrapped around Lin Shuishi and effortlessly pulled him out of the snow pit. He shook the snow off, gave the unconscious man a quick once-over, then tucked him under his arm. With the two wolves following behind, he strode back into the depths of the mountain.

Accompanied by the rising and falling howls of the wolves, the setting sun stretched their shadows long, until they gradually disappeared into the dense forest.

—

Thingyan: Hello hello it’s your favorite translator/editor. I wanted to share you guys this new novel. I really like it. It’s funny and cute. I hope you’ll like it too ☺️☺️☺️☺️

In the outskirts of the provincial city lay a forest of maple trees. Every September, when viewed from the heights, the mountain appeared ablaze with endless stretches of red maples.

Qin Zhao had the carriage stop at the foot of the mountain and rented a sturdy brown horse, well-suited for mountain trails, from a local. He then brought Jing Li and their little fish child up the mountain for a ride.

He had already scouted out the route beforehand, selecting a gentle path perfect for autumn leaf viewing.

The dense treetops filtered the sunlight, while a soft breeze drifted through the air, making the journey exceptionally pleasant.

Jing Li sat in front of Qin Zhao, holding the little fish fry in his arms. The little one clutched a red maple leaf Qin Zhao had just plucked for him, waving it around happily.

As they crossed a hill, the brown horse let out a snort.

Jing Li, who had always been a bit apprehensive about horseback riding, immediately tightened his grip on the little fish fry and asked nervously, “Is it tired?”

This type of horse, trained for pulling carts and carrying loads, wasn’t likely to tire easily. Seeing through Jing Li’s fear, Qin Zhao teased, “Maybe it’s because you’re too heavy.”

Jing Li thought for a moment, then earnestly turned to the little fish fry. “Did you hear that? You’re too heavy.”

The little fish fry blinked innocently.

Not far ahead, a small stream meandered by. The family paused by its banks to rest. While the brown horse leisurely grazed on wild grass near the water, Jing Li bent down to scoop up some water from the stream.

The stream was fed by mountain springs, its water sweet and refreshing.

As Jing Li lifted his head after gathering water, he noticed the little fish fry lying on the ground, mimicking the horse as if trying to taste the grass. Jing Li frowned and glared at Qin Zhao. “Why aren’t you stopping your son?”

Not only did Qin Zhao not intervene, but he seemed to be enjoying the show.

“I’ll handle it,” Qin Zhao said, pulling the little fish fry up by the back of his collar. With a serious expression, he scolded, “You’re a fish, not a horse. No eating grass.”

The little fish fry wriggled, kicking his stubby legs in protest.

Jing Li handed the water to Qin Zhao and took the child in his arms, giving him a firm lecture. Qin Zhao didn’t drink the water right away, instead sitting quietly and watching them.

Jing Li caught him staring. “What are you looking at?”

“You seem a little off today,” Qin Zhao said.

“What do you mean?”

“Your husband just became the top scorer in the provincial exam,” Qin Zhao remarked. “Aren’t you surprised?”

Without hesitation, Jing Li replied, “What would be surprising? If you hadn’t won, that would’ve been shocking.”

“…Fair enough,” Qin Zhao conceded.

Jing Li returned to playing with the little fish fry, while Qin Zhao took a sip of water. After a moment, he said, “Jing Li, after the Deer Call Banquet, we should visit Linxi Village.”

“Alright,” Jing Li nodded.

Traditionally, after becoming a Juren, one should return home to pay respects to their ancestors. However, Qin Zhao, having no clear origins, regarded Linxi Village as the closest thing to a hometown.

“When we left Linxi Village, the little fish wasn’t even in human form yet,” Jing Li mused. “It’s been years—we should take him back for a visit.”

The little fish child looked up at his two fathers, chirping happily, “Bamboo… bamboo courtyard!”

Qin Zhao chuckled. “Who says young children can’t remember things? He still remembers the bamboo courtyard.”

Jing Li smiled. “That’s probably because he’s a koi fish, not an ordinary child.”

Qin Zhao tilted his head. “Then do you remember anything from when you were born?”

Jing Li blinked.

When he was born… Did that mean Yun Temple?

Years ago, Prince Rong had stayed at Yun Temple and personally witnessed the hatching of the little koi, forging a unique bond between man and fish.

Whatever he was thinking, Jing Li lowered his head and mumbled, “I don’t remember.”

“What did you say?” Qin Zhao asked.

“I said I don’t remember,” Jing Li repeated. “It’s been so long. You’re not still jealous because I clung to someone else when I was born, are you?”

“I’m not…” Qin Zhao sighed helplessly.

What was there to be jealous about?

The person the little koi clung to at birth—wasn’t that Qin Zhao himself?

But Jing Li clearly didn’t want to dwell on this topic and quickly changed the subject.

A few days later, the invitation to the Banquet of the Deer Call arrived at Qin Zhao’s residence.

In the study, Ah Qi reported the findings of his recent investigation to Qin Zhao.

“…Deng Tianyou was appointed Inspector by the Emperor three years ago and has been overseeing civil and military affairs in Jiangling Province. After your… incident, he was also responsible for searching for you in the vicinity of Jiangling.”

Qin Zhao spread the invitation on the table, his voice calm as he said, “I recall that the officials who pledged allegiance to me back then were either executed or exiled after I left. Yet Deng Tianyou not only survived but got promoted…”

“Yes,” Ah Qi confirmed. “This man was never a trusted subordinate. It’s likely that when he saw you lose favor, he defected to the Emperor…”

Qin Zhao glanced up at him, his eyes suddenly cold. “Did Gu Changzhou tell you this?”

Ah Qi froze and lowered his head. “Yes…”

“It seems I’ve been too lenient with you all recently, to the point where you dare to speculate about my thoughts so freely,” Qin Zhao said, leaning back in his chair with a faint tone of reproach. “When did I ever say I intended to oppose the Emperor?”

“I have erred,” Ah Qi said, dropping to one knee. His shadow flickered in the dim candlelight of the study.

“Stand up,” Qin Zhao said coldly. “Kneeling like this—what does it look like if someone sees?”

Ah Qi reluctantly stood.

Qin Zhao continued, “The world is at peace now. I have no intention of overturning the dynasty, nor do I have ambitions to rule the world. I don’t want to hear such talk again.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“As for Deng Tianyou, do you think I should go or not?” Qin Zhao asked.

Ah Qi remained silent. Qin Zhao prompted, “Speak freely. What are you afraid of?”

“Yes,” Ah Qi responded after a pause. “I believe that Deng Tianyou’s current stance is unclear. Meeting him rashly may put you in a disadvantageous position.”

Qin Zhao looked at the invitation and sighed softly. “If I hesitate over something as small as this banquet, how will I handle matters when we go to the capital? Should I just avoid him forever?”

The study fell silent again.

Qin Zhao tapped the armrest of his chair with his fingertips. After a moment, he said, “The Banquet of the Deer Call will not only include Deng Tianyou but also several officials from the Hanlin Academy. Attending under such circumstances is indeed risky.”

He took up a brush and quickly wrote a few lines on paper.

Moments later, he set the brush down and said, “Tomorrow morning, take this to the county office and hand it to the prefect. Tell him I’ve suddenly fallen ill and will have to miss the banquet.”

He waited for the ink to dry before folding the paper and handing it to Ah Qi. “Go.”

“Yes, my lord,” Ah Qi said, accepting the paper and preparing to leave.

“Wait,” Qin Zhao called after him, sighing. “Bring me a basin of cold water.”

The next day, as expected, Qin Zhao developed a fever.

“How did this happen? Weren’t you fine yesterday?” Jing Li asked, wringing out a cloth to wipe Qin Zhao’s forehead. His worry was evident in his voice. “Did you leave the window open again while reading last night?”

Lying in bed, Qin Zhao, pale and drenched in cold sweat, turned his head and coughed lightly. “It’s nothing, probably just a chill.”

After wiping himself down with cold water and sitting by the window for half the night, how could he not catch a chill?

Of course, Jing Li had no knowledge of this.

“I shouldn’t have let you stay in the study alone; it’s so cold in there.” Jing Li’s eyes reddened with worry as he scolded, “Why can’t you take better care of yourself? Aren’t you afraid of frying your brain one day?”

Qin Zhao, his lips pale, reached out to touch Jing Li’s soft fingers, gently stroking them. “Don’t worry, that won’t happen.”

“You’re just saying that to comfort me…”

Just then, Ah Qi entered quickly from outside.

Jing Li turned to look at him, his temper flaring. “Where have you been so early in the morning? I wanted you to find a doctor, and you were nowhere to be found!”

Ah Qi was scolded before he could say a word. He lowered his voice to explain, “I…”

Before he could finish, Jing Li noticed the man who had followed Ah Qi inside. The newcomer was dressed in a constable’s uniform and seemed unfamiliar.

“And you are…?” Jing Li asked.

“I sent Ah Qi to the county office,” Qin Zhao explained. “The Banquet of the Deer Call is tonight. In my condition, I can’t attend, so I had to inform the prefect.”

The constable added, “Yes, the prefect, upon hearing that Qin sir had fallen ill, sent me to check on him.”

Jing Li paused, understanding the situation.

Qin Zhao was clearly too unwell to attend the banquet, but as the top scorer and an honored guest, skipping a banquet hosted by the Inspector would be a slight. The prefect likely couldn’t make such a decision lightly and had sent the constable to confirm Qin Zhao’s condition.

While the visit was ostensibly for concern, it was clearly an inquiry into the truth of the matter.

The prefect’s implication was clear: if Qin Zhao’s illness were mild, he would send a sedan chair to bring him to the banquet, no matter what. However, seeing Qin Zhao pale and feverish, lying weakly in bed, the constable felt a sense of unease.

With this condition, forcing him to attend might lead to dire consequences.

Better not risk it.

The constable made his decision and said, “The prefect is considerate of Qin sir’s health. You are excused from tonight’s Banquet of the Deer Call. The items you intended for the Inspector will be delivered by the prefect. Please focus on your recovery.”

Qin Zhao propped himself up with effort and nodded slightly. “Thank you, and thank the prefect for his understanding.”

As the constable prepared to leave, Jing Li said, “Allow me to see you out.”

Though Jing Li was displeased with the prefect’s hesitation, the constable was still an official representative, and offending him would not be wise. Jing Li helped Qin Zhao lie back down, tucked the quilt around him, and said, “Stay put and rest. Let Ah Qi handle anything that needs to be done. I’ll fetch a doctor for you.”

Qin Zhao coughed lightly, his voice hoarse. “Alright.”

Throwing on a coat, Jing Li accompanied the constable out of the room.

Ah Qi watched Jing Li leave, then turned back to Qin Zhao lying in bed. He couldn’t help but say, “Madam seems very worried.”

“That’s unavoidable,” Qin Zhao replied, suppressing the discomfort of his aching, exhausted body.

His health truly couldn’t withstand such strains, but without this act, he wouldn’t have been able to convince even the prefect.

Feigning illness was the simplest and least suspicious method.

Ah Qi hesitated, wanting to say something but holding back. In his heart, he felt the approach was effective, but seeing how anxious Jing Li had been earlier, he doubted Jing Li would be easily appeased if he discovered the truth.

Choosing silence, Ah Qi said instead, “I’ve already relayed your instructions to Gu Changzhou. What should we do next?”

“Wait,” Qin Zhao said, coughing again. “After all this effort, I just hope my former student doesn’t disappoint me.”

On the day the little fish transformed into a human form, it was the ninth day of the eighth lunar month—coincidentally also the day Qin Zhao achieved the “Triple Top Scholar” honors. Jing Li and Qin Zhao decided to mark this date as their child’s official birthday. However, since the provincial examination was only a few days away, the two did not hold a grand celebration.

Instead, the family shared a simple dinner to commemorate the occasion.

This year’s provincial examination was scheduled for the thirteenth day of the eighth lunar month at the Gongyuan examination hall. As per tradition, the exam consisted of three rounds, each lasting three days, spanning a total of nine days.

Thankfully, it was autumn, so the nights were not excessively cold. Otherwise, with Qin Zhao’s delicate constitution, the thought of him enduring such a long stay in one of those tiny examination rooms made Jing Li uneasy.

Still, all the necessary preparations had to be made.

Since Qin Zhao had no companions from his hometown to attend the exam with him this time, Jing Li personally escorted him to the gates of the Gongyuan.

Before parting, Jing Li meticulously checked the items in the small bamboo basket again: “Clothes, brushes, ink, scented sachet, dried meat…”

“I’ve already checked several times; there won’t be any issues,” Qin Zhao said, snatching the basket away to stop Jing Li from repeating the process he’d already done countless times since morning.

This wasn’t his first examination—why was Jing Li still acting like it was?

Qin Zhao thought for a moment, then instructed, “Once the exam is over, I’ll come home by myself. Don’t foolishly wait here, understood?”

“I’m not a fool,” Jing Li muttered, pausing before quietly adding, “Who would willingly wait outside anyway…”

Qin Zhao smirked. “Wasn’t it a certain ‘little fish’ who stood outside the whole day during the county examination?”

Jing Li’s face flushed at the remark, and he pushed Qin Zhao toward the Gongyuan gates. “Hurry up, or they’ll call your name!”

It was still early in the morning, but a crowd had already gathered outside the Gongyuan. Quite a few people noticed Qin Zhao and Jing Li’s arrival, turning their heads to look.

Thanks to Zhao Li’s rising prominence, Jing Li had become equally well-known in the literary circles of the provincial capital. This intelligent, handsome, and capable young husband had quietly become the dream partner for many scholars.

Noticing the gazes, Qin Zhao glanced around briefly before pulling Jing Li into his arms, discreetly shielding him with his wide sleeves.

He lowered his head and kissed Jing Li lightly on the forehead. “Go home now. Too many people are looking—I’m getting jealous.”

“Can you focus on something more serious with the provincial exam coming up?” Jing Li nearly laughed in exasperation.

Could someone explain to him why his mature and composed Qin Zhao was becoming increasingly childish?

Qin Zhao smiled and replied softly, “Alright.” Just then, the sound of gongs and drums echoed from the Gongyuan gates, and the officials called Qin Zhao’s name.

Qin Zhao said warmly, “Wait for my good news.”

Jing Li nodded, watching as Qin Zhao turned and walked away, stepping through the gates of the Gongyuan.

The street in front of the Gongyuan was packed with people. As names continued to be called, one examinee after another entered the hall. The atmosphere grew tense. The provincial examination, held only once every three years, was entirely different from the county or prefectural exams. Among the candidates were both eager young scholars and elderly men who had spent years preparing, all yearning to achieve success and change their destinies.

Jing Li wasn’t sure if the somber atmosphere had gotten to him, but his chest felt heavy.

With Qin Zhao’s talent, Jing Li didn’t worry about his ability to pass the provincial exam. However, passing meant Qin Zhao would become a Juren, qualifying him to participate in next March’s metropolitan examination.

Which meant… they would have to go to the capital.

Jing Li lowered his head, his expression darkening as if lost in thought.

He stood there for a long time, so long that by the time all the candidates had entered, he was the only one left outside the gates. Even the officials guarding the Gongyuan came over to ask if something was wrong, snapping Jing Li out of his thoughts. Embarrassed, he hurriedly left.

The provincial examination, like the prefectural exam, assigned each candidate an individual examination cell. However, these cells were cramped and narrow, furnished only with two wooden boards—one higher and one lower—serving as a desk and a chair. At night, the boards could be removed and pieced together into a rudimentary bed.

Inside the cell, there were also a few candles and a charcoal brazier, but nothing else.

Each round of the provincial examination spanned three days, and the volume of questions far exceeded that of the earlier exams. After sitting down in his cell, Qin Zhao began reviewing the exam questions:

• One question from The Analects.
• One from The Doctrine of the Mean.
• One from Mencius.
• A five-character, eight-rhyme poem.
• Four questions on classical interpretations.

He read each question carefully, taking nearly the time of one incense stick to finish. As Qin Zhao put down the paper, the faint sounds of others flipping through their papers and grinding inkstones reached his ears.

Though the exam allowed three days, the poor conditions of the cells could affect anyone’s state of mind. Most candidates aimed to complete as much as possible on the first day.

Qin Zhao was no exception.

Given his more fragile constitution, spending a night in such squalor was sure to take a toll, so he couldn’t afford any delays.

Without wasting time, Qin Zhao took out his brush and ink. He never needed drafts for his writing; his characters were neat, flowing, and flawless. He alternated between writing and resting, completing the questions from The Analects, The Doctrine of the Mean, and two of the classical interpretation topics on the first day.

When night fell, Qin Zhao stopped writing.

He had no intention of burning candles to work late; doing so would strain his mind and body for little gain.

Qin Zhao removed the wooden boards, piecing them into a small bed, and laid a padded coat on top. Curling up on the makeshift bed, he closed his eyes to rest.

The confined space of the cell barely allowed room for his long limbs, forcing him to huddle uncomfortably. Poorly ventilated, the cell was stifling at noon but chilling at night, with the added threat of snakes, insects, and rodents.

The conditions were abysmal.

In such an environment, countless scholars and aspiring officials were likely to falter and fail.

Was this really how the imperial court treated its future pillars of the nation?

As he drifted off to sleep, Qin Zhao couldn’t help but sigh. If given the chance, someone really ought to renovate these examination halls.

By some stroke of luck, Qin Zhao managed to endure the harsh night without falling ill. He completed all his exam questions on the second day. However, the rules of the provincial examination prohibited early submission, so he had to wait until the afternoon of the third day to leave with the other candidates.

When Qin Zhao finally stepped out of the examination hall, breathing in the fresh air outside made him momentarily dizzy.

The past three days had been grueling, and there were still two more rounds of exams to come.

With a sigh, he began walking toward home. After only a few steps, he noticed a carriage parked by the roadside and a familiar figure standing nearby.

The figure spotted him as well and came forward. “Sir.”

Qin Zhao handed over his belongings with a smile. “I didn’t ask him to wait for me, so he sent you instead?”

Ah Qi replied, “The young master was worried about your health and had me rent a carriage to wait here for you.”

Qin Zhao knew his young husband had his best interests at heart, but he still felt a hint of dissatisfaction that Jing Li had chosen to sulk over a casual remark and hadn’t come himself.

Once the provincial exams were over, Qin Zhao decided, he’d have to teach someone a lesson.

As he mused, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted him.

“His Excellency the Inspector is here.”

A group of guards on horseback cleared the way, followed by an opulent carriage. The crowd parted to make way, many casting curious glances at the carriage.

The Inspector, sent from the capital, was a high-ranking civil and military official—far above the local prefect in status. For this provincial examination, aside from the primary and deputy examiners dispatched from the Hanlin Academy, the Inspector had been entrusted with oversight.

“I heard this Inspector was a top scorer in the imperial exams, personally chosen by the emperor,” someone murmured in the crowd.

“Nonsense,” another interjected. “The current emperor wasn’t even of age back then. It must’ve been the previous one.”

“Shh! Don’t let anyone hear you!” a third voice warned. “Everyone knows the Inspector deeply regrets ever studying under that person. Mentioning it in his presence could cost you your life.”

The murmurs naturally reached the ears of the Inspector and were also overheard by Qin Zhao and Ah Qi.

Ah Qi appeared unmoved, quietly standing by Qin Zhao’s side.

Qin Zhao, however, turned his head to watch as the entourage stopped at the gates of the Gongyuan. Not long after, a young man stepped out of the carriage.

The man wore official robes, his tall and slender figure suggesting youth, perhaps around thirty years old. Surrounded by attendants, he walked toward the Gongyuan gates. As though sensing a gaze, he briefly turned to look in the direction of Qin Zhao and Ah Qi.

But all he saw was a carriage slowly pulling away.

Inside the carriage, Ah Qi lowered the curtain and said softly, “He’s gone in.”

After a pause, he added, “He likely didn’t see us.”

Qin Zhao, leaning back with his eyes closed, responded with a quiet hum, revealing no emotion.

This small episode did not affect the ongoing provincial examination. The Inspector, tasked solely with oversight, had no direct interactions with the candidates.

For the next few days, the Inspector did not reappear.

The remaining two rounds of the provincial examination proceeded without incident. Perhaps relieved to have completed such a monumental task, Qin Zhao developed a mild fever on the evening of the final round, leaving Jing Li sleepless with worry.

“When will this body of yours ever show some improvement?” Jing Li complained the next morning as Qin Zhao’s fever subsided. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed his restless night.

It was baffling. Despite Qin Zhao diligently following the regimen prescribed by Master Xue and being detoxified for nearly two years, his health showed little progress.

“We must find time to visit the county and have Master Xue examine you again,” Jing Li resolved.

Qin Zhao could only remain silent and endure his husband’s scolding.

He had a fair understanding of his condition. The medical texts attributed it to “illness brought on by overthinking,” and Master Xue had warned him that excessive worry hindered recovery.

But given their current circumstances, how could he simply put everything aside?

Qin Zhao understood this well but refrained from sharing the truth for now. Instead, he did his best to comfort his husband and ease his worries.

With the examination concluded, Qin Zhao took a short break, using the opportunity to accompany his husband and son on leisurely outings, exploring the provincial city together.

In the past few months, Qin Zhao had been occupied with exam preparation while Jing Li busied himself with managing the household. It had been a long time since they enjoyed such carefree days.

This was why, when an official arrived from the Gongyuan to congratulate Qin Zhao on achieving the top scholar position, the family was preparing to head to the countryside to admire the autumn leaves.

The official and the newly crowned Jieyuan (top scorer) exchanged glances before offering his best guess. “My lord, are you perhaps in a hurry to return home and honor your ancestors?”

Qin Zhao: “…”

Jing Li: “…”

This misunderstanding wasn’t entirely their fault.

The timing of the provincial examination results was never fixed. If contentious papers required extensive review, delays of ten days or more were common. Preoccupied with their outings, Qin Zhao and Jing Li hadn’t kept track of the Gongyuan’s announcements or the release date of the results.

Qin Zhao, of course, would not admit to his oversight. Instead, he calmly expressed his gratitude to the visiting official, treating him to good tea and hospitality.

The official didn’t linger long, but as he departed, he reminded them with some concern, “My lord, please don’t rush back to your hometown just yet. By tradition, after the results are announced, the Inspector hosts the Banquet of the Deer Call. You, as the Jieyuan, are required to attend. The invitation will arrive within the next two days.”

Qin Zhao nodded in acknowledgment and saw the official off.

After the official left, Ah Qi asked, “Sir, about the Banquet of the Deer Call…”

Since the Inspector was hosting, that official would undoubtedly be present. But that man…

“If it’s fortune, it won’t evade us; if it’s trouble, we can’t escape it,” Qin Zhao said calmly. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

Just as he spoke, he looked up to see his little husband holding their child, both dressed neatly, gazing at him with pitiful expressions. “Does this mean we’re not going to see the autumn leaves?”

Qin Zhao couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

No matter what happened, ensuring his husband and son’s happiness remained the most important thing.

Qin Zhao straightened up and said seriously, “We’re going, of course.”

Although Qin Zhao was slightly displeased that his little husband seemed to neglect him after making a new friend, he didn’t stop Jing Li from interacting with Yue Qingzi.

Jing Li had never had any close friends in the prefectural city, so his acquaintance with Yue Qingzi was a rare and welcome development.

As for the prefect, he couldn’t fully set his worries aside, even after receiving Qin Zhao’s reassuring response. Still, since he himself had suggested that Yue Qingzi and Jing Li spend more time together, it was impossible to take those words back now.

As time passed, the friendship between the two youths grew stronger rather than weaker, and the prefect and his wife finally put their concerns to rest.

However, their initial worries weren’t entirely unfounded.

After all, Yue Qingzi was an unmarried shuang’er. No matter how discreet he was, the amount of attention Qin Zhao received made it easy for misunderstandings to arise. A shuang’er frequently visiting Qin Zhao’s household was bound to attract gossip.

After some thought, Qin Zhao gently brought up the matter with Jing Li.

Since Yue Qingzi was staying with the prefect, Jing Li couldn’t visit him freely. Recently, however, Jing Li had been working on the third volume of Dream Notes and often sought Yue Qingzi’s advice, which was why Yue Qingzi frequently came to his house.

Ultimately, it was Yue Qingzi accommodating Jing Li’s wishes.

Jing Li, fully aware of the difficulties faced by shuang’er in this era, valued his friendship with A-Zi deeply and was unwilling to let his friend’s reputation be tarnished without reason.

After careful consideration, Jing Li took the initiative to suggest meeting in a more neutral location next time.

“But didn’t you worry about writing outside and someone seeing your drafts?” Yue Qingzi objected. “Is something inconvenient for you?”

The boy, simple and straightforward yet remarkably perceptive, immediately sensed Jing Li’s unease.

Unable to deflect, Jing Li finally confessed his concerns.

“So that’s all it is,” Yue Qingzi said, unfazed after hearing him out. “It’s no big deal. I’ll just avoid suspicion in the future and come by on the days when Mr. Qin is teaching at the Gu residence.”

“But…” Jing Li hesitated.

That wouldn’t entirely solve the problem.

Rumors were powerful, and merely avoiding suspicion wouldn’t eliminate misunderstandings.

Moreover, the matter didn’t just affect Yue Qingzi.

Qin Zhao, already a public figure, could also be impacted if rumors of a shuang’er frequently visiting his home spread. His reputation, critical for the civil service examinations, could suffer. After all, the imperial exams placed great importance on a candidate’s moral character.

Jing Li couldn’t allow these two people, both so important to him, to take unnecessary risks because of him.

Jing Li and Yue Qingzi had a relationship of complete trust, so he candidly laid out all his thoughts.

Yue Qingzi fell into deep thought.

“The truth is,” he concluded after a moment, “this all boils down to the fact that other people don’t trust the bond between you and Mr. Qin enough.”

Jing Li was startled. “Huh?”

Jing Li couldn’t understand how Yue Qingzi had suddenly arrived at this conclusion.

Yue Qingzi patiently explained, “Think about it—Qin Zhao has no power or influence, so why are the people of the prefectural city so interested in his private affairs? Isn’t it because they still hold out hope?”

“You actually know this deep down. Most people in the city don’t believe Qin Zhao when he says he doesn’t want to take a concubine. They just think he hasn’t found someone to his liking yet and is using that as an excuse. Because of this, some people still entertain the delusion that they might have a chance to persuade him.”

“Isn’t that exactly what my uncle and aunt are thinking?”

Jing Li opened his mouth but didn’t know how to respond.

He wasn’t sure whether to call A-Zi insightful or just bold—critiquing the prefect like this was the kind of talk that could cause trouble if overheard.

Seeing Jing Li stay silent, Yue Qingzi continued, “So, as long as we make those people give up on Qin Zhao entirely, no one will pay attention to his personal life anymore, and we can keep meeting freely.”

“…Isn’t that what you want too?”

Jing Li’s ears turned a little red as he recalled the time when he first met Yue Qingzi and had been jealous for a while. “Y-Yes, so what? It’s impossible to achieve, isn’t it?”

Qin Zhao had rejected countless matchmakers before, yet that hadn’t stopped people from holding feelings for him.

If even Qin Zhao couldn’t resolve the issue, what could Jing Li—someone everyone saw as “just his husband”—possibly do?

Yue Qingzi smirked confidently. “I have an idea.”

Despite his growing friendship with Yue Qingzi, Jing Li didn’t let it distract him from his work. In fact, having a loyal reader who provided immediate feedback improved his efficiency. By early May, he had finished the manuscript for the third volume of Dream Talks. It was even longer than the second volume.

While waiting for it to be printed and distributed to bookstores, the Jiangling Gazette published a shocking headline:

“Author of Dream Notes Identified as None Other Than Qin Zhao’s Husband, Jing Li!”

The bold headline occupied the entire front page of the newspaper, and below it was an interview between a reporter and Jing Li. In the interview, Jing Li openly admitted that he was Zhao Li and shared some stories about writing the series.

For example, many of the events in his stories were inspired by real life. (A note from the reporter followed this statement, adding that reality seemed even sweeter than fiction, leaving the author both envious and jealous during the interview.)

Another story revealed how Qin Zhao hadn’t initially known about his writing and, after finding out, had dragged Jing Li to several bookstores because he couldn’t get his hands on a copy.

The entire page was filled with dazzling displays of affection.

Fans eagerly awaiting the third volume of Dream Notes were already shocked by the headline. But before they could recover, they were overwhelmed by the couple’s relentless sweetness, reading and rereading the article multiple times before finally processing it.

Zhao Li’s true identity… had been revealed just like that?

Could it really be true? Or was this some kind of joke?

The interview spread like wildfire across the prefectural city, pushing Dream Notes and its author, Zhao Li, into the spotlight. Chang, the owner of Jing’an Bookstore, seized the opportunity and quickly released the third volume of Dream Notes.

This time, on the very last page of the book, readers found the author’s real name and address—perfectly matching the details revealed in the Jiangling Gazette.

The evidence was undeniable.

Thanks to the publicity generated by the interview, sales of the third volume skyrocketed several times over.

“I didn’t expect you to have such tactics,” even Qin Zhao couldn’t help but marvel after observing the entire incident.

The interview didn’t just reveal Zhao Li’s identity.

The author cleverly used the guise of discussing Zhao Li’s mystery to highlight the everyday life between Qin Zhao and Jing Li. By leveraging Qin Zhao’s fame as a top scholar, it attracted attention, promoted the third volume, and clarified the deep bond and harmony between Qin Zhao and Jing Li. Truly, it killed two birds with one stone.

“It wasn’t my idea,” Jing Li said, pointing to the byline of the interview in the Jiangling Gazette with a mysterious smile. “Guess who it was?”

“Qingshan Jun,” Qin Zhao replied with a faint smile. “Qingshan… Yue Qing… It must be Young Master Yue.”

“Correct!” Jing Li grinned.

This Qingshan Jun was a little-known contributor to the Jiangling Gazette. Before meeting Yue Qingzi, Jing Li had already seen articles by Qingshan Jun, claiming to have discovered Zhao Li’s true identity. However, the author went silent after that, and Jing Li hadn’t given it much thought.

Until Yue Qingzi confessed the truth.

When Yue Qingzi first arrived in the prefectural city and read the first two volumes of Dream Notes, he became particularly interested in Zhao Li’s real identity.

At the time, he had used his uncle’s connections to mistakenly assume Zhao Li was Qin Zhao. Writing the article was his way of creating a legitimate excuse to approach Qin Zhao.

The Jiangling Gazette article was part of his original plan to arrange an interview with Zhao Li.

However, before he could carry it out, his uncle caught him and placed him under house arrest. Fortunately, his chance meeting with Jing Li made everything worthwhile.

“So he suggested you use the Jiangling Gazette to reveal your identity and, in passing, clarify to outsiders that my devotion to you is absolute and I could never be interested in anyone else?” Qin Zhao had read the interview several times, carefully folded it, and placed it on his desk.

“Exactly! Isn’t A-Zi clever?” Jing Li said. “Thanks to him, the new book is selling so well.”

Over the past six months, Dream Notes had become the most talked-about story among the people of the prefectural city. Zhao Li’s reputation had grown immensely, far surpassing the popularity of Secrets of the Bridal Chamber, which Qin Zhao had bought when they first started.

In Jing Li’s familiar terms, this was an exceptionally successful publicity stunt.

“Using my name to grab attention—did you ask for my permission?” Qin Zhao tapped Jing Li lightly on the forehead.

Jing Li didn’t dodge and instead covered his forehead with a slight wince. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Qin Zhao raised an eyebrow. “Still talking back?”

Jing Li, completely unafraid of him now, replied boldly, “You couldn’t handle those persistent admirers yourself. What’s wrong with me stepping in? I call this restoring the authority of the husband.”

“That’s not how you use that phrase.”

“Close enough.”

Qin Zhao couldn’t hold back any longer and pulled Jing Li into his arms, laughing. “You’re getting harder to deal with. Have you been learning bad habits from Young Master Yue?”

“I didn’t…” Jing Li froze as Qin Zhao’s hot hand rested against his waist. Realizing his vulnerability, he immediately caved. “I double-checked everything before letting A-Zi submit the article. I didn’t include anything that could harm you.”

“I know,” Qin Zhao replied. “I’m not angry.”

“Then why are you bullying me? Let go—”

Qin Zhao bit Jing Li’s earlobe, his breath warm and teasing. “Do I need a reason to bully you?”

Jing Li never figured out which part of his words provoked Qin Zhao, but he ended up receiving a thorough “lesson.” Ever since the weather had warmed, Qin Zhao’s health had improved daily, and he seemed intent on making up for all the time they’d lost during his illness.

So whether he had a reason or not didn’t seem to matter to him.

The air indoors grew a little stuffy in the afternoon heat. Qin Zhao fetched some water and carefully cleaned Jing Li. The latter lay sprawled on the small couch in the inner room of the study, his eyelids drooping lazily.

The couch was meant for Qin Zhao to rest briefly while reading and was much narrower than the bed in their bedroom. It wasn’t convenient for… certain activities.

But Qin Zhao seemed to enjoy the forced closeness brought by the cramped space. Jing Li’s protests were futile, so he resigned himself to his fate.

Once they were both tidied up, Qin Zhao left the couch.

Fighting off the lingering numbness and exhaustion in his body, Jing Li lifted his tired eyelids, only to see Qin Zhao sitting upright at his desk, seriously reading a book.

Calling him “prim and proper” would have been a compliment at this point.

Annoyed, Jing Li pulled a thin blanket over his head and soon fell asleep to the sound of cicadas chirping in the afternoon heat.

Time flew, and by the golden autumn of August, Qin Zhao and Jing Li celebrated the little fish fry’s first birthday with a simple gathering and decided on his formal name: Qin Nuo.

Qin Zhao had taken too long to settle on a name, so Jing Li made the final decision.

When asked why he chose it, Jing Li explained, “Because yi nuo qian jin—a promise worth a thousand gold—and it also means one koi fish can sell for a thousand gold. If this little guy doesn’t behave in the future, I’ll sell him to make money.”

Qin Zhao’s expression turned complicated, but the fish fry, too young to understand, grinned foolishly, as happy as ever.

Qin Zhao and Jing Li sat on the same side and noticed Yue Qingzi’s small actions.

Understanding the situation, Qin Zhao stood up and returned the courtesy with a bow. “Greetings, Young Master Yue.”

Jing Li followed suit, bowing as well, while the prefect laughed warmly and said, “Please, sit down. Qingzi is exceptionally skilled at making pastries—so much so that even the chefs of the capital’s finest restaurants can’t compare. Mr. Qin, you must try some!”

Qin Zhao replied, “Certainly.”

The pastries had already been placed on the small table between Qin Zhao and Jing Li. Qin Zhao personally handed one to Jing Li. “Here, have some.”

These pastries, shaped like little rabbits and named Jade Rabbit Buns by Yue Qingzi, were his own creation. He had developed the recipe after learning from pastry chefs in his hometown. The flavor was indeed extraordinary.

Jing Li had been craving them ever since he first tried them. And that wasn’t even mentioning the little one in his arms, who was already waving his tiny hands eagerly, impatient for Jing Li to feed him.

Yue Qingzi, after delivering the pastries, didn’t leave but stayed nearby to refill their tea and attend to their needs.

This behavior was not something one would expect from a young master of the household. Yet, no one present found it unusual.

In this era where shuang’er were of low status, even a household’s young master didn’t hold much authority or standing—especially since Yue Qingzi wasn’t the prefect’s biological child.

Jing Li had encountered many shuang’er in this world, but the only one he could say he was familiar with was A-Yi, who ran a pharmacy in the county.

A-Yi was resourceful, much more independent than most shuang’er. If it weren’t for his distinctive appearance and gentler disposition, he would hardly differ from Jing Li’s understanding of a typical young man.

Yue Qingzi, however, was different.

He epitomized the ideal shuang’er of this era—raised from a young age by his parents to be virtuous, well-mannered, and composed. His speech and demeanor made it clear he came from a distinguished family.

Such shuang’er were typically married off to wealthy households. Even if they couldn’t become the main wife, they wouldn’t suffer mistreatment.

For a shuang’er, that was the best possible fate.

Reflecting on this, Jing Li understood why the prefect had specifically arranged for Yue Qingzi to serve tea here.

His emotions became complicated, and he found himself eating the pastry absentmindedly, unable to fully enjoy its taste.

After refilling the prefect’s tea, Yue Qingzi suddenly spoke. “Second Uncle, it’s a rare occasion for Madam Qin to bring the young master here. Sitting and drinking tea must be rather dull. The flowers in the back garden have just bloomed; I was hoping to invite Madam Qin to view them.”

Jing Li blinked and looked up, just in time to see Yue Qingzi smiling at him.

The smile was a little reserved but genuinely friendly.

“Very well,” the prefect said with a smile. “You and Madam Qin are about the same age. You should interact more often—it’s always good to make a new friend. What do you think, Mr. Qin?”

Instead of asking Jing Li, he directed the question to Qin Zhao.

“That depends on my husband’s wishes,” Qin Zhao replied, turning to look at Jing Li. “Do you want to go?”

Jing Li, of course, was willing.

He nodded in agreement and stood up, holding the little fish fry in his arms.

The baby still had a pastry stuffed in its mouth and was reluctant to leave, glancing longingly at the plate of pastries.

Yue Qingzi stepped closer and whispered in the baby’s ear, “There’s more in the back garden.”

After that, he bowed to the prefect and Qin Zhao, exchanged a smile with Jing Li, and led him out of the main hall.

The two youths walked away together, and the prefect, watching their departing figures, chuckled with delight. “It seems Madam Qin and Qingzi get along very well.”

Qin Zhao nodded in agreement.

Stroking his beard, the prefect added slowly, “My nephew is also at the age for marriage…”

…

The prefect’s residence had a back garden larger than the average household’s. It was springtime, and the garden was in full bloom, complete with a modest pond. Yue Qingzi led Jing Li and the little fish fry to a pavilion by the pond, where he had a servant bring over two plates of tea pastries.

“Please, have some tea,” Yue Qingzi said, dismissing the servants and pouring a cup of tea for Jing Li himself. “Madam Qin.”

The last words were emphasized with deliberate weight, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. Jing Li caught the meaning and smiled back. “Thank you, Young Master Yue.”

As the servants gradually moved out of earshot, Yue Qingzi’s rigidly upright posture suddenly softened. He let out a long sigh of relief.

“I thought I was going to suffocate,” he muttered.

Exhausted, he leaned over the stone table in the pavilion, entirely abandoning the poised and proper demeanor he’d shown in front of the prefect.

In that moment, he reverted to the carefree A-Zi whom Jing Li had met before.

Jing Li asked, “What exactly is going on here?”

“You’re asking me?” Yue Qingzi lifted his eyelids to glance at him. “What about you? What’s your explanation?”

“I…”

Caught off guard by the question, Jing Li was momentarily at a loss for words.

Yue Qingzi handed a pastry to the little fish fry, not seeming too bothered by the situation. “Forget it. You didn’t tell me you were Madam Qin, and I didn’t tell you I was Young Master Yue. Let’s call it even.”

“I really didn’t mean to keep it from you,” Jing Li explained. “That day, I wanted to tell you the truth, but you suddenly left. Later, I went to the tea shop to look for you, but you never showed up…”

“My aunt caught me sneaking out to play,” Yue Qingzi sighed. “She’s been keeping a close eye on me these past few days. I haven’t been able to leave the house.”

Given Yue Qingzi’s strict family upbringing, it wasn’t surprising that he wasn’t allowed to roam freely.

Even so, all he had wanted was to wait outside Jing Li’s house.

Thinking about it, Jing Li suddenly felt puzzled. “But since you’re the prefect’s nephew, why would you have to wait outside to see Qin Zhao?”

After all, with Yue Qingzi’s status, there were countless ways he could have met Qin Zhao—why go through the trouble of waiting at his doorstep?

“It’s not the same,” Yue Qingzi said.

“How is it not the same?” Jing Li asked.

“Meeting him here, he’s Mr. Qin, and I’m Young Master Yue. Even if we meet, it’s just polite small talk, like today. What’s the point of that?” Yue Qingzi took a bite of his pastry. “I want to meet Zhao Li, not Mr. Qin.”

“So… you really don’t have any other feelings for him?”

“Do you take me for that kind of person?” Yue Qingzi snorted, then quickly caught on to Jing Li’s implication and laughed. “Oh, I see now. You’re jealous.”

“I-I’m not…”

“Of course you are. The last time I mentioned Zhao Li, you acted weird too,” Yue Qingzi said. “Back then, I thought it was odd. Now I get it. You’re worried I have feelings for Qin Zhao, so you’re jealous, right?”

Jing Li averted his gaze, his ears quietly turning red.

“Mr. Qin is indeed impressive,” Yue Qingzi mused, propping his chin on his hands. “So young and already a top scholar, with impeccable looks and character. He loves his wife and child—he really is an ideal husband.”

“My aunt arranged for me to deliver pastries earlier—wasn’t it because she had that idea in mind?”

Jing Li froze. “You figured it out?”

“How could I not? She even made me wear new clothes,” Yue Qingzi said, gesturing to his outfit. Today, he wore a sky-blue outer robe with subtle patterns. The hem and sleeves were adorned with intricate embroidery, and his tightly cinched waist belt accentuated his slender figure.

“And you… what do you think about it?”

“Me? What could I possibly think?” Yue Qingzi poured Jing Li some tea and smiled. “Silly A-Li, haven’t you noticed? Your Qin Zhao only has eyes for you. Even if countless beauties were placed before him, he wouldn’t notice any of them.”

Jing Li pressed his lips together, the corners curving slightly upward. “Really?”

“Absolutely. Unfortunately, I didn’t meet Qin Zhao before he knew Yue Qingzi,” Yue Qingzi’s gaze dimmed slightly. “If I were to approach him now, he’d probably think I had ulterior motives. And if others found out, who knows what they’d say about me.”

Looking at the youth beside him, Jing Li felt a pang of emotion. “Why do you like Zhao Li so much?”

“I admire the kind of life he represents,” Yue Qingzi said, his tone wistful. “From childhood, whether it was my parents or my aunt and uncle, they all wanted me to marry into a good family, serve my husband well, and avoid being mistreated. But that’s not the life I want.”

He spoke longingly, “The life I want is like the one Zhao Li writes about. A life where his eyes see only me, where he cherishes only me. He doesn’t have to be rich or powerful, but even in the hardest times, he’d save the best for me.”

“Whether Zhao Li’s stories are real or not, the fact that he can write about such things means he must be a gentle and kind person, worth befriending. That’s why I wanted to find out who he was.”

“I searched for a long time. Then one day, my uncle accidentally showed me Qin Zhao’s exam paper from the provincial examinations. I noticed the handwriting on it matched the handwriting on the inscription of Zhao Li’s book cover exactly.”

“That’s when I was finally certain of his identity.”

“So it was the exam paper,” Jing Li said, suddenly understanding.

“Impressive, right?” Yue Qingzi said smugly. “Lately, so many people have been trying to figure out who Zhao Li is, but I was the first to uncover it.”

“But how can you be sure the book cover and the content were written by the same person?” Jing Li asked.

Yue Qingzi froze for a moment, then suddenly thought of something, sitting up straight in alarm.

If the book cover and content weren’t written by the same person, then who else could have obtained a personal inscription from Qin Zhao, the top scholar in three categories?

The content of the story was narrated in the voice of a shuang’er, with delicate and gentle prose…

Yue Qingzi stared at Jing Li in stunned disbelief. “C-Could it be that you…”

“I’ll let you in on a secret.” Jing Li blinked playfully and whispered, “I’m actually Zhao Li.”

…

Qin Zhao and Jing Li didn’t linger long at the prefect’s residence. After they left, Yue Qingzi headed straight to the kitchen to continue experimenting with new pastries, humming a hometown tune under his breath.

He seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood.

The prefect’s wife noticed and quietly pulled the prefect aside to ask, “Qingzi seems to like Mr. Qin a lot. Did they have a good conversation?”

The prefect was utterly baffled.

He thought to himself, Qin Zhao and Qingzi only exchanged a single greeting. How could that possibly count as a good conversation?

The prefect’s wife, having taken a liking to Qin Zhao ever since meeting him at the Gu residence, had been thinking of ways to strengthen ties with him. Although the prefect had mentioned that Qin Zhao was focused on his aspirations and unlikely to be swayed politically, she thought it wouldn’t hurt to try from a different angle.

With Yue Qingzi staying in the prefect’s city residence recently, matchmaking naturally came to her mind.

After all, even in remote and impoverished areas, it was rare for a man to have only one shuang’er as his main spouse.

The prefect’s wife, knowing little about Qin Zhao, assumed he probably didn’t favor women. If that were the case, sending Yue Qingzi as a prospect seemed like a good idea.

As for the prefect, he had always admired Qin Zhao. If this alliance through marriage could happen, he would certainly be pleased.

Thus, the entire arrangement unfolded today.

However…

“My dear,” the prefect sighed, “I already spoke directly to Qin Zhao, but he has no intention of taking another spouse. He’s clearly deeply devoted to his husband. You should give up on this idea.”

“Then why is Qingzi so happy?” The prefect’s wife asked, puzzled.

“How should I know?” The prefect spread his hands helplessly. “Could it be… the boy really has feelings for Mr. Qin?”

“That won’t do!” The prefect’s wife looked alarmed. “That Qin fellow doesn’t care for anyone else. If Qingzi marries into his family, he’ll only suffer. Absolutely not!”

The two speculated for a long time but couldn’t come to any conclusions. Unable to get anything out of Yue Qingzi either, they had to drop the matter for the time being.

In the following days, Yue Qingzi broke from his usual behavior, leaving the residence every day to visit Qin Zhao’s home, claiming he was going to play with Madam Qin. This left the prefect and his wife suspicious and uneasy. They even asked Gu Changzhou to pass a message to Qin Zhao.

“If Mr. Qin has no feelings for Qingzi, please make it clear to him as soon as possible to avoid the boy clinging to false hopes and to prevent Madam Qin from misunderstanding.”

When Ah Qi delivered the message, Qin Zhao was reading in his study. Upon hearing it, he sighed helplessly and gently pushed open the window.

Through the hanging flowers of the corridor, he could see two youths sitting in the courtyard with chairs they had dragged over, chatting and laughing about something.

Expressionless, Qin Zhao said, “Tell Gu Changzhou to inform the prefect that Madam Qin has no misunderstandings. Madam Qin and his nephew are having a wonderful time.”

So wonderful, in fact, that it seemed Jing Li had almost forgotten he even had a husband.

Jing Li didn’t reply.

During this period, many in the prefectural city were curious about who Zhao Li truly was.

The city was full of scholars, and writing storybooks wasn’t difficult; as long as one could read and write, they could pick up a brush and try. Trying to uncover Zhao Li’s real identity was akin to searching for a needle in a haystack.

Yet there were no clues to be found.

In a place like the prefectural city, storybook authors usually didn’t hide their true identities. For most other works, authors would include their name and address at the end of the story, making it easy for others to find them.

After all, in this era, many talented individuals went unrecognized, and no one would willingly forgo any opportunity.

But Mr. Zhao Li had never left any identifying information. Even when the entire city was searching for him and imposters kept cropping up, he didn’t come forward to say a single word.

There was only one possibility:
He had no desire—or perhaps even disdain—for fame from this.

This narrowed down the suspects to the already well-established scholars of the prefectural city.

As for why he was mistaken for Qin Zhao, it could only be because of the handwriting Qin Zhao had inscribed on the cover of Zhao Li’s book.

Lost in thought, Jing Li was brought back by A-Zi’s puzzled voice:
“Why aren’t you surprised at all? Don’t tell me you’ve never read Zhao Li’s works? Dream Notes is really good!”

“I… I’ve read it,” Jing Li replied, a little embarrassed, covering it up by sipping his tea. “But how can you be so sure that Qin Zhao is Zhao Li?”

A-Zi: “Isn’t the name obvious enough?”

“…”

“Of course, it’s not that simple,” A-Zi quickly added before Jing Li could question him. “But I can’t tell you the exact reason—my uncle told me not to.”

Jing Li fell silent again.

Although A-Zi said this, the boy had always spoken to him without much caution. Jing Li had no doubt that if he pressed further, the boy would likely spill all the secrets.

But Jing Li had no interest in prying into others’ privacy. His concern was simply Qin Zhao.

Jing Li asked, “So, you’re looking for Zhao Li?”

“Yes.” At the mention of this, A-Zi seemed in high spirits. He took a bite of a pastry, chewing carefully, his cheek slightly puffed on one side, his eyes sparkling. “I admire him greatly.”

Admire.

Jing Li softly repeated the word.

He had always known that Qin Zhao’s reputation in the prefectural city was exceptional.

Whether it was the distinction of achieving the “Triple Top Scholar” or his position as a teacher at the Gu household, Qin Zhao was someone ordinary people could only look up to in admiration. Moreover, he was still so young, so handsome. If he hadn’t publicly declared that he had no intention of taking concubines, the sheer number of marriage proposals would have worn down the threshold of his home.

Jing Li lowered his head, a subtle and inexplicable discomfort rising in his chest. “Yes, he’s amazing. Many people in the prefectural city admire him.”

A-Zi didn’t notice his odd tone and smiled. “But I’m different from them.”

“Hmm?”

“Because I know his secret.” A-Zi winked at Jing Li, a certain brilliance in his expression. “It feels like I’m closer to him than everyone else.”

The more Jing Li listened, the more unsettling he found it.

He drained the last of his tea, scooped up the little fish fry, and stood up. “I just remembered I have something to do. I’ll be leaving now.”

A-Zi hadn’t expected him to leave so abruptly and called out, “You haven’t told me where you live! How will I find you later?”

Jing Li pretended not to hear and quickly left the teahouse with the fry in his arms.

After walking a few steps, he realized he had acted impulsively.

Was liking Qin Zhao so strange? The number of people in the prefectural city, both openly and secretly, vying to get close to Qin Zhao was uncountable. Jing Li himself had blocked more suitors than he could count on both hands.

That boy A-Zi was straightforward and sincere, clearly without ill intentions—far better than those who schemed in secret.

But still…

He felt a little angry.

If he’d known, he wouldn’t have let Qin Zhao write the title for his book. As if there weren’t already enough rivals in the prefectural city?

Jing Li hugged the fish baby tightly, puffing up with anger as he walked.

A chubby little hand suddenly reached out in front of him.

Jing Li looked down.

The little fish fry, who still hadn’t finished the pastry he’d taken earlier, was now obediently sitting in Jing Li’s arms. He broke the pastry in half and held one piece up to Jing Li’s mouth. “Daddy eat… Don’t be mad…”

This little fry, with half koi blood in him, was just like Jing Li had been when he was born—naturally clingy. He was far more perceptive than most children and could already read others’ emotions at such a young age.

And he knew how to comfort others by offering his favorite things.

Jing Li’s frustration melted away entirely.

He shouldn’t have been so impulsive.

A-Zi had a simple nature. Not only had he shared pastries with him, but he’d also spoken openly about everything without holding back.

And yet, because of A-Zi inexplicable irritation, Jing Li had left in a huff, abandoning A’Zi in the teahouse. It really wasn’t right.

He needed to go back and apologize to A-Zi.

Just as he turned around, he saw the boy coming out of the teahouse.

“A-Li, good thing you’re still here.” A-Zi spotted him and quickly walked over. “There were some pastries left over. Take them back for the baby to eat.”

He stuffed a paper-wrapped package into Jing Li’s hands, catching him off guard. “You… are you sure about this…”

“Of course.” A-Zi smiled. “Think of it as thanks for chatting with me and keeping me company earlier. Please, take it.”

Jing Li asked, “Are you heading back?”

“Yes, I didn’t get to meet Mr. Zhao Li today,” A-Zi replied, looking slightly downcast. However, his spirits quickly lifted. “But I won’t give up. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Why are you so eager to meet him?”

“Is it strange to want to meet someone you admire?” A-Zi suddenly thought of something and quickly explained, “Don’t misunderstand. I know he already has a wife and child—I’m not after anything like that.”

A-Zi continued, “I just feel that someone who can write such beautiful works must be a warm and charismatic person. I really want to meet him.”

The boy’s attitude made Jing Li feel even guiltier about his earlier thoughts and actions.

After some thought, Jing Li said seriously, “A-Zi, there’s something I need to tell you. Actually, I—”

“Ah!”

A-Zi suddenly let out an exclamation, his attention caught by something.

Jing Li followed his gaze but saw nothing unusual at the street corner—just a few passersby. Puzzled, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“N-Nothing.” A-Zi quickly withdrew his gaze, grabbed Jing Li’s hand, and said hastily, “A-Li, my family’s here looking for me. I have to go. If you hear any news about Mr. Zhao Li, just leave word at the teahouse we were at earlier. I’ll come back.”

“Goodbye, Baby Yu! I’ll make you some pastries next time.”

He bent down to pat the little fish cub on the head, then turned and hurried off in another direction. In no time, he had melted into the crowd.

What was that all about?

Jing Li and the fish cub were left standing on the street, staring at each other.

The encounter ended abruptly, and Jing Li couldn’t make sense of what had just happened. But since A-Zi had disappeared, there was nothing more he could do for now.

Later, during dinner, he brought it up to Qin Zhao as a topic of conversation.

“…I still don’t know who he really is,” Jing Li said with a sigh, munching on the pastries A-Zi had left behind.

Qin Zhao replied calmly, “If you want to investigate, it’s not impossible.”

“What do you mean?”

“The book cover only has the title Dream Notes printed on it. Recognizing the handwriting at a glance would be nearly impossible unless you compared it directly with samples of my handwriting.” Qin Zhao seemed to have a general idea already and hinted, “Think about it—who would have access to a large number of my handwritten works?”

Jing Li thought for a moment and muttered, “The Gu household?”

Qin Zhao rarely appeared in public, much less left behind handwriting. The only place where he might have written extensively was during his time teaching at the Gu household.

But Qin Zhao chuckled. “If it were someone from the Gu household, would you not recognize them?”

“That’s true…” Jing Li conceded.

“Then who could it be?”

“Forget it, no need to investigate,” Jing Li said. “I was the one who kept something from him first. Next time we meet, I’ll take the initiative to tell him the truth.”

Qin Zhao nodded. “That works.”

…

That night, after putting the little fish fry to sleep, Jing Li went to the study to accompany Qin Zhao as he read.

In the past, when Qin Zhao didn’t know he was writing storybooks, Jing Li would sneak away to his room and furtively jot down a few sections. Now that his identity was exposed, Jing Li no longer hid it and spent every evening with Qin Zhao in the study.

While Qin Zhao read, Jing Li sat beside him, working on his story.

Sometimes, when he grew tired of writing, he would wrap himself in his robe and snuggle into Qin Zhao’s embrace, comfortably dozing off. When Qin Zhao finished reading, he would carry Jing Li back to the bedroom.

The days were simple but felt exceptionally fulfilling.

Jing Li had barely written for a while before his mind started to wander. Resting his chin on his hand, he gazed at the man beside him. Qin Zhao’s profile was softened by the candlelight, as if bathed in a warm glow.

Even after all this time together, Jing Li still found it hard to believe how stunningly handsome Qin Zhao was.

No wonder so many people had their eyes on him.

“Focus,” Qin Zhao said without even looking up, gently tapping Jing Li on the head.

How could he hope to earn money writing stories if he kept zoning out after just a few sentences?

“I wasn’t staring at you—” Jing Li instinctively denied it, but realizing he’d slipped, he hurriedly added, “I was just thinking… thinking about how in half a month it’s the prefectural magistrate’s birthday. What kind of gift should we prepare?”

This was the sort of detail only Jing Li would remember.

Qin Zhao, preoccupied with teaching Gu Heng and preparing for the autumn examinations, seldom paid attention to such trivial matters. Moreover, given his status, he hardly needed to remember the birthday of a magistrate.

However, since they now lived in the prefectural city and the magistrate had always shown great appreciation for Qin Zhao—particularly for helping them with Mr.Chang’s case—it was only right to express their gratitude.

“The magistrate has led a frugal life and likely wouldn’t accept anything too extravagant,” Qin Zhao said.

“I know, which is why I wanted to discuss it with you.” Jing Li had been thinking about this for days and suggested, “It’s spring tea season right now. We could write to the village and ask the village chief to gather some tea leaves and send them over. We could also include some local produce—things that aren’t too expensive but show our appreciation.”

Qin Zhao nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

“Then I’ll write the letter now.” Jing Li pulled out a piece of stationery and began writing.

Qin Zhao sat beside him, watching him write.

By now, Jing Li had become quite adept at using a brush, and because he had modeled his calligraphy on Qin Zhao’s while practicing, his handwriting had begun to faintly resemble Qin Zhao’s style.

Though there was still quite a gap between them.

Jing Li initially began practicing calligraphy simply to make daily life more convenient; he never aimed to cultivate exceptional skill like a master calligrapher, so he didn’t push himself too hard.

After neatly and concisely finishing the letter, he sealed it in an envelope and said, “I’ll send this out tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Qin Zhao said.

“What’s there to thank me for?” Jing Li didn’t think much of it. “This is a family matter, after all. It’s only right that I handle it.”

Qin Zhao stroked his hair and said softly, “Just hold on a little longer. Once our lives improve… you won’t have to do all this anymore.”

No more learning how to deal with people, no more forcing himself to run around for a living.

Jing Li paused for a moment, then smiled. “If I don’t do these things, then what should I do? Do you want me to be like that little fish fry, just eating, drinking, and playing every day?”

“Wouldn’t you like that?” Qin Zhao asked.

“I don’t care about that kind of life.” Jing Li set the sealed letter aside and picked up his manuscript again. “As long as I can be with you, any life is fine.”

As he spoke, his head was slightly lowered, his softly curled lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. Qin Zhao gazed at his face, a subtle furrow appearing in his brow.

…

About seven or eight days after Jing Li sent the letter, a reply finally arrived from Linxi Village.

Along with the letter were the tea leaves and local goods that Jing Li had requested.

Two days before the magistrate’s birthday, Qin Zhao and Jing Li brought the gifts to pay a visit.

The magistrate’s residence, located in the southern part of the city, was far more modest than those of the wealthy merchants in town. Without prior knowledge, one might assume it belonged to an ordinary citizen—an unmistakable testament to the magistrate’s frugality.

After Qin Zhao explained their visit, a servant invited them inside.

“Mr. Qin, you’re very thoughtful.”

Any dissatisfaction the magistrate had previously harbored toward Qin Zhao during Mr.Chang’s case had long dissipated. Seeing the carefully chosen gifts, his impression of Qin Zhao improved even further.

He invited Qin Zhao and Jing Li to the main hall for tea and conversation. Jing Li, unable to contribute much to the discussion, quietly sat off to the side, holding the little fish fry and nibbling on pastries.

The magistrate occasionally glanced at Jing Li and remarked with a sigh, “The people of this city all say that Mr. Qin loves his husband deeply, and they wonder what fortune Qin’s husband must have accumulated in past lives. But in my opinion, you two are truly a match made in heaven.”

Qin Zhao replied, “You flatter us, Magistrate.”

The magistrate stroked his beard and, half-jokingly, said, “It’s a pity I only have a young daughter still in her childhood. Otherwise, I’d have considered forming a marital alliance with you, Mr. Qin.”

Jing Li’s smile froze on his face: “……”

When would these people stop eyeing his Qin Zhao?!

Jing Li glanced at Qin Zhao, who cleared his throat and said, “I appreciate your kind intentions, Magistrate, but I have no…”

Before he could finish, a servant entered to report, “Sir, the young master heard we had guests and prepared some pastries to welcome them.”

Young master?

Jing Li frowned slightly but then heard the magistrate explain, “That’s my nephew. He’s been staying here in the city for a short visit.”

He paused briefly and added, “He’s a shuang’er.”

Jing Li immediately understood.

So this was planned all along.

“Let him come in,” the magistrate instructed.

The servant bowed and left. Soon after, a finely dressed young boy appeared, accompanied by two attendants carrying a tray of steaming pastries.

Before Jing Li could react, the little fish fry in his arms let out a delighted “Wow!” Jing Li followed his gaze and saw the pastries—soft, snow-white, and delicately shaped like little rabbits, lifelike and utterly adorable.

Looking further up, he saw the young boy approach with an unhurried grace. The boy bowed politely to the magistrate and said, “Second Uncle, I’m here.”

“Qingzi, just in time.” The magistrate beamed and gestured toward Qin Zhao. “This is Qin Zhao, the Triple Top Scholar you asked about earlier. Go and greet Mr. Qin.”

“Yes,” the boy replied softly. He turned to face Qin Zhao but froze momentarily when his gaze landed on Jing Li.

Jing Li also froze.

Wasn’t this the same boy he had met at the teahouse—the one who introduced himself as A-Zi?

After their brief encounter, Jing Li had been thinking about how to explain the truth to him. He even revisited the teahouse several times, hoping to run into him again, but the boy never reappeared.

Despite their short meeting, Jing Li had taken a liking to A-Zi’s straightforward and genuine nature. He had truly wanted to tell him the truth and befriend him.

He never expected the boy to turn out to be the magistrate’s nephew.

And he certainly didn’t expect their reunion to happen in this setting.

The boy was the first to regain his composure. He lowered his gaze, as if nothing had happened, and greeted the two of them with a polite bow. “I am Yue Qingzi. Greetings to you both.”

His demeanor was elegant and poised, entirely different from the candid and cheerful boy Jing Li had met at the teahouse.

Jing Li felt a pang of guilt.

Appearing here with Qin Zhao made their relationship obvious. Would A-Zi—no, Yue Qingzi—think he had deliberately deceived him and hold it against him?

Jing Li wanted to explain, but before he could say anything, the boy suddenly lifted his head and glanced at him.

From an angle where the magistrate couldn’t see, Yue Qingzi slyly winked at Jing Li.

Jing Li exchanged a glance with Little fry, and in the child’s eyes, he saw a certain unmistakable similarity to himself.

…Truly father and son.

Jing Li quickly came up with a plan.

He picked up Little fry and approached the youth, tentatively starting, “Excuse me…”

The blush on the youth’s face hadn’t yet faded. Hearing Jing Li address him, he looked up like a startled rabbit and even stammered a bit as he responded, “W-what is it?”

“I just wanted to ask where you got those pastries,” Jing Li said, gesturing toward the child in his arms and adding apologetically, “My little one here has a sweet tooth.”

“These?” The youth awkwardly touched his nose and replied, “I… I made them myself.”

Jing Li blinked in surprise.

He had made them himself? The youth was incredibly skilled.

But that also meant they couldn’t be bought anywhere.

A hint of disappointment flickered in Jing Li’s eyes. Little fry, understanding the situation, immediately furrowed his brows as well.

Their expressions were identical.

Although both Qin Zhao and Jing Li doted on their child, they never neglected basic discipline. Little fry had long been taught that if he wanted something, he should ask his family and not demand it from strangers.

If he couldn’t get what he wanted, throwing a tantrum was never an acceptable solution.

The little one didn’t cry or fuss but instead turned his head and buried his face in Jing Li’s chest, softly whimpering, “Let’s go…”

At such a young age, he already understood the concept of looking away to avoid disappointment.

Jing Li was about to thank the youth and leave when the latter suddenly pushed the pastries toward them, speaking in a soft voice, “W-would you like to take half?”

The youth seemed unsure how to interact with others and was so nervous that his ears turned red, barely daring to meet Jing Li’s gaze.

Jing Li hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Y-yes, of course.” The youth mustered his courage, picked up a rabbit-shaped pastry, and offered it to Jing Li with a smile. “I made plenty.”

Jing Li was a little uncertain.

He wasn’t as naïve as he used to be, and with his son in tow, he was even more cautious. Accepting food from strangers was something he was particularly wary of, especially after everything that had happened with the Ji family.

Noticing Jing Li’s hesitation, the youth broke one of the pastries in half, revealing a golden, molten sugar filling that oozed like liquid sunshine. He popped one half into his own mouth and handed the other half to Jing Li. “Try it. It’s really good.”

Little fry clung to Jing Li’s neck, glancing eagerly at the youth and then at Jing Li, but he didn’t dare reach out to take the pastry until his little dad gave him permission.

Jing Li, seeing the longing on his son’s face, sighed helplessly. “Go ahead, take it. And remember to say thank you to the nice uncle.”

“Thank you… uncle!” Little Yu said obediently.

The youth smiled and invited them to join his table.

Jing Li first paid for their tea but also offered to pay the youth for the pastries, which the latter declined. “No need, these pastries didn’t cost much to make.”

It was then that Jing Li noticed that although the youth’s attire was simple, the fabric was of excellent quality. His family seemed well-off.

Jing Li introduced himself. “I’m Jing Li. May I ask your name, young master?”

“Just call me A-Zi,” the youth replied.

“Do you live nearby? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” Jing Li asked.

“No,” A-Zi shook his head. “I recently moved to the city and now live in the southern part of town. I rarely come to this side.”

“Ah, I see…” Jing Li nodded.

As the adults chatted, Little fry sat on Jing Li’s lap, happily devouring the pastries. The little rabbit-shaped treats were exquisitely made, with soft white dough and fragrant, creamy molten sugar filling that occasionally dripped onto his fingers, which he quickly licked clean.

Jing Li couldn’t help but be distracted by the sight.

He wanted to eat one.

But he was too embarrassed to ask.

Meanwhile, Little fry had already finished his second pastry and was reaching for a third.

Jing Li: “…”

“Yu (fish),” Jing Li said sourly, “don’t eat so much.”

Little fry retracted his hand, balled it into a small fist, and looked up at Jing Li with pitiful eyes. “Hungry…”

“…”

It sounded as if he hadn’t been fed properly.

Jing Li pinched his son’s chubby cheek with mock annoyance. “Didn’t you just have lunch earlier?”

A-Zi, clearly charmed by Little fry’s cuteness, chuckled with amusement. “His name is Yu? How adorable…”

“Yes, my little glutton,” Jing Li said, poking his soft, squishy son.

“Let him eat,” A-Zi said warmly. “Kids should eat as much as they like.” He handed another pastry to Little fry and then, to Jing Li’s surprise, offered one to him as well. “You have one too, Jing Li.”

Jing Li, delighted and feeling quite spoiled, instantly forgot his earlier reprimand. “Sure!”

Jing Li and A-Zi chatted casually while eating, and it quickly became apparent that A-Zi wasn’t as reserved as he initially seemed.

While A-Zi appeared shy with strangers, once he warmed up, he became quite talkative and seemed to drop his guard entirely.

“I’ve been here all day—it’s so boring. Thank goodness I have you to talk to,” A-Zi said.

Jing Li asked, “Are you meeting someone?”

This teahouse rarely attracted people coming alone. Since A-Zi didn’t live nearby yet had brought pastries and ordered tea, it seemed likely he was expecting someone.

A-Zi shook his head. “No.”

“Then are you waiting for someone?”

A-Zi hesitated before mumbling, “Kind of.”

Sensing that A-Zi wasn’t eager to discuss the matter further, Jing Li didn’t press him and shifted his gaze elsewhere.

The teahouse was located by the street, not far from Jing Li’s home. From their table, one could see the street outside his house—and even the front gate itself.

Jing Li blinked.

He had occasionally sat here with Qin Zhao in the past, but he’d never noticed that this particular table had such a direct view of their gate. A strange feeling began to rise within him. Glancing at A-Zi out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the youth’s gaze occasionally drifted toward the direction of his house.

Jing Li: “…”

…Was it just his imagination?

Jing Li took his eyes off A-Zi and asked cautiously, “So, how much longer do you plan to stay here?”

“I’m not sure. It depends on when the person I’m waiting for comes out,” A-Zi sighed. “You see, I brought pastries just in case I’d have to wait a while.”

Jing Li: “…”

It wasn’t his imagination.

This person was definitely staking out his house!

Jing Li sipped his tea silently, his guard now up.

From the looks of it, A-Zi must be watching Qin Zhao. Given Qin Zhao’s poor health and limited appearances in public, A-Zi must have made careful preparations to stake out this location.

But if A-Zi had done his homework, how could he not recognize Jing Li?

And more importantly, why was Qin Zhao being targeted?

Was this related to the Ji family incident?

Although Jing Li didn’t know why Ji Zhifei had ultimately confessed, he was aware that many in the city believed Qin Zhao’s public appeal to reopen the case had played a critical role. In other words, Qin Zhao was seen as the indirect cause of the Ji family’s downfall.

The Ji family’s business empire had extensive connections in the city, so it was possible that someone with vested interests bore a grudge against him.

But if it was out of resentment, why was A-Zi simply waiting here without taking action?

Qin Zhao rarely left the house, and even his occasional trips to the Gu residence were conducted in a carriage sent by the Gu family. What could A-Zi possibly hope to achieve by waiting here?

Moreover, from his casual chat with the youth, Jing Li could tell that A-Zi was slow to warm up but spoke and acted with poise. He didn’t seem like a typical street dweller, and even less like someone with ill intent.

How strange…

Jing Li couldn’t make sense of it. After pondering for a moment, he decided to probe. “Waiting here indefinitely isn’t a solution. How about I help you?”

“Help me?” A-Zi blinked. “How?”

“I live nearby, so I’m more familiar with the area than you are. Why don’t you tell me who you’re looking for? Maybe I can help you find them,” Jing Li offered.

“But…” A-Zi hesitated.

He stayed silent for so long that Jing Li had already prepared his next line of questioning. Just as he was about to speak, A-Zi seemed to steel himself and said, “Alright, I’ll tell you.”

“Do you know Qin Zhao, the local Triple Top Scholar?” A-Zi asked.

Jing Li: “…”

Did he just give it away so easily?

Feeling unexpectedly guilty, Jing Li averted his gaze. “Y-yeah, I know him…”

“Who in this city doesn’t?” A-Zi said, glancing around as if checking for eavesdroppers before leaning forward slightly. “I’m going to tell you an exclusive secret, but you mustn’t share it with anyone.”

“About Qin Zhao?” Jing Li asked.

“Of course,” A-Zi said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. With a dramatic air, he continued, “I’ve got solid evidence. Qin Zhao is actually Mr. Zhao Li.”

Jing Li: “…”

Jing Li: “???”

The day after the Gu family hosted their banquet, Ji Zhifei, the young master of the Ji family, voluntarily went to the authorities and confessed to hiring a killer to seize a shop through premeditated murder. The magistrate, using his confession as a lead, conducted a thorough investigation and apprehended the real culprit within just seven days, clearing Boss Chang’s name.

On the day Boss Chang was released from prison, Qin Zhao and Jing Li went to the yamen to pick him up.

Though he had only been imprisoned for about half a month, Boss Chang looked as if he had aged several years, with streaks of gray hair now visible at his temples. The prison conditions were far from good, enough to wear down an ordinary person after just a few days, let alone someone like Boss Chang, who had also suffered a family tragedy. Thankfully, Qin Zhao had asked Gu Changzhou to pass a message to the magistrate, requesting that Boss Chang be treated leniently, which spared him from any lasting health issues.

As soon as Boss Chang saw the two of them, he bowed deeply. “Thank you both for saving my life.”

While he had limited information in prison, it wasn’t difficult to deduce that these two had intervened, from Qin Zhao’s public appeal to reopen his case to Ji Zhifei’s eventual confession. Without their involvement, he would have long since been executed for murder.

“We didn’t do much, so there’s no need for thanks,” Jing Li said, helping Boss Chang to his feet and pulling out a protective charm from his robe. “I went to the temple yesterday to get this for you. Keep it with you to ward off bad luck.”

Boss Chang accepted it gratefully. “You are too kind, sir.”

“There’s something else that needs to be returned to its rightful owner,” Qin Zhao added, handing him a property deed.

After Ji Zhifei confessed, the deed had been submitted as evidence in court. With the real culprit now captured, the magistrate had entrusted Qin Zhao to return it to Boss Chang.

Boss Chang’s eyes reddened at the sight of the deed.

Such a small piece of paper had caused so much trouble, even costing his younger brother’s life.

Even though the true culprit had been caught, nothing could bring back the life that was lost.

Overcome with emotion, Boss Chang turned away, wiping his eyes with his sleeve before taking the deed. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Qin Zhao treated Boss Chang to a meal. During the meal, he asked, “What are your plans moving forward?”

“What plans could I have? Life has to go on,” Boss Chang replied with a bitter smile. “I’ll clean up and reopen the shop as soon as possible. From now on, I’ll live honestly and avoid trouble.”

“Don’t say that,” Jing Li interjected. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“But this happened because of me.” Boss Chang turned his head to look at the clear blue sky outside the window. “Mr. Zhao, I’m also a scholar. I don’t have the same talents as Mr. Qin, but I always believed I had the integrity and backbone of a literati, unwilling to compromise. Yet, I now realize that those things mean nothing in the face of this world.”

“I’ve been thinking these past few days: If I had agreed when the Ji family wanted to buy my shop, taken the money, and returned to my hometown with my brother, would everything have been different?”

“But it’s too late now…”

Boss Chang closed his eyes briefly and said, “The day I was imprisoned, I never thought I’d make it out alive. But now that I’m free, I’ll cherish the rest of my days and not waste the kindness you two have shown me.”

Jing Li wanted to say more, but Qin Zhao gently held him back.

Qin Zhao raised his cup, using tea in place of wine. “There’s a long road ahead. I wish you a thriving business and smooth days to come.”

“Thank you for your kind words,” Boss Chang replied, raising his cup to clink it with Qin Zhao’s, smiling. “I heard in prison that Mr. Zhao’s new book is selling extremely well, and many are waiting for a reprint. Once my shop reopens, I’ll be sure to purchase a copy immediately.”

After the meal, Boss Chang bid them farewell and headed in the direction of the bookshop.

Qin Zhao held Jing Li’s hand as they walked home.

On the way, they passed by a Ji family shop. Once a bustling silk store, it was now desolate, with few visitors. Passersby avoided it altogether, crossing the street to steer clear.

News of Ji Zhifei’s crimes had spread throughout the city in the past few days, severely damaging the Ji family’s reputation. It was said that the patriarch of the Ji family fell gravely ill on the day of Ji Zhifei’s arrest, leaving the future of the once-prosperous family uncertain.

Jing Li stared absentmindedly at the deserted silk shop.

Qin Zhao asked, “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” Jing Li murmured, lowering his head. “I thought uncovering the truth and bringing the culprit to justice would feel satisfying. But for some reason… I don’t feel happy at all.”

“It’s because the dead cannot come back to life,” Qin Zhao said. “Revenge or justice, it all only has meaning when the living can carry on.”

Jing Li remained silent.

“But your efforts weren’t meaningless.” Qin Zhao tightened his grip on Jing Li’s hand, his voice soft. “Think about it. Without your intervention, how could Boss Chang have left the yamen alive? You saved a life, so don’t overthink it.”

“Mm,” Jing Li responded quietly.

He understood the reasoning, but this was his first time confronting such a situation and experiencing firsthand the harsh injustices of the world against ordinary people. The impact was far more disorienting than anything he had read in historical accounts or fiction.

Jing Li took a silent, steadying breath, suppressing the emotions swirling inside him.

“Qin Zhao,” Jing Li said suddenly, just before they reached their door. “I think I understand why you’re so determined to go to the capital now. In this world, if someone doesn’t strive to climb higher, they’ll have no choice but to silently endure when they’re wronged. Isn’t that right?”

Qin Zhao paused mid-step.

Jing Li turned to the slender, tall man beside him and blinked. “So, to avoid being trampled on, we need to work even harder, don’t we?”

Qin Zhao smiled. “You’re absolutely right.”

“To avoid being trampled on, we need to work harder. That’s exactly it.”

The case of Ji Zhifei’s hired murder caused an uproar in the city. Not long after, the authorities posted an official notice: the true murderer had been sentenced to execution after autumn, while Ji Zhifei, having confessed to his crime, was sentenced to penal servitude, narrowly escaping death.

A few days later, the Ji family patriarch submitted his resignation to Gu Changzhou, citing ill health. He proceeded to sell off all the Ji family’s shops and withdrew entirely from the business world.

The once-flourishing Ji family gradually disappeared from the public eye.

As for Boss Chang, he kept his word, quickly reopening his bookshop and reprinting the first and second volumes of Dream notes. This time, readers were surprised to find the book’s cover significantly different.

On the pale blue cover, the title was no longer simply printed but was instead replaced with beautiful calligraphy — flowing, powerful, and full of vitality.

Scholarly readers, recognizing quality immediately, were drawn to the handwriting on the cover. As word spread, sales of the book skyrocketed, multiplying several times over.

For a long while, the streets and alleys of the city buzzed with discussions about the calligraphy on the cover of Dream notes: who had written it, and whether it was indeed by the famous Mr. Zhao Li.

Jing Li, however, was not entirely pleased.

“All the attention has been stolen by you,” he grumbled.

When Jing Li raised this complaint, Qin Zhao was reading in his study. Seeing his young husband march in full of indignation, he put down his book with a helpless smile. “What should I do then? Ask Boss Chang to recall all the new editions?”

“Hmm.” Jing Li thought for a moment before shaking his head. “Forget it.”

After all, he had been the one to suggest Qin Zhao write the title in the first place. Was it Qin Zhao’s fault that the result turned out too good?

What Jing Li didn’t know was that this was already Qin Zhao holding back. During his time in office, Qin Zhao’s calligraphy and paintings had been widely admired in literary circles, with countless people imitating his style even now.

Qin Zhao, amused, asked with a smile, “So should the next volume use the same cover?”

“Of course it should,” Jing Li huffed.

After all, Dreams Notes had long been a hot item, nearly impossible to find before the reprint. Qin Zhao’s calligraphy only added an extra touch of brilliance to something already well-loved.

He wasn’t afraid of being overshadowed.

Qin Zhao patted the seat next to him, inviting Jing Li to sit down. Pulling Jing Li into his arms, he teased, “If you really mind, why not just admit who you are?”

“Too much trouble,” Jing Li replied, grabbing a snack from the table and popping it into his mouth. With his words muffled by the food, he added, “I can barely keep up with all the letters being sent to Boss Chang’s bookshop now. If I revealed my identity, wouldn’t it never end?”

Qin Zhao said, “True enough, my Xiao Yu is practically the city’s rising star now.”

Mr. Zhao Li’s reputation was growing rapidly, rivaling even Qin Zhao’s own fame as a successful scholar.

But could this identity really remain hidden for long?

Qin Zhao had his doubts.

Back during the Ji Zhifei case, a few people had uncovered Jing Li’s true identity. It was only through Qin Zhao’s connections with Gu Changzhou that the truth was temporarily suppressed.

However, with Mr. Zhao Li’s name gaining more and more recognition, it seemed inevitable that word would eventually leak out.

Just as Qin Zhao was about to caution Jing Li, the latter interrupted him. “I won’t disturb you anymore. The autumn provincial exam is just a few months away, so you’d better focus on your studies. I’ll take our son out for some fun.”

It was late March, with only four or five months until the August exam. Hosted by the Imperial Academy, the autumn examination was far more challenging and competitive than the local prefectural exam. Even Qin Zhao couldn’t approach it as casually as he had previous tests.

Jing Li slid out of Qin Zhao’s arms, sneaking another piece of pastry on his way out.

As soon as he stepped outside, a small figure barreled into him.

“Daddy… Daddy!” Little fry clung to Jing Li’s leg, looking up at him with a soft, adorable expression.

Jing Li handed him the pastry he’d taken. “Daddy’s studying, so let’s not disturb him. How about I take you out to play instead?”

Little fry cheered, “Okay!”

The little one had recently made significant progress in speaking and could now string together short sentences with much clearer pronunciation. His soft, sugary voice was impossibly cute. Jing Li ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately and took his hand to head out.

The spring weather in the city was warm, and the streets were bustling with people.

Jing Li led little fry toward the lakeside, passing a tea stand on the way. Many of the vendors in the city had been there for years and were familiar with Jing Li.

Seeing him approach, the tea vendor poked his head out of the shop. “Jing Li, you’re out today! Care to sit and have some tea?”

Jing Li intended to head straight to the lake and was about to decline when a commotion from the stall caught his attention.

“Did you all see it? The Jiangling Gazette says they’ve uncovered Mr. Zhao Li’s true identity!”

Jing Li turned his head.

The man speaking looked familiar, likely a neighbor from the area. In his hand was a copy of the Jiangling Gazette.

The Jiangling Gazette, published every five days, was a widely respected local paper covering news of all kinds in the city. Though privately operated on the surface, it was secretly supported by the local authorities and enjoyed great popularity among the townsfolk.

Jing Li usually didn’t read the paper, but this piqued his interest. “What does it say?”

“Here, look at this,” the man said, spreading the paper open and pointing to an article. “The author claims they’ve recently investigated extensively and have basically figured out Mr. Zhao Li’s real identity. They’re planning to reveal it soon.”

“Tch, anyone can say that,” Jing Li remarked dismissively.

A person at the neighboring table interjected, “For over a month now, how many people have claimed they know Mr. Zhao Li’s true identity? And yet, what’s come of it? Not even a shadow of proof.”

“Honestly, I think so too,” the man reading the paper chuckled. “And look at this author—someone called Qingshan Jun. Never even heard of him. Who knows where this guy popped up from?”

“Probably just trying to grab attention!”

“Exactly, exactly!”

The group chattered on, with one comment following another, until a clear, youthful voice cut in: “What nonsense are you all spouting?”

Jing Li looked over calmly.

The speaker was a handsome youth who appeared to be around Jing Li’s age. His skin was unusually fair, and his features leaned delicate and androgynous.

However, there was no cinnabar mole on his face.

Since the distinguishing cinnabar mark for a shuang’er wasn’t always on the face, it couldn’t be used to determine the youth’s gender. But from his appearance and voice, Jing Li could almost be certain that the person was indeed a shuang’er.

The youth sat at an outer table of the teahouse, with a pot of tea and some pastries wrapped in oil paper in front of him. It seemed he’d been there for quite some time, unnoticed due to his quiet demeanor.

The man who had raised the question earlier asked, “And how would you know we’re spouting nonsense?”

The youth, now being countered, turned bright red. “If you don’t know the truth, isn’t it nonsense to speak as though you do?”

“Oh? So you know, do you?” the man asked with a smirk. “What, are you Qingshan Jun? Or are you actually Mr. Zhao Li?”

“I… I’m not…” the youth stammered, averting his eyes nervously.

The group let out a collective scoff, followed by a burst of laughter, and quickly lost interest in him.

Jing Li didn’t pay much attention to the scene either and was about to lead Little fry away.

But the little one didn’t move.

The child stood rooted, staring at the delicate pastries spread out on the youth’s table. His wide, innocent eyes blinked up at Jing Li.

The pastries were unlike anything Jing Li had seen in the city before—tiny, intricately shaped, translucent, and crafted into the form of little rabbits. They looked absolutely delicious.

Jing Li couldn’t help himself and swallowed involuntarily.