Everything fell into place, and I was both amused and bewildered by this possible truth. People can look alike, and it’s not strange. Could it be that the Eastern Palace truly loved that princess, and I became her replacement due to our resemblance? No wonder they would stop at nothing to snatch me from An Jin. Could he actually be a devoted lover?
My heart felt complicated. I thought I was a calamitous beauty, but it turned out I was just a substitute. An Jin must have known long ago but didn’t want to discourage me, this naive married woman.
I pulled Yuan Xiao back home with the heart of a frustrated young wife.
Because I was concerned about Father-in-law’s injury, I went to check again and saw Mother-in-law sitting beside his bed, her usually impassive face showing some anxiety.
Mother-in-law, who had always been doted on by Father-in-law, seemed at a loss now that she needed to care for him. Father-in-law comforted her: “It’s just a small injury. I’ll recover soon. Don’t worry.” She nodded and held his hand, unsure of what to say.
Sweat beaded on Father-in-law’s forehead; his leg injury must be painful. Yet, he smiled and patted Mother-in-law’s hand. “Don’t worry, go about your business. Don’t mind me.”
I couldn’t bear to watch anymore and turned to prepare medicine. When I returned, Mother-in-law was gone. Two servants waited outside while Father-in-law was stretching to reach a water cup on the table. Accustomed to doing everything himself, he refused to use the servants, and this movement made my heart skip.
He seemed to have anticipated my question. “I have only seen that princess once; perhaps the facial features are somewhat similar, but they are not quite alike.” I had always known An Jin’s careful way of speaking. Since he said this, that princess must be quite similar to me. He studied me for a while and asked, “Do you have nothing else to ask me?” I blinked, playing innocent.
An Jin turned away, his gaze wandering as his fingers rubbed the coral button at his waist, a habitual gesture of discomfort.
“Did you meet Yan Huo today?”
I was surprised he knew about my meeting and curious about his lack of anger or jealousy; instead, he looked guilty like a mouse caught stealing oil. He glanced at me and quickly looked away, his composure somewhat deliberate.
I realized Yan Huo was right; An Jin’s interference had caused our loss of contact. I had thought he would remain nonchalant if he had done something, but here he was, seemingly intending to admit it.
“I have always said,” he glanced at me again, stiffly, “even if you have someone else in your heart, I will not give up. Now that we are married, even if you regret it, do not let me know.”
I looked at him for a long time. He lightly coughed and changed his sitting posture.
“Why… are you looking at me like that?”
An Jin, usually confident, was now uneasy. The last time he was unsettled was when my mother disciplined him; this time, it was due to his suspicions.
Although I was inwardly elated, I maintained a serious expression. “Speak.”
He lowered his head, sweat hanging on his forehead. “Speak about what?”
I recalled the humiliating scene when he caught me secretly painting for the Eastern Palace. Finally, I could hold my head high! The situation was now completely reversed, with me interrogating him.
My grudge was no less than that of Yuan Xiang. Suppressed by An Grey Wolf daily, I immediately seized this rare opportunity to counterattack.
“Just tell me what despicable things you did back then?” I asked, glancing at his face.
He narrowed his eyes; his dark pupils looked intimidating. Just a sweep of his gaze made my heart skip, urging me to lean closer.
Xiao Yao, you’re too spineless! This was the best opportunity to fight for wife’s rights… absolutely not to be missed. The spirit of my mother, mother-in-law, and all the female heroes who had tamed their husbands united with my soul.
I struggled to maintain my composure, my lips almost trembling, cold sweat climbing my back. An Jin probably misunderstood, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked at me with a complex gaze. “A Yao…”
I turned away, avoiding his gaze. An Jin suddenly grasped my fingers, his usually warm hand now cold. I halfheartedly tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let go.
“A Yao, look at me.”
I insisted on not turning my face. I couldn’t look at him; his eyes seemed to hold a demonic spell.
He sighed. “You won’t even look at me?” The sadness in his voice scratched at my heart. Weakly, I turned back, masking my timidity with anger, glaring at his face.
His expression was sorrowful, making me uncomfortable. I had seen Yan Huo look sad too; why was I unmoved then, but not now facing An Jin?
“Yes, everything was my doing,” he said. “Not just Yan Huo, but also Duan Chang, the young master from the Lin family, and the young master from the Sugar Cake family…”
I nearly slid off the chair. What had he done to Duan Chang? I never expected that my rare attempt to intimidate would reveal these shocking secrets. No wonder my romantic encounters were always so difficult; there was this beast behind the scenes cutting off each blossom.
No wonder the Lin family’s young master always borrowed writing supplies from me, and the Sugar Cake family offered me buy-one-get-one deals — I thought it was due to my interpersonal skills. These flower buds were nipped in the bud before they could sprout; I didn’t even know such things had happened.
Duan Chang was taken to the Linglong Pavilion, and the items Yan Huo sent me were intercepted — all done by this beast. An Jin, with his jade-like face turning red with embarrassment and anger, said, “If the Third Prince Xia Zhichun hadn’t gone to Western Liang, I would have prevented your affair with him.”
I stared at him, speechless. It seemed An had not only focused on studying and taking exams but also on blocking my romantic encounters. My heart felt complicated. Should I blame him? If not for his interference, I might have married someone else long ago. I could hardly imagine being tenderly attentive to another man.
Over a decade of knowing each other, he had imperceptibly entered my heart.
I was used to him, just as I was used to crispy sugar cakes, glutinous rice balls, my father’s digressions, and my mother’s fierce nature. I waited sweetly at home every day for someone to return for dinner. Being with anyone else felt like an abnormal error that needed immediate correction.
On second thought, I shouldn’t blame him; I should reward him.
An Jin stared at me, probably unnerved by my changing expressions. Although I didn’t blame him, I didn’t want to back down either. He clearly didn’t want me to marry someone else, but instead of fighting for me openly, he resorted to underhanded tactics, disrespecting my right to know. I wanted to teach him a lesson to ease my frustration.
I kept a stern face, casting a cold glance at him like a winter wind in the twelfth lunar month. “So that’s how it was. Others aside, but Yan Huo…”
I was about to ask how he had involved Yan Huo, who was in Xiliang, but unexpectedly, his face darkened as he murmured, “I know, I understand.”
What did he understand? I was puzzled.
“Three years ago, Yan Huo came to Yanfeng and met you. When you were with him, you were completely different,” he recalled. “You were very compatible. Perhaps no one else was truly in your heart, only him…”
“Do you really love him?” he asked, and I began to understand.
“Actually, I’m not quite…”
He seemed not to hear me and continued, “If I hadn’t found a way to make him return to the country early, you might have actually been with him. Moreover, I stopped him from communicating with you, completely cutting off your connection.”
I blinked, anticipating what he would say next. Was he about to say something sweet?
