We lay side by side, and I thought I would be too nervous to sleep, but the opposite was true. He slept on the outer side, breathing softly. I smelled the fresh soap fragrance of his hair, and my eyelids grew heavier. When he spoke, I was already drifting between half-sleep and half-wakefulness.
But when he mentioned the Seventh Princess, I immediately became alert.
“The Seventh Princess is usually arrogant and willful, using any means necessary. She deliberately humiliated you in front of me, just wanting to see my reaction,” his voice was soft, but I heard every word. “I wanted to pretend not to care, hoping she would stop targeting you. But who would have thought… I still couldn’t bear it.”
I wanted to ask if he regretted offending the princess, but my nose felt sore, and I couldn’t say a word.
“There might be trouble ahead. Be careful,” he turned sideways, leaving me with a slender back.
I moved closer and hugged his waist. His body stiffened for a moment.
“I’m not afraid of her,” I looked at his thin white undergarment, lost in thought. “Do you—like her?”
He turned over, pulling me into his embrace, and after a long while said, “Silly monster.”
I somehow felt reassured, my eyelids beginning to droop. An Jin’s hand gently patted my back.
That night, I slept extremely well. I vaguely remember dreaming of a sunny day, returning to the summer when I was five, when An Jin and I went to catch frogs by the small stream in the forest. The weather was unbearably hot. Excited, I took off my little jacket and jumped in. The water was refreshingly cool. While playing, I called for An Jin to come in.
An Jin hesitated but was tempted by the water and slowly undressed and entered. We caught small fish and splashed water at each other. I deliberately played with him and secretly pulled down his pants underwater. Just as I was about to clap and mock him, I accidentally looked down and was heartbroken.
An Jin panicked, asking what was wrong.
I cried, “Brother Jin, you have a meat worm on you.”
An Jin blushed, hurriedly pulling up his pants, stammering to explain it wasn’t a worm.
Since I hadn’t bathed with my older brother since I could remember, this was my first time seeing such a “thing”. Although An Jin comforted me for a long time, I stubbornly believed he was seriously ill and might not live long.
Finally, An Jin held my hand, promised he would be fine, and bought me several sugar cakes with different fillings, making me laugh through my tears.
This dream was long and complete. When I woke up, I found myself smiling, my mouth moist, as if something had passed over it.
An Jin had probably been awake for a while, his face dark red, looking somewhat embarrassed.
I cleared my throat, casually wiping my lips, trying to appear nonchalant: “Did I talk in my sleep?”
He shook his head.
“Did I steal the blanket?”
He shook his head again.
I felt calm, relieved, suddenly feeling my right palm was burning hot. Opening my hand and lifting the blanket, I was instantly mortified and curled up, turning away to escape reality. “I didn’t mean to…”
“I know,” An Jin’s voice was slightly hoarse. “Just a habit.”
An Jin rustled while getting dressed. I decided to be shameless once more, pulling out the handkerchief my mother embroidered from my outer garment, stuffing it into his arms without looking, then diving under the covers, blocking out everything.
After a long silence, I thought he had left and poked out my head to breathe fresh air, but found his face inches from mine, with a strange expression.
“Did you embroider this?”
I was about to nod but inexplicably shook my head. “It was my mother. You know I can’t embroider such things…”
He stared at the handkerchief’s flowers for a long time.
“Don’t embroider anymore.”
Chapter Seven: Old Acquaintance Duan Chang
Before coming to Yanfeng, my parents lived in a small town in the southern part of Qi Kingdom, bordering South Rui Kingdom. I was born when the distant flowers were blooming, filling the garden with intoxicating fragrance. My mother named me “Yao”. Privately, I thought this was highly suspicious. Given her personality, it was unlikely she would be moved by seasonal sentiments.
Although I didn’t care much about the connection between the distant flowers and myself, An Jin’s words were somewhat disheartening, making me feel low-spirited. Seeing my poor mood, An Jin seemed to want to explain but didn’t know where to start. Finally, he suggested we go to East Street for breakfast after morning court, which cheered me up, and I went back to sleep.
This one slept soundly, not waking until after the hour of chen. Mother-in-law lived a secluded life, rarely leaving her room. During the early days of marriage, I followed the custom of morning and evening greetings but was coldly rejected and admonished never to enter her space without permission.
Father-in-law would rise at dawn and go to his study to open it, so the house was quiet, with only a few maids and servants doing chores and occasionally whispering to each other.
I was delighted to be free from supervision, sleeping until I naturally awoke. Que’er brought water and opened the bamboo curtains, golden sunlight sliding in warmly. Looking outside, she happily said, “Another sunny day. Madam, would you like porridge or rice for breakfast?”
I was washing up, waving her off and wiping my face with a towel before saying, “I’m going to Xuanwu Gate to meet my husband after court.”
Que’er leaned in excitedly, “Did the Lord stay here last night?”
I nodded.
Her expression turned slightly sly. “No wonder the Lord left later than usual today. Madam is truly impressive – when you make a move, you nearly make him miss morning court.”
I modestly replied, “Just average. I haven’t even tried my best.”
After dressing, Que’er reported recent painting sales. The “Twilight Double Beauty” painting sold for a hundred taels to the son of Ministry of Works’ Song, the playboy who had snatched my elder brother’s potential bride. This young master was known for his broad tastes, hosting a wine and painting appreciation gathering after purchasing the work, displaying the painting prominently for all to see.
Especially the ink drop I accidentally placed on his forehead, which started a trend of forehead moles in Yan Feng City. Young men began adopting this style, with a poem even saying: “Verses under moonlight by willows pale, cannot match An Lang’s forehead mole.”
As Que’er finished speaking, it was near the end of the chen hour. I instructed her to go to Shai Yue Studio first, then hurriedly prepared to head to Xuanwu Gate.
This was my first time waiting for An Jin after court since our marriage. Qi Kingdom’s morning court began early.
An Jin never had breakfast at home, usually eating at small roadside shops. In this past year, aside from our wedding night, I hadn’t fulfilled any wife’s duties, feeling somewhat guilty. But then I realized An Jin hadn’t exactly been attentive either, so I felt balanced.
Hearing the third beat of the diligence drum, I stepped back to the roadside. Blue-robed officials emerged orderly, discussing official business in various tones and accents.
Qi Kingdom required fourth-rank and above officials to attend morning court, with robe colors indicating rank. I stood on tiptoe, finally spotting An Jin’s distinctive figure among the departing officials.
Wanting to appear composed, I turned to face a nearby stall, focusing intently on the steamer. The stall owner finally spoke, “Madam, these are fresh meat buns. Would you like some?”
I waved him off. “No, I don’t like buns.”
Just then, An Jin called, “A Yao. You never eat buns?”
The stall owners, recognizing An Jin, became terrified. The husband apologized profusely.
An Jin gave me an ambiguous smile. I felt helpless.
