Chan widened her eyes in alarm: “Miss! You mustn’t! Your virtue—”

“Get out!” Xue Ling snapped.

If those assassins discovered them, they would all die!

What use was virtue when their lives were at stake?

Seeing her resolve, Chan had no choice but to retreat to the next room.

Before long, the rain ceased.

Whispers drifted from the rooftop.

“We lost him…”

“He’s in this temple—he can’t have gone far!”

“Search every room. Don’t let him escape!”

Xue Ling’s heart lurched. She pinched her thigh hard and let out a sharp cry: “Ah!”

The scream drew the footsteps toward her room.

Quickly, she flipped over and pressed herself onto Xie Zhizhou, tugging her sleeve down to bare a shoulder. Mimicking the coy tone of courtesans from romance novels, she moaned, “Ohhh—husband, you’re hurting me!”

The footsteps outside hesitated.

Emboldened, she rocked against him, shaking the bed with rhythmic creaks: “I—I can’t take it… Please, husband, spare me…”

The assassins, all men, felt their blood heat at the sounds in the dead of night.

One couldn’t resist poking a hole in the paper window. Inside, shadows undulated beneath the bed curtains, leaving him breathless and transfixed.

“Had your fill?” the leader growled.

The man hastily averted his gaze.

“Hmph. Bold enough to fool around in a temple? Move to the next room!”

As the footsteps faded, Xue Ling’s pounding heart settled slightly—but she didn’t dare stop. She continued rocking the bed, now atop Xie Zhizhou.

Creak. Creak. Creak.

She kept at it until silence reclaimed the night, then finally stilled.

Too wary to call for Chan, she lay quietly beside him…

Memories surfaced unbidden.

She’d known of him long ago, through Xie Yaozhi.

Back then, he wasn’t yet the celebrated scholar, just a reserved young man who addressed her distantly as “Miss Xue.”

She’d respond with equal formality—”Young Master Xie”—and their interactions ended there.

Their real acquaintance began on a sweltering lakeside day. Seeking relief, she’d gulped down a chilled perilla drink under a tree, sleeves rolled up, decorum forgotten—only to look up and find Xie Zhizhou stepping out from behind the trunk.

He, too, had shed propriety: sleeves pushed high, boots discarded, bare feet on the grass.

“Miss Xue?”

“Young Master Xie?”

They stared, then burst into laughter.

In that moment, they’d glimpsed each other’s true selves—neither as prim as appearances suggested.

After that, their ease around each other grew…

Xue Ling drifted into sleep.

The temple lay silent, save for a puzzled monk stationed at the door, peering into the distance.

Strange. The Chief Minister had ordered him to await a gravely wounded man.

Two rains had passed—why hadn’t he arrived?

Had death claimed him?

Meanwhile, in the Yan Family residence…

The chime of a wind bell roused Chu Ruoyan from drowsiness. “News?”

Yan Zheng kissed her forehead. “Sleep. I’ll handle it.”

She yawned and burrowed back under the covers.

Outside, Meng Yang waited with a grim report: “The Feng Family’s assassins withdrew. Scholar Xie reached Sleeping Buddha Temple safely, but…”

Yan Zheng’s gaze sharpened. “But what?”

“The monk failed to rendezvous with him.”

“Did ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‍he escape alone? Impossible.” A shadow gestured negation.

Meng Yang clarified, “Miss Xue of the Cao Family saved him—at great personal cost.”

Yan Zheng’s brow arched—just as Chu Ruoyan’s voice cut in: “Who did you say saved him?”

Wrapped in a cloak, she joined them.

After hearing the details, husband and wife exchanged glances. “Fate indeed. For my cousin to cross paths with Xie Zhizhou like this…”

Yan Zheng studied her. “No concerns? You once feared she’d suffer if married to him.”

Chu Ruoyan sighed. “If she were unwilling, would she sacrifice her virtue to save him? There’s affection between them. Should potential hardships deter them?”

Meng Yang suddenly paled. “I—I alerted the Nanping Count’s household to fetch him at dawn, not knowing Miss Xue was involved!”

Dawn broke.

Xie Zhizhou awoke to a face inches from his—delicate brows, orchid-like grace, her breath warm against his skin.

He froze. Had last night…?

Fragmented memories resurfaced: the press of a slender form, rhythmic movements… But why would she—?

Xue Ling stirred, meeting his conflicted gaze. Her expression frosted over.

“Rest assured, Young Master Xie. It was necessity, not entanglement.”

Realization struck—she’d saved him!

He scrambled to explain, but she was already dressing to leave.

“Miss Xue, I didn’t mean—” A searing pain lanced his back as he moved, reopening his wounds.

She paused, back still turned. “Your injuries aren’t healed. Stay still if you value your life. There’s medicine—Chan will tend to you if needed.”

Her cold resolve panicked him.

“Wait!” He ignored the agony, voice raw. “I misjudged you, and I apologize! But having compromised your virtue for my sake, I cannot dishonor you. Let me send the betrothal gifts to the Cao Family. Will you accept?”

Before she could answer, a shrill voice pierced the room:

“I refuse!”

Old Madam Xie stormed in, took in the scene, and slapped Xue Ling hard across the face.

“Shameless! Climbing into my grandson’s bed while he’s wounded—just like your father, bedding men in alleys!”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep