Chu Ruoyin had a long, lingering dream.

In it were her parents, her sisters, and someone who held her close—yet no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see his face clearly.

Finally, a beam of light broke through, and her vision cleared…

“Huai’an… Cousin?”

Jiang Huaian knelt by the bedside, gripping her hand with aching tenderness. “Cousin Ruoyin, how could you be so reckless? That Feng Ping is nothing, less than a beast. Why would you take your own life over such a man?”

Chu Ruoyin froze, lowering her gaze. “You’re right to scold me…”

Her voice was barely a whisper, her throat burning with pain.

When she raised a hand to touch it, she found thick white bandages—likely from a knife wound.

Jiang Huaian stood to fetch water, his movements slightly stiff, yet he still managed to hand her the cup. “Chief Physician Zhang said you need rest. Speak less and drink more.”

She took a few sips. “Cousin, you’re not fully healed either. You shouldn’t exhaust yourself for my sake…”

He waved her off. “I’m fine. A few dozen lashes are nothing. See? I can even throw a punch—ow!”

The moment he swung, he winced. Chu Ruoyin tried to rise in alarm, but he forced a strained smile. “Just hit too hard. Really, it’s nothing!”

She couldn’t help but laugh. Jiang Huaian exhaled in relief. “Good. If you can laugh, you’ll be alright.”

This man, usually so composed and gentle, was now fussing over her with such care. Her heart ached. “Thank you, Cousin Huai’an.”

Bihe entered with a bowl of medicine, smiling. “The young lady should thank the young master. He’s been at your bedside for two days and nights, refusing to let anyone else take his place…”

Chu Ruoyin stiffened, averting her eyes. “But Uncle forbade you from coming. Why did he suddenly relent?”

Jiang Huaian frowned slightly. “I don’t know. Father was set to take me back to Yangzhou today, but then he lifted my confinement and even said he wouldn’t stop me from seeing you. After three days of kneeling at his door with no answer, I thought—could your father have intervened?”

“My father?” She blinked in surprise.

Jiang Huaian turned to Bihe. “Leave us. There’s something I must say to your mistress alone.”

With a knowing giggle, Bihe slipped out.

Then, ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‍solemnly, Jiang Huaian knelt again. “Cousin Ruoyin, I thought we had time—that I could slowly earn your trust. But seeing you at death’s door made me realize I can’t wait any longer.”

He clasped her hand. She tried to pull away, but he held firm.

“Just this once, hear me out. If you refuse me, I’ll leave and never trouble you again.”

Remembering the lashes he’d endured for her, her resistance softened.

Overjoyed, he spoke with quiet intensity. “We met as children. I admired your brilliance, pitied your hardships, and loved your unyielding spirit. There’s no one else I wish to grow old with. I swear this: If you marry me, you’ll be the only mistress of the Jiang household. If you wish to travel, I’ll go with you. If you write poetry or paint, I’ll grind your ink. All I ask is a chance to care for you.”

Chu Ruoyin frowned. “How… how did you know I wanted to travel?”

His smile warmed. “I know more than that. I know you love mathematics, that you dream of becoming a renowned accountant. Remember the abacus you made at ten?”

From his sleeve, he produced a palm-sized abacus.

Though years had passed, the beads still gleamed, meticulously preserved.

Her eyes widened. “This—I gave this to Sister Qingxi…”

His grin deepened. “Not Sister Qingxi—Cousin Qingxi. The truth is, ‘Qingxi’ was my pen name. All these years, it was me writing to you.”

She was stunned.

As a child visiting her grandparents in Yangzhou, she’d befriended a pen pal. They’d exchanged letters for years, sharing everything—she’d always imagined a gentle, sisterly figure on the other end.

Yet it had been Jiang Huaian all along?

Memories of confiding her girlish secrets flooded back, and she nearly wished to vanish. But his tender gaze steadied her.

“Cousin Huai’an, I’m deeply moved by your feelings. But you know my heart belongs to another…”

“I know,” he said softly. “But we have years ahead—ten, twenty. I believe sincerity can move mountains. One day, you might open your heart to me.”

Faced with such devotion, who wouldn’t waver?

Chu Ruoyin thought of Prince Qin, then quickly banished him from her mind.

She took a shaky breath. “And if I never do?”

“Then so be it. A marriage of mutual respect is more than many ever have. Just having you near would be heaven’s grace. How could I ask for more?”

Tears spilled over as she nodded.

Outside the door,

Prince Qin listened, his face expressionless. Then he turned, strode through the courtyard, and braced against a wall—blood gushing from his lips.

“Your Highness!” Changhua rushed forward. “Why didn’t you tell her? You saved her! You made the Jiang family relent! Why let Jiang Huaian take the credit when you love her just as deeply?”

Murong Jin wiped his mouth silently.

“Do you know where I failed?”

Changhua shook his head.

The prince smiled bitterly. “I hurt her. Jiang Huaian never did.”

Speechless, Changhua sighed. “Shall we return to the manor?”

Murong Jin looked toward the palace. “No. One last thing to do—a wedding gift for her.”

He walked away without looking back.

Nearby, two figures emerged from the shadows.

“So it seems Second Sister accepted Jiang Huaian…” Chu Ruoyan sighed. “A perfect match, yet it pains me. What did he mean by ‘one last thing’?”

Yan Zheng’s voice was calm. “The Feng family.”

“The Emperor hasn’t dealt with them yet?” She gasped. “It’s been three days!”

Even with the late Emperor’s ironclad pardon, assassination attempts warranted no mercy.

Yan Zheng tucked a loose strand behind her ear. “You forgot Feng Huan. As a general commanding troops, the Emperor must handle him first.”

“Ah.” She bit her lip. “Should you go to the palace?”

“No need. Meng Yang already delivered the evidence—Feng Ping’s embezzlement records, Old Madam Feng’s blood-written confession, even Midwife Qiao’s son, Qiao Dali, who falsely accused your aunt. If Murong Jin can’t settle this, he doesn’t deserve his title.”

Chu Ruoyan looked him up and down and let out a light laugh. “Changhua said Prince Qin was merely sewing a bridal gown for others, but in my opinion, my husband’s work on that ‘gown’ is just as exquisite—only to hand the credit over to his master without a second thought…”

Yan Zheng raised a brow. “Is my Ayan standing up for me?”

The young woman playfully tapped his chest with her fist. “I’m laughing at how shrewd you are, knowing when to retreat to avoid overshadowing your superior. A wise move for self-preservation.”

Yan Zheng leaned down to steal a kiss on her cheek. “All thanks to my wife’s excellent guidance… Besides, we do owe him a favor for your younger sister’s sake. Consider this repayment.”

Chu Ruoyan’s expression turned serious as she recalled something. “Speaking of which, I haven’t asked you yet. With your meticulous nature, you’d never have let Second Sister fall into Feng Ping’s hands. What happened to the people you sent to guard her?”

At this, Yan Zheng’s brows furrowed slightly. “It was Shadow…”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep