Since Xie Lingwan fled in embarrassment that day, Ji Yanqing hadn’t seen her again. Overwhelmed by shame and guilt, she locked herself in the side courtyard’s Buddhist hall, refusing visitors, tended only by her personal maid for meals.
Filial to the core, Ji Yanqing visited daily to pay respects, but was met with closed doors. Acting cute or obedient didn’t help—only the faint tapping of a wooden fish answered.
As a noble lady, her thin skin was expected. Ji Yanqing could imagine Xie Lingwan in the hall, quietly grieving, regretting her lapse in propriety for forcibly kissing her nephew.
He was helpless about it.
Ji Qingyan, however, was far more relaxed. Her days were as steady as a life-sim game: sleeping in the morning, practicing swordplay in the afternoon, and bickering with the Heir in the evening, with or without reason.
Yet, amid the calm, there were ripples. Like when Ji Yanqing handed her an empty food box, complaining about the chef’s mediocrity, Ji Qingyan nearly drew her sword to kill him.
Seeing the Heir flee from her blade, Ji Qingyan let out a giggle, radiant beyond measure.
Her resentment dissolved in that soft laugh.
Time slipped by like water through fingers. Months passed in a blink. The day Ji Yanqing escaped danger was Frost’s Descent; now, it was nearly New Year.
“Selling candied haws!”
“Sir, fresh hot Green Ant wine, just five coppers!”
“They say when Taizu was born, red light filled the house, and a dragon’s roar echoed through the old capital…”
The marketplace buzzed, red lanterns hung before every home, spring couplets and inverted “fortune” characters plastered across alleys.
Though not as grand as Luoyang or Chang’an, Ye City, with its hundreds of thousands, brimmed with festive cheer.
At the east end, the Water Cloud Inn, a Bronze Sparrow Chamber property, hosted twenty to thirty tables of free food and wine each year-end, a gesture for New Year’s luck.
Who’d pass up such a deal? Martial wanderers and peddlers alike flocked early to claim seats, soon packing the small inn shoulder-to-shoulder.
Latecomers, finding no seats, offered congratulations to the innkeeper, grabbed a jug of warm wine, and left disappointed.
Ji Yanqing, uninterested in freeloading, wasn’t so broke. Flashing a hefty sum of silver, he secured a second-floor private room with a street view, ordering wine and meat to savor slowly.
Ji Qingyan, sword at her side, removed her veil, lifted a rough porcelain bowl, and sipped, saying wistfully, “Didn’t expect my first New Year down the mountain would be with you.”
“Hey, that’s a bit hurtful,” Ji Yanqing replied.
“No slight to Your Highness. I just miss my master. She’d make pickled vegetable noodle soup for New Year… awful stuff, but I got used to it. Sigh~” Ji Qingyan said, wrapped in a priceless red fox-fur cloak, her inky hair elegantly pinned, exuding the grace of a noble heiress.
Ji Yanqing sat opposite, in a plain white robe. Just out to shop for New Year goods, a princely python robe would’ve drawn too much attention.
“Missing the Rakshasa Ancient Sect, Heroine Ji?” he asked.
“Sigh~” Her phoenix eyes shot him a resentful glance, and she slumped on the table, looking pitiful.
“On the seventh day of the New Year, I’ll return Shadow Bearer,” Ji Yanqing said coolly, his brow aloof, pondering what gift might cheer Auntie Xie.
[As the saying goes, women at thirty are wolves, at forty, tigers. Widowed for years, Xie Lingwan’s only twenty-six or seven, but her desires are likely peaking. Her ideal gift? A handsome lover. Who else but you…]
If he tried that, Xie might be pleased, but the Xiao and Xie clans would skin him and scatter his ashes.
“Really?!” Ji Qingyan, listless moments ago, perked up, sitting straight and staring at his face.
“My word is my bond,” he said.
She instinctively wanted to retort—bickering with him had become a reflex—but with Shadow Bearer still in his hands, she swallowed her snark.
Yet, knowing she’d soon escape his clutches, a faint pang of loss stirred within her.
“What about Weiyuan Escort Agency? Not visiting?” she asked, puzzled. Lately, Ji Yanqing stayed in the mansion, reading, training, meditating—more disciplined than her sect days.
No trace of a wastrel.
He’d saved Weiyuan from the Ma family’s schemes without asking a dime. No matter how Ji Qingyan looked at it, it didn’t fit a lustful rogue’s style.
And Su Ningyue, so beautiful and virtuous even women swooned—how could Ji Yanqing let her slip?
Was he actually a gentleman?
“I’ve been swamped with mansion affairs. If not for your reminder, I’d nearly forgotten the stunning Miss Ningyue, waiting for me to pluck,” he teased.
“Scum~” Ji Qingyan muttered.
While he spoke of romantic flings, Ji Yanqing’s mind was on handling Tongyue, the maid in the dungeon.
The Xiao clan, the Yanxia Dynasty’s top noble family, stood unshaken for centuries, its wealth and talents vast. Their trained assassins were feared.
Extracting secrets from a Xiao assassin was as hard as a commoner marrying a noble lady.
Over two months, every torture was tried, but Tongyue’s answer remained “no comment,” her lips tougher than black iron.
Ji Qingyan was far easier to fool…
Gazing at the charming yet adorable girl, Ji Yanqing sipped his Green Ant wine, smiling.
Good wine, but don’t overindulge.
Su Ningyue was key to cracking Tongyue. He’d held off using that card, unsure how to maximize it, but now he had a plan.
After a few bites of food, Ji Yanqing set down his chopsticks, stood, and said, “Heroine, after you’re done, come with me to Weiyuan.”
“I’m not helping you flirt,” Ji Qingyan huffed.
“Do I seem like that kind of lowlife?” Ji Yanqing sighed, feigning hurt.
“Then why go?” she asked, curious.
“To propose,” he said with a faint smile.