Coming out of her haze, Qian Jiaoniang set her pale hand against Xing Muzheng’s chest. “…My lord, I want to ask you something.”
The thought of his memories during the time of the gu poison kept churning in her heart. She could not hold back. Today was still her birthday—perhaps now was the best chance to ask.
Xing Muzheng licked her earlobe. “What do you want to ask?”
Qian Jiaoniang edged back a little, looking into his dark eyes. “You… do you really remember what happened while you were under the gu?”
Xing Muzheng’s body stiffened. He stopped his movements and lay down beside her. “…Mm.”
It was one thing for her to have guessed it herself, but to hear him admit it with his own lips was another. She couldn’t help but clutch at his robes. “How could you remember?”
Xing Muzheng sighed inwardly. Very well, she had to know someday. “I don’t know. I only know that one day my head hurt unbearably, then my body went out of control and I began to go mad. Though my mind was clear, I couldn’t control my actions at all.”
“From the very first day, you were clear-headed?” When Feng Yuyan had locked him up, when the servants treated him that way, when he was bound to a chair so wretched and pitiful—he had been conscious the whole time? Qian Jiaoniang’s heart shrank. Even though she had not suffered it herself, just to recall such inhuman treatment was unbearable to anyone with a conscience. Yet he had been awake, unable to resist, enduring it all.
Xing Muzheng too recalled those dark, endless days. His eyes dimmed, and he gave a heavy hum of assent.
“Did you… ever think of dying?”
“…I did.” Xing Muzheng drew her into his arms, rubbed his chin against her forehead. “If you hadn’t come to save me, I had already given up. Later, I heard you telling me to live.” From then on, he never thought of death again.
Qian Jiaoniang’s grip tightened. Thinking of Xing Muzheng’s madness and self-torment in those days, she never imagined her faint voice had been his thread of life.
Xing Muzheng brushed back the hair on her forehead, gazed at the faint scar there, and kissed it ever so gently. “Does it hurt?”
For a moment Qian Jiaoniang didn’t understand what pain he meant. When his fingers touched her forehead, she realized he meant the wound he had inflicted on her when he lost control. She shook her head. “It hasn’t hurt for a long time.”
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to harm you.” A late apology, but tonight he finally said it.
Qian Jiaoniang tugged at her lips. “I know.” She thought of that day he woke clear-headed and his strange behavior. “Weren’t you staying in your own courtyard then? Ah Da said you broke through the gate and ran out. You weren’t usually like that when you went mad.”
A flush crept over Xing Muzheng’s face—luckily, she didn’t see it since he was above her. “I wanted to see you. I was afraid you had died.” At the time he hadn’t understood why his heart had burned with such panic, but now he knew.
Qian Jiaoniang was stunned. “That was your own decision? You could control the gu?” Did that mean he was sometimes lucid?
“I couldn’t. Normally I could only suppress it. I found that the more my emotions fluctuated, the more restless that thing became, so I tried to keep myself calm. But sometimes it suddenly went berserk—probably when the gu master controlled it. Only that one time, I wanted to see you, and it obeyed me and went to you. Just when I thought I could control it and rejoiced, I was struck with backlash.”
“Backlash?” Qian Jiaoniang recalled—indeed, from that night onward his condition worsened. So the sudden change had been because of her.
“Mm. Much more painful than before.” Xing Muzheng gave a cold smile. “That cursed thing occupied my body, yet still resented my commanding it.”
Qian Jiaoniang’s pretty brows knitted tight. If he said it was “much more painful,” she dared not even imagine.
“At that time, though I no longer wished to die, I truly couldn’t hold on.” Xing Muzheng lowered his head, lightly kissing the corner of her eye. “It was you who saved me.” Her fierce words to the gu master had struck into his heart as indelible marks.
Now Qian Jiaoniang finally understood why Xing Muzheng treated her so well. To be a savior in words was one thing; to be his savior in lived experience was another. After a moment’s silence, she said, “I didn’t save the marquis alone—it was everyone together who saved you.”
“I know. But…” The one who had saved his heart was only her. The words on the tip of his tongue were too cloying; he swallowed them back. “Your merit is the greatest.”
Qian Jiaoniang smiled faintly. “My lord, you make me blush. I was rough in speech, even spanked you before…”
“Pa!” Xing Muzheng, face expressionless, smacked her pert bottom.
Qian Jiaoniang coughed twice, and Xing Muzheng asked in a dangerously low voice, “What did you just say?”
His broad palm still rested on her behind. Knowing which way the wind blew, Qian Jiaoniang quickly yielded, her voice sweet: “I didn’t say anything.” Though in truth, she still wanted to ask whether he rather liked being spanked—that time he had laughed so happily.
Xing Muzheng gave a cold snort, still not appeased, and smacked her bottom once more. Then he bent down over her, his voice rough with command:
“All those things—forget them. You too, forget them.”
Qian Jiaoniang had not yet answered before Xing Muzheng sealed her lips with his own.
***
This birthday had been a bountiful one for Qian Jiaoniang. The golden grapes they had picked filled two whole chests. Every day she would take them out to look at, unable to stop marveling at how a dream could truly come to life, her heart full of satisfaction. At the same time, the unease that had always hung suspended in her chest finally sank a little. Xing Muzheng’s confession to her gave her some footing.
Qian Jiaoniang had never thought of herself as the true mistress of this marquisate. She was someone taking shelter under another’s roof, who could be cast out at any time. Now at least she no longer had to fear Xing Muzheng suddenly turning his face and denying her. Even if one day he married wives and concubines, she and Chou’er would still have some standing to speak with him.
Nor had Qian Jiaoniang failed to consider that perhaps Xing Muzheng only liked her because of the Gu poison affair. For days she had been unsettled by his constant kindness, but now at last there was a reason. Yet the truth remained: before, he had not loved her; now, because she had become his lifesaver, he felt affection. Mixed into this were gratitude and indebtedness, repayment and responsibility. This kind of love was not one she truly desired. She also did not know how long Xing Muzheng’s feelings would last, but she hoped for at least two more years—long enough for Chou’er to grow up. By then, even if feelings turned thin and obligations faded, she would no longer care.
With that heavy stone set down from her heart, Qian Jiaoniang’s days grew more and more carefree. She traded spring blouses for summer skirts, spent her time reading and practicing calligraphy, playing the zither and singing, occasionally playing polo. With Steward Ding and Qi Momo assisting in household affairs, everything in the marquisate ran in perfect order—life was almost like that of an immortal.
Still, Qian Jiaoniang understood the principle of being cautious even in times of peace. Though she had no worry now for food or clothing, there was no guarantee it would last. She was always planning how to earn more money. After much thought, she returned to her old trade—embroidery.
Having won the recognition of both Di Qingya and Xing Muzheng, she had much more confidence in her skills. She did not plan to casually embroider clothes or skirts to peddle; her sights had grown higher. She set her eyes on Xing Muzheng’s Tall Mountain and Cypress painting—she wanted to embroider that work.
She and Xing Muzheng had admired it together many times, and her desire to reproduce it in thread only grew stronger. But Xing Muzheng cherished the painting deeply, keeping it as though it were a treasure, letting only her and him ever see it. Once, Yanluo had begged him on Qian Jiaoniang’s behalf, but he had refused.
However, Qian Jiaoniang could view it in his study. Not daring to ask him outright, she would slip into the study while he was away to study the painting. She could not sketch it, so she forced herself to memorize it. After many times, the study boy finally told Xing Muzheng how often she had come. One day Xing Muzheng returned unexpectedly, and happened to see her leaning on the desk, gazing so intently at the painting she did not even notice him come in.
Though intelligent, Xing Muzheng could not fathom why she would come nearly every day just to admire a painting—he himself had no such refined interest. He could not help but ask her.
Startled at first, Qian Jiaoniang, seeing she was exposed, confessed the truth.
“You want to embroider this painting?” Xing Muzheng was only stunned for a moment, then promptly agreed with decisive force: “Then move your embroidery table into the study. I’ll have the painting placed right before you.”
Qian Jiaoniang had thought she would need many words of persuasion, never imagining Xing Muzheng would agree in an instant. For a while, she could not even react.
“Having embroidery as a hobby is good,” Xing Muzheng said. “But too much stitching strains the eyes. You must set fixed hours each day, no more than that.”
Naturally, Qian Jiaoniang nodded.
When it came to acting without delay, Xing Muzheng was second to none. No sooner had he finished speaking than he ordered the study boy to fetch a painting stand, and to bring Qian Jiaoniang’s embroidery things from her courtyard to the study.
Qian Jiaoniang could only swallow her words, and gave thanks instead.
Xing Muzheng asked her: “Do you plan to embroider this painting just for practice, or to sell it for money?”
Qian Jiaoniang lifted her eyes to him, weighing her words: “At first I only meant to embroider it for fun. But since my lord mentions it—if it can fetch money, that would be even better.”
Xing Muzheng nodded. “If you can truly embroider it, it will fetch a great price.”
“Really?” Qian Jiaoniang’s eyes lit up.
“Of course.”
Qian Jiaoniang pressed back her smile. “Then I’ll give it a try.”
Xing Muzheng pulled her to sit by the couch. “Since you already have the idea, why not open a shop and start an embroidery house? What do you think?”
Qian Jiaoniang had originally planned to wait until she built some reputation before considering an embroidery house. She had not expected Xing Muzheng to bring it up first. Things were moving too smoothly; it stirred her thoughts. Why would Xing Muzheng suddenly suggest she open an embroidery house?
As if knowing her doubts, Xing Muzheng said calmly: “Isn’t our old estate still housing so many idle people? If they don’t marry, are we to feed them for life? Better to let them have work to do.”
That was exactly what she herself had thought. Only, unlike Xing Muzheng who disdained them, she simply wished those beauties could support themselves instead of relying on men. Thinking so inwardly, she teased aloud: “I never thought the mighty Dingxi Marquis would be so stingy—not even willing to keep beauties. If word got out, you’d be known as a miserly iron rooster.”
Xing Muzheng gave her a sidelong glance, half-smiling. “I’ve suffered enough losses from having no money. Now, if I can gain, I’ll gain; if I can avoid spending, all the better.”
