Shi Qian returned to his courtyard, his mood becoming deeply agitated.

He had assumed everything was already settled — he never imagined that Shi Ting would be so fortunate as to escape with his life, and not only that, but would actually return to Shun Cheng and even track down the mastermind who had tried to kill him.

The degree to which the Marshal valued this younger son had been something Shi Qian had already suspected before, but seeing the Marshal’s behavior today, he felt even more certain: Shi Ting was someone who had to be eliminated, or he would inevitably affect his own path to power and glory.

Shi Qian ordinarily kept a low profile and drew little notice. In the shadows, he had built up a considerable faction of his own and brought a great many people to his side.

But to him, both Shi Ting and Shi Guang were threats.

Shi Ting, because of his exceptional abilities, was valued and singled out by the Marshal for special attention. Shi Guang was no less capable, and on top of that, the Meng family leaned toward favoring Shi Guang. So he had to remove both of them.

“Come.” Shi Qian sat down, his expression somber and grave, with an undercurrent of storm beneath it.

Someone immediately lifted the curtain and entered from outside. “First Young Master.”

Shi Qian leaned close to that person’s ear and murmured a few words. The man quietly withdrew again, slipping away like a shadow.

Meanwhile, inside Shi Ting’s private villa, Yan Qing was busy in the kitchen.

There were no servants here to attend to things — everything had to be done by her own hand. But having been accustomed to this kind of work before, she managed without any trace of panic.

It was rather amusing when she thought about it. In her previous world she had been an ordinary person who clothed and fed herself with her own hands. After arriving here, her clothing and meals all required several people to attend to her — and if she had not continued cooking regularly, she might well have made a complete dependent of herself.

“What is Madam making? It smells incredible.”

Yan Qing felt someone’s arm wrap around her waist — a certain person resting his chin naturally on her shoulder, though doing so forced him to stoop considerably.

“Braised pork belly.” Yan Qing jabbed her elbow into his side in irritation. “Let go — I’m cooking.”

“No.” Shi Ting clung to her back like an oversized cat, following wherever she went.

Yan Qing couldn’t help but laugh. “Director Shi, where is your dignity?”

If any of his subordinates saw this, they would certainly collapse with laughter.

“What is dignity? I can do without it.” Shi Ting kissed her on the cheek. “If I do without dignity, can I have a few extra pieces of meat?”

Yan Qing’s braised pork belly had been simmering on a low flame for four hours already. It was tender through and through — and now, over high heat as the sauce reduced, the color was brilliant and glossy, the layers of fat and lean glistening, so soft it melted on the tongue.

Faced with this overgrown child who desperately wanted his meat, Yan Qing picked up a piece from the pot, blew on it to cool it, and held it out to him.

Shi Ting opened his mouth and accepted the piece. The first sensation was sweetness and softness, the flavor completely authentic.

A certain person ate happily and immediately opened his mouth for a second piece.

Yan Qing tapped her chopsticks lightly against his lips. “Greedy little thing — go wash your hands.”

“One kiss first, then I’ll go.” He leaned that mouth of his, freshly tasting of braised pork, close to her, and Yan Qing immediately blocked him with her hand, glaring at him in protest.

Shi Ting laughed heartily. He certainly wasn’t going to kiss her with such a greasy mouth — he was only teasing her.

By the time Shi Ting had finished washing his hands, three dishes and a soup were already arranged on the table.

The braised pork belly was fall-apart tender and richly fragrant. The sweet and sour crispy-skin fish was golden outside and succulent within. The tiger-skin chili peppers in their own rich sauce carried a mild, appetizing heat. The winter melon and old duck soup had been simmering in a clay stove for a full six hours — the broth was fresh and sweet, with a lingering aftertaste.

These were all dishes Shi Ting loved. The moment he sat down, he rolled up his sleeves, his expression already one of undisguised delight.

Yan Qing handed him his chopsticks with a smile. “Your eyes are about to fall into the soup.”

Shi Ting first lifted his bowl and drank a bowl of soup. On a summer’s day, even hot soup — once swallowed — made you break into a sweat and left your whole body feeling refreshed.

His appetite was excellent. He drank three full bowls of soup and ate two heaping bowls of rice.

Seeing him eat with such genuine enjoyment, Yan Qing felt deeply satisfied.

These past few days, the two of them had been living a life almost entirely cut off from the outside world. Apart from the old steward coming and going, no outsiders appeared.

During the day, they strolled together admiring flowers and plants, and when tired, napped on the small resting couch in the courtyard.

In the evenings, she cooked while he washed vegetables — though he too was a capable cook, she preferred preparing meals with her own hands for him.

At night they admired the moon and gazed at the stars, the small bed their refuge as they enjoyed the pleasures of just the two of them.

She was spared the scheming and infighting of the inner household, and he was freed from the grinding exhaustion of the power struggle. This kind of life was utterly and simply joyful.

And yet such happy times were always brief. They would ultimately have to return to that complex world — because of who they were, because of the struggle they had no choice but to face.

“Shi Ting — do you think Shi Guang and Shi Qian will take the bait?” Lying in the crook of his arm, Yan Qing had no inclination to sleep.

“Shi Qian will. But Shi Guang may not.” He knew his second eldest brother well enough — the man was meticulous in thought and not so easily deceived.

“If it was Shi Qian who did it, he will certainly take the bait. If it was Shi Guang, he’ll hold his ground.” Shi Ting closed his eyes briefly, drew a deep breath, and when he opened them again, a cold and absolute clarity had settled there. “But what does it matter if he holds his ground? There are others who can move on his behalf.”

Yan Qing understood Shi Ting’s plan in an instant.

All that was needed was to release the news that he had survived, and chaos would ensue.

If it was Shi Qian who had sent the assassins, he would certainly dispatch someone to finish the job, for fear of leaving loose ends; if it wasn’t Shi Qian, he would still send someone to kill Shi Ting and then frame it on Shi Guang — since both Shi Ting and Shi Guang were people he intended to eliminate, it didn’t matter which one went first. In short, Shi Qian would certainly make a move — and even if Shi Guang held his ground, he would not be able to escape the net.

This time, between Shi Qian and Shi Guang, at least one of them would fall.

“Enough of these things that sour the mood.” Shi Ting cradled her face in his hands. Her lips were soft and rosy, her teeth like pearls within, and the eyes that looked at him were like autumn water and spring streams. Such a woman — how could she fail to move him? He curved his lips into a smile. “Every minute and second wasted in this fine night, with this beautiful scene, is a waste.”

Knowing that tomorrow they would have to return home, that they would no longer be able to enjoy this free-spirited life like something out of a pastoral idyll, a feeling of reluctance bloomed in Yan Qing’s heart too. Without waiting for him to lean in, she took the initiative and pressed her lips to his — soft petals hovering against his lips. He seemed to pause, motionless.

She gave a light smile, like a little cat’s paw lightly scratching him, and his tall, imposing frame gave a slight, involuntary shudder.

For all that she was ordinarily composed and eloquent, in certain matters she was very reserved. Even after being married for so long, she would still flush and feel shy in his presence.

This small initiative, slight as it was, made Shi Ting’s heart leap with delight.

Even for someone with his formidable self-control, he could not withstand such temptation. He immediately reversed their positions and took charge.

Outside the window, light raindrops tapped softly against the lattice — a fine, drizzling rain had begun to fall.

Shun Cheng was hot and rainy at this time of year. By the following morning, the rain had already stopped. The ground was damp and glistening.

When the sun came out, Liu Yin hurried into the study.

“Marshal — the Seventh Young Master has returned.”

Both Shi Qian and Shi Guang were present. Hearing this, the expressions on both their faces turned rather peculiar.

“Wasn’t he supposed to rest for a few more days?” The Marshal stood up, pleased. “Why has he suddenly returned?”

Liu Yin kept his head bowed, as if there was something he found difficult to say.

“What in the world has happened?” The Marshal had a vague feeling something was wrong.

“The Seventh Young Master was attacked again the night before last and nearly lost his life. I did not dare to delay and could only have him brought back first. After the jolts of the journey, the Seventh Young Master’s condition is not looking well.”

“What? An attack?” The Marshal’s expression changed drastically. “Where is Xingzhi now?”

“In Shaolanvilla.”

Without a second thought, the Marshal headed out the door. Shi Guang and Shi Qian could only follow quickly behind.

When Shi Guang arrived at Shaolanvilla, he saw Yan Qing. She wore a honey-lotus-colored skirt, her hair gathered up simply, her brows like emerald feathers and her eyes like autumn waves, her complexion so fair and delicate it seemed one could blow it away. Though already a married woman, at first glance she still appeared as fresh and tender as a young girl — and within that freshness lay an undercurrent of mature allure that intertwined with it, a beauty impossible to tear one’s gaze from.

Yan Qing felt eyes fixed upon her and turned her head. When her gaze met Shi Guang’s, she looked through him as though he were invisible and lowered her head again, carefully tending to Shi Ting.

Shi Ting’s condition looked genuinely grave — pale in complexion, eyes tightly shut, dark circles pronounced beneath his lids. A band of gauze was wrapped around his forehead, faintly stained with blood.

Luo Huaimeng had been sitting by his side in tears. Upon seeing the Marshal enter hurriedly, she immediately rose, her tears only flowing harder. “Marshal, you must seek justice for Xingzhi. He was doing perfectly well, and now he’s been left in this state — he still hasn’t woken up.”

“Has a physician examined him?” The Marshal’s brow creased deeply at the sight of Shi Ting like this.

“He has been examined. The doctor said his head has been injured and has already prescribed medicine.” Luo Huaimeng wiped her tears, looking at the Marshal with a mixture of anger and sorrow. “Marshal — Xingzhi was assassinated and fell into the Red River, and only survived by sheer luck. After recovering with difficulty for a few days, now there’s yet another attempt on his life. My poor son — what on earth did you do to deserve this?”

Yan Qing had been holding Shi Ting’s hand the whole time. Both she and Luo Huaimeng knew perfectly well that Shi Ting was completely unharmed — but listening to Luo Huaimeng weeping and wailing, lamenting heaven and earth, she couldn’t help silently giving her mother-in-law a round of applause in her heart. The one lying on the bed and the one weeping on the floor — both deserved an Oscar.

The Marshal, in an unusually gentle gesture, took hold of Luo Huaimeng’s arm and comforted her. “Stop crying for now. Once Xingzhi is well, I will see that justice is done.”