The sky will rain, old love will find new romance—these are all things one knows will happen. What’s the point of caring about them?

Shen Qiyuan’s expression remained calm as he made his way back to the city. He confirmed the autopsy results with the coroner, submitted the case report, reminded the city patrol guards to be wary of those deliberately spreading rumors, then entered the palace to pay his respects and report to the Empress Dowager in the central palace. On his way back to the manor, he even bought a new celadon wine cup from Baozhai Hall’s latest collection.

The steward felt he was in good spirits and couldn’t help asking Zhou Tingchuan, “Young Master, what good thing happened today?”

Zhou Tingchuan’s face was unusually pale. He shook his head without speaking and followed his superior into the study, carefully setting down the case files in his hands, his breath caught in his throat the entire time.

“Go rest,” Shen Qiyuan said. “You’ve worked hard today, too.”

Zhou Tingchuan forced a dry laugh, tiptoed out of the room, his face full of worry.

However, after walking some distance, he heard a crisp shattering sound from the direction of the study—crack—as if someone had smashed a cup against the wall.

His heart finally relaxed, and Zhou Tingchuan let out a long breath: “Now that’s more like it.”

An angry master was certainly frightening, but still much better than one bottling up his emotions. During today’s scene, Miss Liu’s eyes held no trace of his master at all. He had watched anxiously from the side—how could his master possibly remain unmoved?

Parting from someone is quite easy, but withdrawing a heart that’s already been given away—that’s a long and treacherous affair.

Ruyi seemed boneless, and even at the stairway entrance, she still needed Qingyi to half-carry and support her up.

Zhao Yanning watched, pulling at her hair in frustration: “Why did you carry back what looks like a hibernating snake that just woke up? You should have left her to coil up in some rock crevice outside!”

Sweat beaded on Qingyi’s forehead, but his expression was joyful: “How can you speak of the shopkeeper that way?”

Still enjoying himself in this situation? Zhao Yanning nearly pulled herself bald, her expression twisting as she looked toward Fuman beside her, wanting her to judge the situation.

However, Fuman gestured along: How can you speak of the shopkeeper that way?

“Exactly,” He Tinglan said, sitting at the table with the grain shop’s account books. “During Qingyi’s half-year in prison, the shopkeeper took care of all his mother’s food, clothing, and shelter, even hired someone to look after her. This allowed Qingyi’s mother’s condition to improve and regain her mobility. With such great kindness, naturally, he would feel grateful.”

“This is gratitude?” Zhao Yanning turned her head to look from various angles. “Wouldn’t calling it an affair be more appropriate?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she received a slap on the head along with an account book.

Fuman withdrew her hand and frowned as she gestured: An unmarried man and an unmarried woman—how can you call it an affair?

“You allow men to have three wives and four concubines, but won’t allow us women to change our tastes?” He Tinglan withdrew her account book with a sneer. “As long as the shopkeeper isn’t married, she can be with whomever she pleases. Even the authorities can’t interfere.”

Zhao Yanning naturally didn’t dare talk back to Fuman, so she could only say irritably to He Tinglan: “You’re from a distinguished family at least—how did you also pick up the shopkeeper’s wandering ways?”

Rather than taking offense, when he mentioned this, Tinglan’s eyes lit up: “Yes, I can do that too.”

The shops Ruyi had given her were truly rich and profitable. After half a year, her wealth had become quite considerable. Now she could afford to buy a small residence near Chaotian Gate if she wanted.

She had once greatly feared men, terrified that her entire life would be buried in the hands of a stranger. But now it was different—she had money and leisure. What kind of man couldn’t she afford to play with? When positions were reversed, men were nothing more than playthings.

He Tinglan excitedly headed out the door.

Zhao Yanning wiped his face, saying to Fuman with a headache, “That’s not what I meant.”

Fuman smiled faintly.

Whether it was or wasn’t didn’t matter—she also felt that being able to live like Ruyi would be good.

Women of Great Qian followed their fathers in youth, their husbands after marriage, and their sons after their husbands died. So widows like her, without children, were rootless people like duckweed. But according to Ruyi’s words, she was now at her most relaxed—no need to serve a husband or care for children, only needing to do what she wanted to do.

Thinking of it this way, it wasn’t so despairing after all.

Perhaps one day, she too could emerge from memories of her deceased husband and live a brand new life.

Zhao Yanning looked at her profile, his eyes flickering slightly.

Compared to before, Fuman’s eyes now brimmed with vitality, and faintly, a dark door was about to open.

Taking a sharp breath of cool air, Zhao Yanning stood up, pacing excitedly in circles around the area. Then he went upstairs and brought Ruyi a pot of fine wine.

Ruyi was reclining on a soft couch, letting Qingyi massage her back. Glancing at what Zhao Yanning held, she pursed her lips: “Using things from my shop to curry favor with me?”

“Deduct it from my monthly wages,” Zhao Yanning grinned.

Sweeping him a glance, Ruyi snorted with laughter: “Fine.”

After the door closed, Qingyi looked at her curiously: “Why is the shopkeeper unhappy?”

After following her for just a few days, he could already read her emotions.

Ruyi curved her lips, pinching his chin and half-closing her eyes: “I’m just thinking—why is it that things others can easily possess, I can’t obtain even with all my effort?”

“There’s nothing in this world the shopkeeper can’t have.” Qingyi obediently placed his chin in her hand, his clear eyes blinking. “In other words, all the good things in this world—you deserve them all. It’s just a matter of when they come.”

Warmth flooded her heart. Ruyi laughed, pulling him onto the soft couch to hold in her arms, casually feeding him a grape: “Qingqing, among all the people at Shuyi Restaurant, you’re still the most adorable.”

Speaking of this, Qingyi smiled with grievance: “I heard that during my absence, the shopkeeper didn’t lack for patronage either.”

“What, jealous?” Ruyi narrowed her eyes.

Knowing she disliked men who caused trouble with wild jealousy, Qingyi quickly restrained his expression and said seriously: “No, I’ll do better to earn more of the shopkeeper’s affection.”

Nodding with satisfaction, Ruyi continued holding him.

When night fell, Qingyi slept on the small couch beside Ruyi’s canopy bed. He knew the shopkeeper was formidable, with martial arts far superior to his, so he slept peacefully, falling into dreams almost instantly.

But for some unknown reason, he who usually had no dreams suffered a nightmare. In the dream, tall monsters chased and bit at laborers. With just one claw strike, those laborers would spray blood three feet and die on the spot.

“Where are there more people?” Wuyou’s voice echoed eerily through the dreamscape. “These few aren’t enough.”

“They’re building a wall by Nine Rivers. Many people from various states are heading there. It would be better to eat people there.”

“Nine Rivers, Nine Rivers…”

His spine chilled, and Qingyi jolted awake from the dream, almost instinctively drawing the dagger at his side and taking a defensive posture with his back to Ruyi’s bed. But the room was quiet—nothing was there.

A pair of hands reached out from behind him, pulling him down and pressing him against the pillow.

Qingyi looked up in panic to see Ruyi asking with sleepy, drowsy eyes: “What’s wrong?”