Chapter 12

After a long while, Shen Zhiyi’s gaze gradually sharpened. It was as if she had just recognized the person before her; her eyes reddened, and tears unexpectedly spilled down, dropping onto the back of his hand.

Pei Huaijin’s hand trembled ever so slightly, a ripple of emotion flashing through his deep, inscrutable eyes. His gaze followed the trail of her tears, slowly descending to her slightly parted, rosy lips. An uncontrollable realization dawned upon him—their proximity was far too intimate.

A flicker of unease crossed the man’s face. He released her and sank back into his seat. The young girl, suddenly freed, withdrew into a corner, burying her small face between her knees, her tiny shoulders trembling with sobs. She looked incredibly pitiful—a small bundle of sorrow.

Pei Huaijin tilted his head back, closing his eyes. His sharply defined Adam’s apple bobbed as he suddenly questioned the point of quarreling with such a young girl. He exhaled deeply and tried to soften his tone:

“Don’t cry anymore. If you catch a chill from crying, it will only make you feel worse.”

This was the first time the usually aloof and composed Lord Pei coaxed a girl. His stiff tone, though meant to comfort, sounded more like a reprimand to her ears.

The little figure in the corner trembled even more violently, her sobs turning from intermittent to continuous. Pei Huaijin rubbed his temple, reached out, and after hesitating briefly above her shoulder, he finally drew her into his embrace, gently patting her back.

“Don’t cry…”

After all, she was just a girl barely past her sixteenth birthday. Only last year, she had witnessed the death of her parents and brother. What was there to argue about between them?

As Pei Huaijin leaned closer, the cool scent of aged wood on him drifted into Shen Zhiyi’s nostrils, and with his words, the vibration from his chest was palpable. The girl, who had been crying so sorrowfully, instantly tensed, holding her breath stiffly and unwilling to move.

The aura of a mature man, so dominant and overwhelming, wrapped around her, even more forcefully than when he had gripped her chin and pressed her against the carriage wall earlier. Having never been this close to a man before, Shen Zhiyi was at a loss, nearly forgetting why she had been crying in the first place.

Seeing her gradually quiet down, Pei Huaijin let go and returned to his seat. After a moment’s thought, he asked:

“Have you been wronged lately?”

When he took her into the Pei household as a concubine, he had been very clear—there was no romantic affection between them, nor would there ever be any improper feelings. He had said that bringing her in was solely to protect her, that he would marry a proper wife in time, and that the Pei mansion would have a legitimate mistress.

She had nodded in agreement then without objection. So even now, as he agreed to the match with Qin Yin arranged by his mother and tutor, she should not have acted so out of character.

In the past year, she had been obedient. If she was behaving unusually, the only plausible reason was that she had recently suffered some grievance.

Unexpectedly, Shen Zhiyi shook her head, her ruby lips lightly bitten until pale. After a long silence, she sobbed:

“I just miss home.”

Her thick, long eyelashes lowered, casting shadows over her pupils, concealing the emotions within.

Pei Huaijin’s fingers curled slightly on the table. After pondering briefly, he said:

“Next year, after the Pei and Qin families finish the matchmaking process, I’ll take you to visit the grave.”

Shen Zhiyi crossed her arms quietly, saying nothing. She feared she might not live to see that day.

But after venting, her mood had lightened considerably.

She raised her eyes slightly, catching sight of the veins bulging on the back of the man’s hand. She was truly grateful he had spoken those words. The Princess had known Pei Hezhen died because of the Shen family; how could Pei Huaijin be unaware? Yet he bore no resentment towards her family and was even willing to risk setting up an uninscribed memorial for them. That was as kind and righteous as one could be.

He had made it clear from the start that marrying another was inevitable.

What, then, was she fussing about?

Perhaps it was because she was suffering from an incurable illness. That fear and helplessness made her cling to him even more, causing her to lose control of her emotions.

Shen Zhiyi fiddled with the embroidery on her skirt, took two deep breaths silently, then lifted her shimmering eyes to Pei Huaijin:

“I’m hungry…”

Her voice trembled timidly, and her pitiful expression was like a little stray kitten.

“Let’s eat then,” Pei Huaijin said, glancing a few times at her pale face, cautioning:

“Don’t eat too much at night, or you’ll get indigestion. If you’re hungry later, drink some easily digestible porridge.”

Shen Zhiyi blushed slightly, putting down her chopsticks and wiping her mouth:

“I’m full.”

The meal ended early, and Pei Huaijin looked out at the fierce snowstorm outside. He had Su An fetch the brush, ink, paper, and inkstone they had brought and said to Shen Zhiyi:

“It’s late and not suitable to go out. Let’s digest inside. Have you practiced the characters I wrote for you before we left Pingjiang?”

At the sight of the brush in his hand, Shen Zhiyi’s scalp tingled.

She had never been patient enough to sit still. While others obediently followed their tutors to learn calligraphy, she only drew turtles on the paper.

Once, she had sent Pei Huaijin a small note containing a rather revealing love poem. She had peeked out, tossed the note beneath his study window, and fled. Within half a day, Pei Huaijin had come to her home to fetch her.

He had sternly taken her to a secluded place, disappointment filling his eyes.

Shen Zhiyi had stood obediently, hands behind her back, feeling both ashamed and nervous, expecting him to scold her for the “lewd verses” on the note. Instead, he sighed deeply and lamented:

“Shen Zhiyi, when will you ever learn to write properly? Handwriting is a person’s face. For a lady to write so sloppily is unacceptable!”

Shen Zhiyi was baffled.

At that time, Pei Huaijin was not yet the taciturn young lord he was now. He lectured her for over half an hour.

In the end, he pressed a copybook he had written himself into her hands and concluded that if she did not reach at least eighty percent accuracy, they should not meet again.

Shen Zhiyi nearly spat blood on the spot.

Determined, she clung stubbornly to his leg, refusing to let go.

Eventually, even the usually gentle and composed Pei Huaijin flushed with anger and agreed that once she reached fifty percent proficiency, they could meet again. Only then did she relent.

Who would have thought this obsession with her calligraphy would persist for years? After she had been in the Pei household for half a year, he had thrown her a copybook again, advising earnestly that writing could soothe one’s mood when feeling down.

Shen Zhiyi was speechless.

She watched Su An lay out the paper on the table, pressing it with a paperweight. Pei Huaijin dipped the brush in ink with measured grace, his gaze gradually settling on her.

Her heels had already touched the edge of the bed as she pondered how to avoid this when suddenly, a sharp cramp seized her abdomen.

Her face paled. Clutching her stomach, she slowly crouched down.

Su An, noticing her condition and recalling that they had just finished their meal, instantly changed expression. She dropped the ink stick with a loud ‘clack,’ dashed to the nearby table, grabbed a dagger, and shouted:

“An assassin…”

“Su An!”

Pei Huaijin’s calm voice cut her off.

He set down the brush and walked over to Shen Zhiyi. Seeing her waving her hands repeatedly, he paused at her clutching of her lower abdomen, his expression shifting slightly as he cleared his throat:

“Su An, you may leave now.”

Su An blinked, uncertain of what had happened but relieved it wasn’t an assassin. She nodded, clutching the dagger, and withdrew.

Once the door closed, Pei Huaijin grasped Shen Zhiyi’s arm and helped her up:

“Did you bring one?”

Shen Zhiyi’s pale cheeks flushed faintly. She nodded, then quickly gasped and turned white again.

He supported her to sit on the bed and fetched her small pink pouch. His eyes involuntarily flicked toward the window as he cleared his throat:

“Do you need to clean up?”

Shen Zhiyi had bathed before setting out that morning. The pain began in her abdomen, then her menses followed. Moreover, without Chun Dai present, it was difficult for her to bathe alone.

She shook her head.

Pei Huaijin acknowledged with a hum. Seeing her retrieve her sanitary item, he swallowed nervously, the awkwardness apparent on his face for the first time.

“If you don’t need help, I’ll wait outside.”

“Okay.”

Pain overwhelmed Shen Zhiyi, leaving no room for embarrassment.

After about the time it took to finish a cup of tea, Pei Huaijin knocked softly on the door.

“Are you ready?”

Shen Zhiyi replied affirmatively.

He paused a moment before entering, carrying a bowl.

“I asked the kitchen for some ginger and brown sugar water.”

Returning inside, his expression had normalized. He placed the bowl beside the bed:

“Drink it while it’s warm.”

The warmth of the bowl in her hands seemed to spread through her entire body. She lifted her eyelids slightly and glanced at him. The swirling steam made her eyes sting.

One sip of the brown sugar water eased her abdominal pain considerably. Neither spoke further as they lay down, one behind the other.

A faint scent of ambergris mingled with soapberry drifted subtly through the air.

It was the first time Shen Zhiyi had ever shared a bed with Pei Huaijin. Though half a pillow separated them, his presence was overwhelming and possessive, invading every sense.

The cold air gradually warmed.

Her tension only made her pain worse. She remained rigid, afraid to move lest she accidentally touch him.

“Still uncomfortable?”

His voice startled her in the dark.

Her heart pounded like a drum as she hurriedly replied:

“I’ll… fall asleep right away…”

She turned her face away. In the darkness, she saw him shift from lying flat to facing her sideways. His black eyes fixed on her, deep and inscrutable as if tangible.

Her heart tightened. She pursed her lips and timidly asked:

“Am I disturbing your rest?”

Pei Huaijin said nothing, staring at her silently for a long while before letting out a faint sigh. His voice was hoarse:

“Lie still.”

Startled, Shen Zhiyi obeyed immediately, closing her eyes tightly without moving.

After a moment, she heard a rustling beside her. His warm breath drew nearer, then a gentle heat pressed against her lower abdomen through the thin nightgown.

The fine fabric was as delicate as cicada wings; she could almost feel the lines of his palm.

Shen Zhiyi shivered. Just as she was about to look back at him, his husky voice warned softly:

“Don’t move.”

There was a hint of displeasure in his tone.

Terrified, she froze, allowing his large hand to gently massage her abdomen.

His palm was large enough to cover her small, soft stomach entirely.

Those hands, usually holding pen and documents, were strong, slender, and sharply defined, with a thin layer of calluses on the palm and knuckles.

She had seen them often but never imagined such beautiful, powerful hands would one day press against such a private place.

The burning warmth seeped through the thin nightgown into her skin. Shen Zhiyi closed her eyes. Outside, the wind sounded like a hazy, suggestive melody, and the man’s steady breathing resembled raindrops under a southern eave, falling softly into her ears, into the depths of her heart.

Her heart involuntarily raced. The air grew thin and stifling.

After the initial tension faded, Shen Zhiyi found her pain lessened.

Unconsciously, she relaxed, and faintly, a forbidden sweetness blossomed in her heart.

After some time, she looked back at the man beside her. Their eyes met—he seemed to have been watching her all along.

Her eyelashes fluttered. Biting her lip, she hesitated, then finally mustered her courage over the pounding of her heart:

“Huaijin brother, is this trip… a way to make up for my birthday?”

She remembered him promising compensation.

But as soon as the words left her, his hand stiffened on her abdomen, and he averted his gaze without answering.

Instead, he said softly:

“Sleep.”

His voice was hoarse.

Disappointed at the lack of reply, Shen Zhiyi quietly said “Oh.”

Yet she quickly composed herself, glanced at the large hand resting on her belly, and a faint smile curved her lips.

Gradually, sleep claimed her.

Just before drifting off, she thought she heard Pei Huaijin whisper in her ear:

“When we reach Yongzhou… stay close to me…”

She nodded vaguely without catching his words clearly, then slipped into dreams.