"Junior Brother, your health hasn't fully recovered yet. You should rest more. As for the memories you've lost, there's no need to rush."
Song Chunming sat on a chair, sipping a bowl of medicine. Hearing the concerned voice of the young man across from him, he set down the empty bowl and replied gently, "Yes, I understand. Thank you for your concern, Senior Brother."
"We grew up together—there's no need to be so formal with me." Fang Songhe took out a packet of candied dates, specially prepared by the household, and handed it to Song Chunming to ease the bitterness of the medicine.
Song Chunming looked at the candied dates in his hand but didn’t rush to eat them. Instead, he asked, "Senior Brother, are you very close with Miss Chu and that Miao tribesman, Ninth?"
"I met them in Xiaocheng, and later we reunited in Wutong Village. After going through life-and-death situations together, we’ve become sworn brothers. In fact, Ninth and I have already pledged brotherhood, and I even served as the witness at his wedding with his wife."
Song Chunming almost blurted out—what kind of marriage is that, without proper formalities?
But then he remembered what Fang Songhe had told him—that during his previous bout of amnesia, he himself had married a woman. So he had no right to criticize.
After a pause, Song Chunming said carefully, "Senior Brother, that Miao tribesman… doesn’t seem very trustworthy."
"Ninth is indeed… different from us Central Plains folk, but he’s not a bad person." Fang Songhe smiled. "During several life-or-death crises, if it weren’t for him stepping in, we’d have died long ago."
Seeing Fang Songhe’s stance, Song Chunming dropped the subject of Ninth and tentatively asked instead, "Senior Brother, could you tell me more about that girl? The one who saved me and married me… Her name was Yingying, wasn’t it?"
Fang Songhe looked surprised. "You remember?"
Song Chunming shook his head. "No, I don’t. I just have a faint impression of her name. A blurry figure keeps appearing in my mind—I don’t know if it’s her."
Fang Songhe hesitated, at a loss for words.
When Song Chunming had lost his memory before, he’d never mentioned recalling even a vague image of his fiancée. But now, even with amnesia, Lan Yingying’s shadow lingered in his mind. The difference between indifference and love was just that stark.
After a long silence, Song Chunming spoke again. "Senior Brother, would that girl I married really do the things you said she did?"
"Junior Brother, I wouldn’t lie to you. Whatever her motives, the fact remains that she intended to harm innocent people. If not for Ninth and Miss Chu, none of us would have made it out of Wutong Village alive."
Song Chunming lowered his gaze and fell silent.
"Get some rest. Don’t dwell on it too much."
Fang Songhe stepped out of the room and happened to run into Chu'he.
Strange—wherever Chu'he was, Ninth was usually nearby.
He glanced around and spotted Ninth perched on a tree branch not far away, legs swinging idly, silver ornaments jingling with every movement.
Ninth held a packet of pastries he’d snagged from who-knows-where, taking a bite every now and then while glaring at Fang Songhe like a wary tiger.
Chu'he smiled. "Hero Fang, shall we go eat together?"
Fang Songhe replied, "The steward came by earlier and brought us fine wine and dishes. I’ve already eaten with my junior brother."
"Oh." Chu'he stole another cautious glance at the figure in the tree before lowering her voice. "Hero Fang, there’s something I’d like to tell you."
"What is it?"
"Well… the truth is, the person Song Chunming was once engaged to… was me." Chu'he struggled to get the words out, but when she looked up, Fang Songhe’s expression was calm, as if he’d already known. "Hero Fang… you knew?"
Fang Songhe smiled faintly and nodded. "When we first met, you only gave your given name, not your surname. I didn’t think much of it then. But now that we’ve arrived in Yangcheng and entered the Chu Mansion, how could I not piece it together?"
He was principled, but not stupid.
Chu'he flushed with embarrassment. "Then… you don’t blame me?"
"What right do I have to blame you?" Fang Songhe sighed softly. "I know you ran away from home to search for my junior brother. A young woman like you, untrained in martial arts, traveling alone—it couldn’t have been easy. If not for meeting Ninth, the dangers you faced would’ve been unimaginable. Had anything happened to you…"
He thought of Song Chunming, who had married another woman while suffering from amnesia. "My junior brother would’ve been truly guilty—no amount of atonement could make up for it."
Fang Songhe was a man of strong principles. Song Chunming’s initial amnesia wasn’t his fault, but marrying another woman without considering whether he had prior commitments—that was undeniably dishonorable.
Yet fate had its twists. In the end, Chu'he had encountered Song Chunming again, now wed to someone else. Instead of making a scene, she had found happiness with Ninth. It was a good outcome.
Fang Songhe said, "You and my junior brother were fated to meet, but not to stay together. There’s no forcing these things. If you can both move forward in peace, that’s a blessing in itself. Our master passed away long ago, and as his senior disciple, I’ll speak to Lord Chu on your behalf to dissolve the engagement. How does that sound?"
Chu'he’s eyes lit up, and she nearly jumped for joy. "That’s perfect! Thank you, Hero Fang!"
Fang Songhe chuckled and shook his head. No doubt Lord Chu still had reservations about Chu'he and Ninth being together. He’d have to put in a good word for them later.
He added, "Since Ninth and I are sworn brothers now, there’s no need for such formal titles as ‘Hero.’"
"Brother Fang!" Chu'he called out warmly, her smile bright and sincere.
Fang Songhe, arms crossed over his sword, accepted the title with ease. He raised a brow and glanced at the figure in the tree. "Go on, don’t keep him waiting."
"Right!"
Chu'he lifted the hem of her green skirt and dashed off, the bells at her ankles jingling merrily. The tiny green flowers woven into her hair trembled with each step, and her hair ribbons danced wildly with her dark tresses—a vibrant, living painting of spring in motion.
Moments later, the figure in the tree leaped down, tugging playfully at one of her green hair ribbons as he bent to whisper something in her ear. She wrinkled her nose in mock disgust, tilted her face away, and sidestepped him to keep walking.
The red-clad youth shot a glare over his shoulder—directed at Fang Songhe—before hurrying after her.
Fang Songhe, leaning against the doorframe, could only laugh at the inexplicable hostility.
Song Chunming stood by the window, watching the two youthful figures disappear into the distance, lively and carefree. After a long moment, he lowered his eyes.
Night had just fallen. After going hungry all day, Chu'he was finally able to eat.
Ninth wolfed down a large bowl of rice in record time, wiped his mouth meticulously (just as Chu'he had once taught him), and then sat up straight, eyes gleaming.
"Ah-He, are you almost done?"
Chu'he took a slow sip of soup. "Not yet."
Not wanting to disturb her meal, Ninth fell silent. But he couldn’t sit still for long. His curiosity got the better of him, and he began exploring her room—touching the small mirror on the dressing table, circling behind the peony-painted screen, and finally crouching beside the bed to run a careful finger over the silken quilt.
So soft. The texture was delightful.
He scurried back to Chu'he’s side and sat down, whispering, "Ah-He, are you full yet?"
Chu'he gracefully set down her soup bowl and replied unhurriedly, "Not yet."
Ninth fell silent again. After sitting for a while, he couldn't resist slumping over the table, fiddling with his teacup while his eyes kept darting in her direction.
When he saw Chu'he put down her chopsticks and pull out a handkerchief to wipe her lips, he hastily straightened up.
"Chu'he, you're done eating?"
She nodded. "Yes."
In the next instant, the young man suddenly swept her up into his arms and hastily tossed her onto the soft bed, pressing down on her immediately. Instead of undressing her first, he yanked at his own pants.
Chu'he squirmed uncomfortably under his frantic movements. "Can't you take it slower?"
"I've waited long enough," he murmured, kissing her delicate neck, nudging open her collar to plant another kiss on her collarbone. Breathing heavily, he whispered, "Chu'he, stay with me."
His touch ignited a restless heat in her too. She turned her face away, loosening her own collar with a soft mutter, "It's not like I said no."
There was no pain—only pleasure, and she rather enjoyed it.
The boy was like a hungry dog, eagerly burying his face against the thin fabric of her undergarment, his hand already slipping beneath her skirt when a knock sounded at the door.
"Ahem!" Old He, the steward, raised his voice sternly. "Miss Chu, Lord Chu has instructed that since you and Ninth have yet to complete the formal betrothal rites and the wedding remains unconsummated, propriety must be upheld. I’m here to escort Ninth to the guest quarters."
The young man growled in frustration, lifting her leg. "I'm not going!"
Old He cleared his throat again. "Lord Chu said that only after the proper ceremonies can you be considered rightful husband and wife. As for how soon or late the auspicious wedding date will be—that depends entirely on his mood."
Chu'he and the man atop her exchanged glances. She pushed at him half-heartedly, but he didn’t budge. Meeting his blazing gaze, she found herself inexplicably wanting to laugh.
Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, "Sneak over to me at midnight. I’ll leave the window open for you."
The fire in Ninth’s eyes dimmed slightly. "Really?"
Chu'he nodded. "Really."
He grumbled, "Fine then."
Before leaving, he nipped at her through the thin fabric once more, then reluctantly pulled up his half-undone pants. After pressing several lingering kisses to her face, he finally climbed off the bed with great reluctance.
The door slammed open with a bang, startling Old He. The steward shuddered at the sight of the Miao tribesman’s thunderous expression.
Ninth obediently followed him to the guest room—but once the moon hung high in the sky, he could resist no longer. Determined to steal away to his beloved, he chose to slip out through the window rather than risk detection by the door.
Yet the moment he pushed the window open, he was met with the sight of Chu Sheng standing there, a wooden rod in hand.
Ninth slowly retracted the foot he’d placed on the windowsill.
Chu Sheng’s expression was dark. With a mocking scoff, he said, "These little tricks of yours wouldn’t have fooled even me in my younger days."
He spoke with the air of experience—as if he’d done plenty of such things himself back then.
Ninth’s gaze shifted evasively. "Father, you’re looking well."
Chu Sheng clutched his chest, furious. "You haven’t married my daughter yet—don’t call me father!"
Ninth remained unfazed. "I don’t mind being a live-in son-in-law."
Chu Sheng was livid. "You’re a grown man! Have you no shame?"
Ninth’s eyes gleamed mischievously. "Father, you’re the shameless one."
Chu Sheng hadn’t expected him to turn the accusation around. His eyebrow twitched as he ground out, "What did you say?"
Ninth grinned. "You’re too shameless—handsome beyond words!"
Chu Sheng choked on his own retort, left utterly speechless.
