As the enthusiastic crowd dispersed, Ninth stood with a gloomy aura, his arms laden with bundles—fresh vegetables, smoked bacon, and more. Some bold soul had even left a fluffy little bird in the basket of eggs, round as a ball, hopping about before landing atop Ninth’s head. It pecked at his white hair, then spread its stubby wings.
"Coocoo!"
Ninth: "......"
Chu'he couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter.
Ninth scowled. "Don’t laugh."
His fierce expression frightened a little girl lingering nearby.
The seven- or eight-year-old clutched a basket of flowers, a red wildflower in her hand. She peeked timidly at the white-haired young man, too afraid to offer her gift.
Chu'he stood behind the girl and blinked.
Ninth exhaled, closing his eyes before awkwardly crouching down, arms still full.
The girl mustered her courage, stepped forward, and placed the flower in Ninth’s hand. "Lord Chu and Sister Chu have been kind to us," she whispered. "I hope you’ll be good to Sister Chu too."
Then she turned and shoved a handful of flowers into Chu'he’s grasp. "Happy wedding, Sister! May you... may you... have a son soon!"
Chu'he patted her head. "Thank you for your blessings."
The girl grinned and scampered off with her basket.
Chu'he moved closer to Ninth, flowers in hand, and eyed him from head to toe with amusement. Her gaze settled on the little brown bird. "Ninth, you’re like a princess from a fairy tale."
Ninth, feeling thoroughly disheveled, muttered, "You’re just mocking me."
"Not at all," Chu'he said, leaning in with a grin. "All these little creatures adore you. Princesses always have little spirits following them around—so doesn’t that make you one?"
"Coocoo!" The bird chirped in agreement.
Ninth flushed, embarrassed. He flicked his hand, and the bird fluttered down—only for a small green snake to dart out, baring its fangs.
The bird screeched, claws latching onto the snake as they tumbled to the ground. The two faced off, neither backing down.
Unable to bear Chu'he’s teasing smile, Ninth turned away—but couldn’t resist stealing another glance. Holding the red flower, he offered it to her.
"A'he." His voice was soft, cheeks warm, gaze intense. "I’ll treat you well."
Chu'he took the flower, its vibrant hue adding warmth to her eyes. "I know."
She clasped his hand. "Ninth, let’s go home."
Such a simple phrase, yet it set Ninth’s heart ablaze. His body felt heavy, each step weighted—yet with her hand in his, the path forward was no longer daunting.
"Mm," he murmured. "Let’s go home."
On their way back, near the gates of Chu Mansion, they stumbled upon an argument.
"Doctor Wu, my brother is gravely ill! Come see him first!"
The golden-clad figure was none other than Li Furong.
Doctor Wu hesitated. "Miss Li, I promised Fang Songhe I’d tend to Young Master Song first. Let me check on him, then I’ll visit your estate—"
"No!" Li Furong cried. "If you delay, my brother might not last!"
A young man nearby spoke up. "Since we’re already at Chu Mansion, why not let the doctor attend to his prior commitment first?"
"That’s too late!" Li Furong snapped. "My brother has always been frail—this fever has left him bedridden for days! His life is precious, far more than some Song Chunming!"
Though young, the merchant’s daughter was spoiled rotten, her words dripping with disdain for others’ lives.
Fang Songhe frowned. "Miss, whether your brother or my junior, all lives hold equal worth. They shouldn’t be ranked."
"If they’re equal, then why not save my brother first?"
"Medicine follows order—by urgency or first-come-first-served," Fang Songhe countered. "If status overrules fairness, where’s the physician’s compassion? Your brother’s condition is serious, but so is my junior’s. How can you dismiss him so callously?"
"You—you—!" Li Furong, outmatched, flushed red and stamped her foot, her expensive skirts trembling. "My brother’s coughed up blood three times! He’s barely breathing—my father’s already prepared funeral banners! Just let the doctor see him first! Must I wait until my brother’s corpse is cold for you to yield?"
Fang Songhe looked startled. "I didn’t realize his condition was so dire."
"Now you know! That Song Chunming is just a worthless man even Chu'he discarded—how could he compare to my brother? Trash lives long—he won’t die so easily! The doctor is coming with me now—don’t interfere!"
She waved, and her guards hoisted the elderly doctor onto their shoulders.
Fang Songhe could hardly stop her. He bristled at her "trash lives long" remark but held his tongue—especially when Li Furong spotted Chu'he nearby, hastily boarded her carriage, and fled.
Fang Songhe sighed. "She left in such a hurry—her brother must truly be critical."
"She ran because she feared I’d expose her lies."
Fang Songhe paused. "What?"
Chu'he crossed her arms. "Brother Fang, you’ve been fooled. Her brother’s health has always been poor, but Master Li’s medicines sustain him. He’s nowhere near death’s door."
She shook her head. "Brother Fang, if you’re this easily deceived, I worry for your future."
The white-haired, red-eyed youth mimicked her, shaking his head too. "If you’re this easily deceived, I worry for your future."
Dressed in flamboyant Miaojiang attire adorned with silver, he cut a ridiculous figure—one hand gripping a vegetable basket, the other laden with cured and fresh meat.
With a smirk, he glanced at the solitary Fang Songhe. "Unlike you, I’ve already settled down, newly wed and blissfully..."
Chu'he: "Newlywed bliss."
"Right, newlywed bliss—Ninth and I are as inseparable as fish and water—"
Chu'he coughed twice. "As inseparable as lovebirds."
Ninth swiftly corrected his tone, "Exactly, as inseparable as lovebirds. I wouldn’t be so easily fooled by some woman out there. If word got back to Miaojiang that I’d fallen for such a trick, I’d be the laughingstock of the region."
The young man’s grinning face was downright punchable, his teasing aimed squarely at Fang Songhe without even trying to hide it.
Chu'he shot Ninth a sidelong glance, momentarily forgetting how he himself had once been utterly duped by her smooth talk about "intimate contact."
Fang Songhe fell silent for a long moment before reflecting, "Ninth is right. My cultivation and experience are still lacking—I couldn’t see through the deception. I have much left to learn."
Ninth had been gearing up to needle him further, but this response was like punching cotton—leaving him frustrated and deflated instead.
"Disaster!" The coachman came galloping back in his carriage, shouting in panic at the figures by the gate. "Young Mistress! Master Li—he’s gone missing!"
