Mo Ziqian said coldly, "Last month, the batch of Ding kiln porcelain that Eldest Brother was responsible for was replaced with ordinary official porcelain, with a price difference of five thousand taels of silver. If Father were to find out, how would Eldest Brother explain this?"
At these words, Mo Shujie's expression immediately changed.
"You—how do you know about this...?"
Mo Shujie gritted his teeth. "You dare threaten me?!"
Mo Ziqian gripped his wrist and said icily, "Madam Jiang is my honored guest. I must ask Eldest Brother to show some respect."
Mo Shujie clenched his jaw fiercely, shook off his hand, and pointed at him with a vicious glare. "You just wait."
Then he stormed off in a rage.
The private room finally quieted down. Mo Ziqian looked apologetically at Jiang Yueyao. "My apologies for the disturbance, Madam. I must offer my brother's apologies on his behalf."
Yueyao shook her head. "It wasn't your fault."
"I should have been more considerate. I didn’t expect him to come today." Mo Ziqian paused before adding, "If Madam wishes to meet with me again in the future, please send word ahead of time. That way, I can ensure I’m prepared."
"Thank you, Young Master Mo."
Mo Ziqian noticed the manuscript in her arms and smiled. "You brought the manuscript?"
Yueyao hesitated before nodding. "Yes, but my late husband was frail and ill, never sat for the imperial exams, and held no official rank. I’m not sure if anyone would be interested in reading his writings."
Originally, Yueyao had wanted to try, especially since Mo Ziqian had agreed to help.
But after witnessing Mo Shujie’s arrogance today, she guessed that the Mo family was far from harmonious, and Mo Ziqian’s own position might not be as secure as she thought.
She didn’t want to burden him further.
Yet Mo Ziqian simply took the manuscript from her hands. "People buy books to read, not to memorize the author’s background. Throughout history, many talented scholars were unknown in their lifetimes, only gaining recognition years after their deaths when their works were finally published. The value lies in the writing itself—let’s see how this manuscript holds up."
Yueyao nodded. "Then I’ll trouble you with it, Young Master Mo."
Mo Ziqian glanced at the delicate handwriting on the manuscript and raised a brow. "Is this your calligraphy, Madam?"
Yueyao smiled sheepishly. "I transcribed it. My handwriting isn’t the best, and I didn’t want to risk damaging my husband’s original drafts, so I made a copy."
Mo Ziqian’s lips curved slightly. "You’ve put great care into this."
He flipped casually through one of the essays and couldn’t help but praise, "This is truly excellent—every word cuts to the bone, sharp and incisive. It seems Madam wasn’t exaggerating; your husband was indeed a man of remarkable talent."
Yueyao’s lips lifted in a small, pleased smile.
"I’ll keep the manuscript for now and return it in a few days after reading. Then we can discuss publication."
"Very well. Thank you, Young Master Mo!"
After leaving Xichun Tower, Yueyao returned directly to the Marquis's Mansion.
As soon as she entered, Steward Wang approached her. "Madam, you’ve returned."
"Is something the matter?"
Steward Wang handed her an invitation. "This was sent by Miss Chen."
Yueyao took the invitation and opened it.
Chen Shiyun was hosting a tea-tasting gathering. It was common for noblewomen in the capital to organize such social events, and Yueyao had received many similar invitations lately, all of which she had declined.
She wasn’t interested, and more importantly, she didn’t want to flaunt Ling Xiao’s name in public.
But Chen Shiyun’s invitation required careful consideration.
After all, Chen Shiyun would soon marry into the family, and they would be sisters-in-law. Refusing outright would be impolite.
After a moment’s hesitation, Yueyao finally relented. "I understand. Send word to the Chen family that I’ll attend."
"Of course, Madam!"
Just then, the sound of hoofbeats echoed outside. Yueyao turned and saw Ling Xiao riding back to the mansion.
He pulled on the reins, dismounted swiftly, and tossed the reins to a servant before striding inside.
Yueyao stood just inside the gates. Since she couldn’t avoid him, she remained where she was, greeting him stiffly. "Marquis, you’ve returned."
Since their argument in the palace, he hadn’t spoken to her—they hadn’t even crossed paths.
Not that Yueyao minded. Every encounter with him seemed to bring trouble.
Ling Xiao’s voice was frosty. "Are you standing guard at the gate?"
Yueyao: "..."
Why was this man so infuriating?!
She forced down her irritation. "I just returned as well."
"Where were you?"
Yueyao nearly mentioned Xichun Tower but remembered his baseless accusations about her and Mo Ziqian last time. At the last second, she changed her answer.
"I visited Ningxiang Pavilion."
Ling Xiao had only recently heard about her opening a perfumery, which was doing well.
Yueyao pressed her lips together, bracing for another outburst.
But after a brief silence, Ling Xiao merely said, "Hm."
Yueyao blinked in surprise. Since when had he become so agreeable?
Not that she would ask—that would imply he’d been unreasonable before.
She swallowed. "Then I’ll retire to the inner courtyard."
"Go ahead."
His sudden civility unsettled her. She hurried away, disappearing into the estate.
Ling Xiao remained where he was, watching her retreating figure until she vanished. His fingers curled tightly in his sleeves, restraining the turmoil within.
The suppressed fire in his chest raged uncontrollably.
He was always in control—calculating, decisive, unshakable. Yet now, for the first time, he felt himself slipping.
This shouldn’t be happening.
But why shouldn’t it?
The thought struck him like a blow. His breath hitched as desire, wild and untamed, surged through him.
He jerked his head away, tearing his gaze from her path, and strode off.
Jian Shuang followed. "Marquis, Miss Chen’s tea-tasting event is on the seventeenth. An invitation has arrived—"
Ling Xiao’s expression darkened, irritation flaring. "I’m busy."
"Understood."
Yueyao had already reached the garden when an inexplicable chill crept up her spine. She paused and glanced back.
But the entrance was empty—only Ling Xiao’s retreating figure remained in the distance.
"Madam, is something wrong?" Chun’er asked.
Yueyao stared blankly at his back before shaking her head. "Nothing."
Perhaps she was overthinking it.
"The Marquis didn’t trouble you today, did he? As I said, the Marquis is far too busy with state affairs—he doesn’t even have time for his own wedding plans. Why would he bother with trivial matters?" Chun’er said cheerfully.
"Mm."
Yueyao nodded, but unease lingered in her chest.
That piercing coldness she’d felt earlier—like being stalked by a predator—had been too vivid to dismiss.
She shook her head firmly. It must have been her imagination.
Exhausted, she paid her respects to Madam Lin, shared dinner with her, then retired early.
The moment she closed her eyes, sleep claimed her.
But in her dreams, Ling Xiao’s face appeared again. His hand gripped the nape of her neck, his dark eyes burning into hers like a frenzied beast.
"A-Yao, don’t even think of leaving me."
