Pei Cijing's words were not merely meant to comfort Pei Ciling.
The midwife from the Hua household.
Her reputation in the capital of the Great Qian Dynasty was now nothing short of formidable.
Truth be told, Pei Cijing had had a hand in that himself.
Back then, Hua Yuan had come to the Peaceful Dwelling time and again, borrowing and copying from the medical manuscripts Pei Cijing had compiled. Among them was one scroll devoted entirely to childbirth and postpartum care.
That scroll covered everything—from prenatal conditioning to signs of labor, from positioning, breathing, and pushing techniques during delivery, to postpartum lochia, nursing, and recovery.
It was written in exquisite detail.
Some of its contents even surpassed the existing medical knowledge of the Great Qian physicians.
The first time Hua Yuan laid eyes on that manuscript, he looked as though he'd been struck by lightning. He sat in the study of the Peaceful Dwelling, cradling the scroll, reading it over and over again.
Pei Cijing had worried at the time that the old imperial physician might get so overexcited he'd keel over on the spot.
Fortunately, Hua Yuan's constitution proved sturdier than expected.
When he finally finished reading, his eyes were red as he gripped Pei Cijing's hand and said, in a voice verging on reverent: "Lord Pei, if this work ever reaches the world, who knows how many mothers and infants it could save."
Pei Cijing, for his part, took a rather detached view of the matter.
Medicine was meant to be used once written. To leave it gathering dust on a shelf was worse than not writing it at all.
Those techniques were not hoarded away by Hua Yuan but passed on in full to the midwives the Hua family had trained, for them to study and put into practice.
After a period of application, they had indeed resolved many perilous situations that were previously untreatable—breech presentations, prolonged labors, and severe postpartum hemorrhages.
Problems that once could only be left to fate now had solutions.
In gratitude, Hua Yuan had sent over a considerable gift of precious medicines.
Hundred-year-old ginseng, wild deer antler, premium donkey-hide gelatin, and secret formula pills that couldn't be bought anywhere on the market—all packed into a large chest.
The gesture was described as "a small token of appreciation."
But the weight of that chest was anything but small.
Pei Cijing had accepted the gifts without the slightest qualm. He'd provided the medical text, he'd shared the knowledge, and they'd exchanged value for value. No favors owed.
Though of course.
He wouldn't bring any of this up here and now.
But no matter how plainly he stated things, if people wouldn't listen, there was nothing to be done.
Pei Ciling remained standing by the corridor pillar, his back taut as a drawn bowstring, his gaze fixed desperately on the closed door. Every line of his body screamed pure restlessness.
At Pei Cijing's words, he turned his head and looked at his younger brother.
His bloodshot eyes were a tangled mess of anxiety, worry, and unease, as if something had churned them into a knot. He opened his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing, and only after a long moment managed to force out words.
"Second brother, thank you for the reassurance." His voice was hoarse, carrying a suppressed, strained emotion. "But in my heart... I still can't find peace."
Pei Cijing looked at him.
Paused for a moment.
Then gave a small nod.
He said nothing more by way of comfort. Some things couldn't be let go just because reason said they should.
Pei Ciling wasn't ignorant of the fact that panicking wouldn't help. But knowing and feeling were two different things. The worry and dread weren't things logic could control.
That, Pei Cijing understood.
Whatever had come before, however this marriage had come about, whatever Shen Ningyue had done or schemed—
What was struggling in that delivery room right now was Pei Ciling's concubine, carrying Pei Ciling's child, the first flesh and blood he would ever have.
Pei Ciling had his flaws, his shortcomings. He'd made mistakes and taken wrong turns.
But he was not a heartless man.
For his own child, for the child's mother, he could not remain unmoved. He couldn't just stand by and do nothing, couldn't sit there calmly sipping tea as if nothing were happening.
If he wanted to pace and fret, let him.
Pei Cijing could offer no more comfort. He'd said all there was to say, and if it wasn't being heeded, so be it.
He looked away, stopped trying to persuade, turned and walked back to the stone table, sitting down beside Shen Ninghuan.
Silence fell over the courtyard once more, broken only by the muffled groans of pain drifting from the main room and the midwife's low, steady instructions, carried intermittently through the night air.
Lanterns swayed gently beneath the eaves, their orange light falling across every face.
Pei Cijing sat for a while.
Then turned his head.
And looked at his wife.
Shen Ninghuan sat beside him, still in that quiet, composed manner of hers, gaze lowered slightly, lost in her own thoughts.
The lantern light caught her profile, softening her gentle features into something warm and tender.
But Pei Cijing couldn't shake the feeling that his wife seemed different today than usual. Not that her makeup had changed, not that she looked unwell, but rather...
He couldn't quite put his finger on it.
A subtle tightness pulled at his heart. When he spoke, his voice was very soft, but the concern in his tone was unmistakable.
"My dear, have you had your evening meal yet?"
Shen Ninghuan gave a slight start and turned to look at him, a hint of puzzlement in her eyes, as if to say—Why do you ask all of a sudden?
"Not yet," she answered plainly, her tone even. "With all that's going on here, I told the kitchen to hold off. I thought I'd eat once things are settled."
Pei Cijing met her eyes, his voice growing softer still, but his tone carrying more weight. "You must take care of yourself these next few days."
The words were subtle.
But the phrase "these next few days" was enunciated just a beat heavier, carrying a meaning only a spouse would catch.
Shen Ninghuan's expression didn't change, but the tips of her ears flushed faintly pink.
Soft as the words were, the care within them was plain for anyone to hear.
Madam Li, seated nearby, took the whole scene in, and found herself feeling more than a little wistful.
She raised her teacup for a sip, her gaze drifting over Pei Cijing before settling on Shen Ninghuan's faintly flushed face. Silently, she marvelled.
This nephew of hers was becoming more and more impressive by the day.
In the old days, she'd never thought much of Pei Cijing.
Unambitious, unstudious, spending his days idle in the manor—that only son of the second branch of the marquis household had never seemed destined for much.
But look at him now.
Passed the imperial examinations with top honors, achieved the rank of Tanhua.
Compiler of the Hanlin Academy, Left Assistant in the Spring Palace.
A close confidant of the Crown Prince, with a brilliant future ahead.
His official career was advancing smoothly—far outstripping her own good-for-nothing son.
But that wasn't what truly changed her opinion of him.
It was that sentence just now.
"My dear, have you had your evening meal yet?"
So soft, as if afraid of disturbing something. But the concern, the tenderness in it, couldn't be hidden.
As a woman who'd been through it herself, Madam Li knew exactly which days Pei Cijing was referring to.
Those days—that time of month when every woman feels her worst.
Sore back, fatigue, irritability. Women the world over, all the same.
She'd lived more than half her life. How many couples had she seen?
Plenty of couples maintained a respectful distance, and plenty were the picture of marital harmony. But someone like Pei Cijing — someone who truly kept his wife in his heart, who remembered the exact days of her monthly cycle and would ask at the right time, “Have you taken care of yourself?” or “Mind your health” —
That was rare.
Truly rare.
Nine out of ten men in this world could be counted as decent if they simply avoided whoring and gambling and kept their hands off other women.
A man like Pei Cijing — capable, accomplished, and genuinely doting on his wife — was one in a million.
She thought of her own lord husband.
Pei Fucheng could already be called an excellent husband. Their marriage was truly one of mutual respect — he had never taken a concubine, never strayed, that much was true.
But the flip side of that mutual respect was a certain lack of warmth.
A lack of that unforced, unsolicited, always-present caring that came from the very bones.
He would never ask her, when she was unwell, “Have you had your evening meal yet?” Nor would he remember which days her cycle fell on.
Madam Li had never been able to articulate it before.
But now, watching the way Pei Cijing looked at Shen Ninghuan, she suddenly understood — what was missing was that “concern.”
As for that good-for-nothing son of hers, he hadn't given her a moment's peace in the past two years.
Madam Li turned her head.
She glanced at Pei Ciling.
Pei Ciling was still leaning against the corridor pillar, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the door of the delivery room. His brow was twisted into a tight knot, his lips pressed thin, the line of his jaw taut as if it might snap at any moment.
Whatever had been said over here just now, he clearly hadn't heard a single word.
Never mind.
Better not to bring him up.
Madam Li withdrew her gaze and looked back at Pei Cijing, the fondness in her heart growing another degree.
Shen Ninghuan felt a bit helpless at her husband's questioning. She looked up and met his eyes, which were filled with worry, and couldn't help but curve the corners of her lips.
“I know,” she answered softly, her tone carrying a hint of coaxing a child. “It's not that late yet. Once things are settled here, I'll eat when we get back.”
She paused, then lowered her voice a little more, so low that only Pei Cijing could hear.
“Besides... it hasn't even come yet. It's fine.”
The second half of her sentence was spoken in a near whisper, as if she were revealing some shameful secret.
But Pei Cijing heard it.
Not only heard it — he heard it perfectly clearly.
His brow furrowed first, then it was as if something had struck him, and he froze in place entirely.
Not come?
His wife's monthly cycle — he remembered it better than his own duty schedule. It had always been regular, a twenty-eight-day cycle, never more than a day or two off. It had never been irregular.
But this time.
It was late.
And not just by a day or two.
Something went “buzz” in Pei Cijing's head, like an explosion going off.
Late.
Not come.
This wasn't right.
His first instinct was worry — was something wrong with his wife's health? Had she been overworking herself lately? Was it caused by irregular meals?
He instinctively looked at Shen Ninghuan's face.
The lantern light fell on her features, casting her clear, beautiful face in a soft and warm glow. Her complexion was rosy, her lips a healthy pale pink, and though there was a trace of fatigue around her eyes, there was no sign of illness.
She didn't look sick.
Before that worry could fully settle in, another thought sprouted wildly in Pei Cijing's mind like spring weeds.
If she wasn't sick...
Then what could it be?
His heart suddenly beat a few times faster, racing so hard it felt like it might leap out of his throat.
“Wife,” he spoke, his voice lower than before, carrying a nervousness he himself hadn't noticed. “Give me your hand. Let me take your pulse.”
Shen Ninghuan obediently extended her hand and rested her wrist on the stone table.
Pei Cijing reached out and placed three fingers on her pulse.
The moment his fingertips touched her smooth, warm skin, he closed his eyes, concentrating fully on the subtle pulsation beneath his fingertips.
The pulse flowed smoothly, like a pearl rolling on a plate.
It responded roundly and slid beneath his touch, with a flowing, powerful rhythm — one beat after another, like a joyful, tireless dance.
A slippery pulse.
And the most textbook, unadulterated slippery pulse there was.
As a master of medicine, Pei Cijing could not misread this pulse.
A divine beast is coming!
A divine beast is coming!
A divine beast is coming!
His mind repeated only that single thought, over and over, like someone had installed a recording in his head looping the same sentence endlessly.
And —
Pei Cijing's fingers trembled slightly, and he focused his senses for a moment more.
The pulse, smooth and flowing, carried a subtle undercurrent of yang energy. If this were his previous life, modern medical methods wouldn't yet be able to determine the gender at this stage.
But with his medical mastery, the subtle distinction in this pulse — he caught it.
It was a male divine beast.
Pei Cijing opened his eyes and withdrew his hand, yet his entire body seemed frozen in place, sitting on the stone stool without moving a muscle.
He looked at Shen Ninghuan.
Shen Ninghuan looked back at him.
Their eyes met, and neither spoke.
Shen Ninghuan watched her husband's dazed expression, but she didn't urge him. She simply waited quietly for him to snap out of it.
After a long moment, Pei Cijing's lips moved, but no sound came out.
He took a deep breath, then exhaled, as if he were doing some extremely difficult mental preparation.
He was going to be a father?
The moment this thought surfaced, Pei Cijing felt like his entire being was reeling.
How old was he?
In this life, by the most generous count, he had only lived twenty years!
In his previous life, a twenty-year-old was still a sophomore in university, still stressing over final exams, still agonizing over whether the cafeteria food was edible today, still tossing and turning over whether to confess to the girl he liked.
And here he was — transmigrated, married, promoted, and now he had a child on the way.
Pei Cijing sat on the stone stool, in a daze for quite a while.
He was still a baby himself!
A baby of over two hundred and forty months — but still a baby!
And now that baby was going to have a baby of his own...
How to describe this feeling?
It was like you were lying quietly at home, and someone suddenly shoved a divine beast into your arms — no discussion, no asking if you wanted it — and then ran off, leaving you no time to process.
Pei Cijing's mind was a swirling mess.
But on his face, he remained calm and composed as always.
This was a skill he had honed over years of lying low — no matter how turbulent things were inside, his exterior stayed as steady as an old dog.
Shen Ninghuan heard all these rambling thoughts in her husband's heart, and the corners of her mouth curled up a little, then a little more.
A baby of over two hundred and forty months?
This man.
He was clearly overjoyed, yet still grumbling on the surface.
She casually withdrew her wrist and looked up at her husband, whose face read “Who am I, where am I, what kind of pulse did I just feel,” speaking in a tone as flat as if she were asking what was for dinner.
“Husband, how is it? Is there any problem?”
Pei Cijing snapped back to the present.
He looked at her—at his wife, at those clear, smiling eyes—and felt, all at once, the tangled mess of emotions inside him settle into calm.
"No problem," he said, his voice steadier than before, though beneath that steadiness hid a thrill he could barely contain. "In fact, it's more than no problem. It's a surprise."
He paused, then reached out and took Shen Ninghuan's hand in his, fingers interlacing, palm pressed against the back of her hand, warm and firm.
"Wife, we're having a child."
The moment those words left his mouth, Pei Cijing felt his eyes sting.
Not from tears.
It was something indescribable—something hot, rising from the deepest part of his heart, lodging in his throat and refusing to go down.
Shen Ninghuan heard him and smiled.
It wasn't a bold or exaggerated smile—just a slight curve at the corners of her lips—but warmth spread through her brows and eyes like a gentle, radiant glow, like a shaft of winter sunlight slipping into the room and brightening every corner.
She said nothing. She simply squeezed his hand back, gently, and let out a soft "Mm."
Mm.
One syllable.
Light as a feather landing on still water.
But the weight carried within that single word was as heavy as the whole of Mount Tai.
Pei Cijing watched his wife sit there, smiling quietly, and the chaotic thoughts in his heart finally eased into something solid and certain—a feeling of steadiness, of warmth, of soaking in a hot spring.
He was going to be a father.
She was going to be a mother.
They were going to have a little family of their own.
All right, sure—he'd always dreamed of keeping it just the two of them, of living out their days quietly and sweetly, with no third wheel to interrupt, no little troublemaker causing chaos—only the two of them, together, day and night.
But now that the little troublemaker was on the way, he couldn't exactly send it back, could he?
Besides, this was a troublemaker he and his wife had made together. If anyone was to blame, it was himself.
Pei Cijing sighed inwardly.
Accept it.
What else could he do?
But then—
His thoughts took a sudden turn, and the corner of his mouth lifted into a sly, mischievous curve.
He'd made up his mind.
Once this uninvited little godsend, this intruder on his sweet life with his wife, was born, he would shower affection on his wife right in front of the child every single day.
Kiss his wife—let the little one watch.
Hug his wife—let the little one watch.
Whisper sweet nothings in his wife's ear—let the little one watch.
He'd make sure this child grew up as a living, breathing third wheel, a permanent lightbulb for him and his wife.
Who told you to come so suddenly?
Who told you to arrive without so much as a heads-up?
This is your punishment!
Pei Cijing reveled in his plan, the more he thought about it, the more flawless it seemed, and his grin stretched wider and wider until it became something wholly unrespectable.
Shen Ninghuan watched her husband's expression shift through a full spectrum—from dazed to accepting, from accepting to scheming, from scheming to smirking—so fast and so vividly, it was truly a sight to behold.
She didn't even need her mind-reading ability to guess that some mischief was brewing in his head.
She gently tried to pull her hand free from his grasp.
Pei Cijing only held on tighter, tilting his head to look at her, his gaze carrying a hint of triumph, a hint of delight, and a hint of shameless "you're not getting away" energy.
Shen Ninghuan looked back at him, a little helpless, and let out a soft sigh—but she stopped resisting and let him keep holding her hand.
In the courtyard, the lanterns swayed gently under the eaves.
In the main room, Shen Ningyue's groans continued, rising and falling in turns.
By the corridor pillar, Pei Ciling was still pacing in circles.
At the stone table, Madam Li held a cup of tea gone cold, her gaze resting on Pei Cijing and Shen Ninghuan's clasped hands. She was silent for a long moment, then looked away and ordered a maid to send word to the second branch of the household, and to prepare something good to eat.
These two are still children themselves, too busy grinning like fools to think of anything else!
The night deepened, and the lights of the marquis's estate flickered on one by one in the twilight, like countless gentle eyes watching over everything unfolding within these walls—
Some were waiting for a new life to arrive.
Some were welcoming a new life into the world...
