After dinner, the maids swiftly cleared away the bowls and chopsticks, removed the leftovers from the table, and carefully wiped the surface twice. Only after the redwood tabletop gleamed brightly enough to reflect a person did they withdraw.
Pei Cijing leaned back in his chair and contentedly rubbed his stomach.
The rich fragrance of braised pork still lingered on his tongue, and the last bowl of chicken soup had left him warm from head to toe. His entire body radiated the lazy satisfaction of someone who had eaten his fill and now wanted nothing more than to lie down.
He turned his head and glanced at Shen Ninghuan.
Shen Ninghuan had picked up a handkerchief and was gently wiping the corner of her mouth. Her movements were elegant and unhurried; even wiping her lips carried the refined grace of a well-bred young lady.
“Wife,” Pei Cijing began, his tone carrying a hint of tentative inquiry. “Are you writing tonight?”
Shen Ninghuan nodded. “Mm. There’s only a little left. I want to finish it in one go.”
Pei Cijing gave a soft “oh,” his gaze unconsciously drifting toward Pei Yan'an, who was still wrestling with the last few grains of rice in his bowl.
The little rascal had his head lowered, using his spoon to scrape up the final grain and send it into his mouth. Then he raised his head with a satisfied smile. A grain of rice clung to the corner of his lips, making him look like a little kitten that had sneaked a bite of food.
Shen Ninghuan followed his gaze, the corners of her lips curving upward. “Tonight, I’ll have to trouble you with An'an.”
Pei Cijing drew his gaze back and thumped his chest. “Don’t worry, Wife. Leave him to me! He’s only a little wild beast. Your husband here can—”
He paused, raising his chin slightly.
“Handle him with ease!”
Shen Ninghuan looked at his thoroughly confident expression and smiled without exposing his bravado. She rose and headed toward the study.
When she reached the doorway, she turned back and glanced at Pei Cijing.
“Husband, be careful not to make our son cry.”
Pei Cijing waved a hand. “How could I? I’m his father!”
Shen Ninghuan curved her lips into a smile, turned around, and entered the study, gently closing the door behind her.
Pei Cijing watched until his wife’s figure disappeared behind the door. Then he turned and looked at the little rascal sitting in the baby chair, grinning at him.
One large and one small pair of eyes met.
Pei Yan'an tilted his head, opened his mouth to reveal a few tiny milk teeth, and called out indistinctly, “Dada—”
Pei Cijing smiled.
He stood, walked over to the baby chair, and bent down to undo the safety bar. Then he scooped the plump little bundle into his arms.
“Come on. Daddy’s going to play with you!”
Pei Yan'an was lifted high into the air and immediately let out a string of bright, delighted giggles. His short legs kicked wildly, and his little hands waved about as if saying, Yes, yes!
Pei Cijing set Pei Yan'an down on the thick blanket spread across the main room floor.
The little rascal could already walk quite steadily.
The moment his feet touched the ground, he wobbled toward the low toy cabinet.
Pei Cijing followed and dug out two cloth dolls—a bright red rabbit and a brown little bear. Shen Ninghuan had sewn both of them by hand.
He slipped the rabbit over his right hand, then crouched down so he was eye to eye with his son. “An'an, come fight Uncle Rabbit!”
Pei Yan'an tilted his head and looked at the rabbit. Then he lowered his gaze to the little bear in his arms and used his small hands to pull it onto one hand. His movements were clumsy, but he was utterly serious.
The corners of Pei Cijing’s mouth lifted. “Ready?”
Pei Yan'an swung the little bear at him and made two indistinct “ah-ah” sounds, as if saying, Bring it on.
Pei Cijing made the rabbit hop forward twice. Pei Yan'an pushed the little bear toward him. The two soft cloth dolls bumped together, yet both combatants struck suitably imposing poses.
The rabbit hopped left and right, advancing and retreating by turns. The little bear chased it all over the floor, its two short legs moving at lightning speed. The child’s round face flushed, and a thin sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead.
One pushed, the other countered.
The battle was as tense as a duel between masters.
Three minutes later, the rabbit spun around and rammed into the little bear, knocking it onto its back. Pei Yan'an froze. He looked down at the little bear, then up at the smug rabbit. His little mouth puckered, and his eyes filled with tears.
Pei Cijing hurriedly rubbed his head. “Do you know why you lost?”
Pei Yan'an stared at him with red-rimmed eyes.
“Because you’re weak, and your technique is terrible. You can’t beat Daddy.” Pei Cijing’s tone was solemn, but the corners of his lips soon curled upward. “But if you’re not convinced, keep practicing, you little rookie!”
Pei Yan'an sniffed, bent down to pick up the little bear, slipped it back onto his hand, and waved it at him.
“You still want to fight?”
“Ah!” He nodded vigorously.
A surge of satisfaction welled up in Pei Cijing’s heart. This little rascal refused to give in. Knocked down, he simply got back up.
He raised the rabbit. “All right! Again!”
They fought two more rounds, with the outcome never in doubt.
With his strength, Pei Cijing taught his son one simple truth: Your daddy is still your daddy.
Pei Yan'an lost three times. The tears in his eyes never fell. He merely pressed his lips together and gripped the little bear tightly, his stubborn gaze clearly declaring, I’ll be back.
Looking at the child’s almost grown-up expression, Pei Cijing found it both amusing and heartbreaking.
He reached out and scooped his son into his arms.
“All right, that’s enough practice for today. Come on, Daddy will get you all clean.”
On the eastern side of Anle Residence, not far from the main hall, the maids had already prepared the hot water. The tub was filled with water at a comfortable temperature, with several rose petals floating on the surface. Steam curled through the air, warming the entire bathing room.
Pei Cijing carried Pei Yan'an inside and immediately felt the damp heat wash over him.
He tested the water. It was neither too hot nor too cold—just right.
“Come on, An'an. Time for your bath-bath.”
In a few swift movements, he stripped off Pei Yan'an’s little clothes, which were covered in grains of rice and crumbs of steamed egg custard, revealing a small, tender body as pale and smooth as a lotus root.
Far from feeling cold after being undressed, Pei Yan'an waved his little hands excitedly and cried out “ya-ya,” as if eager to jump into the water.
Supporting him beneath the bottom, Pei Cijing slowly lowered him into the tub.
The warm water rose to the child’s belly. Pei Yan'an immediately let out a blissful sigh, leaned back against the side of the tub, and narrowed his eyes in pure enjoyment.
Pei Cijing couldn’t help laughing at the sight.
“You little rascal. You certainly know how to enjoy yourself.”
He picked up a towel, dipped it in the water, and began wiping from Pei Yan'an’s neck downward. His little arms, belly, and short legs—he scrubbed every inch carefully, not even missing the dirt between his fingers.
The scrubbing tickled Pei Yan'an, and he giggled as he twisted this way and that in the water, splashing everywhere.
Pei Cijing didn’t mind in the slightest, letting him splash to his heart’s content.
After washing his body, he picked up a wooden ladle and slowly poured a scoop of water over Pei Yan'an’s head.
Pei Yan'an squeezed his eyes shut but didn’t cry. Instead, he opened his mouth, caught a mouthful of water, and then spat it out with a “pfft,” spraying Pei Cijing’s face.
Pei Cijing wiped the water from his face and stared at the little rascal, who was grinning at him triumphantly. The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Oh, so you dare spray your daddy now?”
He reached out, scooped up another ladleful of water, and made as though he were about to pour it back.
Seeing this, Pei Cijing immediately hunched his shoulders and covered his face with both little hands. He let out a shrill “Ahhh!”—frightened yet excited.
Pei Cijing did not actually pour the water over him. Instead, he gently tipped the ladleful into the tub, then reached out and scooped up the little rascal, who had curled himself into a ball.
“Enough fooling around. Let’s practice swimming.”
Supporting Pei Yan’an by the belly, he let the child float on the surface of the water, all four limbs naturally outstretched.
At first, Pei Yan’an was a little nervous. His tiny hands and feet flailed about wildly in the water, sending splashes in every direction. But after a while, he grew accustomed to the buoyancy and began paddling with surprising enthusiasm.
A stroke.
A kick.
Another stroke.
Another kick.
His movements were nowhere near standard—in fact, he was basically dog-paddling—but the seriousness with which he applied himself was so adorable that it was impossible not to laugh.
Pei Cijing supported him as he paddled around the tub for more than ten minutes, until Pei Yan’an’s movements grew slower and slower, then finally stopped altogether. He lay sprawled across Pei Cijing’s hand without moving, occasionally letting out a couple of muffled hums.
His exercise quota had been met.
Pei Cijing lifted his son from the water and wrapped him in a soft cotton towel. He gently dried him, dusted a thin layer of talcum powder over his body, then dressed him in a clean little bib and short shirt.
Throughout the entire process, Pei Yan’an remained quiet and peaceful, neither crying nor fussing. His eyelids simply grew heavier and heavier, until they finally closed.
Holding the little rascal, who was already drifting between sleep and wakefulness, Pei Cijing left the bathing room and headed toward Pei Yan’an’s bedroom.
The room was right beside the main chamber of Anle Residence, specially prepared for the little rascal.
There was a cradle inside.
A wooden one.
Curved wooden runners had been fitted beneath it, so a gentle push would make it rock back and forth.
The bed was covered with a soft cotton mattress and a light quilt. Even the pillow had been specially made—small and soft, just the right size for a one-and-a-half-year-old toddler.
Pei Cijing placed Pei Yan’an in the cradle, gently tucked the quilt around him, and gave the side of the bed a light push.
The cradle began to rock back and forth, making a faint creaking sound.
Pei Yan’an turned over beneath the quilt, caught hold of its edge, and stuffed it into his mouth. Then, in a muffled voice, he called out, “Mama—” before falling into a deep sleep.
Pei Cijing stood beside the bed, looking down at his son’s peaceful little face. A soft, indescribable warmth suddenly welled up in his heart.
This little rascal was quite well-behaved when he was asleep.
He did not cry or fuss.
He did not roll around.
He did not kick off his quilt.
It was just hard to say how long this good behavior would last.
He remained by the bed for a while. Only after confirming that Pei Yan’an was thoroughly asleep did he turn and leave the room.
Two maids assigned to the night watch were waiting outside.
Shen Ninghuan had chosen them herself. They were attentive and dependable, and for more than half a year they had taken care of Pei Yan’an’s daily needs and meals without a single mishap.
“Rest assured, Young Master. We’ll take good care of Little Young Master,” one of the maids said softly.
Pei Cijing nodded. “Be vigilant tonight. If he cries, first check whether he’s wet, then see if he’s hungry. If he is, go to the kitchen and bring him the warm milk they’re keeping ready. Don’t give him anything cold.”
The two maids answered in unison.
Pei Cijing gave them a few more instructions before turning toward the bedchamber.
The door was ajar, and warm orange light spilled through the opening. It was soft and gentle, like a tender hand beckoning him through the night.
Pei Cijing lightened his steps, pushed open the door, and walked inside.
Shen Ninghuan was seated at the writing desk with her back to the door, pen in hand as she wrote on a sheet of paper.
A thick stack of manuscripts lay piled on the desk. Some had already been bound, while others were still loose pages. The ink had not yet dried, and the faint fragrance of pine-soot ink lingered in the air.
A cup of tea sat beside them, long since gone cold. Clearly, she had been too absorbed to take a sip.
Standing in the doorway and looking at his wife’s quiet back, Pei Cijing suddenly felt an intense urge to walk over and embrace her.
But he did not move.
His wife was writing. He could not disturb her.
He took a deep breath and forced the impulse back down. Then he quietly walked to the soft couch nearby, picked up a leisure book from the low table, opened it, and leaned against the couch, pretending to read.
But his gaze kept drifting over the top of the pages.
And settling on Shen Ninghuan.
The orange lamplight fell across her profile, making her lovely face look soft and warm. Her lashes were long, and when they lowered, they cast a small fan-shaped shadow beneath her eyes.
Her nose was straight and elegant, her lips a vivid red, and the line of her chin smooth and graceful, as though it had been outlined stroke by painstaking stroke by the finest artist.
The longer Pei Cijing looked, the more bubbles began rising in his heart.
“Hey, who does that beautiful young lady across from me belong to?”
“Hehe!”
“She’s mine! Mine!”
“Oh, so she’s my wife!”
“My wife is so beautiful!”
“I want to kiss her.”
Pei Cijing put on an entire little play in his head, acting out every scene with such vivid enthusiasm that even the corners of his lips lifted. He was completely immersed in a blissful bubble of “My wife is so beautiful.”
At the writing desk, Shen Ninghuan set down her final stroke.
She put away her brush and gently flexed her slightly aching wrist before letting out a soft breath.
At last, she had finished.
Nearly three years had passed from the moment she first put pen to paper to the completion of this book. Drawing on the insights she had gained over the years by using “mind-reading” to verify her theories, she had revised it again and again, rewriting the manuscript several times before finally arriving at the finished work before her.
She gently closed the manuscript, her fingertips brushing over its cover. Then she raised her eyes and looked past the desk toward the soft couch.
Pei Cijing was leaning against it with a book in his hand, but his gaze was not on the pages. Instead, he was staring directly at her.
His eyes were passionate yet gentle.
They seemed to conceal a blazing fire, yet also hold an entire pool of water.
Seeing him like that, Shen Ninghuan’s lips slowly curved upward.
Outwardly, her husband appeared steady and reliable. Many people had said as much. The officials at court who had interacted with him all held him in high regard.
Steady!
Perceptive!
Dependable in his work—a man with great potential!
Perhaps only she knew that her husband’s inner self was actually so lively.
Like a child who had never quite grown up.
Yet it was precisely this liveliness—this complete lack of defensiveness, this utter sincerity that he revealed only in front of her—that made her feel warm and secure. It made her believe that, in this lifetime, she had chosen the right person.
Shen Ninghuan rose to her feet.
Pei Cijing immediately sprang up from the couch and crossed the room in three quick strides.
“Have you finished the manuscript, my lady?” He glanced at the pages on the desk, then lowered his eyes to Shen Ninghuan. Concern colored his voice. “Or are you thirsty? I’ll pour you some tea.”
Shen Ninghuan shook her head.
Pei Cijing asked again, “Then are you hungry? I’ll have the kitchen prepare something—”
Shen Ninghuan raised a hand and gently pressed it against his lips.
Pei Cijing froze.
Shen Ninghuan rose slightly onto her toes and leaned toward his ear. Her voice was as light as a feather landing on the surface of water, yet every word reached his ears with perfect clarity.
“If my husband wants a kiss, you can kiss me.”
Her breath brushed against his ear, warm and soft, carrying a faint, delicate fragrance.
“You have my permission.”
Pei Cijing’s mind went blank with a loud buzz.
His old face…
Had turned red.
Completely, utterly red—from the base of his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. He looked like a shrimp fresh out of boiling water, even his breathing growing noticeably quicker.
But the very next moment, he suddenly came to his senses.
Something was wrong.
How did his wife know he wanted to kiss her?
Had he really been that obvious?
He instinctively touched his face, then thought back to the expression he had worn just now. He admitted that the way he looked at his wife had been less than innocent, but she had been writing with her head lowered the entire time. She hadn’t even looked up at him!
How had she known?
Could it be—
Pei Cijing’s pupils contracted slightly.
An absurd thought—yet one that seemed more and more plausible the longer he considered it—rose in his mind.
His wife…
Could hear his thoughts?
The instant this thought appeared, the system’s notification exploded in his mind.
[Ding!]
[Successfully enjoyed the gossip: “She can hear your thoughts, and you’re still eating gossip? Host, you really are a big dummy!” Gossip points +6,666.]
Pei Cijing: “……”
Hmph!
System, who are you calling a dummy?!
He had barely finished cursing the system in his head when he looked up and saw Shen Ninghuan watching him, a bright smile on her face.
The smile wasn’t intense or showy. The corners of her lips were merely curved slightly, yet a gentle, sly gleam spread through her eyes, as though she were saying—
You big dummy.
I’ve got you for the rest of my life.
Pei Cijing gazed into his wife’s clear eyes, eyes brimming with laughter. Then he took a step forward, cupped Shen Ninghuan’s face in his hands, lowered his head, and kissed her.
Not her forehead.
Not the tip of her nose.
Her lips.
Warm and soft, carrying a faint tea fragrance.
Shen Ninghuan paused in surprise, then closed her eyes and slipped her arms around his waist. Beneath the orange lamplight, the two of them quietly embraced and kissed.
Outside the window, the night was deep.
Inside, warmth filled the room.
After a long while, Pei Cijing finally pulled away. He rested his forehead against hers, his breathing slightly ragged, his voice husky.
“Wife.”
Shen Ninghuan opened her eyes and gazed at his face so close to hers. She answered softly, “Hmm?”
Pei Cijing smiled.
He smiled like a child.
“You hear my thoughts, and I love gossip. We’re a perfect match.”
The corners of Shen Ninghuan’s lips curved upward. She reached out and gently tapped the tip of his nose.
“Big dummy.”
Pei Cijing caught her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, his smile growing even brighter.
“So what if I’m a dummy?”
He lowered his head and gave her lips another light peck. His voice was low, but every word rang with absolute certainty.
“This big dummy is going to have you for the rest of his life.”
