Chapter 1

Lu Jingyan and I had been married for three years.

To the world, he was the perfect husband, a noble gentleman devoted to his wife. He spent every birthday with me and put me first in everything.

I loved him sincerely. I nursed him through sleepless nights of illness and learned needlework for him, willingly and without complaint.

Then, on my twenty-third birthday, I uncovered the secret he had kept for all three years.

In a quiet alley, he maintained another home. Another woman rested in his arms. A little boy and girl were already babbling at their knees.

More absurd still, the reason I hadn't conceived was the coral betrothal beads he had given me. They had been steeped in musk, deliberately intended to deny me children.

I had wasted my love on a dog.

I would cut this rotten marriage apart myself.

That wretched man and his vicious mother would pay for everything I had suffered.

1

Begonias bloomed on my birthday. Guests filled the house.

At dusk, after our friends and relatives left, Lu Jingyan lifted me into his arms before everyone.

The servants lowered their heads, all envying the good husband I had married.

Tall and straight, his expression gentle, he personally removed my shoes and washed my feet.

Warm water covered my ankles, its temperature just right.

“Anran, you've had a tiring day.”

He looked up, his eyes holding a tenderness outsiders couldn't fathom.

“Happy birthday. May my Anran be safe and free of worry every year.”

The candles flickered, reflecting affection that seemed entirely real.

I watched quietly and nodded.

For three years, he had been like this every day: thoughtful, gentle, never careless.

I had believed myself the happiest woman in the world.

After drying my feet, he laid me gently on the bed and brushed the hair at my temple.

“Work has piled up,” he said apologetically. “I must keep watch in the study tonight. Tomorrow, I'll spend the whole day with you and make it up to my Anran.”

A little ache stirred inside me.

It was my birthday.

But I had always been understanding. I never clung to him.

“It's cold at night. Wear another layer.”

He bent to kiss me, said a tender goodbye, and left.

Before the room's warmth had faded, I suddenly rose and changed.

After three years together, I somehow noticed a crack beneath his perfect manner.

Tonight's tenderness was too deliberate. An urgency I couldn't understand hid in his eyes.

The night was ink-dark, the moonlight cool.

I left the main courtyard alone and followed.

He didn't go to the solemn study.

He turned into the deserted alley behind the residence.

At its end stood a separate little courtyard, dimly lit, without servants at the gate.

Strangely quiet.

He pushed the door open with practiced ease, without hesitation, as though returning to his real home.

I followed softly.

Intimate whispers drifted through the night, every word cutting into my heart.

“Jingyan, you're finally here. It's your wife's birthday. How could you bear to leave her?”

The woman's soft voice held a deliberate coquettishness.

His reply was lazy, desire-laden, and contemptuous—a voice I had never heard.

“Shen Anran is stiff and proper. She hasn't half your charm. A lifeless sheltered lady. Dull beyond belief.”

“She occupies the main courtyard because she's my lawful wife. In love's pleasures, she can't compare with a single hair of yours.”

Soft wet sounds mingled with lingering breathlessness, piercing every illusion I had cherished for three years.

So the countless lonely nights, the urgent duties, the late watches—all lies.

Before others, he promised exclusive devotion.

Behind my back, he spent his days and nights with someone else and raised children with her.

I clenched the red coral beads he had given me at my coming-of-age.

The cord snapped.

Beads scattered over the ground with little clattering sounds.

The pair inside, lost in pleasure, noticed nothing.

I crouched and silently gathered them one by one.

I didn't cry.

Only a bone-deep cold remained.

Tears and arguments were pointless.

Once faithless, never trusted again.

This marriage had long since rotted.

Much later, the sounds stopped.

The woman asked softly, “Won't you stay? The children have only just fallen asleep. They both want their father here.”

His voice turned cold and distant, forbidding questions.

“Shen Anran fears the dark. I must go home. You're only a kept woman. How can you compare with my lawful wife? Know your place, and I'll keep you and the children well provided for.”

“But the old madam loves us most. I was the one you loved first!”

“So what? Shen Anran is the wife I married properly. You'll never equal her.”

Every word was false.

He protected my position while destroying my love.

He gave me a wife's honors and spent his tenderness and pleasure elsewhere.

I turned and hurried home, then lay down again.

Soon, he returned with an unfamiliar scent of cosmetics.

He slipped carefully beneath the quilt and held me from behind.

Warm breath touched my ear as he whispered repeatedly, “Anran, I love you most.”

Guilty and deliberately tender, he never noticed my body was icy.

I didn't sleep all night.

2

At first light, Lu Jingyan rose early and personally cooked longevity noodles.

Steam curled above the bowl.

He watched me gently, his eyes expectant.

“I was careless yesterday and didn't stay for your birthday. Let these noodles make amends.”

On my first birthday after our wedding, he had done the same.

A pampered noble son who had never worked in a kitchen, he clumsily cooked noodles for me, sweat on his forehead and adoration in his eyes.

The tenderness then had been real.

So was today's pretense.

I took one mouthful and set down the chopsticks.

It tasted like wax.

He panicked at once.

“Not to your liking? I'll make another bowl. Don't be angry, Anran.”

“It was my fault I couldn't stay last night. Do you resent me? Next birthday, I won't leave your side.”

He reached to hold me.

I leaned away, rose, and stood at the window, watching the begonias in the courtyard.

The flowers bloomed as before.

The man I had known was rotten to the core.

He followed anxiously, coaxing.

“I'll refuse all visitors today. Even the greatest matter can wait. I'll stay only with you.”

Before he finished, a young servant rushed in.

“Master, the old madam summons you urgently! The cousin's child is missing!”

His face changed abruptly.

Anxiety filled his eyes. His steps faltered. He couldn't hide it.

I understood.

What cousin? What missing child?

They were his own children, hidden with that woman in the outer courtyard.

The old madam knew and permitted it.

Everyone had performed this loving marriage for three years.

Only I had been kept ignorant.

“A missing child is serious,” I said evenly. “Go and see.”

He still pretended to hesitate.

“But I promised to stay—”

“I'm tired and want to rest. You won't be useful here.”

I cut off the false tenderness.

Relieved as though pardoned, he gave a few hurried instructions and strode away.

He didn't even glance at the still-hot noodles.

The courtyard grew quiet.

Magpies called in the branches.

People said they heralded joy.

My greatest joy today was finally seeing the true face of the man beside me.

Three years infatuated. A morning awake.

It wasn't too late.

3

Wind stirred the begonias. Petals scattered.

I remembered the fierce infectious illness Lu Jingyan had caught a year before.

The imperial physicians had called it dangerous, with little hope of survival.

Everyone fled.

Afraid of infection, his mother shut herself away with servants and wouldn't even send medicine into his courtyard.

Only I stayed at his bedside, heedless of my life.

I fed him medicine and water, cleaned his body, and watched through sleepless nights.

For half a month, I never left him, dragging him back from death's gate.

When he woke, he weakly clasped my hand, his eyes red, and swore, “Anran, I'll never betray you. In this life and every life, there will only be you.”

I believed him.

The strain damaged my own health.

Afterward, I was always cold and weak, catching chills and suffering lingering illness.

I never complained.

I considered it marriage: facing hardship together.

How laughable it seemed now.

Because I was frail and sensitive to cold, he used it to reduce our intimacy.

Outside, he said he cherished my health.

He earned all the reputation of a devoted husband.

Everyone praised his gentleness.

Who knew he spent all his tenderness and vigor on his mistress?

I touched my waist.

Nothing there.

During our three years of marriage, my needlework had been clumsy.

I pricked my fingers constantly, working by lamplight to make scented pouches and ornaments for his jade pendants.

When I asked whether he liked them, he held me affectionately and promised to wear them every day, year after year.

All the ornaments that once chimed about him were my work.

Now he had removed them.

I didn't know where they had gone.

I could still remember the needle pricks clearly.

They were nothing beside the cold in my heart.

So every indulgence and special kindness had been part of an elaborate performance.

4

I suppressed the feelings churning inside and quietly summoned my personal physician.

For three years, I had been cold and weak and unable to conceive.

Every day, I endured bitter restorative medicine.

I had once hoped so eagerly to give him a child and complete our life together.

Now, I felt only fortunate that I had never carried his child.

After examining my pulse, Physician Lin repeated the familiar words.

“Your qi and blood are weak, your constitution cold. That makes conception difficult. It isn't serious. Long-term care will suffice.”

I nodded.

“No more fertility prescriptions. Only something to restore my strength.”

I gave him banknotes.

As he bowed and turned, his eyes fell on the coral beads on the table.

His face changed.

He hurried over, examined them carefully, and bent to smell them.

“Madam! This isn't ordinary red coral. It has been steeped in musk for years!”

“Musk enters quietly and builds up day after day. Worn constantly, it damages a woman's qi and blood and makes conception difficult. The treatment is so concealed that an ordinary imperial physician might not detect it. Someone meant to harm you!”

The words struck like thunder.

I went rigid. My fingertips trembled.

These beads were the token he had personally given me when we married.

He had said coral soothed the mind and protected my health, keeping me safe year after year.

So from our wedding day, he had never intended me to bear his children.

He wanted me to occupy the position of lawful wife: a gentle, childless ornament.

Meanwhile, his mistress's children could quietly take root.

What could be crueler?

I swallowed the metallic sweetness in my throat and asked softly, “After such prolonged exposure, can I still have children?”