Chen Fu knelt and cried through two more rounds of mourning. His knees swelled with pain before he finally leaned on his attendant to stand, weakly instructing He Xianjin, “Keep vigil for your mother tonight. Tomorrow’s the third day—we’ll be sending her off. I need to be there.”

He Xianjin glanced at the darkening sky and gently reminded him, “Don’t forget to offer incense to the Eldest Master in the front hall.”

Chen Fu curled his lips in disdain. He didn’t say yes or no—just waved her off and limped away, half his weight leaning on the attendant.

He Xianjin turned and had barely stepped past the shrubbery when a shadow suddenly lunged out, startling her.

“Xiao Jin!” It was a man’s voice.

He Xianjin felt a flicker of fear. In Great Wei, which resembled the strict moral codes of Ming dynasty Neo-Confucianism, meeting a man in private could get her beaten to death.

She instinctively stepped back. The shadow hurried forward, his face catching the light. A young man she hadn’t seen in recent days—seventeen or eighteen, lanky limbs, patchy stubble.

Just a gangly high schooler.

He Xianjin relaxed slightly. She was less afraid now, but she didn’t know who he was, so she kept her head down and sidestepped again. “Mm,” she murmured, trying to walk away.

“Xiao Jin!” The boy rushed to explain, “Don’t be scared. I mean no harm. I just wanted to apologize. I was reckless by the lake. Are you alright after falling in?”

He Xianjin froze. So it was you—the one who caused the original her to drown.

Seeing her pause, the boy knew his apology had landed. He exhaled in relief and stepped closer.

The white funeral lanterns hung low, casting pale light through yellowed silk onto the girl’s face. Dark tea-colored eyes, long lashes, a delicate nose, and lips like flower petals. She looked like she was inviting him.

His heart skipped. His throat tightened.

She was beautiful. He Ai had been beautiful—but He Xianjin was more so.

He Ai’s beauty was a prize easily claimed. He Xianjin’s beauty felt like a trial from the depths of hell. It made you want to possess her, crush her, defile her.

The boy lowered his voice deliberately. He’d heard from classmates that men should speak in low, husky tones—put the hook in their words. No woman could resist that.

“Xiao Jin, listen. What I said by the lake—I meant it. I’m taking the county exam this year. My mother promised that if I pass, she’ll grant me one wish.” His voice, already awkward from puberty, now sounded like a frog with a sore throat.

He Xianjin was already annoyed. “If you’re done, I need to go offer incense to my mother.” She turned to leave.

The boy hesitated. Something about her felt different, but he couldn’t name it. Yet he didn’t have time to think. He stepped in front of her and blurted, “Once I pass the exam, I’ll ask my mother to give you to me. My father loved He Ai—he’ll care for you too. You’ll stay in the Chen household, and he’ll look after you.”

He Xianjin’s brows furrowed. She looked up in disbelief.

“You’re Third Madam’s son—Chen Silang.” She’d learned that from her inquiries. Chen Fu and Madam Sun had three sons and one daughter. The youngest was about this age.

T/N: Silang means fourth son; he’s ranked fourth in the family.

Realizing her words were too blunt, she quickly corrected herself. “What do you mean, ‘give me to you’?” Her tone was calm and direct.

Chen Silang flushed at her words. His eyes darkened. “I mean to take you as my concubine.”

Concubine? My foot.

He Xianjin had wanted to endure it. Her situation was precarious, and Chen Fu was clearly unreliable. Logically, enduring was wiser than lashing out.

But—To hell with logic.

She’d spent ten years on a sickbed, suppressing every emotion just to survive. Her desires had nearly withered away. The only difference between her and a eunuch was that he lost his emotions through surgery—she lost hers through biology. But this body was healthy. Strong as an ox.

He Xianjin raised her brows. “So you want me to live in your courtyard, sleep with you, without name or status?”

“There’ll be status. Once I pass the exam, I’ll make you my concubine.”

“And if you never pass? I just sleep with you for free?”

Chen Silang nearly choked.

He Xianjin grabbed incense from the basket and shoved it at him. “Here. Offer it to my mother. Say your wish aloud. See if she agrees.”

If you’ve got the guts.

Three long sticks of incense jabbed toward his chin. Caught off guard, Chen Silang stumbled back.

“Go on,” He Xianjin said coldly.

The incense nearly poked his nose. He reflexively stepped back, startled by the look in her eyes—dark, unreadable.

Was she scorning him? The realization shook him.

He Ai had been delicate and pitiable. Her daughter had always been quiet and obedient, fully aware of her low status. She’d either avoided him or endured in silence. Even that night, when he tried to steal a kiss in the dark, she’d only panicked and fallen into the lake.

His mother had scolded him for half an hour. Then he heard He Xianjin had been sick for two days. And soon after, He Ai died. Was it because of him?

Terrified, he’d hidden for days, afraid He Xianjin would tell his father. But no one came. So he dared to sneak into the inner courtyard.

He Ai was gone. No one protected He Xianjin now. Who could speak for her?

She was an outsider. When He Ai first arrived, fleeing famine, she and her daughter had only two ragged outfits. Even their household registration had been stolen.

The grapes were ripe, and it was time to pick them.

Chen Silang’s courage surged. He swatted the incense from her hand. “He Ai was just a concubine—a servant. I have no reason to offer her incense.”

Then he smiled awkwardly. “But if you become mine, you’re like half a mother-in-law. I can bow and offer incense—no problem.” He stepped closer, placing a hand on her waist. “Don’t be afraid. I won’t let you down.”

It felt like hot oil poured onto her skin.

He Xianjin glanced at his hand, then at his face. She smiled faintly and raised her voice, “Third Master, you’ve come back?”

Chen Silang yanked his hand away in panic and turned around.

No one was there.

He sighed in relief, but as he turned back, pain flared in his right hand. At some point, He Xianjin had poured hot wax from a white candle directly onto his skin.

It burned.

He yelped and flailed, shaking his hand.

He Xianjin slammed the bowl of wax onto the ground. She grabbed his jaw, stood on tiptoe, face to face, skin to skin, and growled: “Listen carefully. If you touch me again—if your right hand touches me, I’ll ruin your right hand. If your left hand touches me, I’ll cut off your left.”

“I’ve got nothing to lose. If my worthless life can ruin your bright future, I’ll call that a win.”