Jiang Rao had always lived a life of luxury and leisure. Nine days out of ten, she was content to laze about, having grown accustomed to idleness. After walking back and forth on the trip, she found herself with aching ankles and sore arms from pushing the wheelchair.

She couldn’t help but wonder how she endured all those hardships in her dreams.

The moment she got home, the first thing she did was collapse onto her couch to rest. Her small face burrowed into the pillow, resembling a rain-beaten lotus leaf in summer—bonelessly languid, too lazy to even lift an arm.

Her maid, Ming Shao, carefully removed her snow-stained satin shoes as her heart aching at Jiang Rao’s weariness yet puzzled by it.

“Look at how tired you are, miss. You could’ve just sent a servant to deliver him. Why wear yourself out like this? Your personal effort seems a bit too much care for that person.”

Jiang Rao thought of the boy’s cold, indifferent face. She shook her head lightly, her face still buried in the pillow.

Was this really too much care? She didn’t think so.

In fact, she was already planning to go see him again tomorrow.

He was as icy as a block of frozen snow now, but if she treated him kindly, day after day, surely even the coldest ice would melt eventually. By then, he would no longer be angry with her or her younger brother.

As her drowsiness deepened, Jiang Rao’s eyes slowly closed. Just as she was about to drift off, she suddenly sat up, clutching her blanket, her expression filled with regret.

She kept telling herself it felt like she’d forgotten to do something.

Then it hit her—she hadn’t returned the boy’s pouch.

Oh, this habit of hers, always so scatterbrained!

All traces of sleep vanished in an instant. Sliding off the couch with a look of dismay, Jiang Rao quickly dressed, grabbed the pouch, and headed out the door.

…

Snowflakes had begun to fall again, though not heavily as they drifted down like a light, misty veil.

The soft sounds of snowflakes landing on branches blended with the laughter of children playing, creating a cheerful melody that reached Jiang Rao’s ears.

The further west she walked, the clearer the children’s joyful voices became.

From their chatter, it sounded like they were having a snowball fight.

“My snowball is the biggest!”

“Big? That’s nothing. Mine are the most biggest!”

“Hmph! Let’s throw again and see who’s the best this time.”

Hearing their childish banter, Jiang Rao couldn’t help but smile.

How wonderful, she thought, so full of life and energy.

But as she rounded the corner and saw where the snowballs were being thrown, her smile froze at the edges of her lips.

The children’s target was the boy.

His wheelchair was stuck in the snow, and he was gripping the wheels tightly, struggling to move forward. The threshold of a doorway blocked his path, and the trembling wheels looked as though they might tip over at any moment.

From the time she had left until now, it seemed he hadn’t moved at all.

His arms were tense with exertion, the muscles straining against his sleeves, faintly outlining their shape. Snow clung to one of his shoulders, and his back was dotted with splattered remnants of snowballs, some patches darker, some lighter. Though his posture was upright, it carried an unmistakable loneliness.

Jiang Rao hurried forward, grabbing hold of his wheelchair to steady it. She brushed the snow from his shoulders, her anger rising with each passing second. Her round, almond-shaped eyes widened, glistening as she puffed up with indignation. She turned to the children playing in the snow and shouted. “How could you bully someone like this?”

The children, however, only laughed, completely unrepentant. Instead of showing guilt, they jeered, their faces alight with mischief. “He’s just a cripple! Even worse than a lame man! If this useless cripple has any guts, let him throw snowballs back at us!”

Something seemed to explode in Jiang Rao’s mind, a deafening buzz that drowned out everything else.

She glanced down at the boy in the wheelchair.

He sat there in gloomy silence, his eyes like stagnant pools of water—lifeless, unmoving, utterly unresponsive.

It was as if… as if he had grown used to this.

A sharp ache spread through Jiang Rao’s chest, unbidden, as the children’s cruel behavior made her tremble with rage.

Unable to vent her anger in any other way, she hastily scooped up several snowballs and hurled them at the children, seeking to fight fire with fire.

Chaos broke out instantly. The children scattered like startled sparrows, disappearing behind walls and houses.

But Jiang Rao’s throws didn’t land. Her strength was too small, her aim too poor—not a single snowball hit its mark.

The children soon poked their heads back out, pulling faces and making mocking noises.

“Bleh, bleh, bleh! You’re just like that cripple—useless! Useless!”

Jiang Rao’s eyes reddened with fury, tears threatening to spill.

Rong Ting glanced at her, a faint, disdainful flicker crossing his gaze.

How laughable. If anything, the sight was even more ridiculous.

She had already gotten what she wanted, so why did she bother coming back?

Why go through the trouble of pretending to help him, putting on such an earnest, sincere act?

Aside from the jade, the only thing he had left was his life.

His fists rested heavily on his knees, clenched so tightly that veins bulged faintly beneath his skin. Her neck was slender, fragile—if she was as weak as she appeared when tossing those snowballs, then with his current strength, he could end her life with ease.

Jiang Rao met his gaze and froze.

His eyes were dark and beautiful, the kind that would shine brightly with even the smallest trace of emotion.

But this also made the revulsion, loathing, and faint bloodlust in his stare all the more starkly visible to her.

She had only been gone for a short while, yet his attitude toward her had clearly changed.

Jiang Rao felt utterly aggrieved, tears welling up as she wondered: What did I do to offend him this time?

Looking at him, her fingers brushed against his shoulder but Jiang Rao suddenly seemed to realized something and quickly withdrew her hand.

She guessed it must have been her touch that annoyed him.

With this in mind, moving him inside became an arduous task. She used every ounce of strength she had but was careful not to hurt him or make contact more than necessary.

Throughout the process, Rong Ting endured the pain in his legs in silence, secretly observing her, trying to figure out what she was up to.

When they reached the firewood gate and stepped into the small courtyard, Jiang Rao intended to help him inside, but he refused to let her enter.

Jiang Rao stopped as he instructed, lowering her head in dismay as she glanced around the courtyard.

It was even more desolate and cramped than she had imagined.

The entire yard was blanketed in snow, untouched and unswept.

There was nothing in the courtyard except for a few rotting logs leaning against the west wall. The doors and window frames were covered in cobwebs, and when the house door creaked open, it revealed barren white walls on all sides.

The howling wind echoed through the space, making the empty house feel like an enormous, lifeless tomb.

The entire house was shrouded in a damp, dark chill that didn’t feel fit for human habitation.

For someone born into the life of a young master, his living conditions were worse than the servants’ quarters at her own home.

What kind of young master was this?

The servant from earlier, Wang Zhou was nowhere to be seen. Jiang Rao glanced around, pouting. “Where’s your servant? He promised me he’d help bring you back to your room.”

Rong Ting’s patience had finally worn thin.

His fingers clenched tightly, veins bulging as he stared at her slender neck, so fragile it seemed it could snap with one hand. A faint trace of bloodlust flickered in his eyes, mingled with bitterness.

If his legs hadn’t been injured by the cold and left him too weak, if he hadn’t been uncertain whether she was just pretending, and if he could be sure he’d succeed, why would he bother holding back?

“What do you really want?” he asked coldly, his voice low and dangerous. His fingers subtly turned the wheels of his chair, moving closer to her, his icy gaze fixed on her neck like a predator’s.

Jiang Rao, still craning her neck to search for Wang Zhou, turned her head slowly at his question. She thought for a moment, then smacked her forehead in sudden realization. “I almost forgot again…”

She rummaged through her belongings with a hint of frustration, finally pulling out a pouch and holding it out to him. “I saw your pouch was dirty, so I asked a maid to clean it. The tear in the fabric has been mended, and the jade pendant inside is still there. Earlier, I was in such a rush to bring you back that I forgot to return it to you. Here, take it now.”

Rong Ting froze for a moment.

In the small, outstretched hand before him lay the pouch that held his jade pendant.

Her palm, still red from handling snowballs earlier, was raw and chilled by the cold.

He had misunderstood her.

Rong Ting unclenched his fists, the prominent veins on the back of his hands gradually fading.

Thinking back to her actions, which he had dismissed as false kindness, he found his feelings unexpectedly conflicted.

Yet, when he looked at her, his gaze remained sharp as a blade—cold, emotionless, and devoid of trust. It was filled with indifference and scrutiny, still guarded, still wary.

Her nose and the corners of her eyes were slightly red, even her breaths were soft and shallow. Her beautiful eyes, clear as if washed by water, carried a timid look—like a small animal cornered by a hunter, both fearful and meek.

Afraid of him? What was there to fear about a cripple like him?

Jiang Rao had rehearsed all kinds of small talk on her way over, planning ways to get closer to him. Yet now that she was in his presence, she felt like a rabbit walking into a wolf’s den, so nervous that all her prepared words evaporated.

Under the sharp, knife-like scrutiny of his gaze, she couldn’t help but recall the dream where he had sought revenge and tormented her making her knees began to tremble involuntarily.

His eyes almost seemed to carry a murderous intent…

She didn’t want to stay here any longer. Whatever warmth she intended to bring him could wait until she mustered more courage.

Suppressing her fear, Jiang Rao shoved the pouch into his hand and mumbled softly. “The pouch… now that I’ve returned it, I’ll be leaving.”

With that, she turned and bolted toward the door, her hand already gripping the handle in her haste to escape.

But just as she was about to open it, a quiet “thank you” came from behind her.

Jiang Rao froze in her tracks, her steps halting mid-flight.

^_^