Jiang Rao sat along through the night until dawn, her mind elsewhere. After hastily finishing her breakfast, she headed out toward the western part of the city.

For the past three of four days, she had been in a gloomy mood. Her father, Fourth Master Jiang had specially asked the kitchen to prepare her favorite dumpling soup that morning, hoping to lift her spirits. But seeing her barely touch her chopsticks before leaving the house, he felt increasingly puzzled. He called over one of the maids from the her quarters to inquire.

“What has Rao been up to lately?”

He had been waiting for his daughter to confide in him, expecting to share her troubles. Yet, day after day there was no sign of it.

Fourth Master Jiang sighed inwardly, feeling a pan of melancholy. When she was little, she used to cling to him fondly, but now that she has grown up, it seemed she no longer cared for her old father, leaving him to piece things together on his own.

The maid replied, “Miss has been going to the west side of the city quite often lately.”

Fourth Master Jiang’s fatherly instincts tingled with unease. “What’s she doing in the west side of the city?”

“It seems she’s been visiting a young man—about two or three years older than her.”

Alarms bells rang loudly in the father’s mind. His brow furrowed as his expression darkened.

Beside him, Madam Qin, his wife chuckled softly as her crinkling with amusement. “And is the young man handsome?”

Madam Qin who was at thirty-four years old had a youthful appearance that rivaled girls of sixteen or seventeen. Clearly, she was a woman who had been generously favored by time.

She mused herself that her daughter might take after her—someone who judged people by their looks. Perhaps Jiang Rao had already chosen her future husband based on appearance alone.

Fourth Master Jiang caught the expression on his wife’s face and immediately knew what she was thinking.

The mere thought of his daughter marrying one day made the usually gentle and easygoing man lose his temper. He slammed the table, his voice rising sharply. “I don’t care how good-looking he is—Rao is still far too young!”

Madam Qin raised an eyebrow, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “If you had agreed to her betrothal to the Ninth Prince back then, Rao would already have a handsome older fiancé growing up alongside her.”

When Jiang Rao was born, Emperor Zhaowu had suggested a childhood engagement between her and the two-year-old Ninth Prince, Rong Ting.

Madam Qin had been quite tempted by the idea. The boy was an exquisite little child, and his mother—renowned as one of the most beautiful women in the realm—promised a striking future for her son. She had thought the match would be ideal.

Unfortunately, Jiang Xingzhou had politely but firmly declined the proposal.

“Rao is the apple of my eye. I am determined to find her the best man under heaven to be her husband,” Fourth Master Jiang declared with a snort, the memory of the past rekindling his irritation.

With a fatherly scowl, he leaned into his role as the overcritical father-in-law-to-be. “That Ninth Prince—so frail and sickly back then—wasn’t nearly good enough in my eyes.”

Moreover, Fourth Master Jiang knew full well that the proposed marriage wasn’t as simple as it appeared.

The Ninth Prince had been born motherless, with no one to rely on within the palace. Even though the emperor cared for him, there were inevitable lapses.

The emperor’s intention in pairing his daughter with the Ninth Prince was obvious: he wanted to align the boy with the Jiang family, providing his helpless son with a powerful support system.

But the palace was a treacherous place that devoured people whole. Without someone genuinely protecting him, the Ninth Prince might not even survive, let alone endure the cutthroat struggles for the throne. As a prince with no backing, he was destined to be nothing more than cannon fodder in any battle for succession.

Jiang Xingzhou refused to let his daughter marry into such a dire situation. He couldn’t bear the thought of her becoming a widow before she even had the chance to truly begin her married life.

…

In a small house on the western edge of the city, servants from the Jiang household bustled in and out.

Ever since the day Jiang Rao fell from the wall, she hadn’t dared to show her face there again.

Yet the young man still needed caretakers, so she had assigned over a dozen servants to watch over him.

The small, run-down house in the western city was gradually transformed. The servants worked tirelessly, repairing and refurbishing it until it looked as good as new. Inside, the shelves were stacked with rare medicinal herbs sourced from the Jiang family’s storerooms.

Rong Ting sat in his wheelchair by the window, his back resting against the chair’s frame.

He watched the figures moving back and forth outside the house, the chaotic sound of footsteps filling his ears.

Rong Ting understood the cause and effect of the situation. He knew she had assigned these servants out of guilt for injuring him.

Yet, recalling the events of that day, his expression darkened.

He had never intended to save her.

Life and death meant nothing to him—neither hers nor anyone else’s.

When he was six years old, he had witnessed the Tenth Prince being pushed into a pond by a concubine who had succumbed to madness.

The Tenth Prince, once an arrogant bully who had joined the other children in tormenting Rong Ting time and time again, had lost all his bravado when he inhaled water and struggled against the drowning grip of the pond. In those desperate moments, he finally acted like an imperial younger brother—calling out to Rong Ting as “elder brother,” hoping to use the title to plead for his life.

But even as the Tenth Prince begged pitifully, Rong Ting’s eyes gleamed with a flicker of satisfaction.

He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching coldly. Not once did he move to help.

Even as the Tenth Prince sank beneath the water’s surface, Rong Ting remained unmoved.

A living person sinking to the bottom of the water became as quiet as a fish.

Cold-blooded, selfish—someone who wouldn’t so much as flinch while watching his own brother die right in front of him. That’s who he truly was.

He should have left her to fend for herself.

He should have stood by, coldly watching as she fell into the snow.

And yet, the moment he saw her fall, his body reacted instinctively.

Even after she landed on him, injuring his leg, and the pain seared through him like a blade, his first feeling wasn’t anger or regret. It was relief—relief that she was unharmed.

Such a reaction was completely unlike him.

But that single moment of irrationality had come at far too great a cost.

Rong Ting lowered his gaze, staring at his legs.

Once, the pain in them had been excruciating, as though it could corrode his very soul. But in recent days… they had gone completely numb, as lifeless as wood, devoid even of the sensation of pain.

From the hips down, it felt as though there was nothing—an empty void. Even if his legs were sawed off entirely, it might make no difference to how they felt now.

He had only just glimpsed a faint hope of standing again, only for it to be cruelly snatched away.

A shadow darkened Rong Ting’s gaze.

Though he had been unconscious, he had vaguely heard the old physician’s words.

From now on, he was a cripple—completely useless.

Unable to return to the capital, his remaining influence there was as good as a dead piece on the chessboard. One misstep led to another, and soon, he would forever be beneath others, unable to rise.

It was as though a knife was twisting in his heart. His fists, clenched at his sides, trembled with unwilling frustration.

Suddenly, a faint rustling sound came from the window.

He lifted his eyes and saw a head peeking through the lattice—her hair tied in two round buns.

It was Jiang Rao.

She leaned against the window, her head peeking in, her tone earnest yet tinged with urgency. “I’ve found a way to heal your legs.”

Her eyes, deep and luminous like autumn water, still carried traces of her earlier tears. The corners were reddened, like freshly bitten pomegranate seeds—rosy, moist, and glistening with unshed tears.

She looked at Rong Ting with a face full of guilt.

Seeing his pale lips, his frail body, and the smoldering desolation in his eyes, her heart ached all over again.

He had been reduced to this state of despair because of her.

It was all her fault.

Lowering her gaze in self-reproach, she softly promised. “I’ll bring the medicine back. You have to wait for me.”

The carriage waiting to take her out of the city stood ready outside. Jiang Rao didn’t say much more. After leaving these few hurried words, she turned and climbed into the carriage, departing swiftly.

The carriage rumbled steadily toward the city gates.

As it passed through the gate, a handwritten notice from the county magistrate, pinned to the wall, was torn loose by a strong gust of wind. It fluttered through the air and slapped against the side of the carriage.

The eight bold characters, “Those who value their lives, do not leave the city,” remained strikingly clear.

…

Wait for her.

Thinking of her determined gaze and the hurried figure disappearing into the distance, Rong Ting’s brows furrowed deeply. A strange, indescribable feeling stirred in his chest, growing stronger with each passing moment.

He had never trusted anyone before.

From the moment he could remember, everyone around him had deceived him, mocked him, humiliated him. Not a single soul had ever shown him genuine kindness.

Distrust was the only thing that kept him from feeling utterly foolish.

Pathetically and pitifully, it was how he clung to the last shreds of his dignity and pride.

But now, the defenses he had built over the years were wavering. Her relentless approach chipped away at them day by day, crumbling his walls at a pace that left him unnerved and unsteady, like a force he couldn’t control.

Her eyes, clear and bright like freshly washed black gems, shone with a crystalline clarity, soft and timid yet unwaveringly fixed on him.

It felt as if she truly cared about him.

Rong Ting resisted the thought, yet he couldn’t stop it from spiraling in his mind, no matter how hard he tried. His temples throbbed with sharp, relentless pain.

Suddenly, the door was pushed open.

Without so much as a knock, a man stormed in, his face bruised and swollen beyond recognition—practically resembling a pig’s head.

If not for his clothes, no one could have guessed it was Wang Zhou. His face was so swollen that even his own mother wouldn’t have recognized him.

Wang Zhou had tried to dine and dash days earlier, only to be caught and beaten senseless by the restaurant owner’s hired thugs. They’d taken every coin on him, leaving him penniless and battered.

His entire body was covered in bruises, each step a fresh agony. In the end, he hadn’t walked back—he had crawled.

The once-quiet little house was now bustling with activity, filled with people coming and going. At first, Wang Zhou thought he had returned to the wrong place. Only after asking around did he learn that the new staff had been sent by Jiang Rao.

Seeing Rong Ting comfortably tended to while he had suffered and struggled outside filled Wang Zhou with bitter envy. His eyes burned with jealousy.

He leaned against the wall, gritting his teeth in pain as he applied medicine to his bruises, his words dripping with sarcasm. “The young ladies of wealthy families really have too much time on their hands.”

He cast a sneering glance at Rong Ting, who was looking out the window, his tone bitter and laced with envy. “Don’t be fooled by her helping here and there. It’s just that the life of a rich young lady has become too boring. She’s just pitying you, passing the time with a useless cripple like you. What she gives you is nothing but the things she no longer needs.”

He chuckled coldly, his voice dripping with disdain. “Wait until she loses interest in you—let’s see if she still comes looking for you then!”

The only response was the sharp bang of the door closing.

Rong Ting, turning the wheels of his chair, wheeled himself outside, his back straight and distant.

Wang Zhou’s words hung in the air, but with Rong Ting’s indifferent attitude, they felt like they had hit a wall. His words faltered, and he quickly spat on the floor, still unwilling to admit defeat.

He was sure that everything he’d said was true. A cold smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

It was laughable—Jiang Rao busying herself over a dying cripple. What a misguided fool she was!

Rong Ting moved toward the door, pausing at the threshold.

Outside, the snow-covered ground bore the deep, clear imprints of two tracks.

It was the imprint of a carriage wheel.

He stared at it for a long time but eventually shook his head.

He didn’t trust Wang Zhou, but he trusted himself.

No one would ever truly be kind to him.

When he was young, there had been palace maids who secretly gave him steamed buns.

But once the empress’s people discovered it, they turned on him, accusing him of sneaking into the kitchen to steal them.

He understood better than anyone—

The fleeting acts of kindness others gave him, born of a moment’s whim, were fragile and easily shattered the moment they felt threatened.

…

Four days passed in the blink of an eye.

In those four days, Rong Ting had not once seen Jiang Rao’s figure.

He pushed down the strange sense of anticipation and restlessness in his heart, thinking this was how it should it be.

Whether she came now or never came at all, it had nothing to do with him.

Even if she did come now, there would eventually come a day when she would grow tired of him.

In the end, he would be alone.

But it had been four days…

Rong Ting felt something unusual stir in his chest.

Even if she didn’t come, he found himself wondering what she was doing.

This thought had tormented him for four days, and when he finally realized it, he found himself pushing his wheelchair outside.

On the street, two elderly women were chatting casually.

“That carriage, you know, it was on the way to Shan Yue when a snowball, falling from the mountaintop, hit it and caused it to roll off the cliff.”

“That’s so coincidental! If the carriage had passed just a little earlier or a little later, it wouldn’t have run into such a thing!”

“And the people inside the carriage? Are they alive?”

“I don’t know… There’s a crowd at the foot of the mountain, and they’re saying maybe they’re dead!”

“How terrifying! With the snow so heavy, why would anyone risk their life to leave the city? Nothing is more important than life!”

Rong Ting’s expression remained unchanged, as calm and indifferent as always.

Until—

“It seems like that carriage belongs to the family from Jinling. Could it be they didn’t know how dangerous the mountain road is in this weather…?”

A ripple stirred in his stillness.

At that moment, a figure appeared in the distance on the snowy road.

As it drew closer, he recognized it—it was the maid who occasionally followed Jiang Rao.

The maid approached him with red, swollen eyes, and as she drew near, she hastily shoved a jar of pills and several medical books into his arms. Choking on her words, she couldn’t speak for a moment.

Rong Ting suddenly remembered the two carriage tracks he had seen four days ago outside his door, along with the gossip of the two elderly women.

And the strange promise Jiang Rao had made four days ago.

His brows twitched sharply.

Why had he only seen her maid and not her?

His usually calm voice wavered, betraying a hint of anxiety he couldn’t suppress. He asked, “Where is your young lady?”

Ming Shao whose eyes were already red, choked on her words upon hearing him ask about Jiang Rao. She began to sob uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face.

She collapsed to the ground, crying loudly, her voice full of grief and despair.

=^_^=