Chapter 3: “Your Back Looks So Much Like the Person I Like…”

The woman in the dream wore a purple official robe. From behind, her skin looked like snow, her hair as dark as a crow’s feather.

Song Mi couldn’t see her face—only that as he finished painting her, he added a faint, tiny red mole behind her left ear, near the nape of her neck.

The dream was simple, but Song Mi was deeply affected. Every time he picked up the brush in the dream, his heart would ache—a dull, piercing pain, as if overwhelmed by longing. He seemed to be missing her—a deep yearning he had never experienced in his more than twenty years of life. But such a humble emotion—how could it possibly be his?

No medicine or doctor could help, so he was left with no choice but to accept it and coexist with it.

The same dream repeated for months. Song Mi almost believed it would continue forever. But the night before Princess Xuyang’s wedding, something changed.

Perhaps he had seen that figure too many times—he remembered even the smallest detail, like the faint red mole behind her ear.

That night, when he dropped his brush, the dream didn’t end. The moonlight outside the window dimmed, and Yuan Ruo suddenly appeared beside him. It seemed he had been respectfully watching for a long time. In a hoarse voice, he said, “Master, if you can’t let go of Lord Li, why won’t you return to the capital?”

At those words, the man in front of the easel smiled.

Song Mi’s eyes opened slightly. He heard the heart’s reply echo through the dream: Return to the capital—and then what? Her eyes only see Yuan Zheng. She’s already sworn to never marry for him. There’s no room left for anyone else. Even if he returned, what use would it be?

Still, despite his supposed clarity, the moment he heard the news that she had been thrown in prison, he lost control. His heart burned in panic, and he mounted his horse, galloping through the rainy night back to the capital…

The view blurred through the curtain of rain.

—

The next day, Song Mi woke from the dream, unsettled and restless.

He couldn’t shake off the urgent panic from the dream.
And when you want to see someone, to know whether they’re well—you can’t suppress that desire.

Song Mi clutched his chest, sat alone in the study for a long while, then finally stood and shamelessly attended the wedding banquet he had previously declined.

If she liked Yuan Zheng, she would definitely attend his wedding.

He was right.

After a few cups of wine and some small talk, he wandered through the venue and, around a corner, saw a familiar back.

Her head was lowered, hair tied in a girl’s bun, neck long and elegant. Behind her left ear, her snowy skin held a faint red mole—matching his dream precisely.

A thunderous roar filled his head. He felt dizzy, short of breath, his consciousness drifting like the flickering lantern light.

The hall was brightly lit, but he stood just outside the curtain of shadows, slowly walking from behind her to the front—finally seeing her face.

A beautiful one. Graceful brows, clear eyes. He vaguely recalled her—Li Juchen, adopted daughter of the Princess.

Lord Li?

That name echoed—and Song Mi’s heart began pounding wildly.
In that flowing light, he stood in silence as she, unaware of him, sat at the table drinking alone, crying quietly like a pear blossom in the rain—utterly heartbroken.

He stood and watched her for a long time. Then he sent her a silk handkerchief, turned, and left.

But as he stepped out the courtyard gate, his wide sleeve was tugged from behind.

“Your back looks so much like the person I like.”

A strangely familiar, sweet voice.

He was instantly reminded of their first encounter as teens, in the Princess’s long corridor—her breathless, joyful face as she ran up behind him, only for her smile to fade once she saw his face.

This time, he turned his head again—letting her see him clearly.

“Still look like him now?”

She didn’t retreat like before. Instead, she stepped closer and nervously admitted she had mistaken him.

Then she kissed him.

The kiss was laced with the scent of wine and a faint floral fragrance—like white orchid.

Along with her body pressing close, came a flicker of memory—of him dying for her in a dark prison cell. A flash of white light struck his mind.

Song Mi’s eyes widened slightly, caught between absurdity and a shiver down his spine. He suddenly felt cold, but her warm, smooth skin against his chest ignited his heart.

Unconsciously, he closed his eyes and pulled her tightly into his arms, seeking warmth from her lips. A single sip, and he seemed to be drunk with her.

—

When he woke again, the marks on her body were shocking.

Song Mi had always kept himself pure, thought himself someone without strong desires—but that night completely changed his view of himself.

And the next morning, she fled very quickly.

He thought that was it—just a night of indulgence.

But later, they met again.

She stared at him for a long time, then stopped him and asked, “Are you free tonight?”

At the time, they barely even knew each other—not even acquaintances.

He thought she wanted an explanation for that night. Thinking of her love for someone else, of the absurd dream, Song Mi glanced at her coldly and raised his brow, saying:

“You want to be with me? I have no title to give you.”

After all, she had thrown herself at him—it wasn’t wrong to say that. And at the moment, their status was truly worlds apart.

But she paused and smiled faintly, “It’s okay. I don’t need a title. When you marry and have children, I’ll leave on my own.”

Even now, recalling that moment, Song Mi couldn’t help but laugh at himself.

What was that supposed to be? Just using him as a substitute for someone who looked the same from behind?

He should’ve refused.

But he didn’t. He grabbed her hand, stared at her in silence for a long time—then brought her back to his private residence.

Maybe… he just didn’t want to let go.

After all, he’d kept himself clean for over twenty years. He never imagined he would one day become someone else’s one-night stand.

And worse—someone the other party didn’t even want to acknowledge.

But when her slender fingers stirred the clear spring within him, when he heard her soft gasps in his arms, that cloud over his heart finally found a release—some small joy seeping out.

—

Morning sunlight streamed through the window.

Dressed neatly, he rubbed the red kiss mark behind her ear.

Their eyes met. From that moment, they were in the relationship she had hoped for.

—

The morning haze hadn’t yet lifted. The streets were still quiet.

Inside the carriage, Juchen rubbed her aching calf. Leaning against the wall, she peered out the window at the passing scenery.

If her legs hadn’t gone weak, she would never have let him send her home.

His carriage was modest, entirely black—but the white horse and the auspicious cloud-carved dragon tail atop the roof hinted at nobility.

Many families in Chang’an kept white horses, but few dared carve dragons into their carriage roofs.

Being with him was her own selfish desire. She didn’t want to ruin his reputation.

The wheels rumbled as the carriage approached Baoning Lane. Just before turning into the alley, Juchen hesitated, then called out to stop.

Last night’s snow still blanketed the back alley.

She stepped down, carrying her book box, slowly making her way home.

Mingluan was waiting by the back gate. Seeing her frail figure, she smiled faintly. “Miss!”

Then, her eyes froze.

From the corner where the carriage had turned, a white horse peeked its head out—watching to make sure she got home safely. It flicked its tail, turned, and left without a glance back.

Mingluan sucked in a sharp breath and rushed forward. Juchen calmly reached out and took her arm for support.

Mingluan saw her trembling legs and frowned, instantly understanding what had happened again last night.

The first time she saw her lady step off that man’s carriage, Mingluan had been shocked—convinced that he had forced her.

Her lady was so beautiful, of course she would attract the worst kind of men.

And with his powerful status, who could resist him?

But Juchen had said she went willingly. “I’m the one circling around his filth.”

Mingluan asked why.

“To repay a favor,” she said.

Mingluan frowned. “No need to give your body. If he tires of you, how will you ever marry?”

Juchen thought for a moment, then smiled, “It’s not just to repay. I wanted it too.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s very good at it. It feels really good with him.”

Mingluan’s face turned bright red. She could ask no more.

They quietly returned through the back door. As they crossed the back corridor, Juchen bumped into her father, Li Ling, who had just returned from court.

After joining the academy, Juchen often studied overnight at the royal archive behind it—sometimes not returning for days, which had become routine.

She had been raised by the Princess since childhood. After the Princess died, she was brought home. By then, her father had taken a favored concubine, who bore him children he adored, leaving little attention for her.

As she grew, he grew more indifferent—letting her do as she pleased.

Compared to other noble daughters, Juchen had far more freedom—but mixed with quiet loneliness.

She greeted him, and he nodded. She then greeted his guest—a subordinate who praised her excellence.

“Taishou personally oversees the Ji Fang Academy. Even princesses get expelled if they don’t pass. Miss Li is truly outstanding.”

She thanked him politely.

After the guest left, her father warned her: “You’re doing well, but don’t get arrogant from a few compliments. Stay humble.”

She nodded obediently.

Just then, her younger brother Li Wuyou came bouncing down the hall, calling “Father!” before he even arrived.

Li Ling’s face lit up as he rushed to greet him.

“Careful, the snow’s slippery!”

Wuyou was thirteen, still focused only on play. That morning he had begged to go to the market to buy horse gear.

Li Ling chuckled, “My son is so handsome, he’ll look good in any color.”

Mingluan muttered under her breath, “He scolds you when others praise you, afraid you’ll get proud. But with the third son, he can’t stop praising him.”

Juchen glanced at her, and Mingluan bit her lip and fell silent.

Once, Juchen had felt out of place in moments like this. Now she could watch calmly—like seeing someone else’s loving father and son.

Her father turned around and, not seeing her usual timid eyes, simply nodded goodbye. Juchen bowed and was about to leave when he said he’d go with her to visit her mother.

Wen shi lit up upon seeing him—but he had come to talk about sending Juchen into the palace.

“The academy’s latest scores were submitted to Shoukang Palace. Her Majesty noticed our daughter. But she respects everyone’s wishes and won’t force anything. I just think—serving the Empress Dowager would be a good fate.”

But entering the palace meant she couldn’t marry for the time being.

Noble families didn’t worry—there would always be prospects.
But for small families, marriage was still the most secure path.

Juchen was of age. Delay would make finding a good match harder.

Wen shi hesitated.

Juchen stood calmly, waiting for their decision.

But when her mother finally said the same old phrase, “That’s fine too,” it still pierced her heart.