5

The third day after the wedding was the traditional day for a bride to return to her family’s home. As this was a custom among humans, Ye Jiao—determined to be a good little ginseng-turned-human—was eager to do things properly.

The night before the visit, Qi Yun told her he would go with her.

Hearing that was like taking a calming tonic—Ye Jiao nodded obediently, but she didn’t go to sleep right away.

“What’s wrong?” Qi Yun, already lying under the covers on the daybed, looked over when he noticed she was still standing nearby. He made a move to sit up.

But Ye Jiao sat down beside him at the edge of the bed and gently tugged at his sleeve.

Her features were delicate and elegant, with eyes that sparkled like spring water—even without makeup, she was beautiful. Years of hunger had given her a sharp chin, but the essence of a ginseng spirit now nourished her body from within. Her complexion had taken on a healthy glow, her pale skin tinged with a soft pink. Even though she was still thin, she looked vibrant and full of life.

Perhaps it was because she’d especially liked the osmanthus lotus root at dinner, but Qi Yun thought he could still catch a faint floral scent coming from her.

Their closeness made his ears turn faintly red.

Qi Yun had been sickly since birth—a condition he’d brought with him into the world. Despite all of Madam Liu’s efforts to find treatments over the years, his health never improved. Now even she had begun to put her faith in deities. But Qi Yun’s condition remained unchanged.

Because of this, he grew up withdrawn, preferring books to people. Madam Liu, who doted on him, had made sure he lacked for nothing—including books he probably shouldn’t have had at that age.

Among them were certain stories… ones that described the intimacy between husband and wife.

It was only natural for a married couple to fulfill certain duties.

But… he could barely walk a few steps without losing his breath. Those other things were completely out of the question.

Qi Yun glanced over at Ye Jiao. His lips moved slightly, and he asked in a quiet voice, “Jiao-niang… why aren’t you going to sleep?”

Ye Jiao hesitated, then looked up at him. After what seemed like a moment of intense inner struggle, she finally said, “Husband… I want to ask you something. So, can you stay up a little longer?”

Qi Yun’s heart sank. So it really is about that…

A subtle discomfort rose within him, creeping onto his face before he could hide it.

Under the flickering candlelight, Qi Yun’s usually handsome face looked especially somber. His pale features cast eerie shadows, making him appear a little ghostly in the dim glow.

But Ye Jiao wasn’t frightened in the slightest. When she was still a spirit, she’d seen far stranger things—like the time a young fox spirit transformed with a fox’s head, fox paws, and a human torso. After that, nothing really fazed her.

Besides, in her eyes, her husband was exceedingly good-looking. So what if he was pale? She liked everything about him. There was no fear—only fondness.

Still, after spending these past days together, Ye Jiao could tell when Qi Yun was pleased and when he wasn’t. And right now, he clearly wasn’t.

Panicked, Ye Jiao quickly grabbed his hand and gave his chest a couple of soothing pats with the other. Her voice sped up in worry:

“Don’t be upset! If you don’t want to, then I won’t eat, really! It’s fine—I can still sleep when I’m hungry!”

…Huh?

Qi Yun stared at her blankly for a moment, trying to process her words—then finally realized: She’s just hungry.

And just like that, all of his earlier serious, awkward thoughts evaporated, leaving him both amused and exasperated.

Of course. Ye Jiao only ever thought about two things: eating and sleeping. Anything beyond that? Probably never crossed her mind. The thing he’d been worrying about… she likely didn’t even know it existed.

A wave of self-mockery washed over him for letting his mind go there in the first place.

He quickly reversed their grip and gently held her hand. “Do you want something sweet or a proper meal? If it’s rice, I’ll call the cook to make something.”

Ye Jiao shook her head, knowing the household was already asleep. She didn’t want to trouble anyone. “I’ll just have a snack.”

Qi Yun nodded and pointed to a small redwood cabinet not far away. “There’s a box inside. If you’re hungry, just take it out.”

Ye Jiao instantly let go of his hand and scurried over. She opened the cabinet, pulled out the only food box inside, and sat down at the table. Lifting the lid, she found a batch of delicate pastries. Grinning with delight, she popped one into her mouth.

Tonight’s pastry had a red bean filling—sweeter and tastier than the ones she’d had on their wedding night.

Eyes curving into happy crescents, Ye Jiao nibbled contentedly. But every now and then, her gaze would drift quietly back to Qi Yun.

She wasn’t just eating because she was hungry. She was preparing—for what she planned to do later.

After all, Qi Yun’s condition wasn’t exactly an illness. It was something he was born with—a deep, lingering weakness of the body.

His frail constitution wouldn’t kill him outright—but he was so weak that even a common cold, something an ordinary person could tough out, could easily take his life.

The fact that Qi Yun had lived this long was, honestly, a miracle amid misfortune.

Ye Jiao knew what she was. She was a ginseng spirit—not some all-powerful cure-all. Her abilities were in nourishing, not in curing every illness under the sun.

And since she still didn’t understand the medicine of this world, she had her own methods in mind to help strengthen Qi Yun.

Holding hands had already shown decent results over the past few days. Tonight, while he slept, Ye Jiao planned to try something else.

Healing took energy too—so naturally, she had to be well-fed first.

Qi Yun, meanwhile, lay on his side, quietly watching her.

He never imagined that just watching someone eat could bring him such peace. People often said the moonlight made beauties look their best, but to him, nothing compared to the way his bride looked right now—bathed in warm candlelight, cheeks puffed out as she chewed contentedly. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

Before he realized it, his eyes drifted shut, and sleep gently took him.

But somewhere in that drowsy haze, he felt a hand slip into his own.

Soft and smooth, like silk.

Then, a warm body nestled carefully between his arms, bringing with it the faint, comforting scent of osmanthus blossoms.

In the haze of sleep, Qi Yun vaguely heard a soft, tender voice whisper, “Husband, you have to stay healthy… live a long, long life, okay?”

He thought to himself:  This must be a dream. Even his own mother, Madam Liu, no longer held out hope for his longevity.

But still… he felt happy.

Because the voice was Ye Jiao’s.

He knew words spoken in dreams didn’t count for much—but even so, they warmed his heart.

That night, Qi Yun slept peacefully.

Ever since Ye Jiao came into his life, the nightmares that used to haunt him had almost completely disappeared.

He woke early, right on time, and didn’t disturb Ye Jiao, who was still fast asleep. Instead, he quietly threw on a robe and tiptoed over to the stack of ledgers that had been delivered a couple of days ago.

The Qi family had a decent bit of wealth. For generations, their livelihood came from farming. They were the largest landowners in the region, with several estates under their name. But when it came to business, they were largely clueless.

It was only in the current generation that things started to shift. With the government fully lifting restrictions on private commerce, everyone—from nobles and merchants to wandering monks—was getting into trade.

The Qi family wanted in too.

But the eldest son, Qi Zhao, had no head for numbers, and the youngest, Qi Ming, was busy studying for the imperial exams. So the task of bookkeeping fell to Qi Yun.

For him, it wasn’t difficult—in fact, it was almost too easy.

He’d been bright since childhood, with a photographic memory. It was as if the heavens had compensated for his poor health by giving him an exceptional mind. With minimal effort, he managed both the family’s wine shop and pharmacy with flawless precision. The business made a steady profit—not a fortune, but enough.

But the truth was, Qi Yun had never cared much. What drive could one expect from a man who’d long accepted he was dying? Hoping he’d grow a thriving business felt like asking too much of a man who had no future in his own eyes.

But now… things were different.

He wasn’t living just for himself anymore. He had a little wife—greedy for food and fond of sleep—depending on him.

Things he once overlooked had begun to matter again.

It felt like walking in the dark for years, only to catch sight of a faint glimmer of light.
Faint as it was, it stirred a longing in him—to live.

So he pulled out the ledgers he had only skimmed before and began going through them carefully once more.

But as he flipped through the pages, he stumbled across an old entry.

A bad debt.

Roughly six months ago, someone had entered into a business deal with their wine shop, suffered losses, and ended up owing a significant sum.

That someone… was Ye Erlang.

Qi Yun had heard of it before—the Ye family used to be fairly well-off. But ever since the eldest son left, the second son, Ye Erlang, had been pressured to go out and make something of himself. Unfortunately, he lacked the skills or means to succeed. Whatever he tried ended in failure, and he likely racked up quite a bit of debt. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have traded his sister for money.

Strictly speaking, this debt was one that should’ve been written off. Ye Erlang probably owed money all over town and might not even remember this particular sum. Besides, now that the two families were connected by marriage, the amount wasn’t anything significant—at least not in Qi Yun’s eyes. Writing it off would have been easy.

And yet… He hadn’t done it.

The IOU was still tucked neatly into the ledger, untouched and intact.

Qi Yun glanced over at Ye Jiao, his gaze unreadable. After a moment of silent thought, he set down the brush and slipped the IOU back between the pages.

Then he adjusted his robe, preparing to get up.

But as soon as he stood, a wave of dizziness crashed over him.

He reached out to steady himself on the table, but the world spun, his vision went black, and he collapsed back into the chair.

The pen stand clattered loudly to the ground, the sudden noise enough to startle Ye Jiao awake.

She parted the bed curtain, still half-dazed.

Last night, she had snuck into his bed and held him all night long to nourish him more effectively. She hadn’t left until the first crow of the rooster, slipping quietly back into her own bed.

But now, the moment she opened her eyes, she saw Qi Yun slumped pale and weak in the chair.

She didn’t even stop to put on shoes—rushing barefoot across the room, she wrapped her arms tightly around him.

Qi Yun sat there, eyes shut, brow furrowed. Though conscious, he was too weak to open his eyes or respond, letting her hold him without resistance.

“Husband? Qi Yun?” Ye Jiao’s voice trembled in worry. She reached out, touching his face—and immediately flinched.

His skin was burning up.

Qi Yun… had a fever.

=^_^=

Qi Yun: I held my wife for the first time last night… and I didn’t even know it.
Ye Jiao: Red bean pastries are the best.