Chapter 19

The room fell silent all at once. Shen Qingran crouched until his legs went numb, but didn’t hear a single response from the female lead.

He scratched the back of his head—the female lead shouldn’t be this timid.

Maybe he should try speaking in English?

Shen Qingran switched through six different foreign languages to greet her, but received no reply.

His limbs turned cold—had he mistaken the person?

But this girl shared the same name as the female lead. He’d watched her farm for two million words—how could it be wrong?

Since the Pan household was empty anyway, Shen Qingran grew anxious and emerged from behind the haystack. He entered the Pan residence and quickly made his way to where the female lead was confined.

The door was barred but not locked. Shen Qingran easily slid the latch open.

The moment he pushed the door open, the girl in thin dark blue clothes shrank back violently, casting a timid glance his way. Recognizing the mute sister who had saved her that morning, tears welled up as she rushed toward Shen Qingran like a drowning person clutching at a lifeline.

“There’s someone strange outside chanting spells… it’s like… like the stories I heard at the teahouse… is it an Evil Monk harming people…” Pan Yunxi sobbed uncontrollably, having been too frightened to make a sound earlier.

“I was scared… I’m sorry I couldn’t find anyone to save you… I’m useless…”

Shen Qingran’s expression went blank, as if his backbone had been yanked out in an instant, leaving his limbs weak and powerless.

The female lead hadn’t come.

Patting Pan Yunxi’s shoulder, Shen Qingran managed some communication—she’d learned a few characters from her brother’s books. After hastily explaining there was no Evil Monk (since he was the one who’d frightened her), and waiting for her tears to subside, Shen Qingran promised her a bundle of sugar cane as compensation. Then he picked up the hoe outside the door and stumbled out in a daze.

Pan Yunxi had been frightened, so he comforted her. But who would comfort him when the plot had terrified him?

If the female lead wasn’t coming, what should he do now?

Was he truly doomed to obediently farm—rising with the sun and resting at sunset—or meet the original supporting female character’s fate?

Shen Qingran had to admit he’d been clinging to wishful thinking. Despite promising Xue Feifeng repeatedly that he’d focus on farming, his heart still clung to managing accounts for the female lead as his path to wealth through mental labor.

The plot had ruthlessly slapped him awake.

He possessed neither talent nor passion for farming—just laziness and gluttony. Xue Feifeng had truly drawn the short straw by getting stuck with him. What could he possibly offer by clinging to Xue Feifeng’s side?

Clenching his hand, Shen Qingran suddenly noticed he was still holding the hoe.

What excuse had he given Xue Feifeng for coming out here? Right—weeding the sugarcane field.

Like a spoiled young master abruptly stripped of all privileges, he clumsily attempted farming to prove he still had some capability.

A stubborn spark of determination ignited his motivation. Selecting a patch of sugarcane field overgrown with weeds, Shen Qingran got to work.

It was like bringing a single pen to the exam hall. The academic failure Shen Qingran racked his brains but couldn’t recall the proper hoeing posture.

After experimenting with various stances until he found a comfortable grip, Shen Qingran swung the hoe high with confidence and precision, aiming for a clump of weeds at the base of a sugarcane stalk.

A rustling sound followed. To Shen Qingran’s stunned disbelief, the two-meter-tall sugarcane was cleanly severed at the waist, toppling slowly while dragging down three neighboring stalks with it.

Miscalculation.

Shen Qingran analyzed: these weeds grew too wildly, creating optical illusions that obscured their roots. His swing had been too high, accidentally damaging the sugarcane.

Let’s try again.

The next moment, the soil at the base of another sugar cane was loosened. Shen Qingran wobbled from exerting too much force, bumped into the cane, and knocked over another stalk.

Shen Qingran shook his head. I only gave it a light touch—this cane’s roots were too shallow, not firmly grounded.

Half an hour later.

Sugar canes lay scattered across the ground, crisscrossed and uneven in length, as if a wild boar had descended from the mountains and rolled around joyfully in the field all night.

Shen Qingran tossed aside the hoe, its iron blade now separated from the wooden handle, and guiltily tried to replant each cane stalk back into the soil.

Let them be.

Sitting on the ridge of the field, Shen Qingran twirled a slender wild grass stem in his fingers. He’d often seen people chewing on these, as if it could relieve boredom.

Pursing his lips, he shredded the grass into tiny pieces, growing increasingly aware of how out of place he was.

If he couldn’t even bring himself to chew on a blade of grass, how could he possibly manage farming?

To appear more like a proper farmer, Shen Qingran had even gritted his teeth and taken off his boots to work barefoot. Now, staring at his pale toes, the dirt crammed under his nails, and the scabbed wound on his foot—courtesy of his own careless hoeing—he shuddered. If he hadn’t pulled back in time, that brand-new hoe might have turned him into the second cripple around here.

A field of haphazardly planted sugar canes, stubbornly refusing to cooperate, with results too dismal to predict—how was he going to explain this to Xue Feifeng?

Shen Qingran wasn’t sure he dared to go home.

Before, he hadn’t bothered with farming, strutting around confidently, believing he could guide Xue Feifeng to the pinnacle of life through the female lead—what was borrowed would be returned.

Now, Shen Qingran realized one thing with painful clarity.

He might just end up starving Xue Feifeng to death alongside himself.

…

Xue Feifeng watched Shen Qingran hurry away and nearly crushed the crutch in his hand.

The crutch was spotless. After washing himself clean, Shen Qingran’s first task had been to rinse the dirt off Xue Feifeng’s crutch, dry it with a cloth, and carefully roast it by the stove for a long time. If only Shen Qingran had put that much effort into cooking, he wouldn’t keep burning their meals.

Remembering that earnest figure, Xue Feifeng loosened his grip, stopping himself from snapping the crutch entirely. He couldn’t understand why someone as sharp as Shen Qingran remained blindly devoted to a scoundrel—carefree one moment, stubbornly persistent the next, getting trampled on repeatedly yet still eagerly crawling back for more.

Suppressing the urge to drag Shen Qingran back and lock him in a room for self-reflection, Xue Feifeng held himself back from chasing after him. For one, he had no right to dictate Shen Qingran’s actions—Li Feng was already gone, and in a way, Shen Qingran was a free man. For another, it was time Shen Qingran faced reality. Let him witness Pan Yanshan courting someone else with his own eyes. Only after hitting a wall would he finally turn back.

The first reason was flimsy—Xue Feifeng didn’t even believe it himself.

Counting the hours, worried Shen Qingran might get bullied, he prepared to go out and search for him.

Just then, Chang Ming arrived, carrying a bundle of prenatal medicine, his expression grave, as if he were personally helping the mistress cuckold the general.

Chang Ming looked at Xue Feifeng with pity. “Master, the medicine is marked—three doses of each, to be taken every three days. The Miracle Doctor said without a pulse reading, he couldn’t be precise, so he only prescribed a tonic.”

In truth, the Miracle Doctor hadn’t been that considerate. The moment he heard the timeline, he’d gleefully asked Chang Ming, “Wait, let’s get this straight—does your general want medicine to preserve the pregnancy or terminate it?”

Enraged, Chang Ming had yanked off the man’s fake beard.

Xue Feifeng faced the prenatal medicine again, his heart now undisturbed. What troubled him more was Li Feng’s false identity.  

“How are things outside?”  

Chang Ming replied, “Just as you predicted, the north has ceased fighting with the onset of winter.”  

Xue Feifeng wasn’t surprised. Months ago, he had ordered his men to monitor supplies being transported to Yangcheng, suspecting it was a transit point for the Northern Hui to smuggle resources from Da Qi. The northern regions were cold and arid; once winter arrived, vegetation withered, and livestock weakened. Two years prior, a plague had ravaged Northern Hui, causing countless casualties, prompting them to plunder the borders relentlessly. That they could sustain such prolonged warfare with Da Qi suggested their provisions weren’t solely stockpiled from their own territory—Xue Feifeng didn’t believe it.  

Cut off their supplies, and Northern Hui immediately halted hostilities. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots: from Jiangnan to Yangcheng and then to Northern Hui, an unseen line of bloodsucking leeches fed on the common people to nourish foreign wolves.  

Xue Feifeng had never concerned himself with such matters before. As a general guarding the borders, he entrusted the rear affairs entirely to the Crown Prince, offering his full trust. Only after being betrayed did he realize how short-sighted and jealous Xue Lifeng was—nurturing a festering wound, granting Northern Hui countless advantages. Da Qi had likely long been riddled with their infiltration.  

One investigation confirmed it.  

“What about the All Under Heaven Escort Agency?” When World Manor was first established, it had vowed never to engage in activities detrimental to the court. The young manor lord, Mu Wenkou, was known for his cunning, but Xue Feifeng hadn’t expected his judgment to fail so early.  

“From what we know, the shipment of medicinal herbs and sulfur was arranged by Yangcheng’s overseer behind Mu Wenkou’s back—even the ship’s captain was unaware of the cargo’s true destination. After you leveraged the bandit suppression, word reached the manor, and Mu Wenkou replaced all personnel in the Yangcheng region.”  

Cao Tongfang, though uneducated, had clearly operated with powerful backing. World Manor had thoroughly offended him. It was said that after reading the letter and learning the troublemaking songstress’s gender remained unknown, Mu Wenkou coldly ordered all subordinate escorts of the agency to wear women’s clothing for three days as a light punishment.  

For those three days, every escort team of the All Under Heaven Escort Agency unanimously chose the most desolate paths.  

Chang Ming stifled a laugh. He and Chang Bai, with nothing better to do, had dragged Chang Sui along to hide in the bushes, watching burly men escort goods in pink fringed skirts. Their laughter had nearly provoked a fight.  

Though disillusioned with the court, Xue Feifeng’s hatred for Northern Hui ran deeper. Ignoring the war didn’t mean he could stand by while they smuggled provisions from Jiangnan.  

Chang Ming feigned worry—when would their master return to the fray?  

…  

After giving Chang Ming further instructions and wasting some time, Xue Feifeng stepped out, only to realize he had no idea where to find Shen Qingran.  

The Pan family had gone to Li Dadao’s home to propose marriage. Unsure of Li Dadao’s address, Xue Feifeng decided to check the Pan residence first.  

Passing by the riverbank, he overheard four or five women chatting while washing clothes. Though Shen Qingran and Xue Feifeng were usually their favorite topics, today the gossip centered on Pan Yanshan.  

“Did you see the commotion earlier? Li Dadao’s house was in an uproar!”  

“Li Dadao is so protective of his own—how dare the Pan family… The three of them were at a standoff, and Dadao even brought out his ancestral blade!”  

“The Pan family has retreated now. You missed the scene earlier while feeding the pigs.”  

“Tell us more…”  

Xue Feifeng faintly caught mention of three people and a drawn blade. His expression darkened, fearing Shen Qingran might have been caught in the conflict. Ensuring no one was around, he stowed his cane and employed his light body technique, darting toward the Pan residence.

The sugarcane field that had been neatly uniform just yesterday now appeared uneven and peculiar. Xue Feifeng’s peripheral vision caught a dejected figure slumped on the ridge, causing his footsteps to halt abruptly.

Striding through the half-wilted sugarcane, Xue Feifeng marched straight toward the little mute who had buried his head in his arms. With each step, his expression darkened further.

His gaze swept across the surroundings—the haphazardly cut sugarcane stalks deceitfully replanted in the soil, resembling the dragging banners of a defeated army.

Heartbroken, so you took it out on the sugarcane?

“Shen Qingran,” Xue Feifeng called out, watching as the pitiful figure slowly raised his head. Hardening his heart, he asked, “Disappointed?”

Shen Qingran shook his head—too disappointed to even speak.

“Still planning to look for him?”

No more searching. The female lead isn’t coming anymore.

Shen Qingran shook his head again, then suddenly realized—how did Xue Feifeng know he’d gone looking for the female lead? Was his intention to cling to powerful connections so obvious?

Seeing Shen Qingran’s obedient compliance, Xue Feifeng’s anger unceremoniously dissipated halfway. The remaining fury vanished completely the moment he spotted the wounds on Shen Qingran’s feet.

So Shen Qingran did suffer when wielding the knife.

Xue Feifeng crouched before him, firmly grasping Shen Qingran’s ankle with one hand and lifting it slightly. From his robe, he produced a bottle of trauma medicine, uncorking it with his teeth before sprinkling the powder onto the wounds.

Hiss— Shen Qingran sucked in a sharp breath, the pain instantly overriding any deeper contemplation about the implications of Xue Feifeng’s earlier questions. He tried to retract his foot, only to find it held immobile in Xue Feifeng’s unyielding grip.

“If it hurts, remember this lesson.”

Though his words were harsh, Xue Feifeng’s movements involuntarily gentled. His gaze lingered on Shen Qingran’s delicate, jade-like ankle—so slender it could be fully encircled by one hand. It seemed almost wasteful that such feet should bear the burden of walking, let alone these two unwarranted wounds.

The jealousy-addled general didn’t find it strange that only the instep was injured.

Shen Qingran looked down at Xue Feifeng’s resolute face—handsome beyond measure from every angle, kind to him beyond reason.

His lips trembled slightly before, after a long pause, he patted Xue Feifeng’s shoulder and voiced the decision he’d been contemplating for half an hour:

“Divorce me.” Otherwise you might starve to death.

He didn’t speak aloud, but he knew Xue Feifeng understood.

Xue Feifeng’s pupils constricted violently. He hadn’t expected that Shen Qingran’s complete fallout with Pan Yanshan would lead to this conclusion.

In that instant, all the depression, guilt, and self-reflection of the past few days dissipated like the last wisp of cloud silently scattered by the wind.

All his internal struggles became meaningless. With just one sentence from Shen Qingran, Xue Feifeng saw with crystal clarity the ancient, unchosen path that had always lain in his heart, waiting to be reclaimed through brambles and thorns.

Under the vast sky and drifting clouds, all things fell silent.

Never had Xue Feifeng’s mind been so clear, as if emerging from fog to see the sky. Gazing into Shen Qingran’s damp, swallowtail-shaped eyes, he enunciated each word with precision:

“In your dreams.”