The original Song Luan, though merely a concubine’s daughter, had lived a life of exquisite refinement. She was no different from any pampered noble lady—obsessed with rouge, silk, and jewelry, while utterly lacking in talent or virtue. A beautiful but brainless ornament.

Song Luan shuddered. No one could meet Zhao Nanyu’s gaze and remain unaffected. For a split second, she was convinced he had seen right through her. The fingers hidden within her flowing sleeves trembled uncontrollably, and the piercing weight of his shadowed, inscrutable stare made her scalp tingle with unease.

Zhao Nanyu took in her pale face and the slight tremor in her limbs. The sheer helplessness of it all made him withdraw some of his icy sharpness. Interesting. Over the past few days, he had noticed a shift—Song Luan seemed… afraid of him. And not the kind of fear that was put on for show, but a deep-seated, instinctive fear.

Had she figured something out?

How curious. She had always been the arrogant, domineering one.

This was getting entertaining.

Song Luan felt like she might actually faint. Her chest tightened, her breath came short—damn it, was she really this terrified of him? She forced herself to stay steady, fingers tightening around the food box as a cold shiver creeping from the soles of her feet up to her spine.

Swallowing hard, she lifted her chin and met his gaze head-on, forcing her voice to stay firm. It wasn’t exactly respectful, but it wasn’t outright defiant either. Doing her best to mimic the original Song Luan’s brash, unreasonable tone, she huffed. “It’s for the child. What’s with all the questions?”

Zhao Nanyu paused for a moment, his gaze darkening slightly. Yet, rather than irritation at her abrupt change in attitude, amusement flickered beneath the surface.

She was like a paper tiger—one poke, and she’d crumble.

And yet, this little paper tiger still thought she was fierce.

Adorable.

“Alright.”

Seeing that he didn’t press further, Song Luan finally let out a quiet sigh of relief. The tightness in her chest eased, and her breath returned to normal. She walked over to Shige, placed the food box on the low table, and carefully took out the still-warm osmanthus cake.

The crystal-clear osmanthus cakes emitted a sweet, fragrant aroma, and their lively shapes caught Shige’s attention. He had never seen anything like them before, and the little boy’s wide, dark eyes were fixated on the plate.

Song Luan smiled and gently pushed the plate toward him. “Why don’t you try it? See if you like it.”

Shige still held his small toy in one hand, his large eyes staring at her in a dazed, innocent way. Song Luan, deciding to take matters into her own hands, picked up a piece and brought it to his mouth. She spoke softly, “Here.”

The child obediently opened his mouth, took two bites, and swallowed. Then, in his high-pitched, childlike voice, he said, “It’s sweet.”

Sweet but not overwhelming. He really liked it.

Song Luan felt an immense sense of satisfaction in her heart. She reached out and pinched his cheek, then asked, “Do you like it?”

Shige couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. The osmanthus cake was sweet, and his mother’s scent was sweet too. He nodded enthusiastically, “I like it.”

Song Luan smiled and patted his head. “I’m glad you like it.”

Shige lowered his head, his big eyes shyly avoiding hers. Though he wanted to get closer, he was too embarrassed to.

Song Luan felt a pang of disappointment. She had seen Shige affectionately embrace others a few times—sometimes it was Zhao Nanyu, sometimes his little uncle. He would tightly wrap his small arms around their necks. Yet, after all these days, the child had never made an initiative to hugged her or even taken her hand.

Although it was understandable, she still felt a bit sad.

However, it was much better than when he first refused to even eat in front of her because he was too shy. Thinking this way, the frustration in Song Luan’s chest dissipated.

Zhao Nanyu, who had been silent, suddenly smiled. “Looks like it tastes good. I’ll try some too.”

With a graceful hand, he picked up a piece of the osmanthus cake and took a bite. It was sweet and not overwhelming, not at all like something she would have made. He raised an eyebrow, “Very tasty.”

Song Luan politely thanked him.

Zhao Nanyu stepped closer, getting quite near. She could even smell his faint, distinct scent and this made her heart leapt into her throat, unsure of his intentions.

He reached out, and though he was a scholar, his fingertips were surprisingly rough. His cool fingers brushed against her slightly warm cheek. Fortunately, he didn’t apply too much pressure. His touch was casual as it lightly glided across her delicate skin, leaving a soft redness. His gentleness was oddly unsettling as he asked, “Your face is so pale. Are you feeling unwell?”

He hadn’t said much, but just the mention of it made her feel strangely unwell, perhaps due to the psychological effect.

In truth, her body was generally healthy. After giving birth, she’d nearly died, but since then, her health had been better, despite not being as strong as before. This was also one of the reasons the original owner had despised her biological son.

Still, she wasn’t as weak as before—no fevers or chills, and she lived a normal life every day.

Sitting on the soft couch, Shige heard him mention not feeling well, and immediately lifted his gaze, staring at her persistently, likely worried about her.

Song Luan thought for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah, I do have a bit of a headache.”

Zhao Nanyu’s hands never seemed to be warm. Each time they touched her, they were freezing cold. After a while, he finally withdrew his hand from her face. “Then you should rest.”

Song Luan didn’t hesitate to agree, preparing to leave. However, he suddenly grasped her shoulder, pinning her in place. They were so close that they were nearly touching.

As he spoke, his cold breath brushed against her neck. “Even though it’s spring, the weather is still chilly. Next time, dress warmer when you go out.”

Song Luan stiffened her body, replying in a tense, rigid voice, “Mm.”

“Go back now.”

“Alright.”

She quickly fled from Zhao Nanyu’s study, feeling like speaking to him took a year off her life. No matter how well he played the part, he was still sinister, and the coldness in him was something that couldn’t be hidden.

Back in her courtyard, the hour was still early. She set up the rocking chair and lay down for a while. The warm sunlight made her feel lazy, and as she rocked back and forth, she soon drifted off to sleep.

She woke up to the dimming light of dusk, still feeling groggy, with a heavy head and light feet. Her nose and throat felt uncomfortable.

“Madam, it’s getting chilly in the evening. Shall we go inside?” the maid suggested.

She opened her mouth to reply, but her throat hurt when she spoke. “Alright,” she managed, then asked, “How long have I been asleep?”

“Over an hour.”

No wonder it was already close to dark.

Her complexion was even worse than when she had been in front of Zhao Nanyu earlier—pale as paper, and her energy was completely drained. Song Luan’s feet felt weak, she thought the cold breeze from earlier had made her sick. Plus, her previous chills hadn’t fully recovered, and now she was ill again.

She grasped the maid’s wrist weakly. “Help me, please.”

The maid didn’t hesitate. “Yes, madam.”

Once inside, Song Luan headed straight for the bed, barely noticing the maid’s gentle reminder, “Madam, dinner will be ready soon.”

Lying down on the soft bed, without even bothering to take off her shoes, she groaned weakly, “My head hurts. I don’t want to eat.”

Her head throbbed, her nose was still blocked, and she felt miserable.

The maid was about to tell her that Zhao Nanyu would be joining her for dinner tonight, but by the time she went to speak, Song Luan had already wrapped herself up tightly in the blanket, motionless.

Back in the study, after she left, Zhao Nanyu didn’t continue copying the family rules. His mind was unsettled, and the words he wrote were sloppy, lacking both form and spirit. Xiao Shige had stopped playing with his toys too, and despite not having a sweet tooth, he had eaten several pieces of osmanthus cake. As he reached out for another, Zhao Nanyu stopped him, his voice calm, “That’s the fifth one. No more.”

Xiao Shige quickly pulled his hand back and asked in a small voice. “Father, aren’t you going to eat?”

Zhao Nanyu, who didn’t like sweets himself, smiled and asked. “Do you really like her that much?”

“Mm, I like her,” Xiao Shige replied simply. He was just a young child, and since his mother treated him well, he couldn’t be indifferent to her.

The little one seemed completely unafraid of his father. He climbed off the couch, toddled over to Zhao Nanyu, and hugged his leg, looking up at him with innocent eyes. “Father, don’t you like her?”

His mother was soft, sweet, and always smiling at others. How could he not like her?

Zhao Nanyu fell silent for a long while. The color of his eyes darkened gradually, all his darkness and cruelty carefully suppressed. He smiled and replied, “I like her too.”

The frail, sweet-smelling, and trembling Song Luan, who was shaking in fear before him, truly stirred something in Zhao Nanyu.

….

The night had fully fallen when Zhao Nanyu entered her room. The meal laid out on the table hadn’t been touched, and after scanning the room, he didn’t see her anywhere.

He asked coldly, “Where is she?”

“Madam said she has a headache and is still lying in bed,” the maid replied.

Zhao Nanyu strode to the inner room. The person in bed had wrapped herself up tightly in the blanket, leaving just a small gap for breathing. He sat at the edge of the bed, pulled the covers away, forcing her to expose her head.

Song Luan’s face was flushed, her delicate brows tightly furrowed. Her soft body lay limp in the blankets, looking utterly drained of energy.

Zhao Nanyu placed his hand on her forehead. It was hot—she had a fever.

=^_^=