Unlike his brothers, Zhao Chao never pursued an official career. From a young age, he had followed the masters at the Daoist temple, learning the art of medicine.

Now, he had inherited his master’s skills and had made a name for himself as a well-known physician in the capital.

But Zhao Chao wasn’t just skilled in healing—he had a deep knowledge of poisons as well. Three years ago, his second brother had asked him for a slow-acting, colorless, and tasteless poison. He had joked at the time that his second brother truly lived up to his role as the elder—when it came to ruthlessness, he was far more merciless than his younger sibling.

The poison was called Tianqing. When his brother asked for it, Zhao Chao handed it over without question and never spoke a word about it. He had asked who the poison was meant for, but his second brother never answered.

Three years had passed since then, and his brother had never requested more.

Zhao Chao could guess with almost complete certainty—it had been meant for Song Luan.

Zhao Nanyu had an impressive tolerance for alcohol. He downed two cups without so much as a change in expression. He wasn’t a man of many words, especially in front of his younger brothers. He simply sat there, drinking in silence.

The private room was steeped in an eerie stillness. No one spoke to Song Luan, but she didn’t seem to mind. She sat with her head lowered, idly staring at the plate of pastries in front of her, counting how many pieces there were out of sheer boredom.

Zhao Chao poured her a cup of wine. This time, Zhao Nanyu didn’t stop her from drinking—he merely glanced at her and said nothing.

Song Luan had a vague sense that Zhao Chao didn’t like her. Even though he wore a warm and friendly smile, there was something about it that felt… fake.

She straightened her back, carrying herself with the same pride she always did in front of others—nothing like the meek, diminished version of herself she became before Zhao Nanyu. Here, Song Luan played the role of an arrogant young lady, even her tone of gratitude laced with reluctance.

“Thank you.”

Zhao Chao frowned slightly. He sensed something was off about her, yet at the same time, she didn’t seem all that different from before—still the same unreasonable, willful woman.

Shameless. Ill-mannered. Overbearing and shallow.

He curved his lips into a smile. “It’s been quite a while since I last saw you, Second Sister-in-law.”

Song Luan’s voice was distant, detached. “Is that so? I don’t remember.”

Zhao Chao didn’t mind. He kept smiling, his face the kind that could easily put people at ease. “I heard you were unwell a while ago. How are you feeling now?”

She coughed twice, her expression indifferent. Her response was dry and clipped. “Fine.”

There were two reasons she was so cold toward Zhao Chao. First, she didn’t want to break character in front of people who didn’t matter. Second, she feared that if she showed even a hint of familiarity, Zhao Nanyu would once again assume she was falling back into her old ways—trying to seduce his brother.

All things considered, caution was the best approach. In this entire story, the only person she absolutely couldn’t afford to offend was the male lead, Zhao Nanyu. What anyone else thought or said about her was irrelevant.

Zhao Chao seemed to have infinite patience, utterly unfazed no matter how much she brushed him off. He parted his lips as if about to ask something else, but before he could speak, Zhao Nanyu—who had been silent all this time—cast him a cold glance and said,

“Enough. Drink.”

The moment Zhao Nanyu spoke, Zhao Chao wisely fell silent.

Song Luan felt like she was sitting on pins and needles. She just wanted to go home—she had no interest in drinking, nor did she want to get caught up in the tangled grudges between these brothers. Especially now, with Zhao Wenyan’s gaze fixed on her, sharp and anything but friendly.

Zhao Chao let the matter drop, but Zhao Wenyan couldn’t help himself. He muttered under his breath, “Who knows if she’s even really sick? She’s probably just faking it.”

After all, she had pulled this stunt before—pretending to be ill just to sneak out of the manor and find amusement in a brothel, seeking pleasure with male courtesans.

His words stirred up unpleasant memories for Zhao Nanyu. He turned his face slightly, a faint smile playing at the corners of his eyes as he looked at Song Luan. With a gentle motion, he tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, speaking in a soft, almost indulgent tone.

“She doesn’t lie. Ah-Yuan, you misspoke.”

Zhao Wenyan couldn’t understand why his brother insisted on defending her. What was there to protect?! His face flushed red with frustration—he wanted nothing more than to shout shameless woman at her.

Once, she had even pretended to be weak and collapsed into his arms, putting on a seductive act. He had been too embarrassed to ever mention it to his brother.

Song Luan forced an awkward smile, putting on an innocent, virtuous front. “He didn’t mean anything by it. I don’t blame him.”

Zhao Nanyu’s lips curved slightly, his voice cool and distant.

“How magnanimous of you, my dear wife.”

Song Luan flushed red at his words. The blush on her face only made her look more alluring, exuding a charm that was hard to ignore. The candlelight flickered in her clear, glistening eyes, a soft sheen of moisture reflecting in them. Even her ears burned crimson. She quickly took a sip of water, pressing down the heat rising in her chest.

Zhao Wenyan, on the other hand, spent the entire evening fuming, downing cup after cup of wine as if trying to drown his frustration. He was still young and didn’t have much of a tolerance—by the time he was truly drunk, his face was flushed, his neck was red, and he was muttering nonsense, lost in a drunken haze.

Song Luan remained rigid the entire time, never once sparing him a glance. She kept her posture straight, her expression cold and distant, utterly indifferent to his presence.

Perhaps something in her demeanor set him off, striking a nerve he didn’t even know he had. Just as they were about to leave, Zhao Wenyan suddenly stormed up to her, his face still full of drunken indignation, and snapped,

“You’re shameless.”

For a young scholar, barely past boyhood, hurling such an insult was completely beneath his usual sense of decorum.

But Song Luan wasn’t one to take an accusation lying down. She turned on him immediately, eyes sharp as she shot back,

“You’re the shameless one.”

“You—” He staggered, his anger bubbling over as he blurted, “You prance around half-dressed in front of me, deliberately fall into my arms, and—”

Before he could finish, Zhao Chao had already dragged him away.

Song Luan had downed a couple of drinks that night—not much, but just enough for the alcohol to embolden her. Feeling braver than usual, she charged forward like a wildcat, ready to scratch Zhao Wenyan’s face and yank his hair.

But before she could pounce, Zhao Nanyu reacted swiftly, catching her wrist with ease. His lips curled into a faint smile.

“Feisty, aren’t you?”

The moment she saw him, all her bluster vanished. She instantly quieted down, letting him hold her wrist as he led her out of the tavern without further protest.

Zhao Chao dragged the drunken Zhao Wenyan onto the carriage and left first. Meanwhile, Song Luan walked alongside Zhao Nanyu, heading back to the Song estate on foot.

The night was dark, the wind sharp. It howled past her ears, slapping cold against her face, sobering her up slightly. But her head was still spinning, her steps unsteady.

She was, by nature, a lazy person—if she could sit, she absolutely wouldn’t walk.

Their shadows stretched long beneath the moonlight. Zhao Nanyu walked fast, his strides wide and purposeful. Song Luan struggled to keep up, her legs aching with every step. The longer they walked, the more her feet throbbed. This body really is ridiculously delicate.

Panting, she trailed behind him, her heels rubbed raw. The streets were empty, just the two of them alone in the night. Pain pricked at her eyes, and before she knew it, her temper flared.

She stopped dead in her tracks, huffing in frustration.

“I’m not walking anymore!”

Hearing her protest, Zhao Nanyu turned around. The moonlight fell across his sharp features, casting soft shadows along his jawline. Tilting his chin slightly, he looked at her and asked,

“What’s wrong?”

Song Luan wiped at her eyes, her voice full of righteous indignation.

“I can’t walk anymore!”

She pouted, her face full of displeasure. Zhao Nanyu simply watched her, momentarily dazed. A strange itch stirred in his chest—who would’ve thought her little tantrum could be so… enticing?

“It’s not much farther.”

Song Luan pointed to her left foot, afraid he wouldn’t believe her. To prove her point, she bent down, pulled off her shoe and sock, then stuck out her bare foot, pointing indignantly at her heel.

“Look! The skin’s all scraped off!”

Zhao Nanyu was momentarily stunned by her brazen display. Then his face darkened. Without a word, he crouched down, took her foot in his palm, and carefully wiped away the blood on her heel. Once he’d cleaned it, he slipped her sock and shoe back on, his jet-black eyes locking onto hers with an icy glare.

“Don’t take off your shoes in public.”

If anyone had been around to see this, he would’ve gouged their eyes out.

Song Luan, emboldened by the alcohol, had been acting recklessly, but she wasn’t that drunk. Now that he’d scolded her, she finally behaved, albeit with obvious reluctance.

“Oh.”

Zhao Nanyu didn’t say another word. He simply crouched down and hoisted her onto his back.

She went limp against him, arms lazily looped around his neck. Her breath, warm and sweet, fanned against his skin.

Resting her head against his shoulder, she squinted at him, unmoving. Her gaze trailed slowly up from his sharp jawline, taking in every refined feature—his nose, his brows, every detail of his face was just her type.

She stared, utterly entranced.

Before she even realized what she was doing, she reached out and lightly poked his cheek.

Zhao Nanyu stiffened for a split second. His expression remained cool and detached, but his grip shifted—one hand steadying her thigh, the other catching her wandering fingers.

His voice was low and firm.

“Behave.”

The moment she heard his voice, Song Luan stopped moving, unbelievably obedient. She withdrew her hand, blinking dazedly.

“Oh.”

She wanted to say that she’d already been very well-behaved—always swallowing her anger, never daring to speak out.

Then, out of nowhere, she chuckled and called his name.

“Zhao Nanyu.”

He kept walking, carrying her steadily on his back, listening as she spoke. His voice was slightly hoarse.

“What is it?”

Song Luan’s slender legs tightened around his waist as she shifted against him, her soft chest pressing against his back. Zhao Nanyu’s breath hitched, his voice dropping even lower.

“Don’t move.”

But this time, she didn’t listen. She leaned in, lips dangerously close to his ear, and let out a teasing breath.

“Do you like me? Hmm?”

Zhao Nanyu’s jaw tensed. He said nothing.

Song Luan’s laughter was light and sweet, her voice soft as silk.

“Am I not beautiful enough? Or is my figure lacking? You really don’t like me?”

Seduction? Please.

If that’s what it took, she was more than capable.

And seducing him?

Child’s play.

Zhao Nanyu carried her all the way home. The night watchmen, catching sight of their young master and mistress in such a state, were so startled they quickly averted their eyes, not daring to steal even a glance at Madam.

He kicked the door open, unceremoniously tossing the woman onto the bed.

Song Luan lay there, her cheeks flushed, clothes slightly disheveled, her fair neck tinged with a delicate red—utterly enticing.

Zhao Nanyu clenched his jaw, his face unreadable. But when he finally spoke, his voice was low and hoarse.

“You’re drunk.”

Song Luan was not drunk. But seeing that her teasing had failed to get a reaction, she gave up, rolling herself into the blanket like a cocoon.

“Fine. If you don’t like me, forget it.”

Not like I like you either—pfft.

=^_^=