Zhao Wenyan was young, yet his temper was far from mild. At just sixteen, his youthful face still carried traces of boyishness, but his sharp brows and haughty demeanor spoke volumes of his impatience. Though he and Zhao Nanyu weren’t born of the same mother, the resemblance between them was striking enough that anyone could tell at a glance they were brothers.

The way Zhao Wenyan looked at Song Luan brimmed with disdain, as if she were something filthy he didn’t want anywhere near her. He practically shrank away, voice cold as he announced, “Father won’t be back until later.”

Zhao Nanyu simply nodded. “Got it.”

The more Zhao Wenyan looked at his second brother, the more annoyed he felt. Though he didn’t particularly like his second brother, he disliked seeing him ridiculed by the family even more. Ever since this ill-mannered second sister-in-law entered the house, gossip had only multiplied!

Song Luan was beautiful, undeniably so, but her thoughts were as wicked as they came. She flirted shamelessly, disgracing his second brother at every turn.

“It’s almost time. Let’s go inside,” he grumbled.

Almost everyone in the extended family had arrived, with the exception of Uncle Zhao’s eldest son, who was unable to return home due to being stationed outside the capital. The rest of the family members were seated properly in their chairs.

At the center sat Old Master Zhao. Though over sixty, he still exuded vigor and authority. Stroking his snowy white beard, his sharp eyes scanned the room. Only after a moment of silence did he declare, “Let’s eat.”

Though labeled a family meal, the atmosphere at the table was stiff and formal. Song Luan gripped her chopsticks tightly, barely daring to move. Keeping her head down, she did her best to blend into the background, hoping no one would notice her. Unfortunately, she could still feel several pairs of eyes boring into her, as if she were the main character in this uncomfortable performance.

Under such scrutiny, eating became an ordeal. Every bite tasted like sawdust, dry and flavorless. Time dragged on as she endured more than half an hour of this tension before, at last, the family began to set their chopsticks down one after another.

Old Master Zhao valued each of his grandchildren immensely. For those without official titles, he inquired about their studies one by one. For those who had already earned titles, he delved into matters of court affairs. In short, he was deeply invested in their progress.

After the meal, Uncle Zhao made an excuse to leave early, but the rest of the family had no such option. Old Master Zhao cast a long, meaningful glance at Zhao Nanyu before saying, “Nanyu, stay behind and play a game of chess with me.”

Zhao Nanyu responded calmly and respectfully, “Of course.”

The old man brought out his prized white jade chessboard. While the two of them played, the rest of the family stood nearby, watching silently.

Zhao Nanyu’s chess skills were on par with his grandfather’s, and he showed no intention of holding back. Every move he made pressed directly on weak points, forcing decisive counters. The game dragged on in a tense dance of strategy until, finally, Old Master Zhao began to fall behind.

The watching brothers couldn’t help feeling both envious and amused. Envious because Zhao Nanyu had the skill to challenge their grandfather in chess. Amused because his relentless play would no doubt annoy the old man.

“Your chess has improved yet again, Nanyu,” Old Master Zhao remarked with a smile.

“You’re too kind, Grandfather,” Zhao Nanyu replied humbly.

Old Master Zhao set down his chess piece, but instead of being upset about losing, he looked pleased. This was precisely why he always chose Zhao Nanyu for a game—there was no pretense of letting him win, making each match thoroughly enjoyable.

When the game ended, the old man waved them off with a broad gesture, finally allowing them to leave.

Just as they stepped out of the front gate, Third Master Zhao turned to Zhao Nanyu with a stern expression and commanded coldly. “Come with me. I have something to discuss with you.”

Zhao Nanyu responded with a quiet “Hmm,” keeping his head lowered, his face unreadable.

Not far from them, Song Luan stood holding their now-sleeping son, Shige, in her arms. Third Master Zhao’s face was as dark as a storm cloud, his displeasure practically radiating from him.

Third Master Zhao was in an exceptionally foul mood. He had always been critical of this particular son—borderline disdainful, in fact. His distaste extended even further to Zhao Nanyu’s lowborn mother, whom he viewed with contempt. Zhao Nanyu had achieved little in the court, failing to win favor with the Old Master. Yet, despite being a son he looked down on, Zhao Nanyu somehow managed to gain more of the Old Master’s regard. This was a bitter pill for Third Master Zhao to swallow.

“Your mother’s nephew also works at the Ministry of Justice, doesn’t he?” Third Master Zhao asked abruptly.

The “mother” in question wasn’t Zhao Nanyu’s biological mother but Third Master Zhao’s current wife, the present Madam Zhao.

“Yes,” Zhao Nanyu replied simply.

A sharp glint flashed in Third Master Zhao’s eyes as he pointed angrily at him. “Your mother specifically asked you to look out for her nephew, yet you treated her words like air. Not only did you neglect him, but when he fell into trouble, you didn’t lift a finger to help!”

Zhao Nanyu actually laughed at that. Not only had he failed to offer help, but the man’s dismissal from office had, in fact, been his doing.

“You overestimate me, Father,” Zhao Nanyu replied, his tone laced with subtle mockery, as if delivering a slap directly to Third Master Zhao’s face.

The rebuff nearly caused Third Master Zhao to explode. Fury surged in him, choking his words as he jabbed a shaking finger at his son. “You ungrateful wretch! How did I end up with a son like you?”

His anger turned his neck red as the frustration coursed through him.

But Zhao Nanyu had long grown used to such outbursts. Being called things like “wretch” or “scourge” had become routine—so much so that they no longer stirred even the faintest ripple in his heart.

He clasped his hands in a respectful bow, his tone impeccable and devoid of fault. “If you have nothing else to say, Father, I’ll take my leave now.”

The night was quiet, and Song Luan wasn’t far from the commotion. Given that Third Master Zhao’s voice had risen several octaves in his anger, it was almost impossible for her not to overhear parts of the conversation.

To be fair, Song Luan wasn’t keen on witnessing Zhao Nanyu being publicly berated by his father. Such a humiliating scene was probably the last thing Zhao Nanyu would want her to see, either.

Then again, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity for him. In his current state—devoid of power or influence, despised by his father, and looked down upon by others—he seemed rather pitiful. That said, remembering her own miserable fate in the original storyline quickly reminded her that she was far worse off.

As she mulled over her thoughts, Zhao Nanyu was already approaching her. The moonlight stretched his shadow long across the ground, and his cold, dark eyes fixed on her indifferently. “Let’s go.”

By now, Song Luan’s arms were sore from holding the sleeping Shige, who was heavier than he looked. Her slim arms, not built for prolonged carrying, had grown numb. She blinked, summoning her courage to appeal to him with a touch of playful charm. “My arms are so tired…”

Shige clung sleepily to her neck, his tiny face nestled against her shoulder, peaceful in his slumber.

Without a word, Zhao Nanyu reached out and took the boy from her arms. Carrying him effortlessly, he turned and headed toward the back courtyard.

Song Luan trailed behind him. Just before they reached the room, she hesitated, then cautiously asked, “Where are you sleeping tonight?”

Ever since she had arrived in this world, Zhao Nanyu rarely stayed in her chambers. He’d only slept there twice—and both times, nothing had happened between them. Song Luan had little doubt that he genuinely disliked her.

So, in her naivety, she assumed that tonight would be no different. Surely, Zhao Nanyu would only stay for a brief while before leaving again.

Zhao Nanyu lifted his eyelids lazily and shot back, “What do you think?”

“…”

He watched her face shift through a kaleidoscope of emotions before finally showing mercy and giving her a clear answer. “I’m sleeping here tonight.”

Song Luan lowered her head in resignation. “Oh.”

She hadn’t forgotten the last time she’d been alone with him—when, in her drunken state, he’d bitten her lip hard enough to draw blood. Being in his presence always left her feeling uneasy. His deep, piercing gaze had an intensity that made her feel like prey being sized up by a predator.

After settling Shige on a small bed in the side room and tucking him in, Zhao Nanyu returned to the main chamber. The servants had just brought in hot water and Song Luan, seated awkwardly at the table, jumped up the moment he entered. “You should bathe first. I’ll take off my makeup in the meantime.”

He nodded, then began unbuttoning his robe right in front of her. Stripped down to his inner garments, he walked behind the screen.

Song Luan felt her face heat up uncontrollably. As the sound of water splashing reached her ears, her cheeks only grew hotter, the temperature seeming to rise with every passing second.

It was a long while before the water finally stilled.

Zhao Nanyu’s voice drifted over from behind the screen. “Bring me clean clothes.”

In her room, there were only two sets of his clothing. She quickly found one in the wardrobe, but as she held it in her slightly trembling hands, a nervous sweat broke out. Squeezing her eyes shut, she approached, too afraid to look at him.

Zhao Nanyu was reclining in the tub, his upper body bare. His strikingly handsome features were partially obscured by the soft haze of steam. As she neared, he suddenly reached out and yanked her into the water with him.

Song Luan let out a soft yelp, startled out of her wits. She fell into the water awkwardly, her thin garments instantly soaked through by the warm bath.

Zhao Nanyu’s piercing gaze lingered squarely on her damp neckline, but his expression remained calm and unreadable. Without a hint of embarrassment, he rose from the tub, dried himself off, and dressed. Once clothed, he turned to look at her still sitting miserably in the water, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You might as well take a bath while you’re in there.”

He’d noticed that watching Song Luan in her helpless, fragile state brought an inexplicable satisfaction.

Reluctantly, Song Luan used the water he’d just bathed in to quickly clean herself. She dried off and dressed meticulously, wrapping herself tightly before climbing into bed. Curling up on the inner side of the bed, she lay stiffly, her limbs tense, making sure not to take up too much space or even breathe too heavily.

As usual, Zhao Nanyu extinguished the lamp, pulled up the covers, and settled in without doing anything else—not even brushing her hand. Gradually, Song Luan’s rigid body began to relax.

But then, in the pitch darkness, Zhao Nanyu moved. His hand found her waist and rested there. He began to idly pinch at the soft flesh around her middle, almost absentmindedly.

Song Luan kept her eyes firmly shut, pretending to be asleep as she endured his touch in silence.

Zhao Nanyu, despite being a scholar, had an absurd amount of strength. Every time he grabbed her, it hurt so much she felt half-dead from the pain!

As his lips moved closer to her neck, just about to press down for a bite, Song Luan could no longer keep up the act. She opened her eyes.

Zhao Nanyu wasn’t surprised in the least. The corners of his lips curved into a slight smile—a smile as fresh and beautiful as the green hills after a rain. “Awake?” he drawled.

Seeing the faint sheen of tears in her eyes, his smile deepened, though his gaze remained icy. “My mistake, I woke you,” he said softly, the tone of his voice gentle and almost apologetic.

There was a time when Zhao Nanyu found her so repugnant that even looking at her disgusted him, let alone touching her. But now, not only did he not find her repulsive, but he took an almost perverse delight in biting and teasing her. The sight of her teary eyes, her aggrieved expression, and the way she begged him with trembling lips—it was disarmingly enchanting.

Yet despite his words, there wasn’t even the faintest hint of remorse in his eyes.

What a hypocrite. What an utterly insincere charade!

=^_^=

TL: So previous tl used, Zhiger but I’ll be using Shige, moving forward