Chapter 13: I Will Marry You

Despite everything, Xiao Ming’s nose tingled with emotion.

All her strength was a facade.

Her parents had passed away, and living alone was terrifying.

No one else would speak to her with the tender warmth that her mother once did.

She feared unfriendly gazes, feared being driven out of the Ling residence, feared Ling Zhao’s anger.

She constantly reminded herself to be cautious.

But such days were unbearably hard.

She had to admit, she deeply cherished the gentle kindness Mo Shichang showed her—those tiny sparks of warmth, like faint glimmers illuminating her boundless darkness.

The books said a woman must not share intimacy with any man but her husband, yet being held by Mo Shichang felt like their hearts were entwined.

Moreover, he had promised to marry her.

Though his official salary was modest and his family’s assets were minor compared to the Xiao family’s vast wealth, he had still given her fifty taels of silver, a sum not great but one that weighed heavily in her heart.

She thought she could trust him.

So she reached out, slowly wrapping her arms around his waist, accepting his tenderness.

Feeling her embrace, Mo Shichang spoke softly, “Ming’er, go early to tomorrow’s birthday banquet. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Mm.” She tightened her hold and added, “It’s late now. You should go back quickly. It won’t do if someone finds us.”

“But I don’t want to leave.”

A warm current slowly spread through her, flowing through every limb and bone, melting her from within. On tiptoe, Xiao Ming whispered near Mo Shichang’s ear, “Neither do I.”

In the dark, a gentle kiss landed on her brow.

“Crack.”

A branch snapped.

The surge of anger in his chest was suppressed with great effort.

“What was that sound?”

Startled, Xiao Ming immediately released Mo Shichang.

He stepped out of the pavilion, scanning the moonlit surroundings, then turned with a bright smile, “Don’t scare yourself. See? No one’s here.”

“Oh...” Xiao Ming nodded but felt an inexplicable unease.

Mo Shichang returned to the pavilion and took her hand. “Even if someone were here, you needn’t worry. I will take responsibility for you.”

She gazed at his handsome face, now softened by a faint warmth, like the silver moonlight spilling over a spring night.

She was bathed in it, unable to escape or break free.

No one is beyond seeking warmth; no one is beyond craving gentleness.

His promise to “take responsibility” completely reassured her.

Neither the Old Lady Ling nor Ling Zhao’s kindness was free of pity, especially between her and Ling Zhao, where their interactions were clearly transactional.

Deep down, she felt they always looked down on her; she had no sense of belonging here.

But from today onward, her world included him.

A man who never belittled her, whose heart and eyes were filled only with her.

As they parted, Mo Shichang insisted Xiao Ming leave first.

Her heart remained warm along the way back, but as she reached the corridor, a sudden cold gust swept over her.

“Still awake?”

A ghost!

That voice terrified Xiao Ming so much she broke into a run, not noticing the figure in black robes.

“Afraid of me already?”

Ling Zhao stepped forward, blocking her frightened escape.

Xiao Ming stopped, recognized him, and breathed a long sigh, placing her hand on her chest. “Young Master Ling, why are you here?”

He said nothing.

After a long silence, he finally spoke, “You must attend the birthday banquet tomorrow. Rest early.”

Xiao Ming blinked in surprise. He never attended such events but remembered Mo Yuan’s birthday? Did Ling Zhao like her? But she was about to marry someone else!

How pitiful he was.

Yet love was not something she could involve herself in, so she offered mild comfort: “You’ll be betrothed soon, Young Master. No need to take it to heart. Miss Meng... she’s quite a good person.”

Indeed, he was already promised to another; he had no right to be angry with her.

And she would leave him sooner or later.

No matter the truth behind her parents’ case, she could not change the facts.

In fact, the investigation into her parents’ case could not proceed any further.

But he dared not tell her this. He wanted to keep her close, for only by keeping her in the dark would she rely on him and stay by his side.

“Young Master, I’ll go back now.”

She lifted her skirt and brushed past him, only to be abruptly pulled back.

Startled, she looked up into those deep, shadowy eyes.

Instinctively, she tried to retreat, but he pinned her against the wall, her back flush against the cold stone. He held her arms firmly, trapping her in that small space with no escape.

“Ling Zhao! What are you doing?” she panicked, glancing around for witnesses.

Fortunately, it was late at night; the flickering corridor lights cast only faint overlapping shadows of the two beneath them.

His gaze softened slightly as his fingertip brushed her brow. “This is dirty.”

Xiao Ming froze, her pupils contracting sharply.

He released her arms, and the coldness in his eyes melted into tender affection. “Go back and sleep.”

She hesitated briefly, then fled without looking back.

He remained standing, watching her silhouette fade into the distance, clenching his sleeve tightly, silent for a long while.

That night, Xiao Ming slept uneasily.

At times, she dreamed of Mo Shichang with a sly smile, calling her frivolous, a harlot.

At others, she saw Ling Zhao gripping her neck like a crazed beast, howling for her to leave the General’s Mansion.

Then she heard the disappointed curses of her parents.

Suddenly, she awoke, face pale, gasping for breath.

Qing Zhu heard the noise and parted the beaded curtain to enter. “Miss, what’s wrong?”

Seeing Xiao Ming’s pale face and the fine sweat beading her forehead, Qing Zhu hurried to wipe her brow. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Xiao Ming nodded stiffly.

Qing Zhu gently stroked her back. After a long while, she finally calmed down.

But the nightmare had disturbed her rest; before dawn, she said, “Qing Zhu, I’m going for a walk. You needn’t follow.”

“It’s late and the dew is heavy,” Qing Zhu worried.

Xiao Ming smiled faintly. “It’s alright.”

Qing Zhu sighed helplessly. “Be careful, then.”

She fetched a cloak from the rack and draped it over Xiao Ming’s shoulders, handing her a small lantern before feeling somewhat reassured.

Walking alone to the lakeside pavilion, Xiao Ming leaned against the corridor, gazing dreamily at the red fish in the water.

Only then could she slowly find peace.

She couldn’t recall when she fell asleep, but in a hazy memory, she dreamed a comforting, sweet dream.

In it, she was held tightly against a strong, solid chest, the feeling cautious yet restrained.

Her head rested just over the steady heartbeat, echoing like when she was a child cradled by her father.

She nuzzled closer, murmuring in a half-dream, “Father...”

Ling Zhao’s brow furrowed even tighter.