“No.”
Duan Ling had little attachment to family ties—then, now, and likely always.
Whether Duan Xinning loved Xia Zimo or whether they ended up together was irrelevant to him.
He hadn’t reported their dealings to Emperor Jiade simply because he chose not to, not for their sake.
“How did you find out?” she asked.
He smiled faintly.
“If you don’t want others to know, don’t do it. No matter how careful they were, they left traces.”
Lin Ting leaned forward, resting against the horse’s neck, her eyes on Duan Ling walking ahead.
She tapped his shoulder lightly.
“Get on the horse. Riding together is faster than you leading it.”
Her touch seemed to linger through his robe, warming his shoulder.
He blinked, then mounted the horse.
The saddle was small, and their proximity was inevitable.
Lin Ting didn’t mind—they’d been closer before.
But with him behind her, she sat up straight to avoid crowding him, no longer slouching as she might have.
As she straightened, her back brushed against Duan Ling’s chest.
His breath grazed her neck, soft yet undeniable.Â
Her gaze dropped, catching the reins in his hands.
His fingers were long, knuckles defined, his pale skin revealing faint veins beneath, delicate yet striking.
Her thoughts wandered to that night when their bodies had intertwined, his hands gripping her waist, then loosening to clutch the sheets, his fingers flushed as pink as his face.
The memory held her captive.
She recalled how he’d moved that night, starting to arch toward her only to pull back, as if restrained.
His sweat-dampened waist trembled, beads of perspiration sliding down, soaking the bedding.
Lost in the thought, Lin Ting glanced back at him.
Her movement sent her long hair brushing over his hands on the reins.
Duan Ling, seated just behind her, saw every gesture, including her backward glance.
He waited for her to speak, but she said nothing.
She turned forward again, stealing a quick look at his waist before doing so.
Her subtle glance didn’t escape him.
As she faced forward, he looked down at his own waist, bound by a belt, a scented sachet swaying gently in the breeze.
***
Back at the camp, Xie Qinghe found Uncle Gui outside his tent, practicing with a massive blade weighing dozens of pounds.
Concealing his injured arm in the dim night, Xie Qinghe called out, “Uncle Gui.”
“You sent her away secretly?” Uncle Gui spun, swinging his blade.
A nearby wooden training post split and fell, a splinter landing near Xie Qinghe’s feet.
Xie Qinghe bent to pick up the fragment.
“You knew I was going to send Miss Lin away?”
Uncle Gui sheathed his blade and downed a bowl of water before answering.
“I’ve watched you grow up. How could I not know what’s in your heart? I knew your plan before you even acted.”
Xie Qinghe’s eyes widened.
“Why didn’t you stop me?”
If Uncle Gui hadn’t been so adamant against letting Lin Ting go, he wouldn’t have acted in secret.
“Stop you?” Uncle Gui’s voice was gruff, leaving the question hanging in the air.
Uncle Gui’s face darkened with a trace of sorrow.
“You went so far as to hide this from me for her sake. If I’d stopped you, you’d likely have grown to resent me, maybe even cut ties with me altogether.”
His eyes reddened at the corners.
“I have no children of my own and have always seen you as my son. I couldn’t bear the thought of you turning against me.”
Xie Qinghe’s heart clenched at the words, and he rushed to reassure him.
“Never. I could hate anyone, but never you. But this time, Uncle Gui, you were wrong to treat Miss Lin and Young Master Jin that way.”
“Fine,” Uncle Gui sighed.
“Let’s say I was wrong. Are you satisfied now?”
Xie Qinghe hadn’t expected Uncle Gui to soften so quickly.
He froze, half-convinced he was dreaming, and ventured cautiously, “And Young Master Jin?”
Jin Anazi was still recovering in the camp.
Uncle Gui, anticipating the question, answered without hesitation.
“Once Young Master Jin’s wounds heal, I’ll personally see him off.”
Xie Qinghe pressed further, needing certainty.
“You’ll really let him go once he’s healed? Not forcing him to join the rebellion or reveal the treasury’s location?”
“Do you think I’d lie to you?” Uncle Gui retorted.
A faint, genuine smile spread across Xie Qinghe’s face, relief washing over him.
He was overjoyed not only that Uncle Gui had relented but that the man he remembered—his steadfast guardian—seemed to have returned.
Uncle Gui, less pleased with Xie Qinghe’s doubts, tossed the heavy blade toward him.
“Catch.”
In the past, Xie Qinghe might have caught it, if barely.
But tonight, with his injured arm and the blade’s crushing weight, he fumbled, the impact knocking him to the ground.
Pain flared, and the wound Xia Zimo had hastily bandaged began to bleed again.
The scent of blood hit Uncle Gui, his expression shifting to alarm.
He hurried to lift Xie Qinghe, inspecting the seeping wound with care.
“How did you get hurt? Who did this? Miss Lin?”
He’d thrown the blade with its flat side facing Xie Qinghe, ensuring it wouldn’t cut.
Xie Qinghe pushed him away, pressing his hand to the wound.
“It wasn’t Miss Lin. Don’t ask. This is what I deserve.”
Uncle Gui’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t press.
He guided Xie Qinghe back to the tent, calling for someone to tend and bandage the injury.
***
An hour later, Lin Ting arrived at the residence.
As the horse halted at the gate, Imperial Guards guards emerged to take it.
These were Duan Ling’s men, too disciplined to question where he’d been or how he’d retrieved Lin Ting.
Seeing her safe, they quietly exhaled their relief.
Having served Duan Ling for years, they’d witnessed his interrogations in the imperial prison.
His brightest smiles often masked darker intents, and his calmest moments could be the most dangerous.
Tonight, he was unnervingly composed.
The guards kept their eyes down, saluting silently before leading the horse away.
Lin Ting, oblivious to their unease, crossed the threshold and headed straight for the rear courtyard.
She hadn’t bathed since the previous night, and her first priority was a long soak.
Pausing, she turned to Duan Ling.
“The guards and servants who stayed here last night—are they all right?”
Duan Ling followed behind, his gaze lingering on her shadow stretching across the ground.
“They’re fine.”
“Good,” she said, relieved.
Back in her room, Lin Ting bathed for a full half-hour.
Emerging, she saw Duan Ling in the courtyard speaking with a guard.
Intending to sit on the bed, she ended up lying down and drifting off.
She always fell asleep waiting for him—she wasn’t built for patience.
Outside, Duan Ling stood beneath a large tree, its dappled shadows cloaking his expression.
He listened as a Imperial Guards guard, assigned to protect Lin Ting, recounted the previous day’s events.
Duan Ling toyed with a few plucked leaves.
“What did the Factory Supervisor say to her?”
The guards exchanged glances, hesitant.
The words Ta Xuening had spoken were bold—urging Lin Ting to divorce Duan Ling and find another man.
He crushed the leaves, tossing them aside.
“Repeat every word.”
They complied, reciting Ta Xuening’s words exactly as spoken.
Duan Ling’s lips curved into a smile as he stepped on the scattered leaves.
“The Factory Supervisor told her to divorce me?”
The guards fell silent, tension hanging heavy.
He stepped out from under the tree, washing his hands with water and drying them with a cloth.
“Anything else happen?”
The Imperial Guards, accustomed to addressing Lin Ting as “Young Mistress,” continued, “After meeting the Factory Supervisor, the Young Mistress returned to the residence.”
“And before that?”
The guard thought back carefully.
“After parting with you at the wine stall, she was worried about your safety. She asked if your assignment yesterday was dangerous.”
A faint smile touched Duan Ling’s lips, unnoticed even by himself.
“What else did she say? Every word, exactly.”
The guards, having memorized Ta Xuening’s words, could just as easily recall Lin Ting’s.
Halfway through, Duan Ling’s smile faded.
He raised his eyes, his voice soft but sharp.
“Wait. She asked about Young Master Xia?”
The guard clarified, “It wasn’t that she asked about him directly. We mentioned Young Master Xia, and she just asked a casual question.”
“Just a casual question?”
“Yes, just a passing remark.”
Duan Ling dismissed them without further questions.
Returning to the room, he found Lin Ting sprawled across the bed, limbs splayed unceremoniously.
Her hair fanned out, sleeves slipped to her elbows, and her trousers had ridden up to her knees, utterly devoid of decorum.
He approached quietly, pulling the blanket over her feet and tucking her hand beneath it.
Then he bathed using the same water she had, afterward sitting by the bed to watch her.
Soon, Lin Ting stirred, pushing the blanket aside and letting her hand dangle off the edge.
Duan Ling gazed at her for a long moment, then leaned down, his lips brushing her fingertip as if he were a ravenous spirit tempted to devour her whole.
But, as before, he only grazed her skin with a gentle lick.
Lin Ting stirred awake.
Duan Ling lifted his head, kissing her lips.
“Tonight, I want to be with you.”
“What?” she murmured, dazed, returning his kiss instinctively.
His hand, freshly wiped, slid past her trousers, a single finger pressing lightly inside her.
Her breath caught, the world narrowing to the warmth of his touch and the quiet intensity of his gaze.