“I want to plant some flowers. Let’s stop planting vegetables.”
“If we fill this place with flowers, it’ll look beautiful. What do you think?”
The crisp, lazy voice—tinged with a sickly air—sounded behind Jiang Huai.
On the muddy ground of the shabby little courtyard, Jiang Huai was bent over, turning the soil.
His features were exceptionally delicate, with a high nose bridge and thin lips pursed into a pleasing arc.
He looked so refined, it was as if he’d stepped out from an ink painting.
His faded coarse shirt brushed against the dirt, mud-stained fingers gripping the wooden handle of a hoe.
Even with a clump of brown earth stuck to his cheek, it couldn’t mar his bearing.
The woman behind him, on the other hand, was rather plain.
She leaned against the peeling doorframe, her eye sockets slightly sunken, her pale skin tinged with a lifeless gray.
Only her figure, wrapped in a coarse cloth skirt, was overly full, causing the fabric to quiver with the strain.
But unfortunately, she was a sickly person—a regular at the medicine pot.
In this Matriarchal World, that sort of woman wasn’t favored.
“Plant flowers?”
Jiang Huai’s hoe paused atop a half-dry clod of earth, loose soil falling onto his grass-stained trouser cuffs.
He turned his head, revealing a smooth, elegant profile.
“These three mu of thin land are all I’ve got to fill my belly. And you want to plant flowers?”
“No way.”
He refused the woman’s request without hesitation, making it clear that no one could sway his resolve to farm.
Their household was already struggling.
Every bit saved was precious—how could he waste vegetable plots on flowers?
Wu Zhaohua snorted, her shoulder rubbing the doorframe.
The movement loosened her collar, baring a stretch of delicate collarbone.
“How petty. One day, you’ll eat and drink well with me, wear silk and jewels. Why would you still care about this patch of earth?”
Her eyes lifted at the corners, and despite the sickness in them, a strange light burned there.
“You’ll see. Serving me all these years will prove to be the best bargain you ever made.”
Jiang Huai froze, hand still in the soil.
He let out a helpless sigh, turned around, and looked at her with pity.
“Are you so sick that you can’t tell dream from reality anymore?”
“How pitiful. But I won’t abandon you—after all, you saved my life.”
“Go inside and rest. I have to go to the Tavern to settle accounts. I’ll come back tonight to decoct your medicine.”
Had her illness driven her to delusions of grandeur, imagining she could lead him to wealth and success?
Wu Zhaohua curled her lips, turned on dainty steps, and went back inside.
This man would one day realize just how much he stood to gain by sticking with her—just how powerful her background was!
Jiang Huai patted the dirt from his clothes, washed his face, straightened his shirt, and strode toward the gate.
The woman inside couldn’t lift or carry anything.
Naturally, he had to go out and work to put food on the table and keep their lives afloat.
Jiang Huai walked briskly down the street, taking in the all-too-familiar scenery, and the friendly looks from the neighbors.
He couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.
People really were adaptable.
Unknowingly, he’d already spent five or six years in this world.
This was a Matriarchal World, where women’s status surpassed men’s.
Women ruled, and men served.
He’d been “lucky” enough to transmigrate into this world, waking up in a dense forest, unable to tell direction, with nothing to eat or drink.
He’d never seen a forest so vast.
After a few days, he was on the verge of starving to death, when Wu Zhaohua—who seemed to appear out of nowhere—saved him and brought him back to the town.
Back then, Wu Zhaohua was sick herself, yet she carried him for miles, shared her rations, and kept him alive.
Later, Jiang Huai learned that this world was vast beyond imagination—so vast that an ordinary person couldn’t traverse even a single Nation in a lifetime.
Not to mention, who knew how many Nations and Sects there were scattered across the land.
After Wu Zhaohua brought Jiang Huai back to town, custom dictated that he should recognize her as his foster mother, care for her in her old age, and repay her for saving his life.
But Jiang Huai only treated her with courtesy, caring for her as family, but never actually calling her foster mother—not even once.
“Jiang Huai! Jiang Huai!”
A voice called, pulling Jiang Huai from his memories.
He turned to see a smiling young woman walking toward him.
“What is it, Lin Cai?” Jiang Huai tilted his head and asked.
Lin Cai was one of his acquaintances in town.
When he’d first arrived, she often helped him out.
Even his current job at the Tavern had been thanks to her introduction.
“Hehe, nothing much. The Town Chief wants you to come over—she said she has something to discuss with you.” Her bright eyes lingered on the mud-stained collar of his shirt, then quickly darted to his face, her cheeks flushing red.
Jiang Huai frowned slightly, probing, “It’s not about arranging another marriage for me, is it?”
“I’m not getting married.”
The Town Chief had come to his house several times before, trying to talk him and Wu Zhaohua into accepting a marriage proposal.
But every time, Wu Zhaohua cut her off and sent her packing.
“Probably not. Come on, quite a few people have been called over.” Lin Cai waved her hand and smiled, her gaze sweeping over Jiang Huai’s figure.
What a shame for such a handsome man.
If only he could be her husband.
“Alright. As long as it’s not about marriage, I’ll go take a look.” Jiang Huai let out a sigh of relief.
No matter what, the Town Chief was the head of the town.
He had to show some respect, or it would be hard to justify refusing.
He walked alongside Lin Cai, drawing glances from passersby.
In this female-dominated town, Jiang Huai’s looks really were eye-catching.
“Do you need me to help you bring anything?”
As they neared the Official Residence, Lin Cai suddenly stopped, twisting her handkerchief until her fingertips turned pale.
Jiang Huai paused, recalling the sickly woman at home, and said,
“Help me buy a few pots of flowers and bring them to the house. I’ll pay you next time we meet.”
He couldn’t let Wu Zhaohua plant flowers in the ground, but if she liked them, a few potted flowers were still possible.
Lin Cai hesitated, asking, “Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“Jian Zhen, did you call for me?” Jiang Huai entered the hall and bowed to the slightly plump woman before him.
Town Chief was just what people called her.
Her true official title was Jian Zhen—Supervisor of the Town—mainly responsible for tax collection and local security, the real power in the area.
Jian Zhen didn’t have a house of her own, or at least none on record.
She lived in quarters attached to her office, simply furnished.
“Jiang Huai, you’re here! Come, sit, sit, sit.” The flesh on Jian Zhen’s face jiggled as she put down her teacup and beckoned Jiang Huai over with a smile.
Jiang Huai glanced around calmly.
Aside from himself, there were only armed Guards present—no one else at all.
The place felt rather empty.
This didn’t match what Lin Cai had said about ‘quite a few people.’
Combined with Jian Zhen’s sly smile, Jiang Huai’s heart began to pound with alarm.
Could this wretched Jian Zhen be up to no good?
“May I ask, Jian Zhen, what is it you need? If there’s nothing, I should take my leave.” Jiang Huai kept his eyes on the Guards, taking a step back.
Jian Zhen dropped her act, her face turning cold as she waved her hand.
“Men, seize him.”
The doors of the Official Residence slammed shut.