Chapter 9: Wen Tian was wearing his undershirt…

Behind pale-colored drapes, a figure lay quietly asleep. The noonday sun poured in through the paper window, casting a gentle warmth on the sleeper’s face.

Perhaps sensing the light, lashes as dark as crow feathers fluttered slightly. Slowly, they lifted to reveal a pair of misty, dream-hazed eyes.

Rubbing his eyes, Wen Tian sat up groggily. He looked around—the room was unfamiliar.

Bracing himself on one elbow, he pushed aside the canopy and leaned out to better survey the strange surroundings.

The last thing he remembered from the night before was Chu Xiangtian laying him on a bed. Chu Xiangtian…

At the mere thought of that name, Wen Tian tensed like a startled rabbit. His ears perked up, eyes wide as he quickly scanned every corner of the room in alarm.

There wasn’t much inside. The furnishings were simple, almost austere, but everything was arranged with such meticulous order that the room felt unusually clean.

This was probably a man’s room.

Wen Tian moved his legs, wanting to get up and take a look outside. But as soon as he shifted, the oversized collar of the robe slid off his shoulder, exposing half his chest.

Flushing with embarrassment, he tugged it back up—only then realizing he wasn’t wearing his own clothes.

Given what happened last night, it was likely Chu Xiangtian had changed him. This room might even belong to him.

Wen Tian bit his lip and tried not to dwell on it. He straightened the inner robe as best he could.

The black garment was far too large for him. He tightened the sash around his waist until it couldn’t go any tighter, rolled the sleeves up three times before his wrists finally showed.

Gripping the bedpost for support, Wen Tian tested the floor with one foot. A dull pain radiated from the sole, his toes curling instinctively.

He tried slipping on his shoes and placed one foot down.

But he’d overestimated his endurance.

The moment the bandages rubbed against his wound, the pain flared so sharply it brought tears to his eyes.

Gasping, Wen Tian clutched the bedpost, balancing on one foot—too afraid to put the other down.

“Wen Tian, I—”

Chu Xiangtian pushed the door open mid-sentence, but instantly fell silent. His gaze landed on the figure by the bed and froze.

Wen Tian, dressed in his oversized robe, black hair cascading over his shoulders, delicate collarbone half-revealed, eyes glistening with unshed tears—clutched the bedpost and looked up at him with a pitiful gaze.

Chu Xiangtian’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. Striding over, he scooped Wen Tian up in one swift motion and placed him back on the bed, voice a mix of reproach and concern.

“Your foot’s still injured.”

Wen Tian squirmed uncomfortably but looked past him.

“Daifu?!”

Daifu, who had accompanied Chu Xiangtian up the mountain, stepped forward.

“Young Master, what happened to you?”

Chu Xiangtian opened his mouth to explain, but Wen Tian spoke first, “I tripped. Wasn’t careful.”

He skipped over everything in between. Daifu didn’t doubt him in the slightest, circling him to examine his injuries with concern.

“You’ve lost weight again, Young Master.”

Wen Tian smiled faintly and asked why Daifu had come up the mountain.

“How’s everything at home?”

“It was Master Chu who brought me here. As for the Wen household… things haven’t been good.”

When the family found out Wen Tian had been kidnapped, they immediately reported it to the authorities.

But upon learning the culprit was the West Mountain bandits, the officials dragged their feet, coming up with excuse after excuse, refusing to send troops even after two days.

Madam Fu Youqin, deeply worried, initially wanted to hire men to mount a rescue.

But Wen Boli stopped her, saying that sending private militia to confront bandits was far too dangerous—they should wait a bit longer.

Yet with her son’s life uncertain, how could Fu Youqin possibly wait?

After scolding her husband—who looked utterly unbothered—Fu Youqin marched to the yamen herself, bringing the household servants and armloads of unpaid government debt records.

The Fu family’s businesses stretched across the entire Nanming County. A full third of the fertile land in Sifang and Lehe Towns belonged to them.

Every year, the local government’s tax shortfalls were quietly covered by the Fu family.

They had talked sweetly when borrowing grain, but when danger came, none were willing to take responsibility. What kind of fairness was that?

So Fu Youqin personally led her stewards and servants, hauling two full trunks of account books, and blocked the officials’ doors one by one.

“If you won’t rescue my son, then repay your debts.”

These debts dated back to her father’s time. After years of accumulation, the sum was astronomical—impossible to repay.

Left with no choice, the village elders of both towns jointly petitioned the county magistrate, who finally agreed to dispatch troops to assault the West Mountain stronghold.

Wen Tian had more or less expected this outcome, though he hadn’t imagined Wen Boli would be even more cold-hearted than he’d thought.

He chuckled bitterly.

“What about Shuyue? My sister… is she all right?”

So many days had passed. Surely by now Daifu had told her everything about Jiao Changxian. Knowing her temperament, she would’ve been heartbroken.

And then there were the rumors in town… Bad news always spread fast. Even if the Wen family had broken off the engagement themselves, it would still stain a woman’s reputation.

“She’s been taking care of everything at home,” Daifu replied.

“After that day, Madam and Master were constantly running to the yamen. It was Miss who kept the household running. The Jiao family came twice—but she turned them away both times.”

“That’s good,” Wen Tian finally smiled sincerely. He reached for Daifu.

“Is the carriage ready? Let’s go home.”

During all his days in the West Mountain stronghold, beyond fearing for his own life, his greatest worry had been his mother and sister.

“Changxi’s gone to prepare the carriage. Just wait a moment,” Chu Xiangtian spoke up from the side.

Wen Tian’s smile faltered slightly, the warmth dimming from his face. After a pause, he lowered his gaze and murmured, “Thank you.”

Chu Xiangtian looked at him oddly, a little amused and a little helpless. He reached out and patted Wen Tian’s head.

“I should be the one thanking you.”

Wen Tian awkwardly dodged his hand, grabbing onto Daifu instead. His eyes were filled with impatience and yearning as he stared out the window.

Chu Xiangtian, who had been hoping to keep him a bit longer, sighed and called for Changxi.

Soon, Changxi drove the carriage to the door. Inside, Wen Tian’s eyes lit up at the sound of hooves and whinnies.

“The carriage is ready. Let’s go,” Chu Xiangtian said, bending down to lift him.

“I can walk—” Wen Tian instinctively grabbed at his chest.

“Your foot’s still hurt. Don’t push yourself,” Chu Xiangtian said firmly as he carried him out.

Wen Tian bit his lip but said nothing more. Daifu, completely unfazed, followed behind them in cheerful spirits.

Inside the carriage, soft bedding cushioned the floor, and a small table held two plates of pastries—specially prepared on Chu Xiangtian’s orders.

After settling Wen Tian inside, Chu Xiangtian drew the curtain, shooed Changxi off the driver’s bench, and took the reins himself.

The mountain road was bumpy, but thanks to the padding, Wen Tian leaned quietly in the corner and barely felt the jostling.

When they reached the foot of West Mountain, another carriage was already waiting.

Fu Youqin, hearing movement, lifted the curtain and saw Chu Xiangtian’s group approaching. Her face lit up with anxious joy as she called out, her voice trembling, “Youling!”

Wen Tian, dozing against the carriage wall, instantly perked up at the familiar voice. He leaned toward the window, eyes meeting his mother’s—and both of them blinked back tears.

Fu Youqin dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and ordered a servant to take over the carriage reins.

“Master Chu, thank you—but we’ll take it from here.”

But Chu Xiangtian remained seated, politely refusing, “No need to be so formal, Madam. I said I’d personally return Young Master Wen—and I meant personally.”

He deliberately emphasized the word, giving Fu Youqin no room to object.

Not wanting to complicate things further, she relented, lowering the curtain and signaling the driver to lead the way.

And so, two carriages—one after the other—set off toward Sifang Town.