Chasing Jade (Zhu Yu)

After Head Constable Wang left, Fan Changyu sat in the disheveled house holding her younger sister, with Zhao Mu Jiang and his wife, all silent for a long while.

After what seemed like ages, Aunt Zhao hesitantly spoke up: "Taking in a son-in-law... how is that an easy thing? In all my years, I’ve only heard of wealthy families with no sons taking in a son-in-law. For poor folks like us, who’d be willing to marry into our household?"

Fan Changyu remained silent, offering no response.

The solution Head Constable Wang had proposed was for her to quickly find a live-in husband. That way, her father would effectively have a son, and the family property would naturally pass to her.

But after the Song family broke off the engagement and her reputation as the "Star of Doom and Isolation" spread, even getting married had become difficult, let alone finding a man willing to marry into her family.

The legal advisors she had previously consulted probably knew her family’s circumstances well enough that they didn’t even consider taking in a son-in-law a viable option for her.

After all, society viewed marrying into a wife’s family as shameful. Once a man did so, he was seen as abandoning his ancestral name and could never hold his head high anywhere. Forget ordinary families—even idle ruffians and good-for-nothings were reluctant to marry into a wife’s household.

Zhao Mu Jiang, his calloused hands resting on his knees, looked even more aged with his wrinkled face. He sighed and said, "Marriage is a lifelong matter. You can’t just hastily find someone to wed, or Changyu will suffer for it later."

Hearing this, Aunt Zhao felt even more heartbroken for Fan Changyu. Other girls getting married had parents carefully vetting their suitors, thoroughly examining their character and family background before sending them off in grand style.

Fan Changyu had lost both parents. Now, in her rush to find a live-in husband, she couldn’t even afford to scrutinize a man’s character—as long as he wasn’t hideously ugly, it would be considered a blessing.

Just as she was about to wipe her tears, Aunt Zhao suddenly remembered something. Her gaze paused, and she looked up at Fan Changyu: "That young man you rescued—does he have a family?"

Before waiting for an answer, she dismissed her own question: "He probably doesn’t. You said he fled from the north and was the only one left in his family."

Fan Changyu understood Aunt Zhao’s implication but was stunned for a long moment.

Seeing no reaction from her, Aunt Zhao pressed further: "With his injuries, he has nowhere to go, right? How about... I ask him for you?"

Now that the idea of matchmaking had taken root, Aunt Zhao looked at Fan Changyu and felt she and the young man would make a perfect match. Changyu was capable—even if the young man ended up disabled, she could support the household alone.

Moreover, after being turned away by the Song family today, Aunt Zhao seethed with hatred for Song Yan, that ungrateful wretch. The thought that the young man was even more handsome than Song Yan only deepened her satisfaction.

Fan Changyu’s mind was in turmoil. She finally replied, "Auntie, don’t ask him yet. Let me think it over first. I’ll ask him myself when I’m ready."

Knowing Fan Changyu was always decisive, Aunt Zhao didn’t press further. After helping her clean up the house with her husband, they returned home.

Changning, exhausted from crying earlier, had fallen asleep during her usual nap and was carried to bed by Fan Changyu.

Changyu herself lay down in her clothes, staring blankly at the canopy above.

Song Yan and the man who called himself Yan Zheng—their images overlapped in her mind.Speaking of which, although she and Song Yan were childhood sweethearts and had been betrothed since they were young, her memories of him were pitifully few.

Song Yan was always busy. Even before he entered the county school, he had been buried in his studies. Though both families lived in the same alley, she rarely went to see him to avoid disturbing his studies. If she did visit, it was usually because her parents had sent her to the Song family to deliver something—sometimes meat, sometimes pastries.

Back then, Mother Song had treated her with warmth, saying that Song Yan’s hard work was all for earning scholarly honors so she could live a comfortable life in the future.

Later, when Song Yan was admitted to the county school, which provided meals and lodging, he spent even fewer days at home, and Fan Changyu found it harder to see him.

Once, when she went to the county town with her father for market day, Mother Song had made a new set of clothes for Song Yan and asked them to deliver it to him.

That was Fan Changyu’s first time visiting the county school. She couldn’t help but marvel at how grand the academy looked. After the gatekeeper relayed the message, Song Yan came out to meet her. She handed him the new clothes his mother had made, and he thanked her with a detached expression.

A passing classmate jokingly asked Song Yan who she was, and he replied, “My younger sister.”

That day, Fan Changyu returned home with a heavy heart. She could sense that Song Yan didn’t actually want her to visit him.

Having a fiancée who was the daughter of a butcher was probably embarrassing for him in front of his classmates.

Truthfully, even back then, she had considered calling off the engagement if Song Yan didn’t like her. But her parents seemed fond of him, praising his ambition.

Mother Song had also been very fond of her at the time, often saying in public that once Song Yan passed the imperial exams, he would have the face to marry her properly. Outsiders would praise her for her good fortune.

So Fan Changyu only brought up ending the engagement privately with Song Yan. At the time, he was studying and barely looked up from his books. His eyes, usually devoid of emotion, flickered as he asked, “Marriage is a matter of parental orders and matchmaker’s words. Do you take it so lightly?”

Fan Changyu took his words as a refusal to dissolve the engagement. Knowing his stance, she never brought it up again.

Later, after her parents passed away, Mother Song came to break off the engagement, citing some nonsense about their birth dates being incompatible.

Perhaps her parents’ deaths had drained all her sorrow, or perhaps there had never been much affection to begin with. Now, when she thought of Song Yan, she didn’t feel the slightest bit of sadness.

As for the man named Yan Zheng whom she had rescued, she knew even less about him.

He knew just as little about her. Asking him out of the blue, while he was severely injured and had nowhere to go, if he was willing to marry into her family—well, that carried a hint of leveraging kindness for repayment and taking advantage of his plight.

Her engagement with Song Yan had been arranged back then because her parents had done the Song family a favor.

Fan Changyu didn’t want to go through another mess like her engagement with Song Yan, but right now, she truly had no other choice.

After much deliberation, she thought maybe she should discuss it with the man named Yan Zheng—ask if he’d be willing to enter a sham marriage.

All she needed was to secure her family’s property. Once he recovered, he could stay or leave as he pleased.

If he chose to leave, Fan Changyu naturally wouldn’t stop him. She had saved his life, and he had helped her through a difficult time by pretending to marry into her family. That would make them even.

If he chose to stay… Fan Changyu thought of his face, as pristine as fresh snow under a clear moon. Well, she wouldn’t exactly be at a loss, would she?

—

In the Zhao family’s pavilion, Xie Zheng, who had just retrieved a letter from the Gyrfalcon’s leg, suddenly sneezed.

He frowned impatiently, his sharp brows knitting together. Could he really have caught a cold?The pure white Gyrfalcon gripped the wooden windowsill tightly with its iron-hook-like claws, tilting its head slightly as it fixed its intelligent beady eyes on its master.

Xie Zheng unfolded the letter, and upon reading its contents, his expression instantly darkened, a cold sneer curling at the corners of his lips.

That person truly couldn’t rest easy for even a day without seeing his corpse. So soon, they had already sent someone to Huizhou to take over his forces—and the one they sent was none other than him .

The letter was tossed into the charcoal brazier at the foot of the bed, quickly turning to ashes.

Xie Zheng leaned against the headboard, the cold wind blowing in through the wide-open window ruffling the stray hairs on his forehead but failing to dispel the gloom on his face.

The one who had taken over his military authority in Huizhou was probably even more eager for his death than the person in the capital. Right now, his former subordinates were struggling to protect themselves, not daring to make any rash moves lest that rabid dog caught their scent and tracked them down.

Until his injuries healed, he could only lie low here and plan carefully.

Xie Zheng glanced at the fresh bloodstains on his lapel, his expression growing even more self-loathing and impatient.

"Guh?" The Gyrfalcon, having waited too long for instructions, tilted its head the other way, continuing to stare at its master with those beady eyes.

"Get lost."

Xie Zheng closed his eyes impatiently, his handsome face unusually pale, revealing a rare hint of fragility.

The Gyrfalcon seemed accustomed to hearing this command. Satisfied, it immediately flapped its wings and flew away.

Xie Zheng had indeed caught a cold.

Fan Changyu had spent the afternoon rehearsing what she would say to him. In the evening, she even specially stir-fried two side dishes and sliced a plate of braised pork head meat to bring to him. But this time, no matter how many times she called outside the loft door, there was no response from inside.

Worried that something might have happened to the man inside, she pushed the door open and entered, only to find him lying in bed, his face flushed with an unnatural redness, his entire body feverish and unconscious.

Fan Changyu hurriedly called for Zhao Mu Jiang. After taking the man’s pulse, Zhao Mu Jiang flipped through his tattered medical book for a long time before prescribing the most conservative remedy for colds.

Fan Changyu rushed to the already-closed medicine shop late at night, banging on the door to get the herbs. After brewing the medicine and forcing it down Xie Zheng’s throat, he soon broke into a sweat.

However, when Zhao Mu Jiang wiped Xie Zheng’s sweat and changed his bandages, he noticed that the wound seemed to have reopened—the gauze was stained with fresh blood. He found it rather odd.

Xie Zheng didn’t wake again until the next morning.

His fever had subsided, and his head no longer felt heavy, but his throat was painfully dry.

To make it easier for him to pour water, the elderly couple had placed a round stool by his bedside with a teapot and a coarse clay cup.

Xie Zheng propped himself up halfway, about to pour himself a drink, when the door suddenly opened. The woman stepped in carrying a large bowl and, seeing him, said, "The tea is cold. You’ve just recovered from the fever—don’t drink it. I made you a bowl of pork lung soup."

Zhao Mu Jiang had said pork lung soup could clear heat, relieve coughs, and moisten the lungs. The pig slaughtered yesterday still had a bucket of offal left, so Fan Changyu had taken the lungs to make the soup.

Xie Zheng thanked her hoarsely. Since this meal wasn’t intestines, he accepted it without hesitation and began drinking.

But the moment the soup touched his lips, his expression twisted strangely.

Under Fan Changyu’s watchful gaze, he silently swallowed the mouthful of soup and asked, "Did you make this?"Fan Changyu nodded, "Yes, what's the matter?"

Although it was her first time making this so-called pig lung soup.

Xie Zheng held the bowl but didn't drink any more, saying, "Nothing."

It was just a little hard to believe that this bowl of pig lung soup and the previous fat intestine noodles had come from the same person.

Fan Changyu continued to urge him, "You should finish it while it's hot. Uncle Zhao said pig lung soup helps with coughs and nourishes the lungs—it's good for your health."

Xie Zheng: "...It's a bit too hot. I'll drink it later."

He thought that with the conversation at this point, the woman before him would leave. Unexpectedly, she pulled over a chair and sat down. "I don’t think I’ve told you my name yet. My surname is Fan, and my given name is Changyu. People in town just call me by my name, so you can do the same from now on."

Xie Zheng gave a faint nod. He had heard the old woman call her before and already knew her name.

With him barely responding, the room fell into silence again.

Forcing small talk was a bit awkward for Fan Changyu, but thinking of her purpose for being here, she had no choice but to press on. "Earlier, you said your surname is Yan and your given name is Zheng. Which 'Yan' and which 'Zheng'?"

Xie Zheng replied, "'Yan' as in 'words of reason,' 'Zheng' as in 'upright gentleman.'"

Suspecting that Fan Changyu might not have studied much and wouldn’t recognize the characters, he dipped his finger into the cold tea in the cup and carefully wrote the two characters "Yan Zheng" on the round stool by the bed.

These two characters were each formed by taking a radical from his original name.

His index finger was slender and bony, like bamboo—the kind of hand that should have looked elegant holding a brush. But the pads and backs of his fingers were crisscrossed with scars of varying depths, making it hard to imagine what he had been through before.

Even using his fingertip as a brush, the characters he wrote carried a bold, vigorous energy. Fan Changyu found herself inexplicably mesmerized.

Only when he finished the last stroke of "Zheng" did his low, hoarse voice break the silence. "These two characters."

She snapped back to reality, hesitating slightly before speaking again. "You were a scholar before, weren’t you?"

His handwriting was excellent, seemingly even more refined than Song Yan’s.

Xie Zheng, however, said, "Just a mere martial man—hardly worthy of being called a scholar."

His words sounded modest on the surface, yet carried an inexplicable hint of arrogant mockery, as if he held little regard for so-called scholars.

Fan Changyu let out a small sigh of relief and asked another question. "Then what did you do for a living before?"

Xie Zheng’s brows furrowed almost imperceptibly. He felt she was being unusually persistent today, but considering she had saved him and was willing to let him stay to recover, it wasn’t unreasonable for her to ask.

After a brief pause, he answered, "Nothing particularly respectable. I used to work for a security company."

Unexpectedly, the woman’s face suddenly lit up with excitement. "What a coincidence! My father used to work as a guard when he was younger!"

Xie Zheng: "...How fortuitous."

Fortunately, she didn’t press further about the security company. Instead, she clasped her hands together, seeming a little nervous, and asked him another question. "Then... are you married?"

Xie Zheng studied the woman before him. Under his gaze, she looked somewhat flustered—but not the least bit shy.

For a moment, he couldn’t quite grasp the meaning behind her question. He answered truthfully, "No, I’m not."Fan Changyu's hands were nearly red from her own pinching before she finally threw caution to the wind and blurted out, "Well... I wanted to ask for your help. My family has run into some trouble. After my parents passed away, my uncle has been determined to seize our house and land. Yesterday he tried to forcibly take the deed but failed, so next he'll probably file a lawsuit. If it goes to court, since my parents had no sons, the property would rightfully go to my uncle. The only way to keep the house and land now is for me to quickly take in a live-in husband."

Xie Zheng's eyelids twitched violently. "You want me to be your live-in husband?"