Resting her head against Qi Biao’s chest, she felt a chill—the spot dampened by her own tears. Lin Fang suddenly laughed softly, “Heh.”
The stroking motion on her chin paused, and a voice came from above her head, “What’s so funny now?” The tone was both doting and resigned.
“Heh, Aunt Liu must be furious and frantic right now.” When Qi Biao had carried her out, Lin Fang hadn’t looked back, but she could easily imagine Aunt Liu’s expression from the sounds alone.
Silence fell over them. After a moment, Qi Biao asked, “Do you remember what you asked me that day?”
“Which question?” The question was odd—she asked him things every day. How was she supposed to know which one he meant?
Another pause. Then Qi Biao replied, “You asked me if I truly saw you as a sister.” With that, he gently pushed her back slightly, lowering his head to gaze intently at her upturned face.
Lin Fang didn’t recall ever asking that, though the question had long lingered in her mind. She went along with it and asked, “So, do you truly see me as a sister?”
Qi Biao answered, “At first, yes.”
“And now?”
“Now, it’s more like romantic love.”
Lin Fang froze. This guy really had no sense of subtlety. Though she had long sensed that Qi Biao’s feelings for her went beyond sibling affection, hearing him state it so bluntly left her at a loss for how to respond.
“Lin Wen also asked me what my true feelings for you were. At the time, I still believed it was sibling love. But when you went missing this time, the anxiety I felt was indescribable. Without a second thought, I rushed back to Duoling County, searching day and night. Even if it cost me my life, I had to find you. That was when I realized my feelings for you were no longer what I’d thought.”
“These past days, I’ve been reflecting on our childhood. I first noticed you when you were still babbling as a baby. Back then, you were… quite ugly, covered in blood-red birthmarks. But the look in your eyes wasn’t that of an infant. You’d cling to your brother and sister, sometimes teasing them on purpose. Yet whenever I visited your home daily, your eyes held something else—mockery, or disdain? I was young and proud then, always wanting to retaliate. But whenever I had the chance, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
Lin Fang’s eyes widened. So she’d been in danger from this guy as a child without even knowing it? But remembering Qi Biao’s aloof demeanor back then, her eyes curved into crescents of laughter. Unable to resist, Qi Biao leaned down and brushed his lips lightly over her eyelids. Startled, Lin Fang ducked her head and tried to pull back, only to be drawn firmly back into his embrace.
“As we grew older, I noticed you shared similarities with my youngest sister—intelligent, kind, resilient, and just as mischievous. My sister was disabled, while you were born with small feet, unsteady when walking. Yet neither of you hid your imperfections. You disliked long skirts, preferring practical clothes that made your tiny feet even more noticeable. My sister was the same, indifferent to the stares at her legs, always cheerful as if untouched by sorrow. She was irreplaceable to me, and at first, I resented anyone resembling her. But somehow, I couldn’t help wanting to be near you.”
Lin Fang remembered rarely paying Qi Biao any attention as a child, dismissing him as just a kid trying to act cool. Now it made sense—he was ten years older than her. When they’d met, he’d already been in his rebellious phase. The more she ignored him, the more he’d tried to get her attention. Wow, ten years older—in this era, that practically made him an old man.
“Fang’er, are you listening?” Seeing her drift off, Qi Biao sighed. It went against his nature to speak so openly, and he wasn’t sure how much of it had reached her.
Lin Fang nodded, annoyed. If this was his idea of romantic love, didn’t he know she’d always been capable of multitasking?
Qi Biao continued, “As I grew older and became aware of romantic matters, I found myself repelled by any young woman who tried to get close—except you, Fang’er. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted near me.”
“With that icy scowl of yours, who’d dare get close?” The words slipped out before she could stop them. Lin Fang clapped a hand over her mouth, though her eyes sparkled with amusement.
Qi Biao exhaled deeply. “As the eldest son of a prince, there’s no shortage of women willing to cozy up to me—even if I were a devil—so long as I can offer them wealth and status.”
Lin Fang gaped. “You’re a prince’s eldest son?”
She’d guessed he came from privilege, but not that he was the heir to the kingdom’s only prince. That meant his family situation was even more complicated. Rumors said the emperor had no surviving children and would choose his successor from the prince’s two sons. So Qi Biao was a candidate—whether as future emperor or prince, his life would never be simple.
They say entering nobility is like diving into an unfathomable sea, let alone the imperial family. Though she cared for him—even felt attached—she only wanted a quiet life. She wasn’t cut out for palace intrigue, nor did she want to become one of his many women.
Withdrawing from his embrace, Lin Fang shivered as the cold air hit her skin, no longer shielded by Qi Biao’s cloak. When he reached for her, she stepped back firmly. “Yi-ge, I won’t deny my feelings for you have grown beyond sibling love. But climbing the social ladder isn’t what I want.”
“Fang’er, you’re different from those women,” Qi Biao insisted urgently.
Lin Fang gave a bitter laugh. “I do want to be different. But if I married into the imperial family, becoming just another one of your obligations, there’d be no difference at all. I’d have to change just to survive, trapped in a courtyard until I grew old and died.”
“That won’t happen. In this lifetime, I’ll have only you. You know I’ve always kept my word.”
“Right now, you’re my Yi-ge alone. But later? I believe you mean what you say now, but circumstances can force one’s hand. As royalty, you’d have to consider the bigger picture. How could you act on whim? Rather than face that dilemma later, it’s better not to start at all.”
Her words were a bucket of cold water. Qi Biao fell silent, his expression darkening.
Lin Fang knew her rejection was harsh, especially for someone as self-possessed as Qi Biao. It pained her too. After a strained silence, she sighed.
“Yi-ge, I’m selfish. I just want an ordinary life—teaching, earning money, sleeping in. As the saying goes, ‘Count coins till your fingers cramp, wake naturally from sweet dreams’—that’s enough for me. Teaching is my passion; money is necessity and joy. If I could travel and see the world, even better. That’s all I want from this life.”
Qi Biao frowned. “What kind of saying is that?”
Naturally, it’s from my world, Lin Fang thought wryly. As royalty, you’d never lack money, but I don’t want to count yours—the cost would be too high. In the palace, forget sleeping in; I’d be lucky to rest at all. Aloud, she said, “I’ve always liked making an impression. You know that. Why dwell on the saying?”
After a pause, she added, “Let’s go back. We’ve been out too long—Aunt Liu will worry.”
Qi Biao turned away, his voice flat. “You go ahead. I’ll walk a bit more.”
Her heart clenched, but Lin Fang said nothing, turning silently toward home. Her long-overcome unsteadiness returned, and she nearly stumbled into the withered grass several times.
Listening to her faltering steps, Qi Biao fought the urge to turn back and steady her. Only when she’d reached the house, forcing cheer as she spoke to Aunt Liu, did he relax his rigid posture and stride away.
Aimless wandering led him to the ditch where he’d first found Lin Fang. Staring at the overgrown weeds, his thoughts were elsewhere.
“Do you truly see me as a sister?” Lin Fang had murmured sleepily that night after escaping the maze.
“And you claim you only see Fang’er as a sister?” Lin Wen had challenged. “She’s fifteen, and you’ve carved fifteen wooden figures—one for each year. You treasure her more than her own brothers do. Don’t you think your actions go beyond brotherly affection?”
“Yi-ge, I won’t deny my feelings for you aren’t just sisterly anymore. But climbing the social ladder isn’t what I want.” She’d admitted her feelings, then rejected him outright. The pain was sharp.
“If your feelings for Fang’er are romantic, end them now. Once this is over, you’ll either be crown prince or heir to the princedom. By protocol, you’ll have one principal wife, two secondary wives, at least four concubines, and countless other attendants who’ll never even be acknowledged. Fang’er is just a village head’s daughter. If she followed you, she wouldn’t even rank as a concubine. Do you think my family would consent? Even if you forced her into your household, do you think she’d accept being one of many?”
“I do want to be different. But in the palace, I’d just become another obligation. To survive, I’d lose myself, confined to a courtyard until death.”
Fang’er, my Fang’er.
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