Zhao Chiyun took forever to finish her bath.
Gan Xun changed the bedsheets and duvet cover, brought the takeout inside, sent Cui Can a long message to say she was safe, and still no sign of her coming out.
Worried she might have passed out inside, Gan Xun was about to break down the door to rescue her when it swung open.
Steamy vapor poured out first, like a layer of hazy gauze, followed by the graceful figure gradually coming into focus.
Her delicate features, misted with moisture, looked even more lush and vibrant, like a dew-kissed peony. Her neck and face flushed a tender pink that could be broken with a mere puff of air.
Under the light, the glow shone straight through her skin, revealing even the fine veins beneath.
Gan Xun’s heart fluttered. As a woman herself, she could better appreciate this beauty from another time and space.
She lavished praise without holding back. “You look great in that outfit. No different from anyone in the modern world.”
Zhao Chiyun stood before the full-length mirror, elegantly smoothing the wrinkles from her collar.
Unimpressed, she said, “You mean I look just like a commoner now?”
The implication was clear: she had no interest in Gan Xun’s “modern era.”
Gan Xun raised an eyebrow. “Here, that’s exactly what you are.”
Zhao Chiyun stared expressionlessly into the mirror, her pupils brimming with displeasure, but she didn’t argue.
Dinner was burgers, hash browns, and cola. Gan Xun didn’t ask Zhao Chiyun what she wanted.
For one thing, she couldn’t buy whatever Zhao Chiyun might crave. For another, Zhao Chiyun probably had no idea what was even edible.
Maybe the county princess would suddenly return home with just a turn. Getting to eat something ancient times never had would be a win.
Noble-born and exquisite, she’d never nibbled a burger before—and didn’t dare now.
Zhao Chiyun was the type obsessed with food safety, even more anxious than Gan Xun’s aunt, who only ate veggies from her own garden. She poked and prodded but wouldn’t take a bite.
“No trays even in the kitchen. Wrapped in greasy paper like a beggar. It really kills the appetite.”
“The meat patty and cucumber smell utterly bizarre.”
“Why serve raw vegetables? That chef deserves to die.”
“What’s that black, bubbling liquid? Are you trying to poison me?”
Gan Xun’s head throbbed. “Can you eat first and complain later? Has anyone ever poisoned you before?”
Zhao Chiyun nodded solemnly. “My personal maid Cui Shen died because of it.”
Gan Xun felt like she was the one who deserved to die.
She reined in her sarcasm and coaxed gently. “Relax, no one poisons food here. What’s the gain? It’s just asking for a lawsuit.”
“At worst, it’s not super clean, and you’ll get the runs.”
Zhao Chiyun said gravely, “Diarrhea is serious business.”
“No worries. We’ve got anti-diarrheal meds at home. Eat up—it won’t kill you.”
Zhao Chiyun didn’t budge.
Gan Xun surrendered. She fetched a knife and fork, sliced a small piece from Zhao Chiyun’s burger, and taste-tested the beef, sour pickle, and veggies first.
She even took a bite of the hash brown and a sip of the cola.
“Poison tested. Please, County Princess.”
By Zhao Chiyun’s standards, they should wait a little longer.
But her eyesight was keen. Seeing Gan Xun teetering on the edge of a meltdown, she stopped stalling and quietly began to eat.
One tiny bite, chewed at least ten times. Gan Xun watched, growing impatient.
Suddenly, she paused, her eyes flashing with uncontrollable surprise. “The beef has an excellent texture, paired with the sour cucumber and this lettuce—it’s truly heavenly.”
A shame there was no ad break right then.
Gan Xun brightened. “Tasty, huh? Hehe, try the cola.”
Zhao Chiyun sipped cautiously. The carbonation hit her like a shock, nearly making her spit it out. Her eyes squeezed shut as if a thousand worms were wriggling in her mouth. Under Gan Xun’s expectant gaze, she forced it down. It seemed okay, so she took another sip.
“How is it?”
“Not to my taste, but barely drinkable.”
“Then have just a couple sips. Here’s some milk.” Gan Xun didn’t push.
Casually, Gan Xun opened her tablet and queued up a mealtime drama.
The video startled Zhao Chiyun. She bombarded Gan Xun with questions, convinced there were real people inside the screen, watching them.
Gan Xun explained between bites until she got the gist. “So it’s immersive.”
Zhao Chiyun asked, “Why are their clothes so bizarre? Costumes?”
“Qing Dynasty. You don’t know it?”
Zhao Chiyun shook her head.
Gan Xun gave a quick rundown. “A different dynasty—not Han Chinese, so they had their own sense of style. Looks ugly at first, right? You’ll get used to it.”
Zhao Chiyun said, “It seems better than yours.”
Gan Xun: “……Shut up.”
No sense of style at all. Those fashion magazines were wasted on her.
By the end of the episode, Gan Xun had finished eating.
She checked the time. “County Princess, stop chewing every bite to bits. It’s getting late—I still need to take you to the police station.”
Zhao Chiyun had been glued to the screen, dying to hit play on the next episode. She went quiet for a moment, then spoke softly. “Miss Gan Xun.”
“What?” Gan Xun had a bad feeling.
Zhao Chiyun finally voiced it. “Can you not send me to the yamen?”
Gan Xun slurped the last of her iced cola, puzzled and annoyed. “Why not?”
“I’m afraid.”
Her tone was even, her face serene—only her eyes held a faint ripple.
“Since I’ve ended up here, there must be some reason behind it. I might even go back someday. If you hand me off, who knows where I’ll end up or what kind of people I’ll meet.”
Everything here was unfamiliar. Gan Xun seemed reliable enough so far—poor and lowborn, sure, but kind-hearted.
Who knew what fate awaited if she was passed to another group.
“Aren’t you afraid I’m an assassin? Or just a bad person?”
“Fate comes to all—we must follow heaven’s will. I’ve placed my bet on you and accepted the risks. If you have ill intentions, then that’s my destiny as Zhao Chiyun.”
Gan Xun’s own luck had always been middling; she was used to accepting her lot. This was the first time someone else had pinned their fate on her.
She felt a little lost, like a weight was pressing down on her heart, stirring an instinct to catch it.
In the end, though, she didn’t want the hassle.
“Sorry, no dice. I can’t take that responsibility. If something happens to you at my place, I won’t be able to explain it. You don’t trust the place I mentioned, do you?”
“I guarantee—no one there will hurt you. Way more reliable than me.”
Zhao Chiyun read Gan Xun’s expression, her eyes flickering thoughtfully. Mildly, she said, “I understand your concerns. I won’t force you. But could you let me stay here temporarily?”
“Three days.”
“After three days, if I still haven’t returned home smoothly, you can send me off then.”
As she spoke, she gently grasped Gan Xun’s wrist. Her fingertips were warm, her attitude uncharacteristically sincere.
Gan Xun froze, remembering that hug.
Three days wasn’t long. Even broke as she was, she could manage.
Gan Xun knew she had a point—her home might be some kind of respawn point.
She couldn’t say no outright, but she also didn’t want to seem too accommodating and get taken advantage of later.
Pretending nonchalance, Gan Xun asked, “What’s in it for me after three days?”
“You name it.”
Gan Xun couldn’t think of anything. This woman was even poorer than her.
After stalling a bit, she agreed. “Fine, as you say. We’ll see if you can head back in three days. One condition: I’m not supporting some ancestor. No airs—handle your own chores.”
Gan Xun was, after all, a product of modern society. She couldn’t stomach imperial decadence.
“What if I don’t know how?”
“Learn. You bathed like a pro and dressed yourself fine. You’re smart.”
Zhao Chiyun huffed. “Fine. Anything else? Chop wood? Feed the horses?”
Gan Xun burst out laughing. “No wood or horses here. Just wash dishes and hang laundry.”
She actually went there!
Zhao Chiyun had never done such menial tasks. She felt a pang of sorrow but had no time for self-pity.
“Got it.”
“That’s it for now. Three days only—then we head out first thing the next morning.”
Zhao Chiyun promised magnanimously, “If I manage to get any silver here, it’ll all go to you.”
Gan Xun waved her hands frantically. “Get” already sounded ominous.
“No need! I’m not that desperate. And please—don’t do anything. Everything here’s by the law. One slip-up, and it’s fines or jail. I’m begging you, no shenanigans.”
“I’m scared you’ll drag me down with you.”
How brazen! Ungrateful wretch.
Zhao Chiyun’s face darkened. She opened her mouth to scold but held back, considering Gan Xun had agreed to let her stay.
With business settled, Gan Xun cleared the table.
Another downpour started, thunder rumbling faintly in the distance, shrouded in haze. Zhao Chiyun wasn’t afraid anymore.
She asked, “Gan Xun, how old are you?”
“Just turned twenty-four.”
“And your husband? Your children?”
“Solitary as they come.”
Zhao Chiyun blinked in surprise. “Really?”
“What’s real or fake about it? Twenty-four is young here. The old folks in our community average eighty.”
“And you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Call me sis.” Gan Xun teased.
Zhao Chiyun ignored her. Only people of a certain status got to call her sis.
Gan Xun was just a lowly commoner.
“People married young back then. You must have a husband and kids by now. Husband means spouse.”
“Women of the Great Mirror Dynasty are far nobler than in previous eras. We don’t marry young, and I’m in mourning besides. So though I’m betrothed, I haven’t wed yet.”
Gan Xun’s gossip senses tingled. “Do you know your future husband?”
“I know of him. Not well.”
“Do you like him?”
Zhao Chiyun shied from the topic, not wanting to get personal. Feigning calm, she said, “Marriage isn’t about liking someone. It’s parents’ orders—obey and that’s that.”
Gan Xun couldn’t wrap her head around it.
But she couldn’t blame ancient feudalism entirely. Plenty of modern folks stumbled into marriage via blind dates.
Still, she pressed, “Marriage isn’t just a big ceremony where everyone parties and leaves. It’s living together forever. How do you even sleep with someone you don’t like? I can’t imagine a near-stranger walking up, dropping trou, and hopping into bed.”
Zhao Chiyun went pale. Thinly angry, she snapped, “Vulgar!”
Gan Xun grinned. “Dropping trou is vulgar? Don’t go online, then—you’d die of shame.”
“Online what?”
“Told you, you wouldn’t get it. I’ll teach you next time. I’m beat today.”
Gan Xun fancied herself a teacher, but her battery was drained.
After washing up, Gan Xun tossed the dirty clothes in the washer.
Zhao Chiyun trailed after her. “I resisted, of course. That’s why it’s dragged on this long.”
“And then?”
As she watched Gan Xun’s routine, a warm glow seemed to surround her while doing chores.
“It made my mother ill. Father confined me to quarters. Elder Sis scolded me too. No one could help—not even…”
She clammed up and shook her head. “Never mind.”
Unclear if she’d ever see that person again.
Gan Xun poured in detergent and hit quick wash. “Enough of that for now. Getting back is all that matters.”
“Quite right.”
“Now, about sleeping arrangements for these three days.”
Zhao Chiyun looked puzzled and glanced around.
“No guest room? I saw plenty of sheds in your garden.”
Gan Xun looked sheepish. “This is all the space I’ve got. Open that door, and the outside world isn’t mine anymore. No private garden, no servants or maids—no guest room.”
Zhao Chiyun raised her voice in astonishment. “Your entire home is just this tiny space?”
It made Gan Xun want to overthrow the landlords.
“Land here’s worth its weight in gold. Those skyscrapers outside house thousands of families—we all squeeze in together.”
“Not that shocked, are you? This place is plenty for one person. Lots of folks have less. Surely you saw poor people in the Mirror Dynasty?”
“I just never imagined it. With all these magical arts in the world, poverty like this still exists.”
Zhao Chiyun pondered the reasons.
“Don’t overthink it.” Gan Xun was afraid she’d spark some royal epiphany.
“Magical arts cost money, you know. Most people are just ordinary folks scraping by.”
Tending to her guest, she said, “You take the bed. I’ll crash on the sofa.”
Zhao Chiyun saw nothing wrong with that. Giving the main chamber to an honored guest was only proper.
“Mm.”
Mm?
Living under someone else’s roof, and not even a polite refusal?
Gan Xun pretended to mull it over, then backtracked. “Nah, sofa’s too narrow. I might roll off in the night. We’ll share the bed.”
“You were scared of thunder, right? I’ll keep you company.”
Zhao Chiyun panicked. “No need for close attendance. I’m used to sleeping alone.”
Gan Xun smiled. “Get used to sharing. We’re both women—what’s the big deal?”
Zhao Chiyun shook her head vigorously. “I can’t imagine…”
She looked at Gan Xun and finished firmly, “being with someone I’ve barely spoken to, dropping trou and hopping into bed.”
“See you in the morning.”
She slammed the door with a bang, leaving Gan Xun in a gust of wind.
