Seeing the message, Zhao Chiyun determined that Gan Xun had become utterly unreasonable.
Trees stood tall and lush, one by one speeding past and receding alongside the driveway. The dark gray asphalt road bore traces left by a sprinkler truck.
The sky was as blue as the atmosphere in the anime movie she had recently watched.
Zhao Chiyun sat upright in the back seat. She heard a very mechanical audio novel playing from the driver’s phone—the male protagonist’s name was even more casual than her family’s coachman or dog.
If Gan Xun had been like this when she first arrived here, Zhao Chiyun’s vigilance would have spiked.
Given her personality, she probably wouldn’t have bent but would have played along superficially before becoming independent early on and biding her time to leave.
But that wasn’t the case. Gan Xun back then had skin as thin as a cicada’s wing. Even teaching her how to dress and bathe left her awkward and blushing at the drop of a hat—cute and full of life.
At first, Zhao Chiyun had only seen Gan Xun as a temporarily useful maidservant. Though she admired women, she harbored little desire or wariness toward her own sex.
In terms of the exploitative mindset that would earn scoldings in modern times, in her heart, serving maids and the women she admired weren’t in the same category.
With the former, she let her guard down physically and never let her thoughts wander.
Sometimes, seeing Gan Xun’s embarrassed, shy look, she would tease her with a couple of words or crook a finger—and Gan Xun would willingly handle things for her.
Unexpectedly, Gan Xun was too good at her tasks and at dealing with people. Before long, she carried much more weight in Zhao Chiyun’s heart, no longer just a disposable proletarian.
People willing to provide her lodging had never been in short supply. During these days, plenty of modern folks had sent her signals.
People here lacked the deep scheming of Mirror People and couldn’t hide their intentions. After just a few words as they approached Zhao Chiyun, she knew exactly what they wanted.
Sometimes it was interest in her; other times, her talents; and occasionally, it was just indirect probing about Gan Xun, who accompanied her to work every day.
If they were interested in her, she might not like it, but she was used to it and could manage a few polite words.
The moment someone showed interest in Gan Xun, though, she would coldly mock them off.
Now Gan Xun was merely switching from one small house to another—just renting—yet asking her for rewards.
Hmph.
Zhao Chiyun’s killing intent showed plainly as she glanced at Gan Xun’s leg. The noble palm print had faded, but the area was still red.
When they were viewing the house, Sister Wu had spotted Gan Xun right away and asked what happened. Gan Xun claimed she’d been bitten by a fat mosquito.
When she lied, Gan Xun liked to smile, curving her eyes—which differed slightly from those of Central Plains folk—into a harmless crescent.
She hoped to draw attention to her striking looks rather than the holes in her story.
Zhao Chiyun observed calmly, planning to commit it to memory as a defense against deception.
The only problem was that Gan Xun often smiled at her the same way—sometimes for no reason at all, even without a word—so Zhao Chiyun still struggled to tell truth from lies.
Last night’s “reward” had been a spur-of-the-moment impulse.
Unlike the reserved solemnity of Mirror Country’s social environment, modern society bubbled with a musical lightness and casualness. She admitted she felt at ease here—corrupted, even.
She grew curious about the boundaries of women touching skin to skin. In a heated moment, she even remembered Gan Xun’s outrageous words and asked if she still wanted it.
But she wasn’t impulsive. The deeper reason was that she’d breathlessly rejected Gan Xun’s clumsy attempt at a romantic invitation that day.
She felt no regrets, yet her heart fluttered with unease—not because she feared Gan Xun getting angry and ignoring her, of course.
Gan Xun’s tactful accusation stung, as did pouring water for a drunkard while condescending, only to receive no thanks. Her mood soured.
Even if the proper hierarchy had been shattered, the sense of her dignity being violated was still unacceptable.
Gan Xun’s reasoning—that they’d been seen, so they couldn’t just be irresponsible—felt terribly cavalier to Zhao Chiyun.
She figured Gan Xun didn’t like her that much anyway and was just trying to resolve some “trouble.”
That morning, her mood had been foul as she wrote one of her favorite prose-poems. She desperately wanted to return to her Mirror Country.
Gan Xun to her was like an epiphyllum bloom to Zhao Chiyun—beautiful in the moment, but what of tomorrow?
If Gan Xun had been resolute and fearless, willing to live or die for her, swearing oaths of eternal love, perhaps Zhao Chiyun would have pondered a fitting path forward, honoring such sincerity.
But Gan Xun hadn’t acted that way. She’d even joked about it, saying it was no big deal if they didn’t.
Zhao Chiyun had worried the incident would strain things between them.
Fortunately, afterward, Gan Xun still bought flowers for her, braved the rain to view houses with her, and when Zhao Chiyun lost her temper and slapped a hooligan, Gan Xun immediately stepped in front of her to ward off any retaliation.
Back home, she’d even washed Zhao Chiyun’s hands for her.
She comforted her, saying it was fine—even if Zhao Chiyun hadn’t struck, they still had to move.
Gan Xun skipped the tiresome “everyone is equal” line. She didn’t say things like, “You can’t hit people here—this isn’t your Mirror Country, and you’re not the County Princess.”
As they climbed the stairs, Zhao Chiyun had dreaded hearing exactly that. She’d steeled herself: if Gan Xun lectured her, she’d leave and cut ties—no more letting Gan Xun manage her affairs.
But Gan Xun hadn’t.
So Zhao Chiyun softened. Her heart stirred. She asked Gan Xun if she wanted to give it a try.
She’d only meant a light touch. Even if shy, at least the lights were off.
She never imagined the process would exceed her expectations a hundredfold. She had no chance to think or refuse—just knew Gan Xun had her bound and teasing her relentlessly.
Her body surged with unfamiliar tides. It wasn’t pleasant; she suspected her inexperience was to blame.
Worst of all, Gan Xun grew bold and, afterward, asked if she could kiss her.
If Zhao Chiyun hadn’t known her strength was no match for Gan Xun’s, she’d have been furious beyond words—dying to tie her up and whip her a few times.
Now, with Gan Xun sending a message like that, how could Zhao Chiyun not guess the wicked thoughts behind it?
She replied: [In your dreams, stand down!]
Even rejected, Gan Xun giggled on the other end.
Zhao Chiyun found it annoying.
Not long after they returned from viewing the house, Gan Xun added the Taoist priest Cui Can’s mother had helped contact.
The master was no ordinary man. He jumped straight into consultation fees.
Great vulgarity is great elegance—the scripted approach was oddly reassuring.
Apparently because Cui Can’s mother was a regular customer, the first consultation came with a discount.
Still, the fee exceeded Gan Xun’s expectations. The money-grubbing in this line of work was beyond imagination. As an atheist, Gan Xun figured that since they’d already decided to move, there was no point asking.
What if the master had a whim and declared it inauspicious? Their house hunt would be wasted.
But seeing how seriously Zhao Chiyun took it—and knowing ancients believed in this stuff—Gan Xun couldn’t bear to let her hopes dash for nothing.
For Zhao Chiyun’s peace of mind, Gan Xun gritted her teeth, accepted, haggled the price, and transferred the money.
Fine. Money comes and goes.
Following instructions, she submitted their birth charts. Gan Xun asked the master if they could move soon and whether it’d affect their future fortunes.
Zhao Chiyun dictated a message for her to send: [For example, deviating from the direction and endpoint desired in one’s heart.]
The “other party is typing” notification yanked Gan Xun right out of the moment. She nearly burst out laughing—it felt like child’s play, better handled by a fortune-telling app.
The master directly referenced Zhao Chiyun’s birth chart and asked Gan Xun if this person’s identity was unspeakable, not that of an ordinary individual.
Stunned, Gan Xun exchanged a shocked glance with Zhao Chiyun and hurriedly confirmed it, asking how he’d known.
The master replied that the person had a noble fate, though one beset by hardships.
He added that moving was fine—since they’d come this far, they should simply settle in.
Zhao Chiyun couldn’t restrain herself. She took the phone and solemnly typed, “Dare I ask, Master—what does ‘since you’ve come, then settle’ mean in the present?”
After some delay, he replied that it was a separate question, beyond the online consultation price.
Even if she paid, heavenly secrets couldn’t be divulged. Don’t ask.
He ended the chat unilaterally.
Zhao Chiyun’s expression turned grave, her eyes desolate.
It was like knocking on a grand manor’s door full of anticipation, only to find it hollow and empty inside.
Gan Xun patted her shoulder and softly comforted her. “I think he’s just putting on a mystic act. With sayings about fate, believe a little—but not entirely.”
“These people make their living off this. They want you to figure it out yourself. Press for details, and they can’t deliver, so they brush you off to protect their rice bowl.”
Seeing Zhao Chiyun stay silent, she added, “Worst comes to worst, give it some time. I’ll negotiate with him again, get him to name a price. If he won’t say online, we’ll go see him in person.”
“Okay?”
Zhao Chiyun nodded and softly said, “For now, we’ll follow his words.”
“Exactly. We just wanted to know if we could move—and now we’re reassured, with a calming pill to boot. It’s a good thing. Live well in the present—that’s what the master meant.”
Zhao Chiyun looked thoughtful. She nodded first, then reached out for a hug. She decided to enjoy Gan Xun for the moment.
Signing the contract, buying new house items, cleaning the place, getting moving supplies—it would take at least three to five days at the quickest.
After Gan Xun told Cui Can about the harassment, that evening Cui Can rushed over in her car to pick them up.
She insisted they stay at her place for a few days. “My principle is to steer clear of nutjobs.”
Gan Xun and Zhao Chiyun could only agree wholeheartedly. They packed their carry-ons and headed back with her.
When Cui Can heard Zhao Chiyun had slapped the thug, she scolded, “Gan Xun, why didn’t you have the sense to step in? That’s not for a County Princess to handle.”
Zhao Chiyun backed her up. “Precisely. In the past, I never needed to lift a finger—just a glance sufficed.”
Gan Xun said, “Oh, I thought you were throwing me a flirty wink at the time.”
“Shut your mouth.”
Cui Can continued, “But County Princess, promise me this: at the Book Garden, no matter how bizarre the parents or students, don’t handle it yourself. Leave it to me.”
Zhao Chiyun understood her concern and agreed. Then, with a serious look, she asked, “And if someone comes at me with a knife or sword? I can’t fight back?”
“No chance of that,” Cui Can and Gan Xun said in unison.
Zhao Chiyun’s lips curved in a light smile. “Just teasing you.”
Gan Xun chuckled. She was used to it by now.
Cui Can, though, looked amused and surprised, as if seeing Zhao Chiyun anew.
Tang Sifeng was also at Cui Can’s house. As they walked in, she was cooking in the kitchen.
Contrary to her poised demeanor, her dishes packed a spicy punch—but they were delicious.
Zihan and Zixuan caught the scent and meowed under the dining table, unclear if they liked it or not.
Zhao Chiyun spotted the cats and ate uneasily, even meowing back once or twice.
Tang Sifeng said, “Head back less often lately, especially at night. Once the new place is ready, we’ll go with you to pack and move.”
Cui Can chimed in, “You should’ve moved ages ago. That place is so far, the surroundings mediocre, the house tiny—two people crammed in there.”
Then she suddenly added, “Though lovebirds in the honeymoon phase probably enjoy the squeeze.”
Gan Xun nearly retorted but remembered their agreement to gloss over such topics with Zhao Chiyun.
She mumbled a few uh-huhs and ahs, not giving a straight answer.
Cui Can pounced. “You just admitted it. You two are really dating, aren’t you?”
Cui Zihan: “Meow~ Meow~”
Zhao Chiyun, head down: “Meow.”
Gan Xun, feigning seriousness: “No obligation to inform you.”
“Fine. Tonight, I’ll camp outside your room door and listen in.”
“Then all you’ll hear is my voice reciting poetry.”
Cui Zixuan: “Meow—”
Zhao Chiyun: “Meow meow meow.”
