Me?
Did Zhao Chiyun say she was Feng and Jian?
Gan Xun has received all kinds of comments from childhood to adulthood.
Some say she’s a wild child who looks ugly; some say she only buries herself in rote learning with no real prospects; others say she’s inflexible at work and poor at judging the situation.
There are also those who say her personality is dull and boring, like a cup of plain water, so it’s no big deal if they can’t win her over—nobody loves her anyway.
She’s not the type who won’t listen to others; she humbly accepts it and doesn’t bother to refute.
Most criticisms, even if she hears them, she is powerless to change and has no urgency to do so; thus, such evaluations hold little significance for her.
Being called “feudal” was already too bizarre, let alone by ancient people—she simply couldn’t accept it.
You!
Zhao Chiyun spoke with resounding force, and the oral resonance was extremely clear.
It seems like the person who was just kissed into a soft, limp state, softly moaning and panting, wasn’t her.
Gan Xun found it amusing and stroked her fierce face.
The hand was very cautious the instant it touched the skin—it had been bitten by her mouth once before, and in my mind, I imagined the hand would be bitten too.
Although Zhao Chiyun isn’t quite that fierce, she just has this cautious personality.
She knew what Zhao Chiyun was talking about.
Combine with what we just talked about.
She explained, “That’s not what I meant.”
What do you mean?
Gan Xun said, “I’ve never distanced myself from you because of the betrothal you have waiting over there. I don’t care about any of that. Nor do I think you need to return with your virginity intact to get married and avoid disgracing your family—I’m not crazy.”
She felt helpless at having to explain such an absurd thing, but she still took it seriously, because it was essential to make it clear to the ancient people—one slip and they’d completely misunderstand.
I’m just putting myself in your shoes and thinking it over for you. I’m afraid you haven’t thought it through.
Zhao Chiyun lowered his eyes and said nothing.
Even after the conversation had reached this point, Gan Xun was still afraid she’d overthink it.
Further refining after consideration: “From your perspective, what I mean is, I don’t care. But if it were the other way around—if you did care, because you have a betrothal or someone you like, and since you’ll eventually have to return and face those rites and moral disciplines, you’d have no choice but to hold back with me, unwilling to invest more emotionally or physically…”
Gan Xun stopped, gazing at her as he deepened his smile.
I don’t think it’s bad either, so don’t feel any psychological burden. I accept that those things are more important than me—those were matters you needed to think about carefully anyway. As long as you have me in your heart now, that’s enough.
Zhao Chiyun lifted his gaze to look at her, his eyes burning intensely, brows lightly furrowed, as if unable to comprehend.
Really?
Really?
Gan Xun still didn’t forget to confirm once more, “Now there’s me in your heart, right?”
Naturally.
Gan Xun laughed from the bottom of his heart.
Zhao Chiyun was thus utterly bewildered.
She’s never seen such a stupid person.
How could someone be as stupid as Gan Xun, not knowing to fight and scheme for themselves?
Gan Xun was smiling, her smile beautiful and reassuring, yet she couldn’t join in the laughter—her heart weighed down heavily by those words, unable to lighten up.
Gan Xun said casually, as if chatting idly: “Don’t blame me for overthinking. You stopped me just now—if I don’t think ahead for you, what if you insist on going through with it?”
Zhao Chiyun bluffed tough but was soft at heart: “You dare.”
“I’m not daring enough.”
Gan Xun was amused by her and chuckled. “I’m not daring because I care about you. Don’t call me feudal—that’s too insulting.”
“Okay, I won’t.” Zhao Chiyun agreed softly.
She felt the need to explain further. “Just now, I only wanted to talk properly with you. How could I get distracted before I’d even finished speaking?”
“Yes, I was wrong.”
Zhao Chiyun fell silent for a moment. “Besides, what you said makes sense.”
Gan Xun had analyzed from her perspective, considering everything thoroughly for her.
But what about her? What kind of promise could she give Gan Xun?
Vows of eternal love, formal betrothal rites, growing old together side by side—she couldn’t fulfill a single one.
She didn’t know what to do.
When Gan Xun had first started her job and unintentionally neglected her those few days, she had been utterly panicked.
Afraid that Gan Xun would figure out the truth of the matter and refuse to invest her heart in her anymore.
Her pride and confidence were on full display; she was certain no one could be more perfect than her. But she couldn’t stay here forever—that was an incurable flaw.
Even someone as beautiful and successful as Cui Can—her ex-girlfriend had still fooled around. Let alone someone like her.
Those days, Gan Xun had no heart for talking with her. Even when she came home to cook and they ate together, there was no laughter—just like tonight.
So she could tell at a glance that Gan Xun was unhappy tonight. In her panic, she couldn’t help but argue her case a few sentences.
By the time Gan Xun actually apologized to her, she felt even worse. She realized she didn’t want an apology at all—she wasn’t trying to win or prove who was right or wrong. She just didn’t want Gan Xun to be unhappy.
Tonight, she had chosen to come find Gan Xun. But those days, all she could do was write her letters.
Other people’s letters might be forgotten by Gan Xun in a gift box, but hers never would.
She would never admit to anyone that she wrote those letters because she didn’t dare say it face-to-face. She was afraid Gan Xun would just admit it outright.
Afraid Gan Xun would say: “Since we have no future, let’s just be friends. Ordinary friends.”
So she had written that letter full of bravado—the first time in her life she’d put such things in writing, anxious the whole time.
Fortunately, before Gan Xun even read the letter, she had taken the initiative to tell her she wanted to cherish their time together, and they had started trying.
As for intimate matters, she had no experience at all—her only teacher was Gan Xun.
Back in Jing Guo, when spending time with someone she liked, even just holding hands no different from with a friend, she would blush and her heart would race; she could never hide it.
Looking back, she must have been full of obvious flaws then. The other person was so perceptive, yet always so detached—neither warm nor cold.
Gentle, yes, but offering no feedback whatsoever.
It was infuriating that she hadn’t even been able to read the other’s intentions, insisting on confessing face-to-face only to be bluntly rejected, wishing she could crawl into a crack in the ground right then and there.
Gan Xun was different.
Gan Xun was the one full of flaws, always more nervous and shy than her. Even when being bold, as soon as she pushed back a little, Gan Xun would panic and stop in a fluster.
Of course, sometimes she wouldn’t stop. A few times when it went too far, Zhao Chiyun couldn’t bear it, her shyness turning into a desire to flee, unsure how to maintain her composure.
She was afraid of losing control, and afraid of unknown reactions, so she always called a halt.
But that wasn’t because she didn’t want to be that way with Gan Xun; she just wasn’t ready yet.
Maybe if Gan Xun were a bit more forceful, she wouldn’t be angry at all.
Having spent more time online and with Cui Can and the others, she knew people here spoke freely about bedroom matters and were eager to progress.
In comparison, Gan Xun was already quite refined. Usually, aside from deliberately teasing her and saying a few roguish words to make her scold her, she wasn’t greedy.
She understood that Gan Xun cherished her, yet she couldn’t help but have doubts.
It wasn’t until Gan Xun mentioned the betrothal and Jing Guo that she realized she could forget, but Gan Xun had always remembered—she didn’t belong here.
Gan Xun firmly believed she would leave.
Perhaps Gan Xun also wanted to reserve that deepest intimacy for the person she would grow old with, not for her, who would eventually leave.
Gan Xun quit working, turned off the lights, and lay down to sleep.
This was Zhao Chiyun’s first time sleeping in Gan Xun’s room. The layout was very similar to the second bedroom at Cui Can’s house—the bed wasn’t against the wall, so she had to sleep pressed against Gan Xun.
She called out, “A-Xun.”
“Hm?”
“Do you want me to go back soon?”
In the room filled with darkness and the sound of breathing, Gan Xun’s voice came after Zhao Chiyun silently counted to five.
“I do hope so.”
Her voice carried a smile, so gentle, so warm.
Zhao Chiyun couldn’t see her expression, and for no reason felt a little downcast. “Then would you be sad? Would you miss me? Would you…”
Fall in love with someone else again?
Gan Xun laughed and ruffled her hair. “Don’t be silly.”
“These are your words to me—returning them to you.”
After the temperature dropped, the bedding had been changed to thicker ones. Covered up, their body heat slowly rose.
Gan Xun held her tighter. “Yes, all of it. Definitely. I’m not made of wood.”
“But I’ll still bless you—to return to your mother and elder sister’s side soon, to regain your noble status as county princess soon.”
Zhao Chiyun said, “At that time, I’ll miss you.” Miss you so much.
“I’m still by your side right now. Don’t think about those things.” Gan Xun said softly.
Zhao Chiyun nodded, hugged Gan Xun, and quickly fell asleep.
Perhaps because they’d talked about returning to Jing Guo before sleep, she had a related dream.
She dreamed she was wandering the familiar streets of the capital, amid bustling crowds, rumbling carriages, and banners fluttering atop the distant city walls.
Suddenly realizing she was back.
This was her country, her people, the place her soul yearned for.
Overjoyed beyond measure, she ran along the streets, wanting to go faster and faster, back to her Prince Qi’s residence, to tell her mother she had returned safe and sound.
After running for a long time, the street still had no end. She stopped, thinking of something.
Looking back—no one was following her.
She suddenly realized that going home meant she could never see Gan Xun again.
This was a place utterly unconnected to Gan Xun.
The entire street was filled with blurry faces; not a single person would stop, smile at her, and call her full name, “Zhao Chiyun.”
The pain of parting tore through her in that instant—loss was even crueler than she had imagined.
She felt once more the agony of losing someone important.
She lost her sense of direction, unsure how to get home or how to find Gan Xun.
She could only cry, crying so hard that she woke up, realizing it was just a dream—she had disturbed herself.
Right after, a gentle palm lightly patted her back, once, twice, soothing her, signaling that everything was fine.
She fell back asleep.
When she woke up the next day, Zhao Chiyun couldn’t help but wonder what she had been thinking while being comforted last night.
Was she relieved that the dream was just a dream, and Gan Xun was still by her side? Or saddened that returning to Jing Guo was still just a dream?
She didn’t know.
She couldn’t remember; maybe she hadn’t thought anything at all.
By the dim light, she saw Gan Xun tiptoeing, taking clothes from the wardrobe and about to head out. She spoke up: “Why can’t you just change in front of me?”
Gan Xun jumped in fright. “When did you wake up?”
“Just now.”
She hadn’t slept well last night, and Gan Xun knew why.
“There’s rustling in the room; didn’t want to wake you.”
“I’m awake now. Go ahead and change.”
Gan Xun’s mood was bad from waking up early—not because of work. Last night, Zhao Chiyun’s crying had broken her heart, leaving her sleepless.
She deeply regretted bringing it up, causing the nightmare. Unable to go home—Zhao Chiyun must have been so terrified and pained.
She couldn’t dwell on the sadness now, unsure what game the county princess was playing so early in the morning. She hesitated for a moment.
Zhao Chiyun was very dissatisfied. “You unwilling? I don’t even guard against you when I change.”
Gan Xun reminded her friendly-like: “You usually do guard against me. Even when you’re too lazy to go out, you change with your back to me and won’t let me look. Then you ask, ‘Gan Xun, you aren’t peeking, are you?'”
Gan Xun mimicked her tone perfectly, but her expression was infuriating. Zhao Chiyun thought she was caricaturing her—grave offense.
“Hmph!”
But the next second, she forgave Gan Xun.
Gan Xun walked to the bedside, set down the clothes she’d found, and undid the buttons one by one. The sleep shirt slipped from both shoulders.
Then she looked at her, as if to say: There, happy?
Zhao Chiyun suddenly lacked the courage to look anywhere else, only at her face.
She could still see it—how wonderful.
Author’s note:
Last night’s update was a bit late, making everyone wait until noon today. Now that I have experience, if it happens again, I’ll notify in advance and update as early as possible.
(It’s really been too clean for too long—lost my guard.)
