Chapter Sixty-Three My Wife Never Deceives

Under the cover of night, the wind showed no sign of stopping, lifting their long hair and setting their raven-black robes billowing in elegant arcs. Ji Wuqing held her close as they descended slowly to the ground, moving with an effortless grace. They evaded the oncoming attack with ease, their composure unruffled, exuding calm and poise.

“What is the meaning of this, Lord Yu? Is this how you treat your guests?” Ji Wuqing raised his gaze lightly, his voice still polished and courteous.

“I have never heard of guests who climb onto the rooftop to watch the commotion,” Lord Yu replied from his palanquin draped in layers of white gauze. His features were as exquisitely rendered as a masterpiece, deep yet simple, like a mountain shrouded in mist—fresh and solemn.

His keen eyes swept over Ji Wuqing and Xuexue, noting the man’s refined, faintly smiling countenance and the unmatched aura he exuded. The woman wore her jet-black hair in a simple knot; her complexion was as fair as snow, and her eyes, in the darkness, were strikingly serene.

Xuexue felt Lord Yu’s gaze upon her and turned slightly to evade it. She sensed something strange in his eyes, as if he were regarding a perfect canvas or brush, an obsession lurking in his stare.

“One must remember never to covet another man’s wife.” Ji Wuqing reached out to gently adjust the hood of Xuexue’s cloak, softly drawing it over her head, the wide brim nearly concealing her face. “If you dare to offend again, I will not be so polite.”

A gentle smile curved his lips, but the depths of his eyes were dark as storm clouds—chilling, sending a shiver colder than the midnight air. Yet to one so possessed by his love of painting, the prospect of finding the perfect canvas outweighed all else.

“Madam, would you be willing to become my canvas?” Lord Yu leapt from his palanquin, his movements betraying a touch of urgency and agitation. He stared intently at Xuexue, his tone both grave and determined.

To so brazenly ignore Ji Wuqing’s warning—this painting-obsessed man truly lived up to his reputation.

“Is it possible, my lord, that you now resort to forceful means?” Xuexue’s tone was icy. “A man should know his place, not act as a bandit seizing innocent women!”

She sensed the restlessness among Lord Yu’s guards, as though they were preparing to snatch her away.

“Rest assured, madam. Offending you was not my intention. It’s just that… might I have a glimpse of your face? I sense a rare quality in you, one seldom found in this world.” His tone was almost supplicating, as if trying to negotiate.

“Though your paintings are indeed extraordinary, do you not find yourself a little presumptuous?” Xuexue replied sternly. She bore him no ill will, but his fixation on her was clearly misplaced—especially with Ji Wuqing standing right beside her. Something felt off about this man.

“Lord Yu—”

“No need to say more. My wife will never agree to your request. If everyone acted as you do, would the world not be thrown into chaos?” Ji Wuqing still wore a smile, seemingly unbothered by Lord Yu’s disregard, yet his words were laced with an eerie sarcasm that unsettled all who heard them.

“So you see my work as vulgar and obscene, just like the rest of the world?” Lord Yu’s expression shifted to one of wounded pride and barely contained rage. “I thought you two were different, but it seems I was mistaken.”

“Don’t twist our words. Everyone sees things differently—why must we cater to your expectations?” Xuexue retorted sharply. “Or is it, my lord, that you lack confidence in your own art, hence these words?”

“No more of this. Seize them at once!” Lord Yu seemed provoked beyond reason, paying no heed to Xuexue’s response.

Ji Wuqing had already drawn his folding fan, ready for action.

“Xue’er, let me be clear: this man would paint on human bones if he could. I didn’t expect him to set his sights on you. We cannot sit idly by.” His voice implied that even if Peiyuan City became a field of bones, it would matter less than this man’s desire for her.

But before either side could make a move, a new group arrived unexpectedly.

A man in a robe of blue-green clouds approached at a measured pace, his hair tied back with a black silken band, his features cold and meticulous. He gave the scene a brief, assessing glance before speaking: “Lord Yu, I have waited for you at the magistrate’s residence for some time. Who knew you were here seeking merriment?”

His tone was icy and even, devoid of warmth.

Xuexue recognized him at once.

“Is this the official sent by the king to inspect the city?” Lord Yu offered a courteous bow, his manner proper.

“I am he,” the man replied. “But what is happening here that has drawn such a crowd? It is late—you should not be wandering about.”

At these words, the gathered onlookers scattered in fright, leaving only the adversaries behind.

“May I have your name, sir?”

“Miao Jian.” Miao Jian responded coolly, then approached Ji Wuqing and Xuexue. “It’s been some time since we met. I’ve prepared a place for you to rest—shall we go?”

“In that case, Miao Jian, I can hardly refuse your hospitality,” Ji Wuqing answered, his expression unchanged, as if they spoke in riddles.

Their calm conversation and Miao Jian’s demeanor revealed something: their relationship had changed. No, at least to outsiders, they appeared as friends, not as superior and subordinate.

“So you are friends of Lord Miao Jian?” Lord Yu looked from Ji Wuqing to Miao Jian, his face creased with doubt.

“Indeed.” With that, Miao Jian led Ji Wuqing and Xuexue away, his manner unceremonious, simply matter-of-fact.

They arrived at Yueji Teahouse, its upper rooms still aglow with light. Yu Bufan followed close behind, his reddish-brown robe standing out in the night. His expression was contemplative, his gaze flitting repeatedly to Xuexue, who had already stepped down from the carriage.

She had removed her hood, and under the moonlight, her face was pure as the silver glow—not a beauty to topple kingdoms, but fresh and radiant in her simplicity.

She stood close to her husband, her slender form impossible to conceal, even beneath the loose cloak.

Sensing Yu Bufan’s gaze, Xuexue tilted her head slightly, her brows knitting in faint displeasure. Clearly, this man was not ready to give up.

“Lord Yu, whatever business you have, let us discuss it tomorrow. I am in no mood or time for official matters tonight,” Miao Jian said, stepping forward with the air of a superior, issuing a clear dismissal.

“My apologies, sir. I will call on you tomorrow and make amends,” Yu Bufan replied, polite but not obsequious, his tone apologetic yet tinged with arrogance.

“Tomorrow will suffice,” Miao Jian said crisply, wasting no words.

With Yu Bufan dismissed, Ji Wuqing’s expression finally softened. “Fortunately, you sent him away. Otherwise… hmph!” No one was allowed to covet what was his—not even the thought.

“He’s merely obsessed with painting. You needn’t take it to heart,” Xuexue turned away, her feelings complicated by Ji Wuqing’s jealousy.

So this was what it felt like to be cared for by him—not unwelcome at all, but rather, tinged with anticipation and delight.

“That won’t do!” he declared possessively, taking her small hand and leading her into Yueji Teahouse.

The garden truly was planted with tea bushes, their delicate fragrance lending a touch of nature to the night. Under the moon, the leaves gleamed a deep, inky green, a sight that brought quiet pleasure.

“Is Uncle Miao Jian back?” a delighted young girl’s voice called from inside. A rosy-cheeked little girl darted from the house, her hair in two buns, looking like a tiny ball of sweetness.

She stopped short upon seeing Ji Wuqing and Xuexue, then rushed to Xuexue, flinging her arms around her. “Mother! It’s really you! Uncle Miao Jian didn’t lie—mother really has returned!”

“Xiao Xi’er?” Xuexue was momentarily stunned, confusion flickering across her face.

“It’s me, mother. Don’t you remember me? I think of you every day… what’s that saying? Ah, I can neither eat nor sleep for missing you.” Xiao Xi’er raised her head, a wounded expression on her chubby face, cheeks puffed out in adorable indignation.

Xuexue reached out to stroke that familiar, plump little cheek—yes, it was truly her Xi’er.

Then… did that mean her mother and the others were here as well?

“No, not at all. I sneaked out on my own because I missed you, mother. I got lost… then met a little old man and Uncle Miao Jian, so I’ve been waiting here for you to find me.” When Xuexue asked about her grandmother and the others, Xi’er looked slightly guilty.

She certainly wasn’t going to mention how she’d almost been tricked by bad people after losing her way.

A peculiar chuckle escaped the nearby prince, who seemed ready to expose Xi’er’s secrets.

Xi’er shot him a warning look, cheeks puffed in outrage, as if daring Ji Wuqing to say another word.

“So, everything is my fault then?” Xuexue nodded earnestly, as if talking to herself, or perhaps questioning Xi’er.

“Of course not,” Xi’er protested, then added quickly, “But it’s not my fault either.” Her soft, sticky-sweet voice could melt the hardest heart—how could anyone bear to scold her?