He refuses to marry for my sake.

In the scorching breeze, Gu Fei turned her head, her jet-black eyes fixed on Mo Yuhua. Her pupils were noticeably larger than most, deep and devoid of sunlight or moonlight, revealing nothing of their reflections.

Mo Yuhua stood stunned, not knowing what had transpired over the past ten years. He could not fathom why, upon their reunion, Gu Fei could no longer walk and was confined to a wheelchair, nor what ordeals she had endured. The once clever, spirited young girl had grown into a woman of profound calculation, worldliness, and pragmatism.

Gu Fei curled her lips, the pallor of her face as stark as snow, bearing an inscrutable and glaring sarcasm. “The world is vast, yet all I ask is for a small patch to stand. I covet nothing more. Young Master Mo, you have lived in luxury since childhood—how could you understand the hardship of someone like me, who must fight for life itself?”

Her words struck a chord of sorrow. Mo Yuhua was visibly moved; he stepped forward, unable to restrain himself. “A’Fei, you need not struggle so much any longer. You can rely on me. Come back with me to the Mo family. I can give you a peaceful life—”

Gu Fei’s cold laughter cut him off. She tilted her head, looking at him with those eyes—so starkly black and white, so pure they could not be met directly. “You give me? Young Master Mo, you jest. What are you to me? Do you know what I truly desire? Can you defy your father, Mo Yan? Are you willing to seize the mighty Mo family of the capital for yourself? Or, for my sake, will you refuse to marry Gu Wanting and sever the alliance between our two families?”

Her rapid-fire questions left Mo Yuhua rooted to the spot. Each word landed like a heavy blow to his ear, shattering the last remnants of childhood affection in his heart without mercy. In the end, Gu Fei ground the shards of his pain into dust.

A sigh as gentle as a trickling spring escaped her lips. Gu Fei gazed skyward, watching the drifting clouds, her voice nearly a murmur. “Ten years of life and death, each drifting apart, no more longing, old friends have turned into yesterday’s sorrow. Black hair, sculpted beauty, leaning on the railing, the present and past as vivid as a painting…”

Old friends have turned into yesterday’s sorrow…

Mo Yuhua suddenly let out a low laugh. His head bowed, one hand covering his face, he repeated Gu Fei’s words, his upturned lips visible through his fingers—so twisted it seemed he was weeping.

His laughter grew ever louder, nearly shattering the sky.

Gu Fei watched him silently, her rosy lips pressed together, expressionless and saying nothing more.

All she wished to say was contained in those few lines. Yesterday’s sorrow, today’s vivid picture—it meant she no longer dwelled on the past. As for all that lay before her, to let go now was no longer possible.

Clever as he was, Mo Yuhua could not fail to grasp her meaning.

“Yuhua,” came a crisp voice from the courtyard gate. Gu Wanting stood there in a gown of watery crimson, graceful and upright, a shy blush upon her face, her beautiful eyes full of feeling. “Yuhua, you came and didn’t even let me know?”

She entered the courtyard, not sparing Gu Fei a glance—her eyes and heart only for Mo Yuhua.

But Mo Yuhua paid her no mind; he did not even spare her a look. The laughter faded, his hand dropped, and his features revealed no despondency, only a cold and inhuman detachment.

With a sweep of his sleeve, the handsome young lord, elegant as jade, turned and left with hands clasped behind his back, as ethereal as an immortal.

Gu Wanting’s face stiffened. She glared at Gu Fei with venom and accused in a low voice, “Why did Yuhua come to see you alone? Are you shamelessly trying to entice him?”

Gu Fei could not be bothered to respond to Gu Wanting, who was like a mad dog. She simply lowered her gaze to the fabric of her skirt, as if she could see a flower in its weave.

But Bailu, standing by, would not let it go. Quick with her fists and bold at heart, she only acknowledged Gu Fei as her true mistress. Without hesitation, she pushed Gu Wanting. “Where did this wretched thing come from? Get out at once.”

Though Bailu was small, she was strong, and with all her might, Gu Wanting staggered back. She turned, thinking to feign grievance before Mo Yuhua, but to her dismay, he had already disappeared around the corner beyond the courtyard. Alarmed, she forgot Gu Fei and shot Bailu a fierce glare before gathering her skirts and chasing after him.

Bailu curled her lip in disdain and, her face alight with triumph, meant to boast to Gu Fei. She was interrupted by her sister Nightingale, who pulled her aside. Bailu began to protest, but Nightingale shot her a meaningful look toward the corner of the courtyard.

Following her gaze, Bailu saw—when had he arrived?—the peerlessly handsome scholar, You Hu, stood there, a smile on his lips, eyes upturned and limpid as a spring, light and shadow playing across his porcelain-pale face, alluring in every way.

Yet Bailu shivered. She glanced uncertainly at Gu Fei, and seeing she had not been noticed, she and Nightingale slipped quietly into the kitchen, closing the door behind them, not daring so much as to peek.

The sickly scholar coughed softly, drawing Gu Fei’s attention at last. His phoenix eyes glistened like dazzling obsidian as he spoke slowly, “Miss, the questions you just posed—I am able to answer them.”

Gu Fei looked at him in silence, her pale face unreadable.

“At present, I am your adviser. I know what you desire. As for defying my father, that old man has never escaped my defiance since the day I was born,” You Hu replied, breaking down the questions she had hurled at Mo Yuhua, answering each in turn as earnestly as if facing the imperial examination. “The Mo family of the capital? It’s stood for two centuries—perhaps it’s time for a change. As for marriage, one should wed a worthy woman. A woman like Gu Wanting? I would never marry her. At worst, I’d rather have someone like you—skilled and resourceful, never fearing hunger.”

As he finished, he met Gu Fei’s eyes, the corners of his lips curving, his lips glistening. “Are you satisfied with my answers, Miss?”

Gu Fei’s response was to wheel herself over to where Bailu had left her spear, pick it up, and hurl it at You Hu.

With a thud, the spear landed right at his toes. He hurriedly leapt back—the spearhead was real and deadly sharp, not a toy.

“Miss, as the sages say, a gentleman debates with words, not with fists…” he sighed in relief.

“Hmph,” Gu Fei snorted coldly. She was not one to be harsh with her own people, but that did not mean she’d tolerate impertinence. “I am no gentleman.”

You Hu merely smiled, stepping closer and pulling a neatly folded square of paper from his sleeve. “I’ve reviewed all the Gu family shops. These are all the back-up men left by Gu Zhong. As for those who can be won over, there are few indeed.”

At the mention of business, Gu Fei’s thoughts snapped back to focus. She scanned the list of names, committing them to memory, then handed it back to You Hu, signaling him to destroy it. “If so many are his men, then cut off those petty managers. Kill the chicken to scare the monkeys, show them our strength.”

“And set aside a sum of silver as a reward. Announce that September is the peak month for ink-making. Whoever excels in their shop will receive silver. Those who remain loyal to their master may even win a small manager’s post,” Gu Fei added, her eyes gleaming with another idea.

Gu Zhong’s little schemes were clear. He planted his own people to oppose her, thinking she would have to beg for his help when things spiraled out of control. But he had forgotten—no one in this world is immune to the lure of silver.

Profit is both the strongest and weakest bond of trust between people.

You Hu’s phoenix eyes curved with amusement. He moved behind Gu Fei, pushing her wheelchair into the shade. “A clever plan, Miss. No wonder Confucius said, ‘Only women and petty men are hard to raise.’ The ancients did not deceive us, especially when both traits are combined in one such as you.”

Gu Fei traced the armrest, ignoring his appraisal, lost in her thoughts. She suddenly recalled something he’d said about his father. She distinctly remembered the old matchmaker mentioning that You Hu and his brother had fled from Spring City to Yizhou after a flood. If that were true, where did these parents come from?

She asked, “You Hu, I thought you and your brother came from Spring City and lost your family in the floods. Are your parents still alive?”

You Hu hadn’t expected this question. He bent down until his face was level with hers, smiling, “Miss, you care about this? Did you actually listen to my earlier answers? Then how do you intend to arrange my future?”

“Arrange?” Gu Fei was momentarily confused.

He nodded, his smile growing ever more dazzling, his breath brushing Gu Fei’s face as he spoke. “Of course. If you accept my answers, naturally you must grant me a title. Adviser is a title, yes, but if I one day become the top scholar, it would hardly sound impressive. Nor would it reflect your own prestige.”

At his words, Gu Fei’s expression instantly cooled. She bit out, “So what title do you want?”

You Hu chuckled, but at that point, he fell silent.