Chapter 45: The Original Wife Spends Money Like Water (12)

That night, Luo Shubai was hung beneath the osmanthus tree outside and forced to listen throughout the night. Inside, the wooden bed creaked endlessly. Jiang Youyou slept soundly and blissfully.

The next day, Luo Shubai was imprisoned in a pitch-dark dungeon, never to see daylight. Lin Yang was moved to another courtyard, and Lin Wanyin, apart from serving Xue Ci, spent all her time attending to him. The two exchanged words sharp enough to pierce each other's hearts, yet still tangled together with reckless abandon. Warning themselves not to fall too deep, they nevertheless ended up entwined once more, as if it were only natural.

When Jiang Youyou received the news, she thought this pair was not only mad, but also somewhat perverse. Despite it all, Xue Ci appeared at the door of the Jiang family as reliably as ever, wearing a look of unwavering affection and remorse so sickening it made one want to retch.

“Host, take another step and you’ll slip,” Jiang Youyou stopped abruptly just five steps from the entrance. “Open the door.”

Mufeng, puzzled, glanced at her, then at the door. Still, she obediently handed her umbrella to the maid behind her, walked forward, and opened the door herself. Perhaps the young lady simply did not want to get too close to that scoundrel?

The moment the door swung open, the first thing to meet her eyes was that face, full of deep, unrepentant devotion. Mufeng’s hand froze on the doorframe.

Thanks for that—she was thoroughly disgusted.

Her mistress had foresight indeed!

“A-You, you’ve finally agreed to see me!” Xue Ci exclaimed, trying to step inside. In that instant, Mufeng’s sword flashed from its sheath, cold and sharp, barring his way.

“Get out of my way!” Xue Ci glared at Mufeng with distaste, then turned to Jiang Youyou, his face clouded with grievance. “A-You, can you really bear to see me treated like this?”

Jiang Youyou remained silent, afraid that if she spoke she might vomit. The battle-hardened spirit within her stirred restlessly.

“A-You, I only want you to stay safely by my side,” Xue Ci stood just outside the threshold. His figure was tall and upright, clad in a plain, elegant robe that lent him an ethereal air. His complexion was pale as jade, brows as if painted in ink, and his eyes were long and clear, deep as night with a hint of starlight. Beneath his high-bridged nose, his thin lips pressed together in a faint, gentle smile—though now, that smile seemed tinged more with sorrow and helplessness.

“Am I truly your only one?” Jiang Youyou stood under the umbrella, slender as a willow swaying in the wind, as if the slightest breeze might topple her. Her face was pale, carrying a fragile beauty tinged with illness; her brows knitted gently, and her eyes, bright as water, held a quiet melancholy. Her jet-black hair cascaded down like a waterfall, accentuating her delicate frame.

“Of course,” Xue Ci hesitated for a moment, then answered with determination. He had never cared for love; everything he did had been for his family’s rise. When Jiang Youyou passed away, he thought, he would never have another wife. Yet, for some reason, at that moment, a stubborn face flashed in his mind.

His look of deep affection faltered for an instant.

“How will you prove it?” Jiang Youyou asked.

“Is marrying into the Jiang family not proof enough that you are my only one?” Xue Ci’s brow furrowed slightly. What did this wretch mean by such words? Surely she should know to accept his concession and let the matter rest!

“Not enough,” Jiang Youyou replied calmly.

“Then what would you have me do, A-You?” Frustration filled Xue Ci’s features—clearly this woman needed to be dealt with soon, for she was truly vexing.

“How about you kill that woman?” Her sickly face, gentle voice, uttered a shocking suggestion.

The young woman stood quietly beneath the umbrella, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on him. In that moment, he felt as if a venomous snake had him in its sights, cold dread sweeping over him. Yet, upon closer inspection, she was still the frail daughter of the Jiang family—the sickly lady who wheezed every three steps and coughed every five.