After Jianxiu Gave The Villain In The Book A Wedding To Bring Him Good Luck - Chapter 2

Mu Wan could not rest as he had hoped.

In his mind, the system demanded, “Host, why did you heal Ning Bumo?”

Ning Bumo might be ignorant of cultivation, but the system was not. The wine Mu Wan had fed him clearly contained his own spiritual power. For a cultivator at the Mahayana stage, even a trace of this energy was enough to cleanse the marrow, purify the body, and grant a rebirth. By tomorrow, not only would Ning Bumo’s legs recover, but his internal injuries would largely vanish, and his physical condition would be even stronger than before.

This was not humiliation; it was a massive boon.

“Just tell me if the task is complete.”

“But this is not what we agreed upon! This is clearly taking a shortcut!”

“That is up to you. You can choose not to grant the points, but whether the Heavenly Dao strikes you down for breaking the agreement is beyond my control.”

Ignoring the system, Mu Wan accessed the newly acquired points and redeemed a mid-grade spirit stone from the store. Given his current state, no amount of rare treasures was as cost-effective as absorbing spiritual energy to facilitate his body’s self-repair.

Spiritual power surged from the crushed stone, rapidly absorbed by his wide meridians. His dantian hungrily swept up the incoming energy, and even the nagging pain that had plagued him since his arrival began to subside. He was satisfied, while the system could only clutch its matchstick hands and watch the points vanish.

It had thought Mu Wan’s proposed terms—where it issued tasks and Mu Wan completed them—were reasonable, but it had not anticipated being played by a strategy of a stick and a carrot. Mu Wan had been foresightful, ensuring the system could not alter or add conditions to the tasks. If the system refused to pay, it would be obliterated by the Heavenly Dao under their binding contract.

The system slumped away from the screen, drooping as it watched Mu Wan. The person responsible for its misery was already sound asleep, utterly indifferent to the person suffering nearby or the disgruntled system.

Fine, forget it. There are plenty of tasks left; he cannot fool me every time. The system regained its motivation.

Ning Bumo woke at the hour of Mao. Since his injury, he had long been tormented by pain and had not enjoyed a proper sleep in ages, even if he had passed out from agony the previous night.

Right, Mu Wan!

Ning Bumo remembered the culprit who had caused his suffering. He turned his head to look, but the arrogant simpleton was lying beside him, sleeping soundly. It was impressive that he could be so calm.

Ning Bumo rose with a cold face, intending to drag this interloper out of his bed, but his legs, which were supposed to be numb, moved along with his arms.

Sitting up, Ning Bumo froze, staring in disbelief at his legs, which had suddenly regained sensation. Although he had felt refreshed all morning, he had attributed it to a good night’s rest. He lifted his knee, and with a soft click of bone, his legs—which previously felt like dead weight—actually responded.

Two days ago, the imperial physician had diagnosed him as permanently paralyzed. Remembering Mu Wan’s words from the previous night, Ning Bumo’s hand hovered over Mu Wan’s shoulder, uncertain whether to strike or not. If Mu Wan truly had helped him, he was a benefactor. But the boy’s situation was bizarre; how could a mentally challenged youth possess such ability?

Before he could resolve his thoughts, a knock at the door signaled the arrival of the head steward, Lin Zhong. “Prince, it is the hour of Mao. It is time to pay respects at the palace. The officials and the guard are waiting for the Princess Consort.”

Was this one of the troublesome things Mu Wan had spoken of? Thinking of last night, Ning Bumo instinctively wanted to cover Mu Wan’s ears to keep him from being disturbed. He stopped himself, annoyed by his own sudden protectiveness.

While he hesitated, Mu Wan woke up. He furrowed his brows, his beautiful face filled with impatience. “What time is it?”

“The hour of Mao.”

“Isn’t that only five o’clock? Insane.” Mu Wan grumbled, burying his face in his pillow, determined not to rise.

Though he was among those being cursed, Ning Bumo found himself wanting to laugh. Perhaps it was Mu Wan’s carefree attitude, or perhaps the joy of his restored legs had dissipated the gloom in his chest. Fine, if he does not want to go, he does not have to.

“Tell them to return. We will not be paying respects today,” Ning Bumo said coldly.

Lin Zhong hesitated. “But that is not according to protocol.”

“Protocol?” Ning Bumo sneered. “Protocol did not mention a crippled Prince marrying a mentally challenged Consort. How would he know anything about morning greetings? And as for me, my legs are broken; I assume the Empress Dowager would not wish to see me.”

Lin Zhong wanted to persuade him further, but since his injury, Ning Bumo’s temperament had become volatile. Before he could argue, Ning Bumo issued a second command. “Also, prepare some of the city’s popular breakfast dishes. A variety. Send them over once the Consort wakes up.”

If the first order could be dismissed as bitterness, this second order felt like a complete change of heart. Their Prince had always been frugal, yet now he was making a fuss over the Consort’s breakfast.

Steward Lin left, troubled, wondering how to deal with the imperial officials.

When Mu Wan woke again, it was nearly the hour of Si. Ning Bumo had already washed and was sitting quietly in his chair, watching him. Having lost weight due to illness, and despite the benefits of the spiritual cleansing, he looked pale, creating a somewhat gloomy, ghost-like appearance.

“You won’t kill me just by glaring,” Mu Wan said, his gaze falling on the legs resting on the wheelchair. The chair had wheels and handles, clearly designed as a wheelchair. “Your legs did not recover?”

“I am faking it.”

“Oh.”

Mu Wan did not pry further, but this left Ning Bumo unsettled. The conversation made it clear that Mu Wan had indeed helped him recover, yet Ning Bumo was still in the dark. Why was the boy not the simpleton rumored? How could he cure a condition the imperial physicians deemed terminal in a single night? Was this something a normal person could do?

As Mu Wan rose to wash, Ning Bumo reached out to press him back down. The shoulders beneath his hand were incredibly frail, unlike those of a martial artist, causing Ning Bumo to subconsciously retract his hand.

“Do you have nothing to say?”

“Say what?” Mu Wan headed to wash up. “I saved you. Shouldn’t you treat me well, as I said yesterday? Or are you an ingrate?”

He looked back at Ning Bumo with an accusatory gaze that made the Prince’s teeth itch. Ning Bumo had not meant that at all, but he did not know how to question him. Expecting Mu Wan not to tell the truth, he had prepared a second plan. “I have ordered breakfast—dim sum, pine nut cakes, red bean porridge, and candied fruits. The late autumn maple pavilion is perfect for viewing the maples. Once you are done, the servants will lead you there.”

Ning Bumo had taken Mu Wan’s words to heart, offering both food and scenery. However, the unexpected thoughtfulness felt as sinister as a wolf promising to take care of a chicken.

Mu Wan ignored the underlying tension. Food was the most important thing. In his previous life in the cultivation world, in his desperate bid to reach the top, he had been obsessed with cultivation. After reaching the Foundation Establishment stage, he had practiced abstinence from grain for thirty years, never even tasting flour, only to fail in shattering the void and end up in chaos.

Suppressing his urge to curse the heavens, Mu Wan focused on the Prince’s residence to distract himself from his dark mood.

The system, having cheered itself up, flattered him: “When Emperor Wen was alive, he favored Ning Bumo the most. Even the location of his mansion was chosen based on excellent feng shui. Although it is not extravagant, it retains its former glory.”

Mu Wan could see that for himself. It was indeed a prime location built atop a dragon vein—a place that gathered wind and energy. It was.

Mu Wan stared at the deep, secluded rear courtyard where black mist faintly swirled. He chuckled suddenly.

The sound startled the maid leading the way. As if to mock the atmosphere, a sharp, mournful cat’s cry pierced the air, sounding as if it had shattered glass. The maid shrieked and huddled her shoulders in fear.

“Do not be afraid.” A warm palm landed on her shoulder, and though nothing else happened, the sudden chill in her heart dissipated.

The maid turned, trembling. “Apologies, Princess Consort. This slave was unseemly.”

“It is nothing.” Mu Wan looked away from the source of the cry to the maid. She was not one of those he had brought from the Mu household. “What is your name?”

“This slave is called Shuang Yan.”

“Does the Prince raise cats?”

Shuang Yan shook her head repeatedly. “The Prince has been at the border for years and rarely returns. We do not keep animals. It is likely a stray cat that wandered in. I shall have someone chase it out.”

Before she could finish, the mournful cry sounded again, now infused with an ominous aura.

Mu Wan scoffed, his eyes locking onto a pair of cold, emerald-green eyes peering from the tiled roof. Perhaps sensing that Mu Wan was not someone to be trifled with, the eyes vanished. When Shuang Yan looked up, she saw nothing.

Whether it was her imagination or not, the temperature seemed to rise, and her inexplicable dread disappeared.

Worried about delaying Mu Wan’s meal, she pointed toward the red maples visible behind the moon gate. “Princess Consort, the Late Maple Pavilion is just ahead. Please, follow me.”