The Guide to Faking Innocence to Win His Wife - Chapter 10

The night grew deep and the mist thickened. Jiang Zhongmu put the cleaned pots and bowls back in their places, then leaned over to wipe the messy wooden table until it was spotless.

Though it was just a bowl of simple red sugar dumplings, the effort behind it was anything but small. Just peeling the ginger and pounding it into a rich juice had taken a great deal of her strength. The cleanup was no easier; flour had drifted everywhere as she worked, and she spent the time while the water boiled tidying up the kitchen.

Once the kettle whistled, she caught her breath and headed back upstairs.

The dim room was silent, save for a faint desk lamp. After eating, Xie Zhiyi had already drifted off into a deep sleep. Jiang Zhongmu opened the door and entered with light, careful steps.

The water marks on her arms had dried, leaving only the sight of her veins bulging slightly from the physical exertion. She refilled the water glass, then turned her attention to the hot water bottle at the foot of the bed.

This time, she didn’t lift the duvet. Finding the bulge where the bottle lay, she grabbed a corner and pulled it out. These old-fashioned rubber bottles lost heat quickly and were already only lukewarm. She refilled it with freshly boiled water, wiped it dry, and tucked it back in.

In her sleep, Xie Zhiyi instinctively sought out the warmth, moving her feet closer, only to recoil a second later when the fresh heat stung her skin.

Jiang Zhongmu’s lips twitched in a faint, fleeting smile. She tucked the thin quilt tightly around the woman, paused for a moment, and then sat back down on the stool. She pulled a small paper packet from her pocket and placed it next to the water glass.

There had been no medicine for this in the house, so she had knocked on a neighbor’s door to borrow two doses. The neighbor, a kind-hearted woman, had repeatedly warned her that these were painkillers and should only be taken if absolutely necessary.

Jiang Zhongmu didn’t know much about such things. Having lost her mother at a young age and growing up around rowdy boys like Jiang Nanxun, she was used to simply enduring any pain. She had just nodded and memorized everything the woman said. Now that Xie Zhiyi was asleep, she wasn’t foolish enough to wake her up for medicine.

But…

The neighbor’s advice echoed in her ears: “Rub your hands together until they’re hot, then place them over her navel and massage gently. It’ll make her feel much better… You’re both girls, what are you afraid of?”

Jiang Zhongmu pursed her lips. Even with no one watching, she sat bolt upright, her tensed shoulder blades visible beneath her thin shirt.

Is it really “fine” just because we’re the same gender? Even if I harbor other, unspeakable thoughts?

Sweat began to pool in her palms. She wiped them hard against her trousers, the friction sending a sharp sting through the skin she had scorched earlier with the hot water. She looked at the woman in silence.

The sleeping woman knew nothing of her thoughts. She was buried in the soft bedding, framed by the half-light and half-shadow of the room.

Xie Zhiyi was beautiful—a classic oval face with features that were exquisite but not overly sharp. In the dim light, her delicate features held a heartbreaking fragility, like a white magnolia that had been battered by rain.

Jiang Zhongmu wasn’t good with words; her literature grades were always the lowest in her class. She didn’t know how to write flowery prose. She only knew that Xie Zhiyi was beautiful like fine, flawless mutton-fat jade, or the “clove-like girl” filled with sorrow from her textbooks.

She clumsily heaped every beautiful word she knew onto the woman in her mind, but she dared not tell a soul. This was her carefully hidden candy; every time she thought of it, a trace of sweetness touched her tongue. She didn’t understand “love” as a literary concept, but she understood an uncontrollable longing, and the way her hand reached out only to be pulled back in fear.

The thunder outside rolled in waves, and the mountains on the horizon flickered between clarity and darkness. The wind whipped the river water, and the tree branches rattled. Xie Zhiyi’s brow, which had finally smoothed, knit tight once more. She curled into a ball and unconsciously gritted her teeth in pain.

Jiang Zhongmu’s heart tightened. She balled her hands into fists so hard her nails left deep marks in her palms. She didn’t know what to do; she was terrified of making things worse.

She picked up the water glass and set it back down, then nudged the hot water bottle closer to Xie Zhiyi’s feet. Finally, she just stood there, straight as a bamboo pole.

Perhaps as the warmth in her body dissipated, Xie Zhiyi curled up even tighter, her face turning a pale, sickly hue. Jiang Zhongmu hesitated, then finally sat down. She wiped the sweat from her palms and began to rub them together vigorously.

She had a strong constitution; her hands and feet were warm year-round. Grandma used to worry she was just being stubborn and would place a brazier under her carving table in the winter. As a result, Jiang Zhongmu would get so overheated that her face turned red and her hands burned—she had once even caught a “heat cold” in the dead of winter. Since then, Grandma had stopped worrying about her being cold.

Once her palms were burning hot, Jiang Zhongmu took a deep breath. As if making a monumental decision, she gently lifted a corner of the duvet.

She had never been this careful even when carving the most expensive jade. Her jaw was set in a hard line, and her Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. A thin layer of sweat broke out on her forehead.

Just as her palm was about to touch the woman’s abdomen, the lightly sleeping Xie Zhiyi jerked awake. Before she had even opened her eyes, her hand clamped onto Jiang Zhongmu’s wrist.

Jiang Zhongmu flinched and looked at her.

Xie Zhiyi’s eyes were misty and blurred, a mix of alertness and the fragility brought on by pain. She looked like a cat injured on a rainy night, struggling to keep its head up while being pelted by marble-sized raindrops.

Xie Zhiyi wasn’t truly that weak; her grip on Jiang Zhongmu’s wrist was tight enough to dig her nails into the skin, right over the artery. But Jiang Zhongmu didn’t seem to feel it. Her narrow eyes were gentle, and her voice was low and soft.

“I’m just going to warm your stomach for you.”

The curled-up “cat” stared at her, as if trying to judge her sincerity. Jiang Zhongmu met her gaze openly, her expression as docile as a leopard that had retracted its claws.

This was a sudden, unprompted test with no study guide and no standard answer. It relied entirely on the half-conscious intuition of the “examiner.” Only someone with absolute, sincere intentions could pass.

The result was clear. Xie Zhiyi let go, slowly lowering her guard.

Jiang Zhongmu gave a faint, unexpected smile, her usually somber face lighting up with a youthful energy, like a breeze rustling through willow branches. She placed her burning palm over the woman’s skin. The sensation of her rough calluses was both a sharp sting and a numbing tingle. Xie Zhiyi let out a soft, dissatisfied grunt but didn’t push her away.

Following the neighbor’s instructions, Jiang Zhongmu began to clumsily and gently massage. Outside, the rain splashed against the mud, singing a rhythmic song.

Xie Zhiyi’s brow finally relaxed, and she unconsciously drifted closer to the edge of the bed, toward Jiang Zhongmu.

At this moment, Jiang Zhongmu still knew nothing about Xie Zhiyi nothing of her work, her family, or why she had returned here so full of sorrow. But the one thing she was certain of was that, for this moment at least, she was truly closer to the white magnolia in her heart.

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