The Guide to Faking Innocence to Win His Wife - Chapter 9

The rain intensified, blanketing the river in a thin, cold mist. Though it was only four or five in the afternoon, the world had grown as dim as the onset of night.

The mist on the white champaca leaves shimmered, catching the light spilling from the third floor where the curtains hung half-drawn, swaying slightly.

Inside the room, the two of them remained silent, letting the stillness stretch between them.

Xie Zhiyi lay half-propped against the headboard in her thin nightgown. Her long, curly hair was disheveled, failing to hide the pallor of her face. Her eyes were downcast, heavy with a mixture of weakness and exhaustion.

Jiang Zhongmu sat on a stool by the bedside, facing the nightstand. Her somber eyes were lowered, her lips pressed into a firm line. She held a cup in each hand, pouring steaming hot water back and forth between them to cool it down.

She was someone who rarely drank water herself; without Grandma’s constant nagging, she could go a whole day without a single sip. Consequently, there had been no pre-boiled, cooled water left in the house. To get Xie Zhiyi a drink as quickly as possible, she had resorted to this clumsy, manual method of cooling.

The thin white porcelain cups grew hot to the touch. Fortunately, Jiang Zhongmu was accustomed to high temperatures—the thick calluses on her palms acted as a shield, though her skin still turned a faint, burning red.

The clear stream of water fell from the raised cup like the sand in an endless, inverted hourglass.

Jiang Zhongmu’s brow had been knit tight since the moment she entered the room. On the bed, Xie Zhiyi let out a small, shaky breath. The sharp, cramping pain in her abdomen had finally hit a plateau, easing just enough for her to find some relief.

Her grip on the duvet loosened. As the wind brushed past, the thin film of cold sweat on her forehead turned into an unbearable chill. She turned her head, finally finding the strength to offer a few words of comfort to the person beside her. As the elder, she could see right through the girl’s self-blame.

She hadn’t wanted to trouble Jiang Zhongmu, so she had tried her best to hide her weakness downstairs. She hadn’t expected to be found out so easily.

“It’s alright… I used to get this pain before too,” she said, her voice low and raspy, sounding as though it might shatter in the wind. “My constitution is a bit cold, so this time of the month is always harder for me than for others. I’m used to it.”

The water stopped flowing as the raised cup puffed out a cloud of steam.

Xie Zhiyi forced a faint smile and continued, “This isn’t your—”

“Aren’t you tired?” The person who had been brooding in silence finally looked up, her gaze heavy and dark. “If you don’t feel like talking, then don’t.”

Jiang Zhongmu turned away again, her muffled voice sounding somewhat cold in the heavy air.

Xie Zhiyi’s smile faded. There was something unsettling about being seen through so clearly by someone seven years younger, but as the thought passed, she allowed herself to go limp. She sank into the soft pillows, enveloped by her own scent and the warmth of the blankets. She stopped forcing the mask of “mature and gentle” and finally let herself breathe, like a weary traveler who had finally found a moment of respite.

Outside, purple lightning snaked through the thick clouds. Rain hammered the leaves like a sudden, violent competition; any leaf that couldn’t hold the weight was purged and sent spiraling down.

The water finally reached a drinkable temperature. Jiang Zhongmu tested a small sip to ensure it wouldn’t scald, then wrapped the cup in a thick layer of paper towels and handed it to Xie Zhiyi.

Xie Zhiyi froze for a second. She had intended to say it wasn’t necessary to go to such trouble, but the cup was already in front of her. She took it reflexively.

She did need it.

The porcelain held the heat well. Seeing Jiang Zhongmu’s flat expression, Xie Zhiyi hadn’t realized how hot the water actually was; even through the thick paper, it stung her hands. She had to steady the cup by resting it against the duvet.

“Do you want a towel instead?” Jiang Zhongmu asked.

“No, it’s fine,” Xie Zhiyi shook her head. To prove she was alright, she blew on the water and took a cautious sip.

While people often say hot water is just a psychological comfort, the moment the heat slid down her throat and warmed her core, the agonizing pain seemed to dull. She let out a soft sigh and tightened her grip on the cup.

Jiang Zhongmu watched her closely for a moment before asking, “Is there anything you want to eat?”

“No, I don’t really have an appetite,” Xie Zhiyi replied, setting the cup down.

“I see.” Jiang Zhongmu nodded, though it was unclear what she had understood. She turned and walked out.

The sound of the door closing followed by her footsteps vanished, leaving the small room in silence once more.

Standing under the eaves, Jiang Zhongmu reached out to catch the icy rain. The stinging heat in her palms from the cups finally began to fade. Having thick skin didn’t mean she felt nothing; the boiling water had splashed onto the backs of her hands and wrists, leaving small red marks. Because of her tanned skin and her effort to hide them, Xie Zhiyi wouldn’t have noticed unless she was staring.

Jiang Zhongmu didn’t linger. She strode through the rain toward the kitchen, her heart heavy with a mixture of frustration and guilt.

She blamed herself entirely. Xie Zhiyi already suffered from a “cold” constitution, yet Jiang Zhongmu had brought her wine with ice and served her spicy, “cool-natured” river crabs every day. It was like pushing her into a fire.

She didn’t need to take all the blame—they hadn’t seen each other in years, and since neither she nor Grandma suffered from such pains, the thought simply hadn’t occurred to her. But she was stubborn to a fault. As Grandma often said: “Usually she’s a mute stone, but once she sets her mind on something, ten oxen couldn’t pull her back.”

In the kitchen, she worked in a focused rage against herself. She slammed the bag of glutinous rice flour onto the counter, sending a cloud of white dust into the air.

An hour later, Jiang Zhongmu returned. Fearing Xie Zhiyi had waited too long, she brought everything up in one go.

She was now wearing a black T-shirt damp with rain. In her left hand, she carried a wooden tray with a large, steaming bowl of soup and a smaller bowl and spoon. On her right, she struggled with the door, a floral cloth pouch hanging from her waist. The pouch was heavy, dragging her waistband down and revealing a glimpse of her lean waist.

Once she set everything on the nightstand, even she couldn’t help but let out a breath of relief. She looked toward the bed.

Xie Zhiyi was still propped up, though her face looked slightly better—at least she wasn’t doubled over in pain anymore. Jiang Zhongmu’s jaw relaxed slightly. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Your hot water worked wonders,” Xie Zhiyi managed a small smile, her delicate features smoothing out like a magnolia flower after a storm.

The lamplight fell on her pale, soft neck and shoulders. A stray bead of sweat glided down her skin and vanished into the folds of her nightgown.

“That’s good,” Jiang Zhongmu replied, quickly turning her head. Her voice was deep, masking the sudden raspiness of her throat.

She took the water cup from Xie Zhiyi, wrapped the small bowl of food in thick paper, and handed it over. She then busied herself by refilling the water cups and setting them aside to cool, making sure Xie Zhiyi wouldn’t go thirsty later.

Finally, she reached for the pouch at her waist. It was a crude, handmade bag sewn from deep blue floral fabric, holding a rounded hot water bottle. It was an old-fashioned rubber one that required boiling water. The rubber gave off a faint, acrid scent.

Jiang Town was generally warm, so they had little need for heating equipment. This bottle had been a gift from Grandma to keep Jiang Zhongmu’s hands warm while carving in the winter, but she had never used it. She had scrubbed it twice, and since she couldn’t find a proper cover, she had used the clean cloth to make one.

She lifted the edge of the duvet—the brief gust of cold air made Xie Zhiyi shiver—and quickly tucked the hot water bottle by her feet.

“Tell me when it gets cold,” Jiang Zhongmu muttered as she stood up. “I’ll change the water.”

She was a girl of few words, but her care was meticulous and grounded in action.

Xie Zhiyi felt a bit overwhelmed by the attention. She nodded, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Jiang Zhongmu, misinterpreting her silence, urged quietly, “Try to eat a little.”

“Okay.”

Jiang Zhongmu sat down half a meter away. Despite the distance, her presence was impossible to ignore.

Xie Zhiyi looked down at the bowl. Small, white glutinous rice balls floated in a thick, dark red sugar broth with fermented rice. As she lifted a spoonful, the syrup clung to the bottom, dripping slowly.

Perhaps it was the red sugar, but the pain eased further, and hunger finally took over. She took a bite. The warm syrup spread across her tongue, balanced by the faint, sweet scent of the rice wine. The handmade rice balls were soft but chewy, and the hint of ginger in the broth sent a wave of warmth through her stomach, chasing away the internal chill.

Xie Zhiyi squinted slightly, a hint of color returning to her cheeks.

Jiang Zhongmu’s brow finally smoothed over. Only after she saw Xie Zhiyi take several bites did she slowly pick up her own spoon.

The night deepened. Raindrops as large as marbles hammered against the ground, forming rushing streams in the crevices of the stone pavement.

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