The Heroine Pays Me to Fall in Love (Quick Transmigration) - Chapter 22

Jiang Zhinan listened to everything the beggar said, still uncertain whether his words were true or false.

Before she could ask anything more, several men strode toward them from a short distance away, shouting harshly. They barked that their master was about to stay at the inn and ordered the “filthy rabble” to get lost.

The beggars were used to such insults; not one of them took offense. They picked up their cracked bowls and left without a word.

But Jiang Zhinan was different. Having been humiliated so suddenly and so thoroughly, she felt her cheeks burn with shame. Though she too stood and left with the others, she couldn’t resist glancing back in indignation.

She saw a well-dressed woman step through the inn’s door. The woman was half a head taller than her, her long hair half tied and half loose, swaying elegantly in the breeze, obscuring her face from view.

Yet even without seeing her features, her bearing alone made it clear—this was not an ordinary noblewoman.

Jiang Zhinan blinked, realizing that whoever this person was, she couldn’t afford to provoke her. She quickened her pace and slipped to one side to avoid being noticed.

By the time she found a new corner against the wall to crouch in, the mysterious woman was already gone.

It was late in the morning now. The sun hung high in the sky, adding a faint warmth to the frigid air.

After shivering through the entire morning, Jiang Zhinan finally began to thaw. The returning warmth made her drowsy.

She looked around and saw the other beggars fast asleep against the wall. Imitating them, she decided to close her eyes for a short nap.

There was a patch of sand beneath her. She touched its surface—it was soft and pleasantly warm. Delighted by her discovery, she bent her knees, ready to sit down.

But before she could, the same group of men who had scolded her earlier came marching over again, their faces fierce, their eyes bulging like brass bells.

“I already moved far away!” Jiang Zhinan shouted at them, her voice trembling with both fear and anger. “If you chase me off again, I’ll have nowhere left to go!”

The men ignored her, seizing her by the arm and hauling her up from the ground.

“What are you doing?” she cried, struggling with all her strength.

“Our mistress’s purse is missing!” one of them said sharply. “We saw you skulking around—if anyone’s suspicious, it’s you. Come with us and explain yourself!”

“I didn’t take it!” Jiang Zhinan protested, shaking her head frantically, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. They dragged her along like a chicken caught by the neck, hauling her straight into the inn.

The woman from before occupied the finest room in the entire establishment—secluded, quiet, and deep inside the building.

The men marched her upstairs, stopped before that room, and threw her inside without a second word.

“What are you,” Jiang Zhinan started, eyes wide with outrage. But before she could finish, the men had already filed out, leaving only her and the woman behind.

Jiang Zhinan frowned, her pride stinging. She didn’t even want to look at the woman. Turning her face toward the door, she sat down on the floor in stubborn silence.

A few moments later, she heard a faint sound behind her.

The woman seemed to rise from her seat, her footsteps light as she slowly approached.

Step by step, she came closer—closer still—until she was standing right behind her.

Jiang Zhinan tensed, her hand instinctively slipping into her pocket to touch the pair of pendants that A’ning had once given her. She pressed her lips tightly together, terrified of what might happen next.

But things didn’t unfold the way she feared.

The woman stopped by her side, then slowly knelt down. Two slender, pale hands reached out from behind and gently wrapped around Jiang Zhinan’s shoulders.

Startled, Jiang Zhinan was about to struggle when she heard a familiar voice right by her ear.

Just one soft word:

“Miss.”

Her eyes widened, and before she could even speak, tears welled up and fell uncontrollably down her cheeks.

It was A’ning.

That voice—she could never mistake it. The woman behind her was the very person she had yearned for day and night for the past three years, the one who had vanished without a word.

Three years was a long time. Jiang Zhinan had no idea how A’ning had risen to such status and power, when she had grown so tall, or why she had never come back all this time.

Too many questions tangled in her mind, leaving her completely speechless.

She bowed her head, tears spilling freely, falling onto the floor—and onto the back of A’ning’s hand. Warm, yet chilling all the same.

“I’m sorry,” A’ning murmured softly, taking Jiang Zhinan’s trembling hands into her own. Her voice was gentle, her eyes filled with regret. “My men hurt you, didn’t they?”

“No,” Jiang Zhinan whispered, shaking her head.

“I know everything that’s happened recently,” A’ning said, sensing how wounded Jiang Zhinan felt. She pulled her closer, as if her embrace could ease all the pain. “The court’s people are searching for you. Even the slightest stir will draw their attention. I had no choice but to bring you in like this.”

“Please don’t be angry with me, Miss,” she added carefully, her tone tinged with pleading.

Jiang Zhinan said nothing, refusing to look at her.

A’ning, who had long commanded respect in the imperial court, was unused to anyone treating her this way—let alone defying her in silence.

But this wasn’t just anyone. This was her Miss—the one she loved, the one she had never stopped thinking of. For Jiang Zhinan, she could bear anything.

“I know you’re angry that I left without a word,” A’ning said quietly, resting her forehead against Jiang Zhinan’s shoulder. Her gaze lingered on the woman’s side profile, her eyes reflecting only her. “But A’ning won’t leave again. I’ll stay by your side from now on.”

“I’ll be your family, Miss. I’ll protect you always—never again will anyone hurt you.”

Her words were so earnest that Jiang Zhinan’s tears started anew, spilling silently down her cheeks.

A’ning lifted the edge of her sleeve, gently wiping them away, then reached to pluck bits of straw tangled in her clothing.

Each piece she removed seemed to weigh on her heart, as if every strand told of Jiang Zhinan’s suffering and hardship—so many wounds, so much exhaustion.

When she finished, A’ning stood and carefully lifted Jiang Zhinan into her arms.

So thin.

Her Miss, already delicate before, now felt weightless—like she could vanish with a single gust of wind.

A’ning’s arms tightened instinctively, holding her even closer.

“Where are you taking me?” Jiang Zhinan mumbled, covering her face, ashamed for A’ning to see her in such a filthy state. Her voice was hoarse. “I can walk on my own. Put me down.”

“I won’t,” A’ning said, shaking her head. After a pause, a faint smile curved her lips. “Let me help you bathe, Miss.”

“One bath to wash away sorrow, a second to cleanse grief, a third to rinse away hardship.” Her voice softened, almost a whisper. “Let’s wash all the unhappiness of these past days away.”