The Heroine Pays Me to Fall in Love (Quick Transmigration) - Chapter 28

When A’ning returned, Jiang Zhinan had already prepared a pot of hot tea.

The fragrance was rich and mellow, slowly rising with the steam from the teapot. Just the scent alone was enough to calm the heart and clear the mind.

But at this moment, Jiang Zhinan’s heart was anything but calm.

A’ning had been gone for quite some time. By now, the sky outside was completely dark, and snow had piled into layer upon layer — yet still, she hadn’t come back.

Several times, Jiang Zhinan wanted to go out to meet her, but each time she could only stop by the window, bound by her status as a wanted fugitive. She stood there in silence, staring blankly at the snowy night beyond the glass.

She didn’t know how long she’d waited before finally hearing the faint crunch of footsteps outside. A moment later, the door was pushed open, letting in a rush of sharp, icy wind and a scatter of snowflakes.

It was A’ning.

Jiang Zhinan turned, relief and surprise flashing across her face. She was just about to ask what had happened, where she’d been all this time, but then she noticed it: A’ning’s ear was injured. Though it had been hastily bandaged, a faint trace of blood still seeped through the gauze.

Jiang Zhinan gasped, heart tightening, and hurried forward. “What happened to you? Who hurt you like this?”

“It’s nothing,” A’ning murmured, shaking her head. Her lips pressed together, eyes soft and pitiful.

Jiang Zhinan sighed and called for a servant to bring clean cloth and medicine. Then she carefully unwrapped the old bandage and re-dressed the wound herself.

Throughout the whole process, A’ning sat obediently in her chair, letting Jiang Zhinan tend to her without a word of protest—so well-behaved it was almost strange.

Once Jiang Zhinan was done, she pulled up another stool and sat in front of her, her tone soft but probing. “Now tell me—what really happened?”

But A’ning only looked down, avoiding the question. “It just hurts,” she said in a small voice. “Can you hold me for a bit?”

Her tone carried a faint tremor of pleading, her expression so heartbreakingly pitiful that Jiang Zhinan simply couldn’t bring herself to refuse.

She sighed, stepped forward, and wrapped her arms around her. Gently, she patted A’ning’s back, murmuring quiet words of comfort.

In her mind, the system chuckled. “You’re treating her like a child.”

“Yes,” Jiang Zhinan replied, then paused, frowning faintly. “Although, not exactly.”

“Not exactly?” the system asked.

“Have you ever seen a child,” Jiang Zhinan said dryly, “who behaves like a ravenous wolf every night?”

“Fair point,” the system admitted after a beat of silence.

Noticing that Jiang Zhinan’s mind was wandering, A’ning arched a brow. Then she burrowed deeper into her embrace, voice soft and coquettish. “Touch me.”

Jiang Zhinan’s heart softened completely. The hand that had been resting on A’ning’s back moved up, landing on her head. She stroked her hair slowly, gently, over and over.

Each touch seemed to make A’ning glow with quiet satisfaction.

After a long while, when her heart finally settled, A’ning opened her mouth to answer the earlier question.

But she didn’t tell the truth.

She said she had gone out with Sun Jin to work on a case, and that she’d gotten bitten while subduing a criminal—an accident, nothing more.

It was a story that would have sounded flimsy coming from anyone else. But A’ning’s acting was impeccable. Her tone, her expression, even the small gestures—everything was perfectly convincing.

So convincing, in fact, that Jiang Zhinan found herself half-believing it.

“You’re not lying to me?” she asked quietly. “Sun Jin came to find you only for this case?”

A’ning smiled. “What else could it be?”

“I don’t know.” Jiang Zhinan frowned, unease still flickering in her chest. But before she could ask more, A’ning suddenly pushed her backward onto the bed.

“What are you doing!” Jiang Zhinan cried out in shock.

“Finishing what we didn’t get to do this afternoon,” A’ning replied with a sly sparkle in her eyes.

Jiang Zhinan never quite understood what had come over her that night. A’ning seemed especially relentless, her energy boundless.

Several times, Jiang Zhinan tried to resist, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes and nose flushed red; her voice trembled from exhaustion and humiliation.

“Don’t cry,” A’ning whispered, covering her eyes and kissing away her tears.

The faint taste of salt lingered on her tongue. The sound of Jiang Zhinan’s breath, her scent—everything about her pulled A’ning deeper and deeper into the abyss.

She was someone who had long lost her sense of taste. Yet somehow, she could taste her lover.

Even A’ning herself didn’t understand why.

Perhaps she’d spent her life sensing the world with her tongue—everything except this one person.

For Jiang Zhinan, she felt with her heart.

Her lips curved faintly as she leaned close to Jiang Zhinan’s ear, whispering I love you over and over.

And with each repetition, guilt weighed heavier on her chest.

Because what she was about to do next might hurt the very person she loved.

Her gaze dimmed.

Jiang Zhinan was utterly drained by the end of it—her body limp, her thoughts blurry, though her heartbeat still echoed in sync with A’ning’s.

Outside, the snow had finally stopped. Morning light seeped faintly through the cracks of the window, scattering pale gold over the tangled sheets.

A’ning finally stopped. She gently pulled the blanket over Jiang Zhinan and coaxed her to sleep in a low, soothing voice.

Jiang Zhinan was too tired to resist. Within moments, she drifted off, still clutching A’ning’s hand tightly even in sleep.

A’ning leaned down and kissed her forehead. Then, after a long pause, she carefully freed her hand, tidied her clothes, washed up briefly, and slipped out the door.

Outside, the snow was piled high. The air was freezing, and the wind cut like a blade.

She ordered a few guards to stay behind and keep watch. Then she mounted a horse and rode swiftly toward the City God Temple—the place Jiang Heng had mentioned.

The temple stood in an inconspicuous corner of the city. Despite its grand name, it was actually quite small.

It had been built years ago on a whim by some wealthy noble, then left to decay once his interest waned. No one had come to worship there in years.

Perhaps that was precisely why Jiang Heng had chosen it—to hide something so important in a place no one would think to look.

With that thought, A’ning urged her horse faster, galloping through the slush and cold.

By noon, she had reached the temple gates.

The temple was pitch-dark inside. The windows were riddled with holes, the door frame was rotten and decayed, and cobwebs hung everywhere—truly a picture of utter desolation.

Yet what caught A’ning’s attention was that the Buddha statue within was remarkably clean. Though weathered and worn with age, compared to the rest of the ruin, it was far too well-kept.

There were even a few plates of offerings placed before it.

Someone had been here.

A’ning froze for a moment. Then she dismounted, one hand gripping the sword at her waist, and stepped cautiously into the temple.

It was deathly quiet inside, the only sound her own footsteps echoing off the walls—each one crisp and hollow, unnerving in the stillness.

“Pardon the intrusion,” she said softly, sweeping her gaze around. Seeing no immediate danger, she bowed to the statues, then began searching for the item she had come to find.

There weren’t many places to hide things in such a small temple. After searching through every nook and cranny, A’ning began to check the walls, tapping and feeling for any sign of a hidden door.

Just as she was about to give up, a faint sound reached her ears—a low, steady breathing.

It wasn’t her own. In this silence, the sound was especially chilling, like a sudden explosion right beside her ear.

Her heart tightened. She immediately leapt to the side and drew her sword in one swift motion.

That was when she saw him—somehow, without a single sound, a monk had appeared behind her.

He was tall and slender, dressed in a tattered kasaya, a string of plain wooden beads hanging loosely from his hand.

But what shocked her most was his face. It had been ruined—scarred and twisted, his skin covered with old sword marks and burns, as if he had once survived something horrific.

A’ning frowned, tightening her grip on her weapon.

“This lady,” the monk suddenly spoke, his voice calm yet oddly hoarse, “what is it that you seek?”

“Nothing,” A’ning replied curtly, her tone guarded. “I only came to look around.”

“That doesn’t sound like the truth.” The monk’s lips curved into a faint smile. “There is an old saying—no one enters the Three Jewels Hall without reason. And this,” he gestured around at the dilapidated structure, “is hardly a place one visits without purpose. Someone like you would not have come here for nothing.”

His words struck close to home.

Realizing she couldn’t fool him, A’ning decided not to waste time. “Do you know Jiang Heng, the Governor of Jiangzhou?” she asked, testing him carefully.

The monk’s expression shifted ever so slightly.

“I do not,” he said after a pause, his tone clipped.

A’ning almost laughed. The man who’d just accused her of lying was now lying himself—it was almost absurd.

Clearing her throat, she sat down beside him despite his visible reluctance. “Perhaps you’ve simply forgotten,” she said gently. “Let me tell you about him—maybe it will jog your memory.”

The monk waved a hand, clearly unwilling to listen, but A’ning pressed on regardless. She spoke of Jiang Heng’s corruption, of how he’d been imprisoned in the Heavenly Prison, and how his children had suffered alongside him.

By the time she finished, she could see pain flicker in the monk’s expression.

“Now,” she asked quietly, “do you remember him?”

He shook his head again.

“But the Governor doesn’t seem to agree,” A’ning countered. “When I questioned him in prison, he mentioned this place specifically—and said I would find evidence here.”

“You, who are you?” The monk turned sharply, his composure faltering.

“A first-rank Censor, Ying Wanyan,” A’ning said, her eyes narrowing, a dangerous glint flashing within them. “And at the same time, the Governor’s daughter—Jiang Yu’an is my beloved.”

“So, you see,” she continued, her tone quiet but pressing, “that evidence means everything to me. If you know anything, I urge you to tell me—before it’s too late.”

“Isn’t it said that the Buddha teaches compassion—that to save others is to save oneself? Then, Master, perhaps you might start by saving me.”

When Jiang Zhinan awoke, the first thing she noticed was a strange, lingering scent.

It smelled like incense—rich and heavy, curling through her nostrils until she coughed and furrowed her brows.

A moment later, someone approached and gently handed her a cup of water.

“Thank you,” she murmured, gratefully taking it as she opened her eyes—only to freeze mid-motion.

It wasn’t A’ning. Nor was it any of her subordinates.

It was Jiang Chengxuan.

Him again.

Startled, Jiang Zhinan instinctively looked around. She was no longer in her own room. The space around her was completely unfamiliar.

Was she frightened?

Perhaps a little.

But afraid? Not exactly.

Ever since that night when Jiang Chengxuan had stormed into A’ning’s manor, killing so many and yet deliberately sparing her, she had known—he didn’t truly want her dead.

This time, it must be the same. There was another purpose behind bringing her here.

With that thought, Jiang Zhinan lifted her gaze, meeting his eyes.

Something was wrong. His complexion was far too pale; his lips had lost all color, and his once-powerful frame seemed thinner, weaker—almost sickly.

“Second Brother,” she began softly, but before she could finish, Jiang Chengxuan bent forward, seized by a violent fit of coughing.

When he straightened again, a bright streak of blood stained the corner of his lips.