Chapter 83: Revealing the Truth

After tying the apron strings for her, Meng Yuanheng stood quietly to the side, watching every movement Shen Qianmo made as she cooked, as if he were gazing at a breathtaking landscape that captivated him so entirely he could not look away.

It was the first time he had ever watched Shen Qianmo cook with his own eyes. Leaning on his elbow atop the wheelchair, he watched her slice vegetables, put them into the pot, stir-fry, add seasonings, and serve the dishes, each action smooth and unhurried, filled with calm and order.

This, he thought, was the true essence of a peaceful, ordinary life, filled with daily comforts. Unconsciously, the corners of his lips lifted, his eyes brimming with tenderness.

Once his legs were healed, he imagined, he could travel the world with her, sharing both the journey and the kitchen. The mere thought filled him with happiness.

For more than seven years, the once-empty Prince Xuan’s residence now finally felt like a true home to him.

Liu Zhun, by contrast, was thoroughly ashamed. Comparing his own mediocre skills to the princess’s artistry in the kitchen, he wanted nothing more than to cover his face and disappear.

In the end, he made a silent vow: from this day forward, he would apprentice himself to the princess, striving tirelessly to reach the highest realm of the culinary arts.

Yet the first family feast in seven years at Prince Xuan’s manor concluded in a verbal duel between Yun Yi and Ning Hua, their sharp words clashing like swords.

Ning Hua herself wasn’t sure what had come over her, only that she could not stand Yun Yi’s arrogant, self-important demeanor.

“Hmph! That Yun Yi is insufferable. What ‘Lying Cloud Manor’? ‘Lying-in-the-mud Manor’ would be more fitting!”

As Shen Qianmo walked her and Fu Yuechan to the main gate, the memory of Yun Yi’s infuriating face still rankled Ning Hua.

Shen Qianmo could not help but smile. “Sister Hua, as the saying goes, ‘enemies are bound to meet.’ You and Master Yun really do seem like a pair of quarreling soulmates. From what I know, Yun Yi rarely pesters women; perhaps he’s taken a liking to you.”

Ning Hua’s cheeks flushed pink, and she quickly denied it. “Don’t be ridiculous, Qianmo! There’s nothing between us!”

Shen Qianmo only smiled in silence. Fate is a strange thing—who can say what it holds? From her observations, Yun Yi’s attitude toward Ning Hua was certainly unlike his attitude toward anyone else.

Still, matters of the heart are best left to unfold naturally; she had no wish to interfere prematurely.

Fu Yuechan, meanwhile, looked reluctant to leave—but it was the little fox, obediently nestled in Shen Qianmo’s arms, that she couldn’t bear to part with.

This little fox, pure white and docile, had striking emerald eyes and was unspeakably adorable! Yet, no matter how she tried to coax it, the little fox remained aloof, leaving her feeling rather defeated.

“Sister Qianmo, may I come visit you often at the Marquis’s estate, just to see Little Darling?” Fu Yuechan gazed at her with wide, sparkling eyes.

Shen Qianmo understood her fondness for the fox. It was no surprise—few young women could resist such a lovable creature.

Smiling, she nodded. “Of course you may, Yuechan. You’re always welcome. Little Darling is just shy around new people. If you visit frequently, it’s sure to warm up to you.”

She stroked the fox’s head and asked, “Isn’t that right, Little Darling?”

Little Darling opened half-closed eyes and gave a few gentle cries to Fu Yuechan, which made the girl beam with delight. She reached out, imitating Shen Qianmo, and patted the little fox’s head, her face aglow with joy.

These girls, thought Little Darling, are so easily pleased. With that, it closed its eyes again, nestling comfortably in Shen Qianmo’s arms, ready for a restorative nap.

After all, thanks to that scoundrel Situ Gong, it had just lost a whole bowl of blood and now wanted nothing more than to rest and recover.

Once Ning Hua and Fu Yuechan were seen off, Shen Qianmo returned to the inner courtyard of the manor.

Mo Qingshan had already retired to his temporary quarters, and Yun Yi—whose chatter seemed endless—had been mercilessly driven away by Meng Yuanheng.

Meng Yuanheng himself had just taken the antidote Situ Gong had delivered.

Shen Qianmo had already inquired with Situ Gong; it seemed that lately, Meng Yuanheng had been very cooperative with his treatment. He took his medicine on time, ate regularly, and no longer lost his temper or acted capriciously.

She was greatly relieved. At this rate, if he persevered for another three months, the cold poison would be completely cured.

She handed Little Darling to Situ Gong, asking him to nurse the fox back to health. Blood would need to be drawn every ten days, and Little Darling had been listless of late. Situ Gong had prepared a restorative prescription for it to take after each blood-letting.

Turning around, she saw Meng Yuanheng in his wheelchair, brows furrowed, and felt a pang of sympathy. She wheeled him to the bed, helped him lie down, and propped him against the headboard to rest. Sitting on the edge, she began to massage his legs, using the techniques Situ Gong had taught her.

The medicine, while able to cure the cold poison, stimulated the nerves in his legs, intensifying the pain.

After a few moments, her hand was caught in Meng Yuanheng’s grip.

She looked up to meet his deep, affectionate gaze.

“Mo’er, will you come with me somewhere later?”

“Yes.” Shen Qianmo did not ask where, merely nodded, then added with gentle authority, “But you must rest for now.”

“Alright.” Obediently, Meng Yuanheng lay back, but as he did, he reached out and pulled her down, so suddenly that she tumbled onto his chest.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her, a wicked smile on his face. “Stay with me, Mo’er.”

Shen Qianmo rolled her eyes at his smugness. This man’s shamelessness was reaching new heights every day.

Yet she found she did not mind. In fact, she thought this side of Meng Yuanheng was rather endearing.

Resting on his chest, she traced slow patterns with her fingers; it seemed casual, but Meng Yuanheng sensed she was writing two characters.

“Qian Mo?” he asked uncertainly, puzzled.

Shen Qianmo smiled. His intuition, as always, was sharp.

“That’s right. Ah Heng, that is my real name.” She gazed into his eyes, her tone soft but resolute.

She knew there were many mysteries surrounding her, but no matter how the world viewed her, this man had always believed in her without reservation, defended her, cherished her.

She wished to reveal her truest self to him.

Where to begin? She considered, then decided to start with the great fire.

The fire at the Marquis’s estate and the explosion at the scene of the crime had occurred at the exact same moment—an accident that had brought her to this era. There must have been some connection between her and the original owner of this body; only thus could she have borrowed it, rising anew from the flames.

It was all so incredible—even she, a scientist educated in the highest reaches of modern technology, could not explain it. She was not sure Meng Yuanheng could accept it, either.

Meng Yuanheng listened quietly throughout, occasionally interjecting, but his tone remained steady. Only he knew how, as Shen Qianmo recounted her story piece by piece, his heart clenched tighter and tighter.

He had heard of souls returning after death, but what unsettled him most was that Shen Qianmo hailed from a thousand years in the future! The world she described, the life she had lived—these were things he could scarcely comprehend, utterly foreign to him.

Did this mean there was a millennium’s distance between them?

The thought chilled him with a profound sense of insecurity. He tightened his arms around Shen Qianmo’s slender waist, then rolled so she was beneath him, his eyes dark with unspoken fear.

“Mo’er, you must never leave me. Promise me, never leave me,” he whispered, lowering his head to her ear, his words possessive and tender as he nibbled lightly on her earlobe.

“Mm.”

That soft sound—whether it was a response to Meng Yuanheng’s plea or an involuntary reaction to desire, neither could tell. Surrounded by his distinctive masculine scent, the damp warmth of his breath at her ear sent a tremor through Shen Qianmo’s heart. She could not stifle a low moan, completely swept away by his gentle yet domineering presence.

Just as passion threatened to overtake them, a sudden knock at the door shattered the spell.

“My lord, the carriage is ready. We should depart,” Changdong announced from outside, his tone as stiff and formal as ever.

Not far off, Situ Gong cradled Little Darling in his arms, casting a sympathetic look at Changdong, who stood respectfully at the door. He sighed inwardly—how could Changdong, after all these years in the prince’s service, still be so oblivious?

Everyone knew it was time to leave, but who would dare interrupt such a private moment between the prince and princess? Only someone as clueless as Changdong would barge in now.

Moments later, the door opened and Shen Qianmo appeared, pushing Meng Yuanheng out to meet them.

Meng Yuanheng’s handsome face was dark, his cold, sharp gaze cutting at Changdong—clearly, his anger had not subsided.

Changdong, on the receiving end of this glare, was bewildered and aggrieved. Hadn’t his master told him to remind them promptly when it was time to leave? Why did it seem like he was now in trouble for not reminding them sooner?

In the carriage, Shen Qianmo finally learned that today was the memorial of the fallen soldiers at the Oni River. For seven years, on this day, Meng Yuanheng had personally visited the Feiyun Riders’ military camp to honor the more than one hundred thousand souls who had sacrificed their lives for the nation.

Since Meng Yuanheng had not rested earlier, Shen Qianmo let him lie with his head in her lap as the carriage jolted along.

To him, resting this way was far more comfortable than lying in bed. The gentle rocking soon lulled him into a rare, peaceful sleep.

Shen Qianmo gazed quietly at his sleeping face, reaching out to smooth his furrowed brow.

Even in sleep, his brow never relaxed, just as he had never let go of the memory of those lost soldiers.

It had now been proven that Meng Tianluo had nothing to do with what happened at the Oni River. So who, then, had orchestrated this scheme, bent on destroying Prince Xuan’s house to the root?

The carriage rolled to a stop. Ever alert, Meng Yuanheng immediately opened his eyes.

Sensing Shen Qianmo’s familiar presence and the natural, soothing scent of her, he relaxed, curled up, and nestled into her embrace, holding her close.

Shen Qianmo’s mouth twitched. Why did she suddenly feel like she was holding Little Darling?

Outside, Changdong’s voice called, “Master, we have arrived.”

She patted Meng Yuanheng’s back. He reluctantly sat up, but refused to let go of her.

She shot him an exasperated glare, then lifted the curtain and hopped out, helping Meng Yuanheng settle into his wheelchair.

Looking back, she realized they had arrived at the Feiyun Riders’ camp.