Chapter 101: Do Not Marry

“Congratulations, Lady Qi. Please feel free to choose anything you like; I’ll give you a discount,” Manager Xu said with a cheerful smile as he looked at Wen Jing.

Wen Jing smiled softly. “Thank you, Manager Xu.”

She casually picked up a piece of jewelry, examined it, then put it down, and picked up another…

“None of them catch your eye? These are all new arrivals,” Manager Xu said in surprise.

Wen Jing seemed not to hear him, her gaze lingering over each piece, yet never resting on any.

Qingliu noticed Wen Jing’s distracted demeanor and gently tugged at her sleeve. Wen Jing understood and looked up at Manager Xu. “They’re all beautiful. I’ll take these few.”

“Very well, Lady Qi, please wait a moment. I’ll wrap them up for you,” Manager Xu said, beaming. Yet in his heart, he thought, “Only a few items? The Wang family is so wealthy, yet so stingy.”

They browsed a few more shops, but Wen Jing only picked a few things casually, without indulging in lavish purchases.

“Madam, let’s buy more to take back, or else the master and mistress…” Qingliu glanced at Wen Jing’s light load with concern.

“No need,” Wen Jing said calmly.

The street bustled with people coming and going. Children hopped and skipped, singing nursery rhymes as they chased and played.

“Hey! That’s mine!”

Qingliu screamed sharply and fell to the ground, a child stumbling backward as well.

“Slow down! See? You bumped into someone,” came a familiar voice. Wen Jing turned around to see Nian Bo, the custodian of the Dali Temple archives.

“Nian Bo?”

Qingliu gathered the scattered items and was about to scold the child when she noticed Wen Jing seemed to know them.

Nian Bo glanced at Wen Jing, seemingly surprised to meet her here. “Lady Qi, my apologies. This is my little grandson, Ping’an.”

He then turned to Ping’an. “Go apologize to the two ladies.”

The little boy timidly said, “Sorry, sisters.”

“No harm done, but remember not to dart out suddenly. If a carriage had come along, you could have been hurt,” Qingliu pinched his nose gently.

Ping’an turned away unhappily, two tear stains still visible on his cheeks.

“Qingliu, what’s wrong with your foot?” Wen Jing touched Qingliu’s arm.

Qingliu gasped and grimaced. “I think I twisted it.”

“What shall we do? We’re still far from home,” Wen Jing frowned.

“My home is nearby. We have medicinal wine,” Nian Bo said.

Wen Jing glanced at Qingliu. “Then we’ll follow Nian Bo.”

Qingliu nodded and limped after Nian Bo and Ping’an into a small alley, quietly wondering why her lady had asked her to feign a limp.

The Nian family was an ordinary farming household, even more modest and worn than Wen Jing had imagined.

Various crops were drying in the yard. A mother-in-law and daughter-in-law were shelling corn, filling the air with its sweet fragrance.

The two women looked at Wen Jing and Qingliu in surprise, quickly rising to their feet—they had never before seen such ethereal visitors.

Nian Bo made introductions, and the two women stood stiffly, unsure of what to say.

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“My humble home is simple; please bear with it,” Nian Bo said.

“No trouble at all. We’re the ones who caused a disturbance,” Wen Jing replied.

“I’ll get the medicinal wine,” Nian Bo said, turning into the inner room.

Wen Jing helped Qingliu sit on a small bench in the yard, then faced Nian Aunt. “Please don’t mind us; you should continue your work.”

Nian Aunt smiled kindly. “Sit down, then. I’ll prepare dinner for you.”

After Nian Aunt and Nian Sister left, Wen Jing crouched down and looked at Ping’an. “Ping’an, why are you unhappy?”

Ping’an glanced at Wen Jing but remained silent.

Wen Jing took out a packet of osmanthus cakes and placed one in front of him. “Are you hungry? Here, have some.”

Ping’an sniffed, swallowed, hesitated, then accepted it.

“The medicinal wine is here,” Nian Bo returned with a bottle.

Wen Jing took the bottle, about to help Qingliu apply the medicine.

“I can do it myself,” Qingliu said, taking the bottle and pretending to rub the ankle.

Nian Bo left again.

Wen Jing took out another osmanthus cake. “Ping’an, want another? Tell me why you’re unhappy.”

“I don’t want to go to school,” Ping’an frowned.

“Why not? There are so many classmates to play with. Shouldn’t that be fun?” Wen Jing asked.

Ping’an swallowed the last piece and bit his lip. “They’re all surnamed Wang. They won’t play with me.”

Wen Jing smiled gently. “Then we’ll study somewhere else.”

“My grandfather won’t let me. I didn’t go to school today…” Ping’an sniffled.

Wen Jing understood—earlier on the street, Ping’an had run so fast because he was caught skipping school.

“Lady Qi, if you don’t mind our humble meal, please stay for dinner,” Nian Bo said.

Qingliu set down the medicinal wine, ready to leave, thinking Wen Jing would refuse. Unexpectedly, Wen Jing nodded. “Thank you, Nian Bo. We’ll stay.”

A middle-aged man entered, dark-skinned and sturdy, carrying a bundle of firewood. His eyes brightened slightly when he saw Wen Jing and Qingliu.

“Go wash up; dinner’s ready,” Nian Bo told him.

“Yes, Father,” the man replied, glancing again at Wen Jing and Qingliu.

Qingliu frowned slightly, displeased.

On the table were several large bowls of simple farmhouse dishes—plain but evidently the best the family could offer. It was understandable; a family of five living off farming, with Nian Bo’s modest salary from the Dali Temple, life was tight.

“Father, didn’t our benefactor send two pigs last time? Have you forgotten?” Nian Bo’s son said, eyes narrowed, seemingly disdainful of the meal, then glanced at Wen Jing.

Nian Bo shot his son a glare. “Those pigs are for the New Year, not yet to be slaughtered.”

After dinner, Wen Jing and Qingliu took their leave. Before departing, Wen Jing offered some silver coins to Nian Bo, who insisted on refusing.

Back at the Wen residence, Wen Qiran looked at the few scattered items in Qingliu’s hands and then at Wen Jing’s distracted expression. “You only bought this little after an entire afternoon?”

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“There was an incident this afternoon; it caused a delay,” Wen Jing replied.

“Young Master is inside,” Wen Qiran said.

As they spoke, Ji Changge came out.

Wen Qiran gave Wen Jing a look, signaling her to resign from the Dali Temple post to Ji Changge, then left. Qingliu also took the hint and withdrew.

A gentle breeze stirred, and Ji Changge suddenly found the scene deeply familiar—same people, same scenery. The difference was that back then, he had refused to listen to her, but now he longed to hear, yet she was silent.

“Are you really not going to stay at the Dali Temple any longer?” Ji Changge asked.

“Even if I wanted to, do you think the Wang family would agree?” Wen Jing’s face was calm.

Seeing her indifferent expression, Ji Changge felt a strange distance for the first time, as if she were a stranger. The Wen Qi who had blushed at his sight was gone.

Suddenly, words failed them both. Wen Jing walked ahead, Ji Changge behind, their steps slow and the silence almost eerie.

“Lord Ji, is there anything else you wish to say?” Wen Jing turned to him.

Ji Changge seemed not to hear, his gaze fixed on the shadow behind Wen Jing. Only one thought filled his mind: in two days, Lady Qi would marry Wang Erlang, becoming part of the Wang family and no longer connected to him.

“If you have no more to say, I will take my leave,” Wen Jing said.

Ji Changge remained silent.

As they passed each other, a strand of her hair swept across his face.

He reached out and embraced her.

“Don’t… marry,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice filled with sorrow, unlike his usual cold tone.

He rested his head lightly on Wen Jing’s shoulder, hands tightly around her slender waist, feeling her breath and warmth. For the first time, Ji Changge felt a deep jealousy toward Wang Erlang.

“Wen Qi is already dead,” Wen Jing gently pushed him away and faced him, her eyes steady and resolute.

Ji Changge’s heart tightened; she meant that the Wen Qi who once cherished him was gone.

“Wen Qi died on the way to Hanjiang County,” Wen Jing continued. “Don’t you notice how different I am from her? The old Wen Qi didn’t know how to examine a corpse but was skilled at embroidery. The old Wen Qi wouldn’t refuse you, was indecisive. But I…”

“Enough,” Ji Changge’s face turned pale. The doubts that had haunted him unraveled, yet instead of relief, a profound sadness overwhelmed him. Perhaps these truths had lingered in his mind all along, but he had refused to believe.

Wen Qi bowed slightly and turned to leave. Strange pain gripped her heart. He only loved Wen Qi, not Ji Nansheng—the body she now inhabited—and his heartache was for Wen Qi, not her.

“Who are you?” Ji Changge grasped Wen Jing’s wrist softly.

“A stranger you don’t know, from a faraway place,” Wen Jing said, breaking free. The warmth on her arm vanished.

Wen Qi was truly dead… The thought consumed Ji Changge. Wen Jing was now a stranger who merely looked identical to Wen Qi. He could no longer tell them apart…

Back at the residence.

Wen Qiran looked at Wen Jing’s somewhat pale face and said no more, only remarking: “You can’t have both fish and bear’s paw; gains always come with losses.”

“Daughter understands,” Wen Jing replied.

“Yes, get some rest early,” Wen Qiran waved her off. (To be continued…)