Yan Jingshu nodded. Of course he remembered—he had cooked those dishes himself, even accidentally burning his hands in the process. Had there been something wrong with them?
As if reading his thoughts, Jiang Chenghan explained, “When I tasted them, I realized something was off. Those weren’t dishes from my hometown in this life—they were ones my mother from my past life used to make for me.”
At this, Yan Jingshu’s mouth fell open in shock.
Jiang Chenghan went on, “At first, I thought you might have shared the same past life as me, which was why you knew those dishes. But after we married, I gradually realized you weren’t familiar with my past world—just with me. We’d only met twice, yet you showed no resistance to our marriage or to me. In fact, you were incredibly warm and proactive. You knew my favorite foods, that I wake at maoshi (5-7 AM) to train, even the people around me—whether it was Zhang Zhao, the children from the charity home—you acted as if you already knew them…”
“Bit by bit, these doubts piled up until I had a guess. Originally, since you didn’t seem willing to talk about it, I didn’t want to push. But last night, hearing what you said in your fever, I realized I’d been too naive…”
Gazing at Yan Jingshu’s conflicted expression, Jiang Chenghan’s eyes softened with tenderness. “Jingshu, I don’t know what happened in those two years you remember. But I want you to know that no matter who you are or what you’ve been through, it won’t change how I feel about you. I just hope you’ll tell me everything so we can face it together. Okay?”
Tears welled up in Yan Jingshu’s eyes. He couldn’t speak, only nod repeatedly to show his understanding.
“…I didn’t mean to hide it from you,” Yan Jingshu finally whispered, burying his face in Jiang Chenghan’s chest. “I was just… scared you’d hate me for it.” The mere thought of Jiang Chenghan looking at him with disgust was unbearable.
Jiang Chenghan wrapped an arm around his waist, stroking his back soothingly. “I understand. It’s okay—I don’t blame you. I kept my secret too, remember? As long as you don’t blame me.”
Of course Yan Jingshu didn’t blame him. Now that his greatest secret—and greatest pain—was out in the open, and Jiang Chenghan hadn’t rejected him for it, he felt nothing but relief and an unprecedented lightness in his heart.
After holding him quietly for a while, Jiang Chenghan finally felt Yan Jingshu’s emotions settle.
Now that the truth was out, Jiang Chenghan wasn’t in a hurry to press further. Besides, Yan Jingshu was still recovering and shouldn’t overexert himself.
But Yan Jingshu didn’t want to delay. Once he’d calmed down, he began to speak softly, recounting everything that had happened in those two years before his rebirth—from their first meeting to his own death.
Jiang Chenghan hadn’t expected Yan Jingshu’s past life to have been so full of suffering—forced into marriage, losing his grandmother, enduring hardship after hardship, and ultimately falling to his death while investigating Jiang Chenghan’s murder. His heart ached fiercely.
Yan Jingshu, however, didn’t seem to dwell on it. To him, those events were in the past, and his rebirth had allowed him to make up for many regrets. The only thing that still haunted him was Jiang Chenghan’s death—a thorn in his heart that refused to fade.
Jiang Chenghan comforted him, “It’s all right. In my past life, I must have been caught off guard. Now that we know, we can prevent it from happening again. And you said you already have leads on those people, right?”
His deep, steady voice eased Yan Jingshu’s anxiety. Nodding, Yan Jingshu said, “Yes. I even asked Grandmother for some capable people to follow those leads. But they haven’t reported back yet, so they must not have found anything.”
“That’s fine. We still have over two years before the incident. There’s plenty of time to uncover the truth.” Jiang Chenghan said, though inwardly, he resolved not to rely solely on Yan Jingshu’s men—he would take action himself.
With the heaviest weight off his chest, Yan Jingshu’s body and mind relaxed, and his recovery sped up. Within three days, he was almost fully healed.
Still, Jiang Chenghan insisted he rest for two more days. On the sixth day, he announced at the Governor's residence that he would be hosting a belated wedding banquet at Zhiyuan Restaurant, inviting everyone to celebrate.
Since this wasn’t a formal wedding banquet but more of an opportunity for Yan Jingshu to meet Jiang Chenghan’s acquaintances in Ningcheng, Yan Jingshu accompanied him to Zhiyuan Restaurant to host the guests.
Though Jiang Chenghan’s rank wasn’t particularly high, his direct connection to General Kou Shijun meant that everyone—whether above or below him in status—came to toast him. Local landowners, merchants, and others also arrived with gifts, filling both floors of Zhiyuan Restaurant to capacity.
The lively banquet lasted from noon until late afternoon. Yan Jingshu, still recovering, drank tea in place of wine, but Jiang Chenghan wasn’t so lucky. Even with Zhang Zhao and the others helping, he was soon red-faced and unsteady on his feet.
Fortunately, Jiang Chenghan was a good drunk—he remained coherent despite his intoxication. Zhang Zhao and the others helped him into the carriage, and Yan Jingshu accompanied him home.
Once they’d settled Jiang Chenghan in and seen the others off, the supposedly heavily drunk man suddenly sat up, rubbing his temples. “Those bastards. Just wait—I’ll pay them back double next time.”
Yan Jingshu, who had just taken a sobering tonic from Wenxiu, was startled by Jiang Chenghan’s sudden movement. Realizing he’d been faking, Yan Jingshu couldn’t help but laugh before handing him the tonic.
No comments:
Post a Comment