“After Shedding My Armor, I Await Marriage” Chapter 81: Extra 2.4

On a chilly spring day, the maid Qiao Qian, seeing Mu Qingyao sitting among a pile of books in a daze, gently reminded her, “Young Madam, Young Master will be back soon. Would you like to tidy up?”

Mu Qingyao came to her senses, put down the “The Story of Boiling Rain” glanced at the scattered books on the floor, and said, “Let’s clean up.”

After she spoke, Qiao Qian called another maid, and together they tidied up the books, placing them back into the small cabinet beside the bookshelf.

The cabinet was custom-made by Wen Qize, specifically for Mu Qingyao’s books. Additionally, it held a certain “fire prevention illustration” that Wen Qize had acquired from somewhere.

At that time, people often used erotic illustrations as fire preventives, hence the alternative name for them, fire prevention illustrations. Wen Qize pretended to use it to prevent fires, claiming it was to protect Mu Qingyao’s treasured books. Yet, this small scroll was suspiciously thick; once unrolled, it contained dozens of vivid illustrations, each with unique and unconventional poses.

Driven by curiosity, Wen Qize had pulled Mu Qingyao along to try out many of the depicted positions.

After the maids had tidied up all the books, only “The Story of Boiling Rain” and the one Mu Qingyao had written by hand were left, tightly held in her grasp.

When the servants announced Wen Qize’s return, Mu Qingyao spread these two books open on the table.

Wen Qize, as was his habit, went to the side room to change clothes upon arriving at the courtyard, and only then did he come to the main room to find Mu Qingyao.

Seeing her seated at the table without turning around, he stepped lightly, approaching her from behind and wrapping her in his arms.

“What has you so engrossed?” he asked, anticipating her reply.

To his surprise, he didn’t receive the expected answer; instead, he heard her faint voice, “This “The Story of Boiling Rain”… it’s very similar to the one I wrote.”

Wen Qize’s heart skipped a beat, and he fell silent.

Mu Qingyao gave a bitter smile, tugging at the corner of her lips. “Perhaps I’m overthinking it. “The Story of Boiling Rain” is so well-written; how could my book compare to it? Imagining someone copied mine—how shameless of me.”

Wen Qize couldn’t bear to hear such words and promptly confessed, “Don’t be upset. I—this book—“The Story of Boiling Rain” is actually written by me!”

Realizing his blunder, he quickly corrected himself, “No, no. I wrote it based on your book. I copied you. You weren’t imagining it. It’s my fault—I’m the shameless one. I knew this was your story, yet I still submitted it to the publisher behind your back. I’m to blame.”

Mu Qingyao hadn’t expected him to admit the truth so readily. She slowly dropped her facade of sadness and pain, but as Wen Qize was holding her from behind, he couldn’t see her expression. All he heard was her say, “Explain yourself?”

Wen Qize candidly laid out the whole story, as well as his inner thoughts: “I saw you spending so much time on this book, hands reddened from the winter cold, so I thought I’d help polish it a bit, to show you that the story you came up with was actually really good. You just hadn’t written much before and lacked experience, which is why it didn’t come out the way you’d hoped.”

Mu Qingyao accepted his explanation but was still confused. “Then why didn’t you just show it to me? Why submit it to the publisher?”

Wen Qize buried his face in the crook of her neck, silent for a while before exhaling and murmuring, “I was unwilling.”

Mu Qingyao understood. “The Story of Boiling Rain” was indeed very well-written, and Wen Qize couldn’t bear for the story he had refined to be kept hidden, only for her to see. She could understand his sentiment.

Wen Qize said, “I’m not willing to hear you say, right in front of me, that you want to meet another man.”

Mu Qingyao: “…”

Alright, she was used to this. After all, misunderstandings like this had happened many times in the past two years. Their thoughts never aligned; the problem was—

“…When did I ever say something like that?” Heaven knows she wasn’t the kind of woman to be fickle in love, let alone foolish enough to say she wanted to meet another man in front of her husband. There had to be a misunderstanding here.

Wen Qize was relentless: “Didn’t you say, ‘If I could meet him once, I’d have no regrets in this life’?”

Mu Qingyao thought for a long time, and finally dug up the memory from a dusty corner of her mind.

Back then, before “The Story of Boiling Rain” was published, she had been obsessed with another story called “The Golden Hairpin’s Tears”. The writing was so moving that she cried by the end, praising the author highly. She thought the author of “The Golden Hairpin’s Tears” must be no ordinary person, and in her admiration, she had said, “If I could meet him once, I’d have no regrets in this life.”

Mu Qingyao muttered, “I just said it offhandedly.”

Wen Qize held her tightly, stubbornly replying, “Whether it was a passing remark or spoken from the heart, you know the truth yourself.”

Mu Qingyao: …That’s so petty.

Mu Qingyao tried hard to explain, “The author of “The Golden Hairpin’s Tears” may not even be a man.”

Wen Qize looked up, saying calmly, “He is a man.”

Mu Qingyao’s eyes widened in shock.

Wen Qize tilted her chin to make her look at him. “Did you think it was difficult for the Court of Justice to look up one person?”

Mu Qingyao was left speechless. This guy had actually gone to the extent of finding out who the author of “The Golden Hairpin’s Tears” was just because of one casual remark.

After putting on his display of jealousy, Wen Qize softened his tone and gently said, “You don’t know how happy I’ve been these days, seeing you go over “The Story of Boiling Rain” again and again.”

Mu Qingyao held back her question, but finally couldn’t resist asking, “Then… have you written the second volume of “The Story of Boiling Rain”?”

Wen Qize shook his head. “The first volume was based on your story. Since you didn’t write a second volume, I can’t write one either.”

Mu Qingyao was exasperated. “You could make up your own continuation.”

Wen Qize was unwilling. “It’s too much trouble. If I hadn’t wanted to let you see it, I wouldn’t have even written the first volume. How about you write the second volume, and I’ll keep polishing it for you?”

Mu Qingyao tried hard, carefully, and seriously to remember, but finally admitted in despair, “I’ve forgotten everything I wanted to write for the second volume.”

It had been a whole year; there was no way she could still remember her ideas from back then.

Wen Qize released her, stood up, and took a stack of papers from the bookshelf, placing it in front of Mu Qingyao.

She looked closely and realized it was a collection of sentences and plot ideas she had casually jotted down while writing her story. She had no idea when Wen Qize had gathered them for her.

But Mu Qingyao really didn’t want to write it anymore. She had come to understand: reading a story was so much more enjoyable than writing one.

So, she leaned into Wen Qize’s embrace, holding him close, and asked, “I don’t want to write it. You come up with the rest, finish the second volume for me, will you?”

Wen Qize didn’t agree immediately, not because he was unwilling, but because he wanted to hear Mu Qingyao coax him a little more.

As expected, Mu Qingyao was willing to go to any lengths for the second volume of “The Story of Boiling Rain”, even going so far as to sit on his lap and use certain… persuasive seductive techniques.

No, between husband and wife, it wouldn’t be called seduction—more like “intimacy.”

Wen Qize had no defenses against Mu Qingyao’s affectionate advances. By the time he realized what he was saying, he had already agreed with a “Yes.”

How could he possibly say “no”? With the person he adored more and more sitting in his arms, pleading with him like this, he would have gladly done anything, even faced death with a smile.

Mu Qingyao, delighted to have secured his promise, was overjoyed.

But what she hadn’t anticipated was that Wen Qize ended up writing two versions of the story. One was like the first volume, using his unique style to narrate the main storyline elegantly.

The other version, however, contained much more… let’s say, “passionate” content that could have transformed “The Story of Boiling Rain” into something of a racy novel.

Generally, storybooks weren’t considered highbrow material, and it was perfectly normal to have descriptions of intimate scenes. However, Wen Qize had written those scenes with such extraordinary detail that the word count for the “passionate” version far exceeded that of the main story, nearly half a book’s difference.

As a seasoned reader of such stories, Mu Qingyao would naturally pick the version with more words and detailed descriptions, regardless of its connection to the main plot.

The result was that she ended up reading it, blushing furiously, only for Wen Qize to embrace her and suggest they try out the scenes from the story, using the excuse: “Let’s test it out, so I can make any necessary changes.”

After trying it out, Mu Qingyao had only one thought: there was no way she could let the longer version be circulated.

Otherwise, it would feel as if their private matters were on display for everyone—a mortifying thought.

But there was no need for Mu Qingyao to say anything; Wen Qize wouldn’t allow it either. So, the longer version was safely stashed in Mu Qingyao’s little cabinet, seen by no one but the two of them.

…

In the heat of summer, Mu Qingyao was returning to her family to visit Gu Qizheng, with Wen Qize accompanying her.

For the past two years, Mu Qingyao would return to her family home every holiday, and Wen Qize often visited as well. His reasons for visiting were easy to find: he worked at the Court of Justice, and Gu Qizheng, before his transfer to the Ministry of Revenue, had also served there and at the Ministry of Justice, making him Wen Qize’s senior. It was only natural for Wen Qize to seek his advice from time to time.

But their carriage had barely moved when Mu Qingyao heard someone calling out urgently from outside, “Qize!”

The unfamiliar address left Mu Qingyao momentarily puzzled as she wondered who would be shouting like that.

It wasn’t until Wen Qize stopped the carriage and told her, “It’s a colleague from the Court of Justice. He probably has an urgent matter for me. I’ll step out and speak with him briefly,” that she realized the voice was calling for her husband.

Not “Young Master,” not “Lord Wen,” nor “Huizhi”—could it be his given name?

Since she hadn’t paid attention initially, she hadn’t caught it clearly.

Once Wen Qize stepped out, she couldn’t resist leaning in to listen, catching his colleague at the carriage’s side saying, “Qize, listen to me. A constable on patrol just reported that the criminal who was wanted has been located. There’s no time to waste; come with me to Mingshan Street at once.”

Mingshan Street—the area known for its pleasure quarters and brothels.

After so many years, Mu Qingyao had nearly forgotten she didn’t actually know her husband’s given name. She certainly hadn’t expected to learn it in this context: her husband was called “Qize.”

Outside the carriage, Wen Qize panicked, fearing Mu Qingyao might misunderstand, and hurriedly lifted the curtain to explain. He reassured her that his colleague was calling him to Mingshan Street solely to investigate a murder case, and not at all to seek out women for pleasure.

His colleague, realizing that Wen Qize’s wife was also in the carriage, felt he had committed a blunder and immediately joined in explaining as well.

Seeing him so flustered, Mu Qingyao reassured him, “Alright, don’t I know you well enough by now? Go take care of it. I’ll explain to Father.”

Wen Qize was stunned.

He ought to be relieved that Mu Qingyao hadn’t misunderstood anything, but somehow, he felt a strange unease creeping in—like something was amiss.

Trying to shrug it off as overthinking, he put it out of his mind and went to Mingshan Street with his colleague.

Upon returning home that night, he kept a close eye on Mu Qingyao, only to find her acting no differently than usual. She wasn’t even annoyed that they’d missed their visit to her father due to his sudden departure.

This unexpected reaction left Wen Qize feeling a bit disgruntled. He’d been fretting over her feelings the entire time he was out, worrying she might be upset with him or might misunderstand his reason for going to Mingshan Street. He’d even taken extra care to ensure no woman got near him there. But when he got home, Mu Qingyao, his own wife, hadn’t even thought to check if he smelled of another woman’s perfume or powder?

Wen Qize couldn’t quite put a finger on what he was more upset about: the lack of appreciation for his vigilance or her apparent indifference.

But because it seemed trivial, he kept it to himself, thinking it petty to bring it up.

Two days later, however, an incident occurred that would bring his frustrations to a head. Prince An and his wife had business in the palace and were not at home, giving Wen Qize’s maternal uncle the perfect opportunity to pay an unwelcome visit.

Wen Qize’s mother had come from humble origins, and although he himself didn’t care, he knew that her brother was a troublesome man. His mother, having endured much suffering at her family’s hands, often urged him to keep a polite distance. However, he had tolerated his uncle’s behavior out of respect for his mother’s feelings.

While wary, he still received his uncle, leaving the cousin his uncle brought along to be entertained by Mu Qingyao.

The situation quickly took an unexpected turn. In short, Wen Qize’s uncle, seeing that Mu Qingyao had produced no children in two years, took advantage of the prince’s wife’s absence to push his own daughter onto Wen Qize as a concubine, claiming it was for the sake of carrying on the family line.

His uncle had no intention of taking his daughter back home, calculating that Wen Qize, out of consideration for the prince’s wife, would swallow his anger and give him some face.

But he was wrong. Wen Qize, who had endured for years, unceremoniously threw them out, showing not a hint of courtesy.

His cousin was also sent out, and since her carriage had been dismissed upon arrival, the prince’s servants dumped her unceremoniously in the street, throwing a veiled hat by her feet for modesty.

Wen Qize, concerned that his uncle might retaliate in desperation, stationed guards outside and sent a steward to warn the family, ensuring there would be no trouble before finally going to check on Mu Qingyao.

Qiaoqian, Mu Qingyao’s maid, had been waiting at the main courtyard entrance, and when she saw Wen Qize, she immediately started complaining. “That shameless girl actually called our lady a barren hen and told her to step aside!”

Wen Qize was livid. He had never felt such anger before. His Qingyao—his wife, whom he cherished like a delicate treasure—had been insulted under his own roof.

He hastened his steps, intent on comforting her. But when he entered the room, he found her leaning by the window, looking calm. She even smiled at him and asked, “Has Uncle left?”

Mu Qingyao seemed oblivious to Wen Qize’s shock. She casually chatted about amusing happenings at the academy, mentioning nothing about the insults she’d endured, nor did she ask about his cousin or the circumstances around her visit. It was as if whether her husband took a concubine or interacted with other women was of no consequence to her.

An indescribable bitterness rose from the depths of Wen Qize’s heart, creeping up to the back of his throat. At last, it emerged as a hoarse question, prying open a wound he’d long hidden, one he had never dared to touch.

“Do you… not care about me at all?”

Translator’s Note:

The “fire prevention pictures” mentioned here are known in Chinese as 避火图 (bì huǒ tú). In ancient China, these were erotic illustrations—also called chūn gōng tú (春宫图, “spring palace pictures”)—that, curiously enough, were believed to ward off fires. This association originated from a superstition that sprang from the idea of balancing natural elements and energies: the depiction of erotic scenes was thought to embody the element of water, which could counteract the element of fire.

Author’s Note:

There will be no angst, no angst, no angst! If I make Mu Qingyao suffer in this story, I’ll give you all my head as a pledge.

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