Days after the wedding passed in a delicate equilibrium. On the surface, the Ai estate upheld its decorum and hierarchy; beneath it, an invisible string remained taut.
Ai Mu strictly adhered to the "three rules" she had laid down. She slept in her study and maintained a precise distance from Gu Liang, who resided in the Quiet Chamber.
One morning, on her way to greet Consort Liu, she happened to cross paths with Gu Liang in a side corridor.
He wore a pale moon-colored robe, his black hair loosely tied with a jade pin. Upon seeing her, he stopped and bowed his head. "My Lady."
Ai Mu's gaze lingered on him for a moment. "Consort Gu," she replied, her voice flat and emotionless, as if addressing a mere object.
She noticed he looked paler than usual, with faint shadows under his eyes—but none of it concerned her. She walked past him without pause, her hem not even brushing his sleeve.
Yet in this matriarchal world, rumors of the Lady sleeping alone quickly spread through the estate.
Days later, Ai Mu "accidentally" encountered a strikingly beautiful young man in the garden. Qing Dai quietly informed her that he was the nephew of Concubine Su, temporarily residing in the estate due to his family's decline.
The boy blushed upon seeing her, his eyes shy and flirtatious. As he bowed, he "accidentally" dropped a silk handkerchief embroidered with romantic verses at her feet.
"Good day, Lady," he said softly, his voice sweet and seductive. His collar was deliberately lowered, revealing delicate collarbones—a subtle gesture of affection in this world.
Ai Mu didn't stop. She didn't even glance at the handkerchief. She simply said to Qing Dai, "Inform the steward: all members of the household must know their place. If anyone behaves improperly or flirtatiously again, they will be punished according to estate law."
Qing Dai bowed, casting a glance at the boy, whose face had turned ghostly pale.
The incident spread quickly. Rumors of the Lady neglecting her Consort shifted into awe at her authority.
Ai Mu had drawn a clear line—her relationship with Gu Liang was private, but the estate's rules were not to be exploited.
She poured herself into estate affairs. One day, she handled a dispute involving fertilizer use—an old method caused foul smells, prompting complaints from neighboring farms. The stewards suggested bribes or forced relocation, neither of which satisfied her.
"Is there no better solution?" she asked, frowning.
That afternoon, a new composting method "accidentally" surfaced from the Quiet Chamber. Supposedly, an old farmer had mentioned it to a servant. The results were surprisingly effective.
Ai Mu reviewed the method. It was simple yet ingenious—far beyond what a common farmer might devise.
She investigated and traced it back to Gu Liang.
"Again," she murmured, tapping her desk. Gu Liang was like mercury, seeping into every corner of her life.
Three days later, a senior official from the Ancestral Office visited for a "routine check." The woman spoke gently but asked pointed questions: "Are the Lady and Consort harmonious?" "The estate's heirs are the foundation of the realm."
Ai Mu had no choice but to summon Gu Liang.
He arrived in full ceremonial attire, hair neatly tied, demeanor flawless.
When asked about Ai Mu sleeping in her study, he replied, "My Lady is devoted to her duties. The peace of the household is paramount. I would never disturb her."
His words were impeccable—preserving Ai Mu's dignity while portraying himself as virtuous and considerate.
The official left praising him as "wise and composed."
Ai Mu watched his retreating figure, feeling a strange discomfort. In this world, her coldness toward him had become something she was expected to justify.
And Gu Liang was infiltrating her life in more ways than one.
She found annotated texts on her desk—precisely the ones she needed. Her usual tea had been replaced with a calming blend. Even problems she faced in court seemed to find answers in his notes.
One day, she read his commentary on river management: "Guidance is better than obstruction. Regulating desire is more effective than suppressing it."
It unlocked a solution to a long-standing flood control issue. But instead of satisfaction, she felt humiliation—she was relying on the man she hated most.
Worse, Qing Dai reported that Gu Liang had been quietly tracking market prices, especially for herbs and minerals.
It seemed unrelated, but it reminded her of recent Ministry reports. What was he planning?
Late one night, while working in her study, a familiar headache struck—an ailment she'd suffered since arriving in this world, known to no one.
As she struggled, she noticed a sachet on her desk—filled with fragrant dried herbs.
"What is this?"
"Consort Gu sent it," Qing Dai whispered. "He said it might help."
Ai Mu clenched the sachet, overwhelmed. He knew? Even this?
She locked it in a drawer, as if that could contain the unease it stirred. She could handle power struggles—but this quiet invasion left her feeling trapped.
Outside, the night was ink-dark. She sat alone, fingers unconsciously stroking the sachet. For the first time, she fully understood: this marriage was a battlefield.
Gu Liang knew her better than she knew herself. He knew every weakness. And she—wrapped in cold defenses—had no better strategy.
The realization exhausted her, like fighting her own shadow.
Autumn deepened. The last leaves fell from the parasol trees.
Ai Mu faced a new challenge. The court planned to procure winter leather for the northern army—a massive order with immense profit. The Ai estate's business, Jinhuaji, was among the bidders.
But their main rival, Longchang, backed by the hostile Rui faction, had developed a superior tanning technique. Their leather was tougher and more waterproof, winning every sample test.
"Lady, Longchang is pressing hard. Officials are wavering. If we can't match their quality…" Jinhuaji's manager was pale with worry.
Ai Mu examined the samples. Longchang's leather was indeed exceptional. She spent days in her study, consulting craftsmen, but the technical barrier remained.
Failure would damage her reputation and embolden Rui.
One night, exhausted and surrounded by failed samples, Qing Dai entered hesitantly.
"Lady… Consort Gu requests an audience. He says… he may have a solution."
Ai Mu's temper flared. "No! Send him away!"
Qing Dai hesitated. "He said… he might solve the leather issue."
Ai Mu froze. "What?"
Gu Liang? A sheltered man from the Ministry? What could he know?
Still, desperation made her willing to grasp even the thinnest thread.
"Let him in."
Gu Liang entered, calm as ever, holding a small brocade box. He bowed and placed it on her desk.
"I heard Longchang has made progress in tanning. It reminded me of a lost technique I once read about."
Ai Mu's alarm bells rang. She had never discussed the bidding with him. "How do you know?"
"Consort Liu visited me recently. He mentioned the Ministry's interest. The capital is abuzz. Longchang's leather… reminded me of an ancient method."
He opened the box. Inside were papers and small porcelain vials.
"This is a modified oil tanning process. Unlike traditional methods, it uses fish oil blended with other fats, soaked and kneaded repeatedly. The result is soft, durable, and highly waterproof. It's complex and costly—nearly forgotten."
Ai Mu examined the papers. They detailed every step—selection, soaking, oiling, softening, drying—with precise adjustments and formulas. The logic was sound. The vials contained key reagents.
This wasn't something a sheltered man would know. This was…
She stared at him, stunned. Of course. She had forgotten—Gu Liang had studied materials chemistry in college. He had merged modern knowledge with ancient techniques.
Gu Liang met her gaze, calm and knowing. "I married into the Ai estate. I share its fate. This method may help. Let the craftsmen try."
His reasoning was flawless. But Ai Mu knew—this was more than help. He was proving his worth, his power. He was reentering her world.
She suppressed her turmoil. Now was not the time to question. She summoned her trusted staff and ordered a secret trial.
Days later, the results were astonishing. The new leather surpassed Longchang's in every way—softness, strength, waterproofing. It gleamed with a unique luster.
"Brilliant! Unbelievable!" the master craftsman exclaimed. "Where did you find this method? I've studied leather all my life—never seen anything like it!"
Ai Mu dismissed the crowd and sat alone in her study. The moon outside was hazy; her thoughts even more so.
In the final bidding, Jinhuaji won decisively, crushing Rui's ambitions.
The court was stunned. Praise for Ai Mu soared.
At the celebration, officials toasted her. Ai Mu held her cup, but her eyes drifted to Gu Liang, quietly sipping tea in the corner.
That night, she stepped into the Quiet Chamber—for the first time.
Gu Liang seemed unsurprised. He dismissed the servants and poured her tea.
The room was silent, lit only by flickering candles.
"How do you know all this?" she asked directly, her gaze locked on him.
Gu Liang set down the teapot and looked up at her. The candlelight flickered in his eyes.
"I told you," he said quietly, "no matter the world, the only thing I've ever wanted… is you." His words were direct, burning, and unwavering. "To understand everything you might face, and to have the ability to help you—that's the only path that leads to you."
Ai Mu's heart jolted. A storm of emotion surged in her chest. Was it anger at his relentless manipulation? Or… something harder to name—a flicker of recognition at the depth of his preparation?
She remembered the rooftop fall, his madness. The wedding night, his obsession. And this month of quiet restraint, culminating in tonight's unexpected salvation.
The hatred was still there. So was the fear. But now, something more complex stirred—an emotion laced with cold calculation and a trace of confusion.
She looked at his calm, unreadable face and realized, with chilling clarity: Gu Liang, in any world, was never ordinary. He could be the madman who dragged her into the abyss—or the savior who pulled her from it. And that blend of danger and capability… was terrifying. And disturbingly reassuring.
She set down the untouched teacup and stood.
"Regardless," she said stiffly, "thank you." It wasn't warmth—it was acknowledgment. A refusal to owe him anything.
As she opened the door to leave, his voice followed her, low and hoarse:
"Ai Mu… I never wanted to be your enemy."
Her steps faltered—but she didn't turn back. She walked into the deep night, leaving him behind.
Her heart was no longer calm.
The wall of hatred she had built cracked—just slightly. And through that fracture, cold river water began to seep in, carrying the silt of old memories and the turbulence of something new.