Remarried to a top-tier playboy, her reborn ex-husband is filled with regret.

After their lovemaking, Yun Shuyao nestled in Xiao Fang's arms, her body as soft as honey melted in the sun.

Her long hair fell over Xiao Fang's arm, but she didn't bother to gather it up.

She just curled up lazily, listening to his heartbeat, which gradually changed from rapid to steady.

Xiao Fang stroked her hair casually for a moment, then suddenly spoke.

"Yao Yao".

"Um."

"Do you think our future children will look like you or me?"

Yun Shuyao opened her eyes and glanced at him by the candlelight.

He lay on his back with his other hand behind his head, his posture lazy and relaxed.

It's as if the person who had just tormented her to the point of near death was someone else.

But the corners of his mouth were slightly upturned, and a layer of lingering satisfaction remained in his eyes.

Like a leopard that has eaten its fill and is sunbathing, it is unusually quiet.

"Who wants to have your child?"

She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder.

Xiao Fang turned to the side, pulled her closer to his chest, rested his chin on the top of her head, and spoke in a lazy yet confident voice.

"It's okay not to have children."

Anyway, we're just living like this, and it's fine.

Yun Shuyao didn't speak, but tightened her grip on his waist.

She found herself particularly fond of his tone—not a tone of negotiation, but a tone of decision.

She has lived two lives; in her previous life, she worried herself sick and took on too much responsibility.

In this life, she doesn't want to care about anything; she just wants to be a weak woman who is protected without anyone having a chance to intervene.

"Xiao Fang."

"Um?"

"...It's nothing, I just wanted to call you."

Xiao Fang lowered his head and placed a kiss on the top of her head, his lips brushing against her hair, his voice low.

"Silly Yao Yao."

There was a moment of silence.

"But seriously."

Xiao Fang spoke again.

"It's better to be like you."

"I'm too much of a troublemaker. If I raise a kid like me, he'll be causing chaos all over Beijing, and you'll have to worry about him twice as much."

Yun Shuyao thought about that scene and couldn't help but laugh.

She looked up at Xiao Fang, her gaze exceptionally clear in the candlelight.

"Then let's keep looking like you."

"Huh? Why?"

"Someone like you, though you cause trouble, is reliable."

Yun Shuyao's voice was soft, but very earnest.

Xiao Fang looked down at her, the languid look in his eyes slowly fading away, replaced by a rare expression.

He didn't speak, but simply pressed Yun Shuyao back against his chest, resting his chin on her head, and remained motionless for a long time.

This is what he loves most about Yun Shuyao.

No man can resist a woman who trusts him wholeheartedly.

Prince Yi's Mansion.

In the side room, Yun Shuwen stared at the paper on the table, his pen remaining motionless for a long time.

This is an extremely brief document, consisting of only a few lines and vague wording.

The gist is: Yun Shuwen voluntarily lent his old residence, the Zhenguo Duke's Mansion, to a "friend surnamed Zhang" to store his personal belongings.

This document serves as proof.

Looking at these few lines alone, there seems to be no problem.

Depositing personal belongings is a common practice, and it's perfectly acceptable even in court.

But the bottom half of that piece of paper was mostly blank.

Although Yun Shuwen was not particularly intelligent, he grew up in a noble family and was accustomed to the intricacies of various documents and contracts.

Blank space—is a space left for the future.

Today's entry is about depositing personal belongings; tomorrow, a few more strokes might be added, and what's being deposited could be weapons, contraband, or letters treasonous with the enemy.

Below were his signature and fingerprints, written in black and white, leaving no room for denial.

The pen in his hand felt incredibly heavy.

"Young Master Yun?"

The butler stood to the side, speaking respectfully, but his gaze was fixed on his face like a nail.

"His Highness instructed that it's just a matter of signing a document, it won't take you much time."

The Wing King was not present.

From beginning to end, the Wing King never appeared in person.

This made Yun Shuwen even more certain of one thing: the Wing King wanted to absolve himself of all responsibility.

When the incident occurred, it was Yun Shuwen who signed the document.

If nothing goes wrong, Prince Yi will reap the benefits.

He was like the dog pushed to the front, biting people and then taking the beatings for his master.

He gritted his teeth and put the pen down.

His handwriting was crooked and messy, a far cry from his usual style.

He was careful when pressing his fingerprints, only getting a tiny bit of ink on his fingertips.

The fingerprints pressed on the paper were incomplete and blurred together.

The butler frowned, clearly dissatisfied with the hasty signature and blurry handprint.

But in the end, he didn't say anything and put the document away.

When Yun Shuwen came out of the Prince Yi's mansion, his back was soaked with cold sweat.

He walked down the street, the sun shining brightly, yet he felt a chill run through his body.

The Wing King finally started using him.

He should be happy, because it means he has become useful to the Wing King again.

He will not be kicked out, nor will he starve to death.

But he can't be happy right now.

Because the Wing King used him as a weapon in his own way.

The person the knife is pointed at is most likely his blood relative.

He dared not return to the Prince Yi's residence, nor dared he go anywhere else.

The wandering spirits of the deceased lingered until nightfall, finally returning to the empty Zhenguo Duke's Mansion.

The plaque had long been removed, the stone steps at the entrance were covered with withered leaves, and the door hinges creaked and groaned.

He pushed open the gate and went inside. The weeds in the yard rustled in the wind, as if mocking him.

Then he discovered that the butler had already come by.

More than a dozen large wooden crates have appeared in the courtyard, neatly stacked in the main hall, each crate sealed with a seal.

Several unfamiliar servants appeared in the corridor, saying they were sent by the prince to guard the things.

The butler stood in the courtyard, smiling and bowing slightly to him.

"Young Master Yun, the Prince said that these things will be temporarily stored at your residence, and he will come to pick them up in a few days."

These are just ordinary items; you don't need to pay them any attention, and you don't need to touch them on a regular basis.

"No need to do anything"—these four words are said so casually.

But Yun Shuwen understood the true meaning behind it: no moving, no asking questions.

He was treated like a thief in his own home.

Those servants were nominally guarding the box, but in reality, they were also guarding him.

Wherever he went, people were watching him from a distance.

He went back to his room to sleep, and there were two burly men sitting on the veranda, cracking sunflower seeds.

Even when he went to the outhouse, people would peek in from the courtyard gate.

That night, he tossed and turned in bed, his mind filled with those dozen or so boxes.

He told himself not to think about it.

If the Wing King said it was an ordinary object, then it was an ordinary object.

His only way out now is to obediently listen and pretend he knows nothing.

Eat and sleep as usual, and once the Wing King takes the things away, everything will be fine.

But another voice asked him: Do you believe it?

He doesn't believe it.

Who is the Wing King?

He's the kind of person who would even harm his own brother.

If it weren't for Xiao Fang and Yun Shuyao, the Wing King would have already executed the entire Qin family.

Would someone like that keep "ordinary items" in an abandoned duke's mansion?

He pulled the covers over his head and forced himself to close his eyes.

But he couldn't sleep.

His mother's face kept appearing in his mind.

It wasn't that cold, dismissive face he received in the flower hall that day.

It was even earlier, when he was a child, that he had a fever, and his mother sat by his bedside.

I soaked a handkerchief in warm water and wiped his forehead over and over again, talking as I did so.

"Shuwen, don't be afraid, Mother is here, Mother won't leave."

He was delirious with fever at the time, and all he knew was to hold onto his mother's hand tightly.

My mother's hands are warm.

Unlike now, he was huddled up in a cold side room of the Prince Yi's mansion, with not even a servant to give him an extra blanket.

The next morning, Yun Shuwen made a decision.

He started having an upset stomach, or more accurately, he was faking it.

From morning to noon, he went back and forth to the outhouse six or seven times.