Hey everyone! ?? If you love adorable and unique items, check out my Etsy shop, AdorableThingsByNoen! ?? Every purchase means a lot, and I truly appreciate your support!

  And if you enjoy my transtions and want to support me directly, I’ve also created a Patreon! You can now find me at patreon.com/Xiaobai_xoxo. Every little bit helps me keep the stories flowing! ??

  Even a like, follow, or share means the world to me! Thank you so much for your love and support! I know seeing this every time I update a novel might get a bit repetitive, but this is my little side hustle, and I’m so grateful to have you all on this journey with me ???

  ___

  Ji Ping’an closed her eyes briefly, calming herself. “Probably just low blood sugar.”

  “Low blood sugar?” Song Huaiyu asked.

  “It means the body’s cking vita—nutrients. Eating something sweet usually helps,” she expined.

  Song Huaiyu had her sit and rest.

  A while ter, he came back carrying some packaged pastries. “Eat a little first. Once you're feeling better and back home, you can have something nicer.”

  “Mm, thank you, Cousin Huaiyu.”

  Ji Ping’an unfolded the wrapper and found delicate lotus flower pastries inside. She began nibbling on them.

  Song Huaiyu pced his hand on the edge of the table, next to it, several sugar candies appeared.

  “They were selling them along the way,” he said casually.

  “Mm.” Ji Ping’an unwrapped one and popped it into her mouth. It was sweet and tangy, with a citrusy orange fvor.

  That’s the thing about low blood sugar—it comes on strong, but once you replenish with something sweet, it passes quickly.

  Having stayed in the prison for days, Ji Ping’an was desperate for a hot bath and had no interest in lingering at Kaifeng Prefecture any longer. She rose to her feet and gently urged Song Huaiyu to take her home.

  He agreed softly, and the two walked one behind the other toward the gate.

  Song Huaiyu had already sent word to Musheng, so the carriage was waiting outside the main entrance.

  Just as Ji Ping’an reached the door, the carriage curtain lifted and Dongchun hurried down from the cart, eyes red and swollen from another round of crying.

  Dongchun ran to her side and supported her. “Miss, you’re finally out. I’ve been worried to death these past few days.”

  “You should thank Cousin Huaiyu for uncovering the truth.”

  Saying this, Ji Ping’an turned to bid farewell to Song Huaiyu.

  “Don’t look back,” he said with a faint smile. “When you leave a prison, don’t look over your shoulder—it means you’re not walking backward into the past.”

  “I understand.”

  Ji Ping’an didn’t turn around again and boarded the carriage with Dongchun.

  The carriage quickly returned to the Song residence. As soon as Ji Ping’an stepped down, Song Zhiyin appeared with Taoxiang and some servants, bringing over a small fire basin.

  She pointed at it with a bright grin. “Come on, Cousin—three steps over the fire. First step to sweep away filth, second to banish evil, third to clear misfortune. After this, no more bad luck—only good fortune!”

  “Alright,” Ji Ping’an said, stepping over the fmes three times as instructed.

  Dongchun stood to the side, frowning. Miss Song was truly thick-skinned. Not long ago, she’d joined forces with the eldest young master and his wife to forcibly seize her mistress’s seal, even going so far as to torture her. Now she acted like nothing had happened.

  When the fire ritual was over, Song Zhiyin ughed cheerfully and led Ji Ping’an into the residence.

  At the threshold of Ji Ping’an’s courtyard, Song Zhiyin stopped her again before she could step over the doorway.

  Just then, Song Zhishu approached with Bilu in tow, who carried a basin of hot water infused with pomelo leaves.

  These were all traditional cleansing rituals—stepping over fire to ward off misfortune, washing with pomelo leaves to rinse away bad luck and welcome fortune.

  Ji Ping’an extended her hands and gave them a symbolic rinse. The ceremony was officially complete.

  Song Zhiyin cpped, signaling the servants to bring out the food. She’d already eaten herself, so she didn’t linger—just said a few warm words to Ji Ping’an, gave Dongchun a warning gnce, and left.

  (Transtor Xiaobai: IDGAF, I would snitch if I were Dongchun.)

  Song Zhishu looked like she had something to say to her sister, and quickly followed her out.

  “Third Sister, wait for me!” Song Zhishu hurried to catch up with Song Zhiyin. Song Zhiyin stopped, lowered her eyes slightly, and gnced at her. “What is it?”

  “Third Sister,” Song Zhishu looked at her aggrievedly, “that hairpin you took at the Princess's manor st time—you haven’t returned it to me.”

  Song Zhiyin raised an eyebrow. “I helped you, and now you’re asking me for the hairpin?”

  “That hairpin was borrowed from our cousin,” Song Zhishu said, biting her lip. “We agreed I’d return it after the birthday banquet.”

  “Oh?” Song Zhiyin said zily, “The banquet’s long over. Funny you’re only bringing it up now, right after she’s been released from prison. What, were you pnning to never return it if she didn’t make it out?”

  Song Zhishu’s face went pale. “That’s not it—I was too worried about her at the time, I simply forgot.”

  “Then if it’s not your hairpin,” Song Zhiyin smirked, “what right do you have to ask for it?”

  With that, she turned and walked off.

  Song Zhishu was fuming. She turned to Bilu and cried, “Isn’t this shameless?”

  “Miss, don’t be upset,” Bilu soothed. “How about we return the other items we still have first?”

  “But what if she asks about the hairpin? What am I supposed to say—that Third Sister snatched it and won’t give it back? Ugh, that would be mortifying.” Song Zhishu pouted, then sighed. “Forget it. I’ll return everything together once I get the hairpin back.”

  …

  After Song Zhiyin and Song Zhishu left, Ji Ping’an quickly had Dongchun shut the door. She grabbed her chopsticks and began devouring the food with great gusto.

  Heavens knew how hard it had been—being a woman who used to eat stir-fried noodles while walking to css, hair tied in a messy ponytail, now pretending to be elegant and refined, enduring all those suffocating etiquette rules.

  Why must people eat in dainty little bites? Were they never in a rush?

  In the hospital, every meal felt like going into battle.

  Watching Ji Ping’an gobble food like a bandit, Dongchun was stunned. She quickly brought over some tea. “Miss, slow down! You’ll choke.”

  “Mmmf… I know…” Ji Ping’an stuffed a drumstick into her mouth.

  Even though Song Huaiyu had looked after her in prison, he was still a noble-born son of a prestigious family—he had no idea what real food was.

  She said she wanted soup noodles, and he brought her a bowl of pin broth.

  Lunch and dinner were all light, delicately pted gourmet dishes.

  Each time she chewed on those bnd, health-conscious meals, feeling the will to live slowly drain away, all she could think about was spicy hot pot, skewers, crayfish, or duck blood vermicelli soup.

  Finally, she was full and satisfied.

  Ji Ping’an leaned back zily in her chair.

  Yes—this kind of mundane, indulgent life was far more her style.

  Etiquette, refinement, health food, dylike manners… it was all suffocating.

  She let out a deep breath.

  Hmm, she was starting to smell.

  “Dongchun, is there hot water?” she asked.

  Dongchun smiled. “There is. I had the maids start heating it the moment we got back. It should be ready now. Would you like a bath right away?”

  Ji Ping’an nodded.

  Dongchun hurried out to have the bath and hot water prepared.

  A little while ter, she returned to say everything was ready, and Ji Ping’an headed into the inner chamber.

  It had been days since she st bathed. The moment she stepped into the hot water, her whole body rexed.

  Dongchun rolled up her sleeves to scrub Ji Ping’an’s back.

  Ji Ping’an wasn’t used to being touched and sat up. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a bruise on Dongchun’s arm. “What happened?”

  Dongchun quickly pulled her sleeve down.

  She’d been careful—when they beat her, they’d deliberately left the forearm untouched, so she could roll her sleeves without revealing anything. But with the scrubbing motion, part of the wound was exposed.

  “I…” Dongchun’s eyes darted evasively.

  “Was it the Song family?” Ji Ping’an asked sharply. “Song Zhiyin?”

  “No, not Third Miss!” Dongchun cried, flustered. Honestly, she hadn’t meant to hide it. It was just that her mistress had just gotten out of prison, was still ill, and had suffered so much already—she didn’t want to burden her further.

  “Miss, I was pnning to tell you in a few days. The Song family… they’re not good people. They tried to take the Ji family’s seal. We have to be careful going forward.”

  This silly girl—still only worried about the seal.

  Ji Ping’an narrowed her eyes. “Who exactly did it?”