After Transmigrating into a Book, I Accidentally Won the Heart of the Miaojiang Youth Chapter 141

In the eyes of outsiders, Ninth was an irreverent country bumpkin from Miaojiang, while Chu'he was a wealthy young lady from the water towns of Jiangnan. Their pairing seed utterly incongruous.

Yet, more often than not, the bond between them was the envy of many.

To put it in more modern terms, they were perfectly in sync.

For instance, with just a glance from Chu'he, Ninth would know she wanted to kiss him.

Or if she shot him a glare, he’d imdiately understand she was in the mood for so playful marital antics.

And if we look further back, there was that ti in the woods outside Yu Sanniang’s inn, when he tricked her into calling out his na, claiming it would save her life in a dangerous situation.

She believed him and called his na.

The mont Ninth appeared, as the malevolent spirits trembled with excitent, she realized his na had been a deliberate exposure—she was now the perfect weakness to exploit against him.

Yet, even as Chu'he hurled venomous words at him, Ninth remained unshaken, stepping steadily into the trap set by the spirits, unwavering as he declared, "I know you like ."

Often, no words were needed for them to understand each other’s hearts. This kind of connection was sothing many longed for but could never attain.

The lodious sound of a flute echoed through the twilight, the shadows of trees swaying gently, their dappled light falling upon the white-haired youth with lowered eyes.

The evening breeze carried the distant chirping of insects, and the golden flecks of light slid down his long lashes, staining his robes with a soft, mottled glow.

Chu'he sat beside him on the tree branch, her gaze lingering on his profile as she lost herself in thought.

It might have started long, long ago—perhaps the mont she learned he had planted the "lovebird gu" for her, or when he ignored all threats to approach her in the woods, or maybe even earlier, back in the Miaojiang dicine caves, when she accepted his first stead bun…

She had always felt it—how incredibly lucky she was to have captured such a wonderful young man.

As the flute’s lody faded, the youth opened his gem-like eyes and extended a hand. A sparrow alighted on his fingertip, tilting its head and chirping softly.

With a gentle smile, he presented the bird to Chu'he, his gaze shimring with adoration, like a devout follower offering a treasure.

"Ah’he, look."

Chu'he stroked the sparrow’s head, and the little bird, unafraid of humans, cooed in response.

She laughed.

Ninth tilted his head. "Do you like it?"

Chu'he nodded. "I do."

"Am I amazing?"

With exaggerated seriousness, she nodded again. "Amazing."

His vanity satisfied, Ninth leaned closer, pressing his forehead lightly against hers, his voice laced with pride. "No one else can do this—not that so-called 'great hero' or that 'sword saint' or whatever."

Chu'he sighed. "Why must you always compete with Brother Fang?"

"That old man’s still unmarried at his age. Sothing’s not right."

Chu'he gave him a look. "Brother Fang is devoted to the world, with no mind for romance."

"Pretty words. If I, young as I am, can get married, and he can’t—is it really by choice? Or is it because no one wants him?"

Chu'he was speechless.

She knew plenty of won admired Fang Songhe—at least one in her own household did.

"Regardless, Brother Fang has helped us many tis. Ninth, you should treat him better."

Ninth muttered, "I’ve even planned to turn him into a puppet after he dies of old age, preserving his body. Isn’t that good enough?"

"...No. When the ti cos, let him rest in peace."

Ninth humd noncommittally, his attention shifting as the sparrow flew away, leaving them in silence once more.

His eyes lingered on the speck of light dancing on her lips, his own lips pressing together slightly.

As always, a single glance was enough for them to know what the other wanted.

Chu'he quickly covered his mouth. "We agreed to wait for Brother Fang’s return. No distractions."

Ninth’s expression fell.

The Li Family’s estate was heavily guarded, but Fang Songhe moved through it like a shadow, his martial prowess rendering the defenses aningless.

Following a flying insect, he darted across rooftops, circling the Li Mansion again and again as the insect led him in loops.

Just as Fang Songhe began suspecting the bug was toying with him, it finally settled on a roof tile.

Quietly, he lifted the tile and peered inside.

Below was a small storage kitchen, seemingly unused, though hidden rooms couldn’t be ruled out.

Fang Songhe descended gracefully, scanning the dusty space.

Soon, footsteps approached.

With a light step, he leapt onto the rafters, concealing himself.

"Miss, why must we cook for him ourselves? Couldn’t the kitchen staff handle it?"

"Absolutely not. They track every bite I eat. If I suddenly ask for an extra bowl of rice, my father would grow suspicious."

"But, Miss—"

"Enough! Keep arguing, and I’ll dock your monthly pay!"

The maid grumbled, "You say that four or five tis a day, yet you deduct ten taels only to reward fifteen. The threat’s lost its edge."

Li Furong glared.

The maid clamped her mouth shut.

Sneaking inside, they locked the door behind them, surveying the kitchen’s tools and ingredients with uncertainty.

Li Furong frowned. "How do you make congee?"

The maid hesitated. "Start a fire… first?"

"Then start the fire," Li Furong ordered.

The maid crouched awkwardly by the stove, clumsily stacking firewood before lighting it with a flint.

Soon, ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‍a cacophony of clattering erupted—

A pot nearly crashed to the floor, a bowl almost plunged into the pot, and after much struggle, rice finally made it in. Wiping sweat from her brow, Li Furong exhaled in relief.

From the rafters, Fang Songhe watched with a mix of pity and amusent. He considered himself a decent cook, but this young lady’s culinary skills were… uniquely untad.

Li Furong sighed. "Lately, Father’s been out early and back late for the rchant guild’s affairs. And my brother—always buried in books, refusing to see . I’m starting to feel invisible in this house."

The maid, her face smudged with soot, looked up. "I heard the Chu family’s already sent out wedding invitations. Miss Chu'he’s getting married in half a month."

Li Furong banged the pot in frustration. "What’s so great about marriage?"

The maid blinked. "Don’t you want to find a good husband, Miss?"

"Well, I do," Li Furong admitted dreamily. "I’d want soone like my brother. Pity he’s my brother. No way around that."

The maid gasped. "Miss! Don’t let anyone hear such jokes!"

Li Furong’s ideal man was Li Huaijin. Catching herself, she pursed her lips and fell silent.