Nonsense! She’s Not a Bad Woman! - Chapter 32

Qiao Wanyan’s wound hadn’t healed yet, and the slap she just gave him made her own arm ache terribly.

“Forget being a concubine—even if you knelt down and begged me to be your wife, I wouldn’t agree. My wound was treated by myself, it has nothing to do with you. Remember that.”

Jiang Qiyun laughed in anger. “Me, kneel and beg you to be my wife? Do you think I want to marry you? I only said that because I’ve seen your body, and as a man I ought to take responsibility. Otherwise, do you think I’d covet you?”

This domineering madwoman—if she truly entered his household, she’d probably slap him every three days and cause chaos every two.

Qiao Wanyan raised her hand again and slapped him once more. This time, in her fury, she flung her arm out recklessly, tugging at her wound. Pain lanced through her shoulder and tears spilled down uncontrollably.

Crystal-clear tears rolled down her cheeks, fragile and pitiful. Jiang Qiyun’s rising anger scattered in an instant.

“You hit me and I didn’t cry. Why are you crying?”

“You claim you’ve seen my body? Say that again clearly! All you saw was my shoulder. You look like some backwater bumpkin who’s never seen the world!”

Jiang Qiyun’s face turned scarlet with rage. He shot to his feet. “If it weren’t for the fact I don’t hit women, you would’ve died by my hand already!”

Qiao Wanyan suddenly reached out and twisted his calf hard. Jiang Qiyun yelped in pain and jumped back.

“Get lost!”

But Jiang Qiyun didn’t leave. Instead, he sat down again, about half a zhang away. “Why should I get lost? I found this place. If anyone should leave, it’s you. You don’t want to marry me? Then I’ll marry you just to spite you! I refuse to let you have your way!”

Qiao Wanyan bit her lip, furious to the point of tears.

Her sobs fell like strings of pearls scattering to the ground, one after another. In plain mourning clothes, delicate and pitiful, her crying made her look even more heartbreakingly fragile.

Jiang Qiyun panicked, hurried to her side, and offered a handkerchief. “Why are you crying? I didn’t even say anything that harsh. I saw your shoulder, so of course I’ll take responsibility.”

Qiao Wanyan sneered, twisting his arm with all her strength. Jiang Qiyun howled again and staggered back, glaring at her. “You fight dirty!”

Qiao Wanyan gave him a disdainful look. “Idiot.”

“I’ll say it one last time—the arrow wound was treated by me, not you. If you dare to spread rumors or return to the capital to propose marriage, I’ll kill Qiao Yihuan.”

Jiang Qiyun blurted out, “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Why wouldn’t I? But killing her would be too merciful. I’ll marry her off to the Minister of Rites. He already has over thirty concubines. His wife just died last month—it’d be perfect to give him another main wife.”

Jiang Qiyun’s face darkened with fury. That Minister of Rites—four wives had already died, and his back courtyard saw concubines carried out in shrouds every few days.

If Sister Yihuan became his wife, wouldn’t that be condemning her to torture and death?

“You vicious woman!”

“Then shut that mouth of yours if you’re so afraid.”

Jiang Qiyun gave a cold snort. “Perfect! You think I’m dying to marry you?”

Qiao Wanyan ignored him, lightly pressing the wound on her shoulder. It still hurt so much.

This suffering—she would return it all to Qiao Yihuan, one day.

She didn’t sleep a wink that night. The quieter it got, the more the pain in her shoulder stood out.

The next morning, when Jiang Qiyun awoke and saw her leaning against a wooden post, he swallowed the mocking words that rose to his lips.

The daylight made it clearer than ever—her face was pale to the point of sickly, her fine brows drawn together, as though she were enduring a torment beyond words.

She must not have slept at all last night, unable to escape the pain.

Jiang Qiyun left without a word. The broken, drafty door creaked open and shut again. Qiao Wanyan didn’t even spare it a glance.

In her condition, there was no way she could walk out. With snow piled deep outside, the freezing cold, and her wounds still raw, she could only wait for someone to come save her.

Even if no one else came, Lu Jinye would. She wasn’t worried about dying here.

Her eyes lowered to the dwindling fire. She tossed in a few pieces of wood, and the flames crackled softly.

When Jiang Qiyun returned, the first thing he saw was her pitiful gaze fixed on the dead embers, as if confused why the fire had gone out—though she had clearly added wood.

“What are you doing?” Jiang Qiyun walked over, glanced at the damp, half-soaked firewood, and instantly understood.

“My lady, do you not have a shred of common sense? Wet wood can’t burn!”

Qiao Wanyan remained silent.

Jiang Qiyun sighed deeply, utterly resigned.

This woman couldn’t survive a day without someone waiting on her hand and foot. Proud, willful, vicious, and arrogant—yet here he was, stuck in this wretched place with her, sharing life and death.

He rekindled the fire, and warmth slowly returned to the shabby hut.

After a whole night of drying, his cloak was warm again. Looking at her fragile figure, he tossed it over her with irritation.

“Hiss—” Qiao Wanyan sucked in a sharp breath of pain.

Startled, Jiang Qiyun quickly snatched the cloak back, bracing himself for her to lash out at him for his carelessness. But after waiting for a while, she said nothing.

Surprised, he carefully draped the cloak over her shoulders once more.

Qiao Wanyan spoke lazily, “See? Didn’t I say you were blind?”

Jiang Qiyun: “…”

Predictable, yet somehow more infuriating for being delayed.

Whoever ended up marrying this woman would truly have eight lifetimes of bad luck!

“Fine, a real man doesn’t bicker with women. I won’t stoop to your level. I’m going to roast fish. You can sit there and smell it.”

He had just caught two small fish by the river.

“I want both,” Qiao Wanyan said lightly.

Jiang Qiyun gave a cold laugh. But she continued, her tone unhurried, “If you don’t give them to me, I’ll send your dear Sister Yihuan to the Minister of Rites as his new wife.”

Jiang Qiyun nearly exploded. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll kill you? There’s no one here but us! If I end your life, no one will ever know. Later I can simply say you died of your wounds!”

Qiao Wanyan shot him a glance, her expression openly mocking. She stretched her neck, voice laced with challenge. “Go on then. Kill me.”

If he really wanted her dead, he would’ve done it long ago. Why let her anger him this much first?

“Fine! Rot here by yourself. I’ll find my own way out!”

Face dark, Jiang Qiyun stormed out, slamming the door so hard it nearly came off its hinges.

Silence fell inside the hut. Qiao Wanyan wasn’t the least bit worried. She eyed the two fish on the ground, hesitated, but in the end endured her hunger.

Slimy, stinking things—just touching them would leave her hands reeking, and without soap beans, the smell would never wash off.

About the time it takes for one stick of incense to burn, the door creaked open again.

Jiang Qiyun stumbled inside, frozen stiff, his hands and feet nearly numb. He had left her his only cloak in a fit of temper, storming off without a thought.

But now, returning to the hut, he looked toward the fire where Qiao Wanyan had been resting—

She was gone.

Jiang Qiyun’s heart lurched violently. She’d vanished!