Now, as she looked at such a good man who secretly liked her and quietly acted on his feelings, it would be a lie to say she wasn’t moved. But just like Zong Zhao, she had no experience either. He wasn’t proactive, and honestly, she wasn’t much better.
"Thank you, your drawing is very good too," Xu Wan replied.
Yet after exchanging these words, silence fell between them again.
Xu Wan began to reflect—something felt off. This was how she usually responded to Jin Cheng, her mother-in-law, the tutors, Cui Zhi, and everyone around her, and it had never seemed strange before. But after saying the same to Zong Zhao, she felt a faint twinge of guilt. Why? What did she have to feel guilty about? She treated him no differently from anyone else…
Shaking off the odd sensation, she blurted out, "I’ll go check on Jin Cheng and the others to see how their reflection essays in the ancestral hall are coming along."
"You—" Zong Zhao suddenly called out to stop her.
Xu Wan paused and turned back. "What about me?"
Zong Zhao seemed to gather every ounce of courage he had. From where he stood, he asked her earnestly, "What kind of husband do you envision?"
Xu Wan was baffled. "My husband is you." What did he mean, what kind? She already had a husband—why would she fantasize about anything else?
Zong Zhao hesitated, but having started, he couldn’t back down now. He pressed on, "I mean, what are your expectations for a husband? I want to know where I might still fall short."
"You’re doing great. I’ve never seen a more perfect husband—you’re practically a role model." Xu Wan gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
If it had been the little troublemaker receiving such praise, he’d have jumped for joy, declaring himself the best. But Zong Zhao didn’t. Not only was he not happy, he seemed even more dejected.
What was going through his mind?
Xu Wan studied him from afar, recalling his subtle, unspoken feelings. A hazy, uncertain thought crossed her mind: Was he asking about her ideal type because he wanted to get closer to her?
At this realization, she turned and walked back to him.
Zong Zhao, receiving no real answer, hung his head in disappointment, as if already planning his next move.
Her heart softened. She stepped closer and said gently, "Actually, there is one thing. You’re doing it now, but a lifetime is long, and I don’t know if you can keep it up forever."
Surprised by her sudden shift, Zong Zhao quickly asked, "What is it?"
Clutching her handkerchief, Xu Wan voiced the thing that weighed most heavily on her heart—the thing she least wanted to bring up: "I will not share my home with prostitutes. I know a lifetime is long, and I know it’s common among officials in the capital—even my brother-in-law, who has such a sterling reputation, does it. I just hope… if you ever take a prostitute as a mistress, don’t bring her into our home."
She lacked the courage to defy the norms of this feudal era. She didn’t dare hope for undivided love or loyalty. All she wanted was a peaceful life—mutual respect was enough, as long as her heart remained untouched. But her home was her last boundary. If she ever faced the same plight her mother had, she wanted a way out.
Zong Zhao stiffened, his fists clenching so tightly it looked like he wanted to kill someone. His heart ached unbearably.
His silence made Xu Wan think he was unwilling to make such an open-ended promise. She backtracked, "Or, if you ever really want me to make room for them, just give me a divorce agreement. I’ll leave with nothing but my own belongings—not a single thing from the estate—"
Before she could finish, a tall shadow enveloped her.
Zong Zhao pulled her into a crushing embrace. Startled by the sudden warmth, Xu Wan froze—then realized he was trembling.
"Wh-what’s wrong?" She was startled. Why had he suddenly lost control ?
Zong Zhao’s body shook as he fought to keep himself from going out and slaughtering someone. Xu Wan had been sinking into grief over her mother’s tragic death, but now it seemed Zong Zhao was even more devastated than she was.
Hesitantly, she patted his back once. When that didn’t feel like enough, she patted him a few more times, smoothing her hand over his back in slow, comforting strokes—just like she did to calm the little troublemaker. "It’s okay, it’s okay," she soothed. "I was just joking. Don’t take it seriously."
Zong Zhao only held her tighter.
Xu Wan yelped, "Hey, you’re squeezing me too hard—I can’t breathe!"
The strange tension shattered instantly. Zong Zhao released her at once, and Xu Wan gasped for air, only then noticing his red-rimmed eyes.
She stretched, bewildered. "I was the one talking about my hypothetical tragic future. Why are you the one taking it so hard?"
Zong Zhao’s lips quivered, but no words came out.
The next moment, he stood and strode to the desk. Xu Wan watched as he ground ink, lifted the brush, wrote, and pressed his thumb into the inkwell before stamping the paper.
His movements were swift, without a trace of hesitation.
Based on what she knew of him, Xu Wan guessed, "Are you writing a pledge because you’re afraid I won’t believe you?"
In this patriarchal society, no man—let alone a high-ranking general and heir to a noble house—would casually write such a promise to his wife. But Zong Zhao was different. Xu Wan was sure of it. He was writing exactly that. He always went above and beyond to make things right for everyone.
Zong Zhao waited for the ink to dry.
But Xu Wan sensed he was also waiting for his own emotions to settle. They stood facing each other—him seated at the desk, her on the other side.
In the height of summer, the ink dried quickly.
Zong Zhao picked up the paper, stood, and handed it to her.
Xu Wan took the document, already bearing his red thumbprint, and read: ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ NoveI(F)ire.net
"I, Zong Zhao, solemnly swear: I will never consort with prostitutes. If I break this oath, I willingly grant a divorce and surrender all my lands, shops, gold, and silver to Xu Wan as compensation."