Investing in the Reborn Empress, She Actually Calls Me ‘Husband’
Chapter 241: Zhuangyuanlou Poetry Gathering: Classmate Lis Chuseok Gift

The night in Yunzhou City was unusually vibrant, with countless lights blending into a neon tapestry against the sky, the clouds tinged like the flush of drunkenness. Before heading out, Li Mo went to check on Murong Xiao.

Still as stiff as ever.

Placed in the backyard, he resembled a solemn statue.

"Happy Mid-Autumn Festival, Brother Murong. Don’t say I forgot about you."

Li Mo was nothing if not loyal.

He placed a plate before Murong Xiao, stacked with mooncakes arranged like a pagoda.

Not just loyal, but thoughtful too.

The lakeside tavern was swarming with mosquitoes, so he lit three coils of incense, stuck them in a burner, and set it before Murong Xiao.

Murong Xiao: "....."

Suddenly, he looked positively divine.

"Too bad you’re busy tonight and can’t join the fun. In that case, stay here and bless my endeavors."

Li Mo clasped his hands together and bowed earnestly.

Many townsfolk made offerings today—mountain dwellers prayed to mountain gods, riverside folk to water deities.

He wasn’t particularly devout, but he had a flair for ceremony.

Stepping out of the tavern, he spotted the girl by the lake, gazing absently at the bustling streets. The noise surged around her but never touched her, a perfect embodiment of ethereal detachment.

Only when her eyes landed on a certain young man did they flicker with warmth.

"Where to first?" Li Mo asked.

"Zhuangyuan Tower."

Ying Bing tied up her hair.

During dinner, she’d overheard the lively chatter about Zhuangyuan Tower. The market there was Yunzhou’s liveliest, lined with stalls selling trinkets, all accessible via Yulong Street.

She hadn’t decided what to give Li Mo yet.

Nor did she know what couples did on dates.

But that was fine. She could always "see how the pigs run."

"Alright."

They stepped into the street, and the splendor of a thriving era enveloped them.

Ying Bing studied the stalls with newfound focus, her eyes lingering on trinkets.

Li Mo, familiar with every vendor on Yulong Street, paid them little mind...

His gaze kept drifting to Ying Bing. She’d changed into a shorter dress after dinner, revealing slender, pale calves. Her dark hair was tied with a red ribbon, her jade-like face radiant enough to eclipse the moon.

Elegant, aloof—standing beside her was intimidating.

But Li Mo’s mind flashed to her first attempt at cooking, when she’d smeared her face like a messy kitten.

Noticing his amused stare, Ying Bing recalled the couples they’d passed, all chatting and laughing.

"...The moon is beautiful tonight," Ying Bing said.

"It is," Li Mo agreed, eyes still fixed on her.

"......"

Ying Bing didn’t know how to respond.

You didn’t even glance at it, yet you answer so decisively.

Silence settled between them.

Yet beneath the dazzling lanterns, Ying Bing felt oddly at peace.

Saying nothing was... comfortable.

Perhaps this was what it meant to go with the flow.

Speak if you wish, stay silent if you don’t—no awkwardness, even in wordlessness.

Soon, they reached Zhuangyuan Tower, where the crowd was even thicker.

The eight-story tower loomed over the surrounding pavilions, surrounded by layers of people, their voices a downpour of excitement.

"What’s going on here?"

Li Mo scanned the crowd and spotted familiar faces—the Three Heroes of Hengyun, who’d visited him earlier that day.

Wu Chushu wasn’t alone. A well-dressed young lady, likely from a wealthy family, stood beside him.

He was speaking with smug confidence, as if he had everything under control.

Bai Jinghong and Cao Mu, meanwhile, were shooting him death glares.

So this was why the bastard had invited them to the lantern festival.

He’d brought a date!

No honor among bros.

"What are you all discussing?" Li Mo interjected.

"......"

Wu Chushu’s smile vanished.

Bad memories resurfaced.

The smiles didn’t disappear—they just migrated to Bai Jinghong and Cao Mu’s faces.

"I, uh, brought Miss She to the poetry contest at Zhuangyuan Tower," Wu Chushu coughed, then gestured to the woman beside him.

"This is—"

"The Wife-Luck Battle Soul!" Miss She blurted.

Li Mo: "......"

Can’t we pay to change the Hidden Dragon Ranking’s descriptions?

Take a bribe or something.

He changed the subject. "What’s this poetry contest about?"

Eager to impress, Wu Chushu launched into an explanation.

Li Mo got the gist.

Legend had it that a swordsman from Yunzhou, peerless in both blade and verse, once aced the imperial exams, earning the title of Zhuangyuan (top scholar). But at the celebratory banquet, drunk, he penned a poem criticizing the court, angering the late emperor, who stripped him of the title.

So he quit officialdom and built this tower upon returning to Yunzhou.

"Every lantern festival, they hold a poetry contest here. Answer correctly, and you win prizes."

"This year’s prize is a jade hairpin. Quite exquisite."

Wu Chushu’s smile returned.

As a lifelong show-off (in his own eyes), he fancied his literary skills.

Zhuangyuan Tower was his chosen stage...

"Brother Chushu, I really want the contest prize~" Miss She cooed.

Bai Jinghong and Cao Mu trembled with rage, fists clenched. What nonsense! What absolute nonsense!

"By the way, Young Master Li, why are you out alone?"

"Don’t tell me..."

Seeing Li Mo solo, the two felt slightly consoled.

At least they weren’t the only ones suffering.

But then Ying Bing reappeared, holding a lantern. She wasn’t just attending the festival—she was a celestial being gracing the mortal realm.

Perhaps due to the crowd, she stood unusually close to Li Mo.

Bai Jinghong: "..."

Cao Mu: "..."

They exchanged a glance. Should’ve just rotted in Sword City. Why’d they have to come here?

"Ice block."

Li Mo suddenly reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed skin like satin, warm as jade.

"Hm?"

"Your hair keeps coming undone."

"The ribbon’s a bit loose."

Ying Bing was momentarily dazed, then nodded.

Her distraction wasn’t just from the lively scene—it was the past flooding back.

This time last life, where had she been?

Probably standing atop the lofty Cassia Palace, watching the mortal world ebb and flow.

She knew all too well the chill of solitude.

Yet, bound by vows of detachment, she’d never stepped into the red dust.

"Then... how about I get you a hairpin for Mid-Autumn Festival?"

Li Mo’s voice pulled her back.

Ying Bing lowered her gaze, studying the boy who’d led her into this world. A faint smile curled her lips, giving form to the moon’s gentle glow.

The crowd around them froze, stupefied.

Even Miss She gaped, forgetting to pout.

"Okay."

"......"

Li Mo was the one stunned now.

He’d been racking his brain, trying to recall a poem to plagiarize for clout.

But seeing that smile, he didn’t need to.

A verse—one he remembered but not its author—rose to mind.