After Being Expelled From Home, I Was Married Back
逐出家門後，我又被娶了回去
Synopsis
Qi Zhinian had known from a very young age that his existence was awkward. Born and raised in the Duke of Yingguo’s residence, he was draped in wealth and status, yet he shared no blood relation with the head of the house. It was all because, sixteen years ago, his mother had leveraged an old romance and shamelessly forced herself onto the Duke of Yingguo, Qi Huai.
Hailed as the most elegant man in history and a true gentleman of his era, Qi Huai never made things difficult for the mother and son, but he also refused to ever lay eyes on them.
This did nothing to dampen Qi Zhinian’s deep admiration. Though he had never met Qi Huai, he couldn’t help but idolize and watch over him. He studied diligently, disciplined himself strictly, and yearned—craving even the tiniest shred of acknowledgment from Qi Huai.
It wasn’t until the falsehood of the past was exposed, and he and his mother were cast out of the household together, that he still failed to catch a single glimpse of Qi Huai.
Everyone knew that the Duke of Yingguo, Qi Huai, had poor judgment of character and had become the capital’s ultimate cuckold, raising another man’s son for sixteen years for free… what a pitiful soul.
Fortunately, heaven has eyes; the two freeloading burdens were finally kicked out. Who in the entire capital couldn’t help but cheer with satisfaction?
Faced with all kinds of gossip, Qi Huai remained indifferent. Yet, during a bustling day in the market streets, he caught sight of a pretty little fellow.
The little fellow looked like a pampered young master from a wealthy household, yet he was dressed in rags, looking utterly disheveled, and tightly cradling a bamboo basket filled with papers like it was a precious treasure.
Pitiful yet adorable.
The wind blew, and the papers scattered across the ground. Looking at that beautiful little figure, Qi Huai couldn’t help raising an eyebrow and letting out a soft click of his tongue.
He dismounted from his horse, stepped forward, picked up the papers, handed them to the youth, and smiled faintly, “Nice handwriting.”
In a snow-covered plum blossom grove, inside an octagonal pavilion, amid the gentle wisps of tea steam and smoke, Qi Zhinian sat upright in white robes and dark hair, his brush moving incessantly.
Someone approached from behind, a broad, towering frame enveloping him as large hands closed over the youth’s slender fingers, “Shall I teach you to use my handwriting to write my name?”
Qi Zhinian couldn’t help trembling slightly, instinctively recalling the secret feelings he had harbored for all these years. A giant blot of ink fell onto the paper, staining a massive patch.
“Okay.”