While He Yan was still on the road, he remotely had his home renovated. He not only prepared a child-friendly room for Jiang Rui with a playful design but also set up a game room and added many entertainment devices.
Jiang Rui instantly loved it.
The style of the master bedroom gave Jiang Miao a sense of familiarity. She quickly realized that this room had also been remodeled and that He Yan had deliberately imitated the style of her house on Gita during the renovation.
“The other places haven’t been touched yet; we’ll arrange them after you arrive,” he said. “We’ll decorate it according to your preferences, including this room. Whatever style you like, we can redo it. It’s all up to you.”
He spoke with the same tenderness as he had in Gita. He had always been gentle with Jiang Miao.
Jiang Miao remained noncommittal.
This was only the first day of returning “home,” so He Yan didn’t push Jiang Miao. When a person arrives in a new environment, there is always an adjustment period. He felt content at this stage to simply be able to sleep with Jiang Miao in his arms, in his own home, on his own bed.
Waking up in the middle of the night, he smelled the familiar scent and felt the warmth in his arms. He Yan truly realized he was home.
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Her lover’s face was blurry, and the voice was indistinct, but the pressure and warmth in her palm felt familiar.
Those moments of intimacy were unbelievably wonderful, unmatched by any simulation robot. Jiang Miao often felt like a fish about to drown, the sensation being both wonderful yet helpless, completely out of her control.
The moment she was jolted awake from the highest wave was terrifying.
The room was dim, and the disheveled breath of the man pressing down on her was right by her ear, each sound piercing through her eardrums like thunderclaps exploding inside her skull.
Jiang Miao woke up in an instant, drenched in cold sweat.
She didn’t know who he was.
“Turn on the light!”
The moment Jiang Miao woke up, He Yan sensed her fear—like a tropical rainforest instantly drying up into a desert, her soft body becoming stiff and tense.
Then she shouted for the lights.
Before Jiang Miao had arrived, He Yan had already set up the AI in the house so that she, like him, had full control over the house. As soon as she called out, the lights turned on.
In Jiang Miao’s home, when she called for the lights at night, Xiaona would turn on a soft nightlight, as it was pre-set.
But this wasn’t her home. As a man and a soldier, He Yan, despite his refined appearance, didn’t pay as much attention to such details as Jiang Miao did.
When Jiang Miao called out, the main lights in the room turned on, instantly blinding both of them.
He Yan closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them to see Jiang Miao doing the same. She looked at him without blinking.
After a while, her tense body relaxed. She closed her eyes again and softly said, “Turn off the light.”
The room plunged back into darkness.
This time, however, it was He Yan who became stiff.
Through persistent effort over these days, he had finally managed to share the same bed and sleep with Jiang Miao, but they had not been intimate. Jiang Miao was distant and resistant, and He Yan had always thought she was just still angry.
Until just now.
In the deepest part of Jiang Miao’s mind, her momentary fear, stiffness, and cold sweat—he felt it more deeply than she did.
For so long, the man Jiang Miao had loved with all her heart had always appeared with another man’s face and voice.
Even though He Yan could blindfold Jiang Miao during their first time and avoid turning on the light at night, he could never stop her from looking at that face, smiling happily, or kissing it passionately.
To Jiang Miao, it was a nightmare, wasn’t it?
This wasn’t about whether He Yan could be more handsome, charming, successful, or wealthy than Yan He. This was about happiness built on a false foundation, and waking up felt like falling off a cliff in fear.
Trust was gone, and the sense of security was shattered.
He Yan didn’t need a nightlight because his eyesight was far superior to ordinary people’s. Even in such a dim room, he could see Jiang Miao’s tightly closed eyes and her slightly trembling eyelashes.
She had relaxed, but the remnants of her fear lingered.
He Yan felt like his heart was being squeezed by an iron grip, leaving him unable to breathe.
For the first time, he deeply regretted everything he had done to Jiang Miao, feeling an indescribable pain for the hurt he had caused her.
For the first time, he couldn’t help but think, if back then, when they were at the hospital collecting sperm, he had followed the plan and used Yan He’s sperm, merely helping Yan He and Jiang Miao have a child that had nothing to do with him, would it have spared Jiang Miao from such pain?
But there’s no medicine for regret.
At that time, Jiang Miao’s eyes were full of hope for happiness. That light was too dazzling, too warm, driving away all the negativity and gloom within He Yan.
He Yan couldn’t resist his own greed—he wanted to truly be part of her expectations, as He Yan, not as Yan He’s substitute.
And thus, Jiang Rui was born.
The genes, of course, were not an issue. He Yan hadn’t done a match test with Jiang Miao, but the level of genetic science in Nash far surpassed that of Gita. The intensity of nationwide genetic optimization had left Gita far behind centuries ago.
He Yan had two scientist parents and came from a high-gravity planet. His genetic level was at least as strong as Yan He’s, if not stronger, and Jiang Rui, born from this, was a pleasant surprise to Jiang Miao.
But the essence of the matter wasn’t about being strong enough or good enough.
He Yan lured Jiang Miao to Nash, thinking he could compensate for her in every possible way. Yet he never considered that even if a wound heals without a scar, it doesn’t erase the body’s memory of pain.
Jiang Miao’s pain was still deep, so deep that even with her eyes closed, her eyelashes still trembled.
He Yan pulled out, bracing himself on his arms, and kissed Jiang Miao’s cheek, repeatedly murmuring, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
Finally, the young man buried his face in the crook of her neck, heartbroken, unable to control his sobs: “I’m sorry!”
Jiang Miao covered her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Stop it,” she murmured, as if in a dream. “Stop it…”
Jiang Miao couldn’t remember what else He Yan said after that, only that his arms tightly encircled her waist, pressing her back against his chest.
His body was warm. With her eyes closed, this warmth and embrace were extremely familiar to Jiang Miao.
She fell asleep again, more peacefully than the first half of the night.
When she woke up, it was already broad daylight. No one had disturbed her sleep, not even Jiang Rui.
Jiang Miao stayed in bed for a while, not getting up immediately as she did in the fortress or on the battleship to look for Jiang Rui.
She knew this was He Yan’s house, and He Yan was Jiang Rui’s biological father. This was the destination He Yan wanted to bring Jiang Rui to. Jiang Rui was safe here and wouldn’t suddenly disappear again.
The house AI must have been monitoring her vital signs and knew she was awake because, not long after, He Yan pushed the door open and came in.
“Awake?” he said, smiling at her.
Jiang Miao looked at He Yan’s handsome face and unexpectedly thought of the tears that had soaked her neck the previous night.
She lazily murmured, “Mm.”
He Yan walked over, bent down to tuck the thin blanket around her, and scooped Jiang Miao up, blanket and all.
She let out a soft cry and wrapped her arms around his neck.
He Yan carried her to the floor-to-ceiling window, which opened automatically. Without the light-filtering glass, the sunlight outside was even brighter, slightly dazzling but warmly landing on her exposed shoulders.
Jiang Miao raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sunlight as He Yan stepped outside. Beyond the master bedroom’s floor-to-ceiling glass doors was a large terrace. He Yan set Jiang Miao down on a wicker chair.
She tugged at the thin blanket to cover herself better—her clothes from the night before were nowhere to be found.
As she adjusted the blanket, her eyes wandered off into the distance.
He Yan’s house was built on a highland by the lake, offering a panoramic view of the amethyst-like lake, its surface shimmering under the sunlight.
It wasn’t unusual; the universe was vast, and Jiang Miao had seen rivers and lakes of various colors during her travels. She had even visited a vacation planet named “Milk Star,” where the sea was white like milk.
From the terrace, she could also see He Yan’s neighbors. Each house occupied a large area and was quite distant from the others, indicating a low residential density in this area.
Turning to look in another direction, she saw, in the distance, the silhouettes of tall buildings clustered together like many pencils stuck in the ground.
Below, on the lawn, Jiang Rui was happily chasing a spherical robot, his carefree laughter ringing like silver bells.
Jiang Miao squinted at the spherical robot; it looked exactly like the one Zhang Ya had given her at home.
“W295?” she asked.
“Just a replica,” He Yan said. “I sent the manufacturer a photo of W295 on the way back and had them make one that looks the same.”
As they spoke, a household robot glided over, its top opening to reveal a steaming breakfast, which He Yan placed on a small round table.
It was clearly made by him.
Jiang Miao had woken up late and was indeed hungry, so she didn’t hesitate to start eating.
He Yan had been leaning on the stone railing, smiling as he watched Jiang Rui play on the lawn. When he turned back, he saw that Jiang Miao had already finished the delicate breakfast. He couldn’t help but laugh.
Jiang Miao wiped her hands clean and stood beside He Yan, leaning against the stone railing to watch Jiang Rui.
Jiang Rui seemed to be adapting to the new environment very quickly. Of course, it might also be that Jiang Miao saw her child as perfect in every way. Perhaps all children were like this. Even in unfamiliar places, give them a ball to kick around, and they quickly forget their curiosity and fear, immersing themselves in the joy of play.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if adults could be as carefree as children?
“Miao Miao,” He Yan called to her. “There are some things I need to explain to you.”
He activated the light screen on his wrist’s smart brain: “With your temporary identity, you currently have only one real-name account.”
Jiang Miao knew this. Yesterday, the immigration officers gave her a tracker and set up her temporary identity, crediting her account with 2000 Nash currency units. She was told she would receive this amount monthly until the observation period ended.
This is because during the observation period, naturalized citizens do not have formal citizenship and cannot find official employment. At most, they can only do odd jobs arranged by the immigration office. The government provides this subsidy to ensure they don’t starve.
Because Jiang Miao was a researcher, she received a relatively high amount of 2000 units per month. Ordinary soldiers who were captured and naturalized received only 800 units per month in subsidy.
Jiang Miao had researched Nash’s living conditions on the way. In the Campro star system, wages for the working class ranged from three to eight thousand units. The salary range for white-collar workers was broader, from five thousand to one hundred fifty thousand units.
This was similar to Gita. In the same project team, Jiang Miao’s salary was only lower than Tanaka’s due to the “work experience” coefficient in the salary calculation system, as Tanaka had been working for over twenty more years than Jiang Miao.
Their salaries were ten times that of a lab assistant in the same laboratory.
Higher-tier income data wasn’t publicly available online.
It seemed most naturalized citizens could only rely on subsidies and odd jobs so they would “not starve.”
He Yan’s intention was to discuss these financial matters with Jiang Miao.
“I’ve linked your account to mine, so there are no limits on withdrawals or spending,” He Yan told Jiang Miao. “You don’t need to worry about money.”
Indeed, there was no need to worry if there were no limits… He Yan didn’t hide anything and opened his account details in front of Jiang Miao. Ignoring the investment section, just looking at the “current account” section, Jiang Miao saw a long string of numbers.
“And this is something I organized this morning. Take a look,” He Yan switched the screen to display what looked like a financial statement and pushed it toward Jiang Miao.
She glanced at it. “This is…?”
“My entire fortune, all here.” He Yan, who had never so clearly disclosed his finances to anyone since reaching adulthood, felt a bit embarrassed.
It was quite a substantial fortune.
If it were just He Yan, as a major in the military, even with high mission allowances, reaching this total asset amount would take many more years and a smooth career with continuous promotions.
But He Yan had the support of the Bardock family.
Jiang Miao realized that another major difference between He Yan and Yan He was that Yan He still needed many years of accumulation for social mobility and couldn’t afford interruptions like “being captured by an enemy nation, breaking his career.”
Whereas He Yan, who was equally exceptional, had already stepped into that higher threshold years ahead of Yan He.
This was likely why He Yan dared to say he would take Jiang Miao to “better and farther places” and dared to use taking Jiang Rui as leverage to force Jiang Miao to follow him to Nash.
In He Yan’s mind, he probably believed he could offer Jiang Miao more than Yan He could.
This was just Jiang Miao’s realization, and she did not question He Yan about it. Such questioning was meaningless, and He Yan clearly hadn’t finished speaking.
So Jiang Miao continued to listen.
“There’s no citizenship during the observation period, so you can’t own fixed assets for now,” he said. “So, we’ll have to wait until the observation period ends to transfer everything into your name.”
Jiang Miao was silent for a second, then her tone rose, “Huh?”
He said “everything.”
“It’s just material compensation; it’s not too much,” He Yan’s voice lowered. “Even so, I still want to say…”
Jiang Miao sighed and said, “You said it many times last night.”
He Yan softly asked, “Can I hope for your forgiveness?”
Jiang Miao was silent for a while and then said, “We’ll talk about it when I’m no longer angry.”
This implied there would eventually be a day when she wasn’t angry, which gave hope.
He Yan’s face lit up with a smile.
Since their reunion, this was the first time He Yan had smiled so happily. Being so handsome, his smile could easily captivate anyone.
Jiang Miao was silently reminding herself not to be swayed by his looks when He Yan took her hand and, like an ancient Earth knight, knelt down on one knee before her.
Jiang Miao was stunned.
“Jiang Miao,” He Yan’s eyes, like obsidian, shone brightly with the desire for happiness and hope for the future.
He held her hand tightly, indicating his sincerity and determination.
“After you’re no longer angry,” he said, full of anticipation and earnestness, “please… be my wife.”
Sansukini: I realized that we only have 22 chapters left. 16 more chapters to end the main story and the rest of the chapters are Extras.
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Excuse me, he did what?! I don’t understand how she is simply angry without taking measures. I would’ve probably done something drastic.
Thanks for the chapter!