HBWMA -Chapter 365 Childhood Sweethearts, A Six-Year Promise

What followed was as beautiful as the beginning of any love story. They pledged their love beneath an osmanthus tree, and under the witness of a big yellow dog, they promised to stay together for life.

Shen Zhuang wrote back to his clan, declaring his determination to marry Jiang Xin. But the reply he received was devastating—his father and elder brother had died in battle, and the family was on the brink of collapse.

The main branch of the clan was crumbling, while the collateral branches eyed it like predators. Even the usually kind elders of the family seemed to change overnight. Assassins flooded Huai City. In the end, it was Jiang Xin who risked her life to help him escape.

On the night of their parting, Shen Zhuang made a six-year promise—he swore that within six years, he would return to marry her.

During those six years, Shen Zhuang lived on edge, ever prepared for battle. He transformed from a carefree, idle young master into a calculating and ruthless schemer. Step by step, through careful plotting, he eventually sidelined the collateral branches and seized control of the clan.

At first, he believed that if he climbed high enough, he could do as he pleased. But reality proved a hundred times harsher than he had imagined.

The internal struggles of the clan were merely stepping stones. The true battlefield was the conflict between powerful families. The vast Shen clan could not be upheld by Shen Zhuang alone.

Relatives within the clan knelt and begged him to form a political marriage alliance with the overseas aristocratic Xi family. The Xi family controlled half of the overseas energy bases and was wealthier than nations. Xi Qing, the only daughter of the main branch, held great affection for him. This marriage could secure the Shen clan’s prosperity for a hundred years.

In the sixth year, he broke his promise and chose his family.

By then, Shen Zhuang had become a cold and calculating strategist. He married Xi Qing purely for profit, and he never once stepped into the West Courtyard. He convinced himself that this way, he had not truly betrayed Jiang Xin.

But what he never expected was that in the seventh year, Jiang Xin married a senior fellow from her opera troupe.

When he heard the news, Shen Zhuang lost his mind. He rushed to Huai City at all costs—but Jiang Xin refused to see him.

By then, he possessed immense power. Let alone two old wooden doors, even the governor’s gates of Huai City could not have stopped him. Yet with a single “I won’t see him,” he stood outside the wall and waited the entire night.

It was April again, with endless drizzling rain. The big yellow dog was gone, and the household no longer opened its doors.

After that, every April, he went to the entrance of the alley to see Jiang Xin. He did this for four years.

In the fifth year, Jiang Xin finally agreed to meet him—but she was not alone. Her belly was slightly rounded, already showing signs of pregnancy.

She invited him inside, personally made him a bowl of osmanthus sweet soup, and then told him that their fate had come to an end.

After that, Shen Zhuang never went to Huai City again. The young man who once spent fortunes on opera houses had finally become a worldly schemer chasing power and profit. He wielded life and death in Jinggang, while she slowly aged in a small city.

He had thought their lives would never intersect again. But in the second year after losing Shen Xi, he suddenly received news—Jiang Xin had died.

Memories of their youth surged back. He suddenly wanted to visit Huai City, to see her one last time.

Huai City had changed greatly, but the small house in Houwei Alley behind the bridge still looked the same as in his memories.

This time, no one would invite him in. He could only push the door open himself.

The camellia tree, the swing, the climbing roses—both they and these things had grown old. Yet there were small differences. The walls were covered with childish doodles, and children’s clothes hung in the courtyard.

Shen Zhuang sat beneath the corridor just as he had years ago, gazing at the white camellias. An old man walked in from outside and said Jiang Xin had left a letter for an old acquaintance.

He took the letter and asked about Jiang Xin’s relatives. The old man told him she had only one granddaughter, named Jiang Huashan.

He froze in confusion, staring at the camellia tree in the courtyard.

Why the surname Jiang? Why the name Jiang Huashan?

When he was nineteen, they had confessed their love beneath that very camellia tree. Jiang Xin had said she was an orphan, raised only by her master, and had never known what family meant. She longed to have someone who would never leave her.

He had sworn that he would be that person—not only him, but that they would have children of their own, a large family.

She had smiled and said she believed him. Then, after thinking seriously for a moment, she added:

“If even you can’t be trusted, then I’ll have a child of my own. The child will take my surname, Jiang. It’d be best if it’s a girl, and I’ll name her… Jiang Huashan. She won’t be a Qingyi or a Huadan, and she won’t be trapped in any opera.”

Recalling the past, realization suddenly struck him. Trembling, he opened the letter.

Jiang Xin had written:

—[I told the village head to give this letter to the first person who comes to visit me. I don’t know if it will be you, but I believe it must be you.

In this life, I have waited for you, and I have loved myself. Looking back, I have no regrets left. The only thing I feel guilty about—and cannot let go of—is my little Hua’er.

Because of my moment of stubbornness, there was A-Yu. A-Yu died young, leaving only little Hua’er behind. He relieved me of my loneliness, but the price was that his child slowly withered away, uncared for. My heart cannot find peace.

If it truly is you—my childhood companion, my old rain—can we renew our promise from six years ago?

Treat my little Hua’er well, and it will repay the kindness of that bowl of sweet soup beneath the camellia tree long ago.

Chutang—no lamps are lit in the Red House anymore. People of this era no longer enjoy opera, but some remain trapped in the script for a lifetime, unable to step out. I am one of them. So I do not wish for a single rain in Huaicheng to trap you as well.]

“Chutang” was his courtesy name, known only to those closest to him.

He was already in his twilight years, yet that day he cried like a child.

The old man told him that Jiang Xin had raised the child alone. Her child, too, had died in the Nanwan Campaign—the same battle where Shen Xi fell.

In the six years after Shen Zhuang left, Jiang Xin bore all the rumors and slander by herself. She endured for six years, until news of his marriage finally reached her—only then did she truly give up.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to stay by his side. But in the opera, it is said: a woman formally married is a wife, one who follows a man without ceremony is but a concubine. She had played the role of the noble “qingyi” her whole life—her pride would not allow her to bend.

Yet for the sake of her little Hua’er, she ultimately lowered her head.

Jiang Huashan’s eyes reddened slightly. “So that’s how it was?”

No wonder, in both this life and the last, Grandpa had done everything he could to treat her well.

Because in his heart, everything after the age of nineteen—his marriage, his career, every life choice—had been for the family. The only thing he did purely for himself was loving her well.

Shen Zhuang’s voice was hoarse as he smiled faintly, gently patting her head. “Your grandmother’s lifelong wish was to have a blood relative of her own. Back then, I didn’t immediately put you into the family registry because I was afraid of letting her down.” He paused, his gaze dimming. “Now that you know my story from when I was young… are you disappointed in me?”

Jiang Huashan shook her head. “No. I believe Grandma wasn’t either. I may not understand everything, but I do know one thing—if I were about to die, and had to entrust a child to someone, I would choose the person I trust most.”

Shen Zhuang smiled. “I came today to discuss something with you. Your grandmother didn’t want you to be confined to any one place—not even the Shen family. So when you’re older, after you’ve seen enough of the world, if you still wish to come back and be my granddaughter, I’ll hold a grand ceremony to welcome you into the family.”

“Okay,” Jiang Huashan replied with a smile.

In truth, she had already made her decision. She agreed only to reassure him—that she had indeed thought it through carefully.

Knock, knock—

At that moment, Shen Zhi’s voice sounded from outside the door.

“Old Master, everyone has arrived.”

Shen Zhuang let out a slow breath and stood up. “Let’s go.”

Jiang Huashan followed, slightly puzzled. As the doors to the main hall opened, beneath the corridor outside, the boys stood in black suits and white shirts, while the girls wore wool coats, all turning their gaze toward them.

Shen Zhuang smiled and waved them over. “Since the snow looks so nice today, let’s take a family portrait.”

Shen Qingyu stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking reluctant. “Who takes photos on a snowy day?” Though he said that, his body had already stepped out from under the corridor.

Shen Yijie excitedly dragged Shen Yize along. “I want to stand next to Grandpa!”

Shen Mianzhi pulled Fu Sui’er into the crowd.

Shen Guiling followed with a smile in his eyes, while Shen Lanxi walked at the back, neither warm nor cold.

Hexagonal snowflakes drifted gently down, bringing a perfect close to the final winter of sixteen.