Spring's Hiding in the Foggy Courtyard

In Kingsport, Savannah and Zachary were the envy of everyone—the picture-perfect couple. He was a ruthless business prodigy; she, a brilliant news anchor. They had been together since their school days, all the way to the altar. Zachary cherished her completely, holding her in the palm of his hand, placing her at the very center of his heart.

Then that beautiful life came to a sudden, screeching halt with the arrival of the spiritual advisor, Angela.

Angela claimed she and Zachary were bound by a predestined love from a past life. She also declared that Savannah’s fate was fundamentally at odds with the fortunes of Zachary’s family. “If you wish for peace and prosperity,” she warned, “Zachary must sever all ties with her. He must never see her again.”

“Superstitious nonsense!” Zachary scoffed. Had Savannah not stopped him, he would have thrown the woman out on the spot.

But no one could have predicted what happened next. Two days later, Jonathan—Zachary’s grandfather, the family patriarch in robust health—was suddenly struck by a severe, mysterious illness. The family scrambled for doctors and remedies, yet his condition only worsened. To make matters worse, their corporation was hit by a massive crisis, its stock price plummeting wildly.

With all other options exhausted, a desperate Zachary went to seek Angela’s so-called “solution to reverse their fortune.”

“You wish to challenge fate itself, Zachary?” Angela’s fingers flew through a series of calculations before she let out a soft, ominous sigh. “Even for me, there are no guarantees. But for you… I’m willing to try.”

No one could have imagined the “solution” she proposed. She demanded that Savannah kneel in the freezing autumn downpour, facing southwest, and bow deeply eighty-one times, her forehead touching the wet pavement.

“Savannah, please… just get through this for me, for Grandpa,” Zachary pleaded, holding her close.

Unable to refuse him, she went out alone into the torrential rain. She prostrated herself eighty-one times until her forehead was split and bloody. The next day, she collapsed with a raging fever. Miraculously, Jonathan’s condition improved, and the corporate crisis was resolved.

From that day on, Zachary and his entire family began treating Angela like an honored guest, hanging on her every word. Meanwhile, Savannah lay alone in a hospital bed, feverish and aching in every muscle. Her “compensation” was a limited-edition handbag.

She was sick for a full week. Zachary didn’t visit her once—all because Angela had advised against it. “Angela says we just need to hold out for forty-nine days,” he told her.

But Savannah’s suffering would extend far beyond those forty-nine days. She had barely been home from the hospital for two days when Jonathan’s health took another sharp turn for the worse.

“Miss Savannah’s fate is simply too strong, too harsh,” Angela lamented, her tone dripping with false pity. Yet every task she set for Savannah was more cruel than the last.

She made Savannah hold a heavy candelabra day and night, praying and repenting for Jonathan’s sake.

The constantly dripping wax burned Savannah’s hands, covering them in blisters—a searing, heart-stopping pain. Zachary’s compensation this time? A priceless antique jade necklace worth millions.

Next, Angela ordered Savannah to crawl on her knees up a punishing 1,999 stone steps to a mountain chapel to pray for a protective blessing.

Savannah fell repeatedly, leaving her battered and bruised. She spent a full month in a wheelchair. Zachary’s reparation? A diamond tiara valued at over a hundred million.

Then, Angela demanded Savannah write daily prayers in her own blood. One day, two days… ten, twenty… Under the guise of challenging fate to rewrite destiny, Angela’s torment grew more intense and relentless.

Savannah was in utter agony, but Zachary’s only response was to tell her to “bear with it a little longer.” Even when she finally contacted an internationally renowned specialist for rare diseases and begged Zachary to take Jonathan for an examination, he flatly refused.

“Angela says Grandpa cannot be moved right now. We’ll discuss check-ups later.”

His words sent a chill straight through Savannah’s heart. This wasn’t the Zachary she knew. He had always been on her side.

Before their marriage, his mother, Jessica, had disliked Savannah for being orphaned and coming from a family whose fortunes had faded. She’d hired a so-called “master” who claimed Savannah’s fate was too harsh—that she had “cursed” her own parents to death, and that anyone close to her would suffer. Jessica tried to force Zachary into a marriage alliance with a wealthy heiress of her choosing. Back then, Zachary had responded by taking a hammer and, right in front of his mother, shattering the master’s ten fingers.

“Since you’re so skilled at divination,” Zachary had sneered, tossing the bloodied hammer aside, “did you foresee this particular calamity befalling you today?”

But now, Angela came first in everything. Throughout Savannah’s torment, Zachary was single-mindedly focused on studying spiritual guidance with her, attending social events by her side. They ate together, went everywhere together, practically attached at the hip.

Naturally, Savannah grew resentful. Zachary dismissed it as irrational jealousy. “The only one I love is you,” he insisted. “I’m only grateful to Angela. She’s using years of her own spiritual cultivation to help us.”

As a news anchor, Savannah’s work pressure was already immense. Coupled with the daily torture, she finally reached her breaking point.

One day, right after finishing her broadcast, Savannah collapsed. Waking in the hospital, she was surprised to find Zachary—whom she hadn’t seen in nearly a month—waiting by her bedside.

“Savannah… you’re pregnant. Sixteen weeks along. Didn’t you notice?”

Zachary was overjoyed, practically vibrating with excitement. “I’m going to be a father!”

Savannah was swept up in his happiness, immersed in the joy of expecting a new life. She failed to notice the feigned pity on Angela’s face, or the sheer dread on the faces of Zachary’s parents.

After being discharged, Savannah ignored Zachary’s protests and returned to work as usual. “I know my own body. Don’t worry,” she assured him.

But just two days later, crippling abdominal cramps gripped her. A torrent of blood gushed from between her legs, unstoppable. Zachary rushed her to the hospital, but it was too late. They couldn’t save the baby.

“The stress from your work led to poor embryonic development… It’s alright. You’re both young. Focus on recuperating. There will be other chances,” the doctor said gently.

The words shattered Savannah. She was convinced the baby’s death was entirely her fault—an immense, crushing guilt overwhelmed her.

She spent sleepless nights weeping, wandering through the house like a ghost. One day, passing by the study, she overheard a conversation between Zachary and his friend.

“…What? You secretly put abortion pills in Savannah’s soup? Zachary, have you lost your mind? Someone as proud as Savannah… if she ever finds out the truth, she’ll divorce you for sure!”