Returning to the mansion, Wei Qin first went to his grandfather’s place, then returned to Hanlan Courtyard and spoke with his father about reporting for duty at the Salt Transport Office that day.
Wei Zhongchun was merely a minor deputy envoy at the salt fields and held no sway at the Salt Transport Office. He limped over to his son and offered a few words of advice.
Wei Qin acknowledged each one. He recalled the East Wing Room, where a figure silhouetted by a candlestick had drawn his gaze.
When he had served as a compiler at the Hanlin Academy, returning to Jiang Mansion after duty always meant lights ablaze and lanterns aglow, yet not one lamp had ever been kept for him.
As the young miss of the mansion, Jiang Yinyue had her personal maidservant Hong Mei by her side. The two were like sisters, with endless whispers to share, and she never waited up for him at a specific hour.
Wei Qin stood silently outside the door, one hand frozen in the motion of pushing open the latticed panel, until the figure by the candlestick turned around.
“You’re back.” Jiang Yinyue set down the book in her hands and came forward with a smile, scrutinizing the new official robes on him closely. “They fit quite well.”
Wei Qin stepped over the threshold and casually shut the door behind him. He glanced at the open book on the table and asked, “What are you reading?”
“Nine Chapters Arithmetic Commentary. I borrowed it from a bookshop down the street.”
Jiang Yinyue enjoyed reading, from astronomy and geography to tales of the strange and wondrous. Her intent was not mastery, but broadening her knowledge was always worthwhile.
Wei Qin asked, “Doesn’t staying cooped up at home get boring?”
Jiang Yinyue shook her head. Having just arrived in Yangzhou, she brimmed with curiosity—how could it be boring? Besides, there was Old Master Wei at home, a man with a child’s heart despite his white hair.
She and Old Master Wei had hit it off instantly, chatting through an entire afternoon until his snores rose loudly.
“How was it at the yamen?”
She led Wei Qin to sit by the table, poured water from the pot, and pushed it toward him, ready to listen quietly.
Wei Qin spoke concisely, outlining the key points.
Jiang Yinyue understood. Wei Qin had been appointed by the court as Yangzhou’s salt magistrate, yet without the backing of an imperial envoy’s status, he was bound to face suspicion, wariness, and even targeting from some.
It was guilt from wrongdoing too—everyone knew the salt administration accounts were a massive mess.
She just wondered who all was involved.
“Stay put for now and watch them scramble in chaos. They might expose themselves without a fight.”
Wei Qin did not dwell on the wariness or targeting. He always had his own plans for handling matters, but Jiang Yinyue’s comforting words brought a faint trace of pleasure to his face.
“You… smiled?”
She had never seen Wei Qin smile before. Jiang Yinyue found it novel and leaned over the table, tilting her head up to study the man’s face, shadowed by the lamplight.
A faint curve lingered at the corners of his mouth.
Jiang Yinyue did not see Wei Qin as some rigid man tamed by Confucian rites. His reluctance to smile must stem from childhood experiences—twisted family bonds that hurt him, shackles on his heart, a shield of self-protection.
This smile seemed ordinary, yet it was like a heart sprout breaking through its shackles, blooming toward the light.
“Wei Qin, you should smile more. It looks good—like a young gigolo.”
The subtle smile vanished in an instant. “Have you seen one?”
“There are some at the Brothel Division, but I read about them in storybooks. Don’t believe me? I’ll recite for you: In the wine-soaked, gold-drenched Xianggu Pavilion, a slender man with red lips and white teeth holds a folding fan, his phoenix eyes rippling with autumn waves, every step a sigh… Mmph?”
Jiang Yinyue, chattering away, had her mouth covered by Wei Qin as he came around the table. The two stared at each other, one standing and one seated, just as the candlestick popped with a spark.
Wei Qin’s large hand pressed over the woman’s soft pink lips.
Jiang Yinyue’s eyes curved into laughing crescents, revealing a mischievous glint from deliberately teasing him.
“With your looks, smiling more would let you get the wind when you want wind, get the rain when you want rain.”
Her teasing intent unabated, that pouty little pink mouth opened and closed, brushing repeatedly over the lines in Wei Qin’s palm.
The sensation in his palm was slick and soft, a tingling numbness traveling from the base up his wrist and along his entire arm.
The hand over her mouth tightened unconsciously, as if to stop her bold words, but Wei Qin’s calm eyes grew darker.
“Get the wind when you want wind, get the rain when you want rain?”
Jiang Yinyue nodded vigorously, her almond eyes sparkling brightly, her words muffled. “Smile for me, and I’ll make sure you get the wind when you want wind, get the rain when you want rain.”
Wei Qin did not smile. He gazed intently at the seated woman, deadly serious, while his other hand, hanging at his side, slowly clenched within his sleeve.
In the dead of night, he lay propped on one elbow in his outer robe, reclining against the bedrail, staring fixedly at his sleeping wife. Those phoenix eyes were deeper than during the day.
His palm felt empty without the warmth of her breath and the press of her lips. Self-restraint and propriety faltered in that moment. He crooked a finger to lightly touch her snowy cheek, tracing slowly to the corner of her lips.
No storm, however fierce, could match the impact of her smile.
Vibrant—that was her true self.
Three years had passed. How much of her shattered heart had mended?
The next morning, Jiang Yinyue received a wedding invitation from Old Princess Dowager Xu, a long-time resident of Yangzhou. It invited her to the estate half a month later to celebrate the old princess dowager’s seventieth birthday.
Jiang Yinyue had never met Old Princess Dowager Xu, but the late old madam of Jiang Family had been her childhood friend. With that connection, Jiang Yinyue, as the junior, ought to pay a visit.
Visiting an elder in a strange land for the first time, Jiang Yinyue did not wish to be remiss. She discussed it with her mother-in-law and planned a trip to the market to select a jade ornament as a congratulatory gift.
“Old Princess Dowager Xu? She’s a renowned figure in Yangzhou.” Lady Zhang, listening nearby, clucked her tongue twice and spat out a melon seed shell. “When paying respects to someone like that, either don’t bother, or go all out.”
Lady Gu thought her elder sister-in-law was talking too much. The daughter of Jiang Mansion was still a noble young lady—would she overlook the proprieties?
Since Old Princess Dowager Xu had invited the young couple together, Lady Gu quietly returned to her room, took out a bundle of silk-wrapped banknotes, and slipped them to her daughter-in-law, asking uncertainly, “Is this enough?”
Worried Jiang Yinyue might refuse, the woman gripped her hand tightly. “When you and A-Qin married, we never gave any bride price. We’ve always felt bad about it. Take this money—consider it the bride price.”
Marrying in as a son-in-law differed from taking a wife. It was what some envious folks used to slander Wei Family couple.
They had finally produced a bangyan, only for him to become a live-in son-in-law for a great clan.
Spineless.
But Lady Gu did not think that way and cared not for others’ views. She knew sincerity made days flow smoothly like fine water.
Jiang Yinyue glanced at the denomination of the banknote. She guessed her mother-in-law had converted the bride price from Jiang Clan into this banknote and kept it, waiting for a chance to return it.
“Thank you, Mother.”
“We’re family—don’t stand on ceremony with Mother. Let Miaodie go with you to pick it out. She’s familiar with the place.”
Miaodie was the daughter of a Wei Family gatekeeper and cook, tasked with tending to Second Miss Wei Ying. Lady Gu figured on assigning a maidservant to her daughter-in-law, but that needed discussion with the elder sister-in-law who managed the household.
Though Lady Zhang came from a salt merchant family, their circumstances had not been affluent. She was frugal by habit and had not even assigned a maid to her own daughter.
Jiang Yinyue pocketed the banknote and let Miaodie lead her to several nearby jade shops.
Miaodie was sharp and took Jiang Yinyue only to well-known establishments. The jade ornaments dazzled in variety, but after browsing all day, Jiang Yinyue found none to her liking until she spotted a full green jade ruyi carving.
Miaodie sucked in a cold breath. A complete full green jade ruyi was exorbitantly expensive—truly lavish for a noble lady.
The shopkeeper was equally surprised. “Good eye, madam, but this ruyi is our treasure piece, for display only.”
Jiang Yinyue calculated the days; she was in no rush and could have one replicated.
The shopkeeper shook his head with a smile. “The craftsmanship can be copied, but raw stones are hard to come by. Every piece of jade in the world is unique. Shall the madam take the risk? Note that once you choose a raw stone, no take-backs.”
Miaodie sucked in another cold breath and tugged discreetly at Jiang Yinyue’s sleeve. There was a saying in stone gambling that Miaodie had heard from Old Master Wei years ago: “One cut poor, one cut rich, one cut rags.” Jade an inch thick was hard to spot—what if they lost the bet?
But Jiang Yinyue just smiled serenely, calm amid her amusement.
“Have you decided, madam?”
“Mm.”
The shopkeeper laid out dozens of raw stones carefully on the ground and watched leisurely as the woman bent to select them. From initial casualness, his posture straightened at certain details in her choices.
An expert.
The shopkeeper looked in astonishment at the young woman before him. By her speech and spending, she came from wealth, but even the sons and daughters of bell-and-drum feasting houses rarely mastered this craft.
It was like knowing jade but not raw material!
“This one.” Jiang Yinyue pointed with a fair hand and smiled brightly. “No take-backs. Cut it open.”
During the Qingming Festival, new willow tassels trailed over green steps, fine rain drizzled in the chill, a spring shower bringing warmth.
Roadside vendors wore thin garments, hawking their wares. A cry of “Qingming green plums from Xiao Mountain—hard and sour!” caught the ear of a man in a carriage.
The man lifted the curtain and looked toward the neglected drinks seller.
“Xiao Mountain green plums?”
“Yes, sire, freshly picked not long ago.” The vendor selected a large verdant green plum, trotted up to the ornate carriage, and grinned up at him. “Brew these into wine, and they’ll be perfectly sour-sweet, with rich fragrance and lingering aftertaste. Young master, buy some to please your little sister.”
The young vendor was mouthy with no filter, grinning as he offered the green plum.
The man by the window did not take it right away. As the vendor puzzledly withdrew his hand, the elderly eunuch beside him reached out.
“Quite hard.”
The vendor quickly replied, “For brewing wine, the harder the better.”
The old eunuch tossed a money pouch and jerked his chin. “Load it up.”
The vendor yanked open the pouch, nearly dropping his jaw at the bag of silver taels inside. “T-Too much.”
The old eunuch waved him off, signaling the convoy to move on.
The fine rain wet the sparse curtain by the window. The old eunuch sneaked a peek at the silent Crown Prince by the curtain.
In the man’s hand was a green plum hairpin.
Unclear why His Highness had gone back on his word to buy the hairpin he’d passed over earlier, but its color and form indeed rivaled a fresh green plum—merely miniaturized for a woman’s wear.
“Would Your Highness care to taste one?”
Wei Xichen looked at the large green plum in the old eunuch’s hand. Clear eyes shimmered with faint frost. He spoke flatly, his voice clear and resonant, showing no anger at the eunuch’s presumption. He was calm, a calm tinged with desolation.
How long had it been since the clear-wind, bright-moon Crown Prince last shown true emotion?
From childhood, he was the Heir Apparent laden with expectations: one step forward, three steps planned; ever composed, unflappable. Even in rage, he must lightly snap his foe’s neck with breezy indifference.
His temper had been forged bit by bit in seasoned maturity.
Fu Zhongcai’s hand ached from holding out the green plum. He withdrew it sheepishly and bit into it himself, squinching his face at the sourness. “Good thing Your Highness has no taste for it—way too sour. Seems not fully ripe.”
Old men his age tried to gloss over with banter, but the man opposite suddenly spoke, desolation now laced with indifference.
“Throw them away.”
“Ah?”
“All of them.”
Fu Zhongcai dared not disobey and immediately had the whole basket dumped by the roadside.
As the convoy departed, the lonely basket of green plums by the road gained a veil of misty rain, vanishing from Wei Xichen’s peripheral vision.
He slowly opened the hand holding the hairpin. He did not deliberately discard the green plum hairpin, but at a bumpy pothole, he let it slip from his palm.
The verdant hairpin fell and shattered on impact.
What was there to reminisce? The wood was long carved into a boat; the past was past. Memories troubling the heart were unfit for the Heir Apparent—no room for excuses. Petty affections should not bind him.
The feelings born from guilt were not lovesickness.
Not…
He closed his eyes, letting the fine rain wet his dark lashes.
The carriage jolted along, swaying, but the man feigning sleep in closed-eyed repose sat unmoving as a mountain, as if something trapped his heart.
In a light dream, fine rain fell on a girl’s face like flowing tears.
She looked at him, accusing silently, then turned and donned her wedding gown, stepping into the joyous sedan lifted by clouds and mist.
He watched from afar in disbelief. That willful, spoiled girl did not cry or fuss, not even when he provoked her with talk of an imperial decree marriage. She parted from their youthful bond in the most extreme way.
Wei Xichen opened his eyes amid a violent jolt, struck by an inexplicable sense of loss, unsure if it was the dream’s haze.
A silent farewell, affections shattered beyond mending—old bonds frail as human hearts.
He rubbed his brow, banishing stray thoughts, dismissing it as road weariness breeding nightmares, amplifying long-buried past emotions.
“Faster.”
The coachman cracked his whip at the command, urging the sweat-blooded steed into a galloping sprint.