In the small courtyard, two graceful figures faced each other. One tilted her umbrella toward the other.
Returning peach for plum, give as good as gotten—Jiang Yinyue said directly, “Once today’s matters are settled, would the County Princess care to find a quiet place for tea with me?”
“Isn’t this place quiet enough?” Cui Shihan alluded with a teasing lilt. “And there’s the lingering fragrance of Green Willow Spring.”
“Not enough. For congenial talk, true serenity brings it out.”
Cui Shihan was always straightforward. She pouted, shrugged, and accepted Jiang Yinyue’s invitation.
Before parting, Jiang Yinyue asked a servant from the residence to pass a message to Wei Qin that she and the Huai Jin County Princess were leaving ahead.
In the rain-silent waterside pavilion, Wei Xichen stood by the open window, staring at the Ge Kiln teacup Jiang Yinyue had used. Its glaze was like congealed fat, fine and lustrous, with a smudge of rouge lip print remaining.
The old eunuch climbed the spiral stairs to the man. “Your Highness, the historian Gong Fei retired last winter and returned to his home in Yangzhou. He occasionally tells stories in teahouses and taverns about the wild histories of officials and nobles.”
Wei Xichen still stared at the lip print, responding with an indifferent hum, showing no reaction.
Harmless enough; let him be.
Fu Zhongcai glanced timidly, then stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Lately, he’s been eagerly recounting the Yide Empress’s virtuous deeds before her passing and even wrote a short biography—it’s no longer mere wild history.”
Wei Xichen’s gentle eyes narrowed slightly.
“Where is he?”
“He has left Xu Mansion.”
Fine rain unrelenting, Cui Shihan took the reins handed by a groom from the residence as she exited Xu Mansion. She nodded her chin at Jiang Yinyue following closely. “Riding in the rain—sorry to trouble you, lady.”
After the long journey from the Capital City to Yangzhou, whatever delicacy Jiang Yinyue had left had vanished into open-mindedness. “Riding in the rain has its own charm.”
“That Huaiyang Restaurant will have to wait a few days. Why not try it just now?”
“Good meals aren’t afraid of being late; tea today is fine too.”
Cui Shihan mounted, extending a hand to Jiang Yinyue. Her small frame atop the tall horse leaned down exaggeratedly. “Tea is mild and sparse in flavor. Care for some wine? I know a tavern hidden in an alley with peerless taste.”
Ordinary ladies wouldn’t drink outside, at most sipping a bit in their boudoir for a taste. Jiang Yinyue hesitated, then took the hand.
Good wine fears not a deep alley. Before reaching the alley mouth, Jiang Yinyue smelled a unique aroma, rich and mellow, intoxicating the spring breeze.
Fine rain moistened the bluestones as the fine horse carried them to a rundown little shop.
Cui Shihan dismounted and led Jiang Yinyue into the tavern, which could barely fit one table of guests.
“Shopkeeper, bring the yellow wine I stored here last time.”
Cui Shihan was right at home, calling to Jiang Yinyue. “This place hasn’t changed in decades—just three side dishes.”
Fried peanuts, stir-fried clams, and marinated lotus root slices.
The shopkeeper served the opened yellow wine, filling Cui Shihan’s cup to the brim. When he turned to Jiang Yinyue, Cui Shihan stopped him.
“She’ll have as much as she wants.”
The shopkeeper understood and set down the wine jar to prepare the dishes.
Jiang Yinyue did not push herself either. Her alcohol tolerance was extremely poor, so she almost never touched a drop, but Cui Shihan disliked tea, and she did not want to ruin the mood.
“Will this dampen your spirits?”
“What if I said yes?”
“Then I’ll join you for one cup.”
Jiang Yinyue filled her own small wine cup and clinked it against the wine bowl in the girl’s hand.
The crisp sound mingled with the sizzling of the spicy stir-fry.
Cui Shihan did not mind Jiang Yinyue’s cheekiness. After all, it had been her own idea to add extra wine. Not everyone was a heavy drinker, nor did everyone have her capacity.
The bright red spicy stir-fried clams arrived at the table. Cui Shihan downed a mouthful of wine, took a bite of clam, and hissed “Hah hah” from the spice, grimacing with bared teeth, showing not a shred of noble lady’s poise.
Once she drank her fill, she propped one foot on the long bench and played drinking games with Jiang Yinyue. She discovered that this woman, who had been coldly mocked, ridiculed, and even cursed, had no aggressive side. She was willing to accept a loss gracefully, friendly and sincere.
The key was, she knew drinking games.
“Where did you learn this?”
Jiang Yinyue, who had lost ten rounds in a row, leaned against the wall and smiled lazily. “My brother is a general. When I was young, I rolled around in the military camp with him. As soon as I could remember, I liked clinging to my brother and occasionally entered the camp. I picked it up from watching the soldiers play drinking games.”
“With a brother like that, why did you cling to the Heir Apparent when you were half-grown?”
“Fated entanglement, I guess.”
Like a newborn calf unafraid of tigers, she had gone all-in on a whim, mustering the courage to pester the Heir Apparent, not even caring about the supreme ruler’s disdain. She was truly young and ignorant of the depths.
Later, reality hit her like a stick to the head, and it hurt.
Jiang Yinyue leaned sideways against the wall, squinting at the wine cup in her hand. Sunlight from outside gathered into beams, shining on her pink-and-white cheeks. She curled her lips, feeling no need to avoid the topic. She had already accepted that reckless version of herself from back then. “At that time, my brother even got angry with me for always clinging to the Heir Apparent.”
“Felt neglected by his little sister and got jealous, huh.”
Thinking of her own brother, Jiang Yinyue missed him dearly. It had been three years since they last met, and she could not imagine what storms he had weathered.
Cui Shihan also had a brother—the War God General of the Da’an Dynasty—but he was nowhere near as childish as Jiang Yinyue’s.
Cui Shihan smiled, a touch bitter, and tossed back a full bowl of wine. She let out a wine burp and called over the shopkeeper’s young son to send a message to Wei Qin.
When Wei Qin arrived, Jiang Yinyue was being helped onto the horse’s back by Cui Shihan.
The drunken woman clung to the saddle as soon as she touched it, going limp like a puddle of mud, mumbling who knew what to the horse.
Wei Qin strode forward and moved to help the woman down, but Cui Shihan—who had drunk half a jar of yellow wine without changing expression—stopped him.
“She’s already on the horse. No need to fuss over her.”
Wei Qin was not one for many words. He gave the smiling girl a deep, inscrutable look—cold and clear—without blaming her.
“Yinyue.”
In front of outsiders, he never called Jiang Yinyue “Miss.”
“Hm?” Jiang Yinyue cracked open one eye and glanced toward the source of the voice.
In her blurry vision, Wei Qin’s tall, handsome figure appeared.
She chuckled and pointed at him while introducing to Cui Shihan, “See, that’s Wei Qin, my husband.”
At those words, Cui Shihan teasingly curled her lip, about to flip onto her horse when her ankle went numb. With a “thud,” she fell back to the ground.
Wei Qin had struck her pressure point through her boot.
Cui Shihan grimaced again, balancing on one foot as she rubbed her numb ankle through the boot.
The numb spot had been hit by a pebble flicked by Wei Qin.
Wei Qin stepped forward, positioning himself between her and the horse, and extended a hand to the nearly unconscious drunken Jiang Yinyue. “Come.”
That single soft “come” carried boundless tenderness.
The grimacing Cui Shihan paused, watching leisurely as Wei Qin lifted Jiang Yinyue off the horse and cradled her horizontally in his arms.
Wei Qin did not ride the horse. He simply carried the drunken woman into the brilliant sunset glow, without bidding Cui Shihan a polite farewell.
Cui Shihan did not take it as rudeness. She crossed her arms and leaned against the horse’s back, quietly watching Wei Qin’s figure disappear down the long street as lanterns began to light up.
Someone without strong arms could hardly carry a person like that for long, yet Wei Qin strolled through the crisscrossing alleys with Jiang Yinyue in his arms.
This alley housed mostly salt merchants’ residences, with gauze lanterns hanging before each door, weaving threads of light in the dusk and illuminating the twilight.
Once she settled into the familiar embrace, Jiang Yinyue passed out completely, curling up like a defenseless child, occasionally rubbing her cheek against the man’s collar.
The scent of green bamboo and soapberry on him brought her peace, letting her whole body relax as she nestled softly in his strong arms.
When her back sank into the soft bedding, she let out a soft “mmm,” reaching to untie the sash of her skirt.
Her thin voice, soaked in wine, was soft and lingering.
A large hand caught her flailing little hand.
“I want to take it off…”
The sash was constricting her, so she yanked her hand free and continued undoing it.
With a toss, she flung the long sash onto Wei Qin’s thigh.
It slithered up like a water snake.
Wei Qin picked up the sash. He should have folded it neatly and set it aside, but whether it was the fragrance clinging to it or the silken touch like skin, the man—who harbored no stray thoughts—found himself unwilling to let go of the begonia-red silk.
The gold embroidery of intertwining branches gleamed under the candlelight, like a lit fuse racing along the sash toward Wei Qin’s hand.
His slender, pale fingers grasped the brilliant red “flames.”
Wei Qin disliked heat, yet he would rather be “burned” than release it.
He looked at the still-restless Jiang Yinyue and, for some reason, used the sash to bind her hands, stopping her from tugging open her collar.
A large expanse of snowy white at her collarbone already showed hints of pink, tempting one to pluck.
“Hm?”
Unable to move her hands, Jiang Yinyue opened a pair of watery eyes and stared at the blurry figure by the bed. She shook her bound hands, signaling the person to untie her.
Her loosened updo was a mess, half-draped over the pillow like thick seaweed, accentuating her tender white skin with its pink glow.
Like a piece of pink jade marrow fished from milk.
Wei Qin leaned down, propping one elbow beside her, inching closer until he enveloped her.
His even-knuckled large hand rumpled the fabric at her back.
“Mmph?”
With her hands restrained and now her body pulled into another arm, the woman was like fish on a cutting board, helpless as she was kneaded, unable to hold back a whimper.
“Wei Qin… what are you doing…”
The soft panting came from who knew whom.
Wei Qin did not cross any lines, nor did he kiss the muddled Little Lady Jiang, but he still overstepped propriety. Without permission, he pulled the woman into his arms, unable to control himself as he rubbed against her through their clothes.
The warm, soft jade’s whimpers surpassed the coquettish laughs of beauties in storybooks.
Wei Qin, who had never cared for romantic tales, felt the ink in his belly begin to flow, his brushstroke fine and soft—the heart softened by Jiang Yinyue unfolding its own chapter.
Wei Qin tightened his arms, reining in the desire deep within, closed his eyes, and accompanied her to sleep.