First Encounter
In the year 1460, the twenty-seventh year of the founding of the Great Yuan, Emperor Liu Ao ruled, ushering in a flourishing era of national prosperity, clear governance, and a populace living in peace. Early spring, in the second month, as the weather began to warm, the citizens of the capital shed their thick cotton coats for lighter robes and filled every corner of the city with renewed activity.
The streets bustled with crowds, carriages moved in endless streams, doorways overflowed with visitors, houses lined the avenues with shops on every side. The air was filled with the cries of vendors, bargaining voices, and the clamor of commerce. Inside taverns, servers hurried about with wine and dishes, laughter and games mingled with the clinking of cups. In theaters, applause and conversation wove through the performance, actors singing and playing their parts. Everywhere, the city exuded an atmosphere of vibrant prosperity.
It was indeed a splendid capital in a peaceful age, beneath a bright and boundless sky.
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Golden sunlight filtered through the gaps between trees, casting its glow on the woodland path. The carriage moved leisurely along, the tassels hanging from its sides sparkling in the rays, luxurious yet dignified, noble but unassuming. Distant mountains peeked through drifting clouds, birds occasionally swept overhead, leaving fleeting shadows. At times, the wind brushed through, causing the bamboo groves to sway gracefully like beautiful women. From within the carriage, the low laughter and whispers of young ladies drifted out, carried away by the breeze.
As dusk deepened, eerie cries of wolves and spirits echoed from the surrounding woods, the air tinged with a chill foreboding. Inside, Juanbi and Lülán huddled together, shivering at the ceaseless strange sounds, their skin prickling with goosebumps. Ye Qianran, watching her frightened maids, smiled and shook her head, then rose and lifted the curtain. “Brother, the night is falling. Please be careful.”
Riding ahead, Ye An nodded, hand resting on the sword slung across his horse, and cautioned, “This area has always been unsafe. Now that darkness has fallen, everyone stay alert.”
The party slowed their pace, the guards grew cautious, one hand gripping the reins, the other poised on their swords, ready for action. In the darkness, the rhythmic clop of hooves echoed, spreading out in waves through the bamboo.
Once Ye Qianran settled herself, Juanbi and Lülán calmed. Juanbi quickly sat by Ye Qianran’s left, clutching her sleeve and whispering, “Miss, do you think we’ll run into bandits?”
No sooner had she spoken than a sharp slap landed on her hand. Lülán glared, “Don’t jinx it!”
Juanbi rubbed her hand, grumbling, “So what if I jinx it? You hit so hard, don’t you know a gentleman should argue with words, not fists?”
“You’re just a maid, not a gentleman,” Lülán shot back, rolling her eyes.
Juanbi refused to accept this, retorting, “Hmph, what’s so special about you? You’re a maid too, only you joined the household two years before me.”
“……”
“……”
Ye Qianran, seeing the exchange, knew her two maids were about to start their lively quarrel again. She pressed her head, feeling a headache—these two girls were never easy, always delighting in their verbal sparring, as if arguing was their only joy.
Suddenly, a horse neighed loudly and the carriage halted. Juanbi and Lülán fell silent, quickly pressing closer to Ye Qianran.
Startled, Ye Qianran wondered, “Could Juanbi’s words have come true? Are there really bandits in these wild hills?” But she kept her composure, betraying nothing.
She soon heard footsteps surrounding the carriage, soft and shuffling. Gently pushing Juanbi aside, Ye Qianran peered out the window. The sky was not yet fully dark, and she could just make out a dozen masked figures wielding long knives encircling the carriage. Lowering the curtain, her heart pounded fiercely. There were only six guards, plus her brother made seven, and in this desolate place, there was no one else nearby. What should she do? Countless thoughts flashed through her mind as she steadied herself.
Then she heard her brother’s voice outside, courteous yet forceful: “Gentlemen, we are merely passing through, not intending to disturb. Please allow us to go on our way, and I shall be deeply grateful.”
A burst of uninhibited laughter followed. “Ha ha ha ha!” Then, with mocking clarity, “If you want to pass, leave a toll.”
Ye An’s hand flashed, drawing his sword, its gleam piercing the darkness. The guards followed suit. Ye An sneered, “If you won’t give me face, don’t blame me for being rude. Brothers, charge!”
Ye Qianran heard the clash of steel. A man leapt onto the carriage, sword in hand, lifting the curtain. Alarmed, she instinctively retreated, Juanbi and Lülán trembling beside her, unable to speak coherently: “Miss, w—what should we do?”
Ye Qianran stared at the man, silent, clutching her sleeve until her palm was sweaty and sticky. Ye An grabbed the intruder and threw him out; with a thud, he hit the ground, groaning. More tried to board the carriage, and Ye An had to fend off attackers from all directions while guarding the carriage, stretched to his limits. After a while, Ye An became exhausted, the enemy closing in. Ye An and the remaining two guards were surrounded, forced to retreat toward the carriage. Ye Qianran’s hands gripped her clothes tightly, her nerves taut, listening motionlessly for every sound outside, fearing disaster at any moment.
Then she heard her brother’s low voice: “Sister, we’ll distract them. When the chance comes, you must escape. If you’re safe, we’ll have no worries.”
Ye Qianran considered and agreed—she and her maids were helpless, staying would only burden them. She nodded: “If we manage to escape, we’ll meet at the first town ahead. Brother, take care.”
Ye An nodded firmly. “Juanbi, Lülán, take good care of Miss. No matter what, don’t let her fall into bandit hands.”
Juanbi and Lülán, still shaking, replied resolutely, “Young master, don’t worry. We will protect Miss.”
Outside, the fight resumed. Juanbi rushed to the front of the carriage to grab the reins, but a bandit fell from above, landing on the horse and sending Juanbi screaming back inside. Ye Qianran, seeing Juanbi flustered, pushed her aside and reached for the reins. The horse, wounded and terrified, let out a shrill cry and bolted forward. Ye Qianran stumbled, striking her forehead and raising a swelling bump, but she had no time to care. The carriage lurched wildly, rushing ahead. Ye Qianran managed to grasp the reins, only to realize she had no strength to stop the horse, which raced on madly. Fear gripped her—she knew this path led to ruin, to death, but could do nothing to change it.
Suddenly, she recalled nearly drowning at age six, the water slowly rising over her knees, her neck, her mouth, her head, powerless as it swallowed her bit by bit. Remembering it now, she still felt terror—the helpless fear that suffocated her.
The carriage continued its wild flight, tossing Juanbi and Lülán inside until they were dizzy.
But now she was no longer that little girl who could only cry. She had gained strength and wisdom; once others protected her, now at fifteen, she must learn to protect herself. Thinking this, Ye Qianran was filled with resolve. She shouted to her maids, “Jump out of the carriage—quick!” The wind roared across her face, lifting her long hair.
Juanbi and Lülán staggered to the door. Ye Qianran urged, “Jump—jump now!”
Juanbi hesitated, “Miss, what about you?”
Ye Qianran bit her lip. “Don’t worry about me. Just jump—if you don’t, the carriage will overturn!”
Juanbi burst into tears, clinging to Ye Qianran. “No, we’ll die together with Miss!”
Ye Qianran felt deflated—why couldn’t this girl understand urgency?
Lülán, calmer, pushed Juanbi aside and scolded, “When Miss tells you to jump, you jump. Why so much nonsense?”
She turned to Ye Qianran. “Miss, be careful.” Then she pulled Juanbi and leapt, tumbling into the woods.
Ye Qianran breathed a sigh of relief, but before she could relax, she saw a dark shadow dart from the woods—a wild cat, perhaps—crossing the path and vanishing. The horse abruptly stopped, rearing in fright, and Ye Qianran, unable to grip the reins, was thrown out. As she flew from the carriage, Ye Qianran closed her eyes, thinking she would surely be crippled.
But at that moment, a rider chasing behind vaulted from his horse, stepping across the carriage roof and catching her in midair. They landed together, but Ye Qianran felt no pain, only tumbling onto the roadside.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself in someone’s embrace. He held her tightly, as if afraid she might be hurt, his steady heartbeat and strong arms palpable.
She lifted her head to see him, but accidentally brushed his chin, quickly lowering her gaze, not daring to move. She heard his gentle laughter.
He said, “Miss, your weight is making my arm numb. Won’t you get up?”
Only then did Ye Qianran realize she was pressed against his arm in a rather intimate position. Her face flushed, and she hurriedly pushed herself up, dusting off her clothes.
He rose with a smile, dusting himself off as well, watching her.
Ye Qianran stood less than three feet from him. By now, the moon had risen, casting a soft light. She studied him carefully—he appeared twenty-one or twenty-two, dressed in a stone-blue wide robe with a pale belt, his hair bound in a crown atop his head. His face was sharp and chiseled, with a high nose and well-shaped lips. Beneath his sword-like brows were bright eyes, shining like lake water, his expression gentle and polite.
He smiled and teased, “Miss, have you not seen enough?” His tone was warm, with a hint of jest.
Ye Qianran was momentarily startled, then realized she had been staring at him for a long time, blushing to her ears.
Soon, she heard the distant clop of hooves approaching. The man turned, and Ye An arrived with his last attendant, dismounting.
Ye Qianran, knowing it was her brother, felt a surge of joy and ran to him. Ye An’s clothes were slashed in several places, stained with blood. Ye Qianran’s heart sank, asking urgently, “Brother, you’re hurt—are you all right?”
Ye An glanced at himself and smiled, reassuring her, “I’m not injured—this is the bandits’ blood. Don’t worry, sister.”
Ye Qianran’s anxiety eased. She was about to introduce her rescuer, but Ye An had already approached him, cupping his hands. “Thank you, Brother Zhuge, for your help. I am deeply grateful.”
Ye Qianran was surprised—even with her cleverness, she hadn’t expected her brother to know this man. She turned to look at him. He smiled, “It was nothing. No need for thanks.”
Ye Qianran softly asked, “Brother, you know him?”
Ye An laughed, “Not just know him—I’d say we’re like brothers. It’s fate to meet here, of all places.”
Ye Qianran understood—an old friend, passing through, entrusted by her brother to save her. He was both her brother’s friend and her savior, deserving thanks. She bowed gracefully, “Thank you, Sir, for saving my life.”
He smiled and asked, “And you are?”
Ye An, realizing he had neglected introductions, laughed, “I was so busy talking I forgot. You two don’t know each other—one doesn’t know who saved her, the other doesn’t know whom he saved. This is my sister, Qianran.”
The man was taken aback, then smiled, “I’ve never heard anyone mention that Brother Ye has such a beautiful sister.”
Ye An replied, “My sister lived with our maternal grandparents in Jiangnan. I’m bringing her to the capital to reunite with the family.”
He nodded, “I see.” He cupped his hands in greeting. “I am Zhuge Liuyun, commander of the Imperial Guard. The situation was urgent, and I may have acted rudely. Please forgive me, Miss.”
Ye Qianran had assumed a military man would be rough, but he was so attentive, not at all like a general—more scholarly, yet not weak. She couldn’t help but feel some affection, though nothing showed on her face. She bowed in return, “You are too courteous, General. I am deeply grateful for your help—how could there be any offense?”
Then she heard Juanbi and Lülán’s voices. “Miss, young master!”
She turned; the two maids, clothes torn and limping, supported each other as they approached, anxiously examining her. “Miss, are you all right?” The concern was clear.
Ye Qianran felt warmth in her heart. “I’m fine. Are you hurt?”
Lülán sighed in relief; Juanbi threw herself onto Ye Qianran’s shoulder, crying, “I was so scared just now—it was terrifying!”
Zhuge Liuyun laughed again. Lülán, spotting the stranger and Juanbi’s unabashed tears, quickly tugged at her and whispered, “Stop crying—there’s someone here. Don’t embarrass Miss and young master.”
Juanbi immediately stopped, raising her eyes to see the stranger beside Miss and young master. At a glance, her eyes widened. She wasn’t an inexperienced maid; she’d seen many noble sons around Miss, but none matched the man before her—thick brows, sharp gaze, handsome and upright.
Ye Qianran noticed Juanbi’s awestruck expression and, both amused and exasperated, teased, “Your drool is on my clothes.”
Juanbi came to herself and whispered in Ye Qianran’s ear, “Miss, who is he?”
“Imperial Guard, Zhuge Liuyun—he saved me just now,” Ye Qianran explained quietly.
Lülán, overhearing, quickly pulled Juanbi to bow to him.
He nodded with a smile in response. Then he turned to Ye An, “What are your plans now, Brother Ye?”
Ye An looked around; the moon was now high, and the cold deepened. “I’m unfamiliar with this area. What do you suggest, Brother Zhuge?”
Zhuge Liuyun glanced at Ye Qianran. “It’s late, and you have ladies with you. It’s unsafe to linger. There’s a small town ahead—you could lodge there.”
Ye An looked at Ye Qianran, “Sister, what do you think?”
Ye Qianran stepped forward, “I’ll follow your lead, brother.”
Ye An turned, “Then it’s settled. Brother Zhuge, do you have urgent business, or can you join us?”
Zhuge Liuyun chuckled, “No urgent business—I’m not in a hurry to return to the capital. If you don’t mind, I’ll accompany you.”
Ye An laughed, “Excellent! With your help, we’re twice as strong.”
“But…” Ye Qianran hesitated.
“What is it, sister?” Ye An asked, concerned.
She glanced at the horses; Zhuge Liuyun understood and smiled.
“There are only three horses—how can six of us…”
Ye An clapped, “That’s easily solved. Two to a horse.”
Juanbi immediately jumped to Ye An’s side, “I’ll ride with young master,” giving Lülán a meaningful look.
Lülán sighed; she knew Juanbi’s intent and said, “I’ll ride with the guard. Miss, you can go with Mr. Liuyun.”
Ye Qianran’s face burned—Juanbi and Lülán were too obvious. Anyone could see it; others might think she fancied him. She was too embarrassed to speak.
Ye An, seeing this, smiled—these mischievous girls were clever. He played along, “Then, Brother Zhuge, I leave my sister in your care.”
Zhuge Liuyun, of course, understood, and smiled, “Miss, what do you think?”
Ye Qianran liked him, but with everyone teasing so openly, even with her feelings, their acquaintance was too new. She dared not mount rashly, but couldn’t refuse either, so she nodded, “Thank you, sir.”
Zhuge Liuyun laughed, “It’s my honor.”
They reached the town at the third quarter of the hour. Though small, it was lively, shops lining the streets, diners gathered at stalls, and hurried travelers passing by. From afar, dogs barked, and the air carried the faint aroma of wontons. Zhuge Liuyun quietly leaned behind Ye Qianran, inhaling near her ear, half-serious, half-playful, “Such fragrance,” whether of wontons or her, unclear.
Ye Qianran couldn’t bear his teasing, her face heating as a rush of warmth rose in her chest. She lowered her head, struggling to dismount, but he wrapped his arm around her waist. Both angry and shy, she kept struggling. He sighed, leapt off the horse, and, regardless of her wishes, lifted her down.
Ye An, Juanbi, and Lülán followed, dismounting. Juanbi and Lülán hurried to support Ye Qianran. She glanced ahead—the sign above read “Eight Directions Inn.”
Inside, someone greeted them, taking Ye An’s reins. The innkeeper, with a white cloth draped on his shoulder, spotted their fine attire and welcomed them warmly, “Are you here to eat or stay?”
Ye An dusted himself off, walking into the inn, “Stay.”
Ye Qianran stepped inside, looking around. At the counter stood a portly man, his shiny face smiling so broadly his eyes nearly disappeared. Ye An and Zhuge Liuyun spoke with him as Ye Qianran took in the inn. The roof was old carved wood, designs so faded they were unrecognizable. Dozens of elm tables and chairs were scattered about, guests eating at several tables, sometimes glancing up as others entered. Ahead, a pearwood staircase led to the second floor, its handrail carved with dragons amid clouds, though worn with age. Ye Qianran’s gaze followed the stairs upward, landing on a man descending—dressed in dark green wide robes, a moon-white belt, a white jade pendant at his waist, indigo boots, standing beside the stairs. When Ye Qianran’s eyes met his, her heart contracted—his gaze was too sharp, like a blade that could strip away all pretense, lips pressed tight with a hint of wicked smile, aloof and unruly, radiating strength and vitality, yet wild and sinister. His aura was indescribably strange.
As Ye Qianran observed him, he observed her, his gaze slicing over her like a knife. She felt uneasy, tugged at Juanbi, turning aside, but glimpsed his self-satisfied smile as he passed, glancing at her deliberately, then walked out.
Ye Qianran exhaled deeply—when he looked at her, her breath faltered.
Lülán noticed her discomfort, glanced at the man, “Miss, are you all right?”
Ye Qianran smiled, “I’m fine.”
They reached the capital the next afternoon, the carriage rumbling through the Sunrise Gate. Ye Qianran looked out—East Fourth South Street was lined with red walls and green tiles, singers and winehouses, hostels, pawnshops, and banks crowded together, street vendors everywhere. The avenue teemed with people—dignitaries in splendid attire, beggars in rags, foreigners in exotic clothes, luxurious carriages, dilapidated carts, parents with children, elders with white hair and wrinkled faces. Jiangnan, too, was a bustling city of merchants, lively and prosperous, but compared to the capital, still dim. Jiangnan’s prosperity was gentle and enduring, but the capital’s was bold and overwhelming.
The carriage stopped at the Xia Mansion. Ye Qianran, supported by Juanbi and Lülán, alighted. For the first time, she saw her home in the capital—facing north, a grand vermilion gate flanked by stone lions, the mansion’s plaque hanging in the center, a willow tree out front with a trunk thick enough for two to embrace, servants stood on either side. Seeing them, they ran to take the reins. Juanbi gasped, “Such an impressive mansion!” Ye Qianran recalled her grandfather mentioning her father’s business had improved, and seeing the mansion now, she guessed her father was among the city’s elite.
Ye An, seeing her lost in thought at the gate, nudged her, “Why are you dawdling? Let’s go—father and mother must be impatient.”
Ye Qianran glanced at Ye An and the mansion, sighing inwardly. Just days ago, she was in Jiangnan, listening to rain and reading by the window; now, she was in the capital. The place she’d lived for over a decade was likely forever out of reach.
She stepped inside, each step resolute.
Ye Yuandao and Wen Qiumei were indeed waiting in the main hall, her parents older than when she last saw them, faces lined, hair graying from years of toil. Ye Qianran’s heart ached, kneeling, “Father—Mother.”
At her call, Ye Yuandao and Wen Qiumei’s eyes reddened. They had left her at her grandparents’ home, never properly caring for her—a lingering pain in their hearts. Each time they remembered, it hurt. They hurried to lift her up; Lady Ye wiped her tears with a handkerchief, “Good child, you’ve suffered.”
Ye Yuandao’s eyes grew moist; they owed this daughter too much. Ye An and the younger daughter grew up at their knees, but this daughter…
Juanbi and Lülán watched, moved to tears.
Then a childish voice called, “Sister, sister!” Ye Qianran turned to see her seven-year-old sister Qianzhi breaking free from her nurse and running to her. So much time had passed—Qianzhi had grown. Ye Qianran reached out, and Qianzhi, fragrant with childhood sweetness, flew into her arms. Ye Qianran gently embraced her, the little hands wrapped around her neck, rosy cheeks pressed to hers, softly saying, “Sister, I missed you so much!” Ye Qianran felt a surge of affection, smiling, “I thought you’d forgotten me.”
Qianzhi replied earnestly, “Even if I forgot myself, I wouldn’t forget sister.”
Ye Qianran was startled—she hadn’t expected such words from a child, and glanced at her mother with understanding. The whole room laughed at Qianzhi’s seriousness.
Qianzhi watched everyone laugh, confused. Juanbi teased, “Second Miss, tell us—why would you forget yourself but not sister?”
“Because sister is so beautiful,” she said, brushing Ye Qianran’s hair.
The room laughed again. Wen Qiumei scolded, “This clever girl—your father and I are always bewitched by her. She’ll be formidable when she grows up.”
Ye Qianran smiled, “I feel close to my sister. When I was her age, I was just playing, always worrying grandfather and grandmother.” As she spoke, Wen Qiumei wiped her tears again. Ye Qianran sighed, handed Qianzhi to the nurse, and comforted her, “Mother, though I couldn’t be at your side, grandfather and grandmother treated me as their own. I never suffered—don’t be sad.”
Wen Qiumei looked at her beautiful daughter, so like herself in youth, and said emotionally, “I always knew my parents wouldn’t let you suffer, but thinking of you leaving us so young makes my heart ache…” She wiped tears again.
Ye Qianran and her father consoled her until she felt better. Her parents asked about her grandparents, and about the journey, which Ye Qianran recounted. Then her father said, “After such a long journey, you must be tired. Your mother has prepared your room—rest well after supper.”
Wen Qiumei remembered, “I was so happy I forgot—you must be exhausted. Come, let me show you your room, see if anything’s missing so I can add it.” She took Ye Qianran’s hand.
Ye Qianran smiled, “Mother is so attentive—surely nothing is lacking.” She bowed to Ye Yuandao and followed Wen Qiumei out.
They walked along a winding corridor for nearly half a stick of incense’s time. At the end, Wen Qiumei stopped; Ye Qianran looked up to see “Bamboo Snow Pavilion” inscribed above. Wen Qiumei said, “Though I haven’t cared for you, I know you like quiet. This room is secluded but has lovely scenery, close to the garden. I hope you’ll like it.” She opened the door, and a faint fragrance wafted out.
Ye Qianran stepped inside, curious. In the main hall, pearwood tables and chairs stood before her; on each side, antique blue-and-white vases held lucky bamboo. To the left, an embroidered landscape screen depicted misty mountains, half hidden, giving the scene a dreamy beauty. In the foreground, a river flowed toward the distance, a fisherman drifting amid green hills, leisurely and charming.
Ye Qianran walked right; crystal bead curtains hung in the doorway, Juanbi and Lülán lifted them for her, the beads chiming sweetly. Entering the inner hall, a rosewood dressing table held a vase of peach blossoms, the air faintly sweet. Farther in, through an arched door, was the true inner chamber—a carved sandalwood bed with silk quilts, a pearwood rack holding embroidered shoes. Ye Qianran’s heart warmed. She stepped forward, her slender fingers tracing the delicate shoe patterns, tears suddenly falling onto the shoes.
Lülán softly asked, “Miss, are you uncomfortable?”
Ye Qianran brushed her tears away, smiling, “It’s nothing,” then turned and threw herself into her mother’s arms. Wen Qiumei gently stroked her hair, “Every item here was chosen and sewn by me. Do you like it?”
Ye Qianran, head buried in her mother’s arms, nodded. Wen Qiumei smiled, “If you like it, I feel better. It’s my fault for letting you suffer.”
Ye Qianran shook her head, “Father and mother owe me nothing. I am content and happy.”
Wen Qiumei, eyes glistening, stroked her long black hair, “You’re a good child, such a good child…”
Ye Qianran sat with her mother on the bed, exchanging family words and warmth until a maid called them to supper. After supper, Ye Yuandao and Wen Qiumei urged her to rest well, instructing Juanbi and Lülán to care for her, then took their leave. Suddenly, Ye Qianran felt exhausted—she hadn’t noticed fatigue while talking with her parents, but now her body ached. She asked Juanbi and Lülán to prepare hot water for a bath.
Once alone, Ye Qianran leaned quietly against the bath, the warm water steaming, scented with petals. She exhaled deeply, fully relaxed, closed her eyes, and thought over the past days—it all felt like a dream. She had imagined her home countless times, fantasized about walking into it, but now that the dream was real, as she stepped inside, she felt no joy or excitement, only strangeness—complete unfamiliarity. Despite her parents’ care, she still felt incapable. She didn’t want to show this feeling, for their guilt was obvious, and she didn’t wish to add to it. But after all, ten years separated her from them; feelings must grow with time. Her heart, she realized, was in Jiangnan, in the bamboo pavilions and gentle rain, not in this splendid capital.
Ye Qianran sighed, her body sinking lower, until the warm water covered her neck, her features, her head. The world fell silent, deathly still, as she held her breath. In her mind, Zhuge Liuyun’s silhouette suddenly flashed.
She broke the surface.
Water dripped from her forehead; Ye Qianran brushed it away, her fingers lingering in the water’s warmth. She remembered how, after passing the Sunrise Gate, Zhuge Liuyun smiled and bid farewell. She only said goodbye from inside the carriage; Juanbi lifted the curtain for her, and she watched him mount his horse and depart, his back straight, like a pine, proud and solitary. The farther he went, the more her brow furrowed, and she gazed at her fingertips in silence.
That night, Ye Qianran lay tossing in bed, unable to sleep. The eternal moon shone outside, insects chirped near and far. Even when she slept, it was shallow, and her dreams were always haunted by a lonely silhouette, vague and uncertain, leaving her restless.