Chapter Thirty-Six: What Has Ended and What Is Beginning

Two days before the Double Ninth Festival, when Lianxin returned once more to the Ye residence, she found Ye Qianran sitting by the pond feeding the fish. At that time, the autumn chrysanthemums by the lotus pond were in full bloom—red, yellow, white, green, and purple—swaying with fragrant elegance in the autumn breeze. Ye Qianran wore a robe of misty violet, embroidered at the hem with fluttering butterflies. Subtle patterns adorned her cuffs, and her long hair, lifted by the wind, danced about her waist. Lianxin smiled at her, feeling that youth was truly a wondrous thing.

Sitting together in the pavilion, under a sky of deep blue where wild geese soared and distant withered leaves spun in the wind, Lianxin lifted her cup, gazed at the floating citrus, and spoke slowly, “Why didn’t you tell him?”

Ye Qianran looked into the distance, a faint curve at her lips. “This is a matter between the two of you. Why should I tell him?”

Lianxin looked at her in surprise. “If he knew, he wouldn’t feel guilty toward me. He would devote himself to you completely. Isn’t that better?”

“Is that what you truly want?” Ye Qianran’s brows drew together ever so slightly, her slender fingers tapping lightly on the stone table as she spoke in a calm tone.

Lianxin was momentarily stunned.

“Although I wish he would forget you, this is still between the two of you. I do not wish to interfere. Besides, hearing it from me is not the same as hearing it from you. I do not wish to use this, nor do I wish to be used by you.”

Lianxin lowered her head with a quiet laugh, taking a sip of tea. “Although we’ve met once before, I hadn’t realized what set you apart from others—only that you were a little prettier, your family a little more distinguished. But there are many in the world who are both beautiful and well-born. I knew that Liuyun and I were already in the past, but I still felt unwilling. Now, I see that I underestimated you.” She paused, then continued, “I did harbor some selfishness. I thought if you told him, perhaps he would resent me less, maybe even resent you. After all, shattering someone’s ideal is a cruel thing. But now I see you are truly clever—not only beautiful, but deeply understanding of the human heart.”

Ye Qianran smiled, tracing circles along the rim of her cup. “Madam and I are much the same.”

Lianxin laughed aloud. “Speaking with you is truly pleasant. If there were a chance, I’d like to be friends.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

At dusk on the eve of the Double Ninth, a fine autumn rain began to fall, drumming on the bamboo groves of September. In the distance, the sound of bells drifted through the rain. Ye Qianran stood under the long eaves, the drizzle dampening her embroidered violet shoes, but she paid it no mind. In her palm was a slip of paper Lianxin had pressed into her hand as she left, bearing only an hour and an address.

Sweat beaded faintly in her palm as Ye Qianran opened the note again. The characters were clear, just a few words she had read countless times, yet she stared at them for a long while. A gust of wind lifted the slip, sending it fluttering into the rain like a white butterfly. She watched it for a long time before finally instructing Juanbi to prepare a carriage and umbrella.

The place lay in the western outskirts, hidden among bamboo. Behind a simple fence stood two or three thatched cottages. Her footsteps crunched over thick fallen leaves. Juanbi held a purple oil-paper umbrella for her, matching her attire perfectly, a violet ribbon amid the green. The rain soaked her skirt hem, but she did not care. There was a bamboo gate in the fence, half open. Stepping through the rain, Ye Qianran entered the yard where many flowers and plants grew. The chrysanthemums were in glorious bloom. Turning back, she could see distant verdant mountains—truly, “plucking chrysanthemums beneath the eastern hedge, I see the southern hills at ease.”

In the midst of the chrysanthemums, butterflies with rain-dampened wings still fluttered about. Near the cottages stood a swing, with a flower trellis entwined by evening glory climbing from the fence. One could imagine how much care the owner had invested here. Ye Qianran’s fingers were slightly cold. Closing her eyes, she could almost see a bright, laughing girl on the swing, with a spirited youth behind her. Her heart ached as if pierced by a needle; all the lovely scenes of lovers in ancient poetry blurred into this pair—the five years of Lianxin and Liuyun.

This was the place where, as Qingfeng had told her, Lianxin and Liuyun first met.

The grain of sand in her heart grew ever larger. In her mind’s eye, she saw them here, embracing, laughing, playing, understanding, sharing whispered words and gentle smiles. Suddenly, she found it hard to breathe. “Lianxin…” Ye Qianran’s lips pressed out the name harshly, her fingers clutching her collar, her lips bitten blood-red. “Must you torment me so?”

From afar came the sound of soft footsteps. Ye Qianran turned and entered the cottage. The three thatched rooms were separated only by bamboo curtains. She slipped into the leftmost one, pressing herself against the wall and peering out the window. Through the drizzling mist, she saw Zhuge Liuyun approaching with a bamboo umbrella, dressed in white. After all this time, he was just as she remembered—cool and impassive, his expression unchanged. The footsteps drew closer. Ye Qianran heard him enter, heard him close his umbrella. Instinctively, she wanted to step out, but Juanbi held her back, signaling her to wait. Through the rain-streaked window, Lianxin appeared, dressed as a young girl, holding a pale green bamboo umbrella.

Ye Qianran pressed a hand tightly to her chest. What had once been vague within her suddenly came into sharp focus. Reason told her she should step out now, stopping what was about to unfold. But emotion forbade it. She truly… wanted to know what would happen if nothing stood in the way.

The cottage was dreadfully quiet. Outside, the rain whispered, the wind bringing cool drops against her face. Juanbi looked anxiously at her mistress; though Ye Qianran’s face was calm, her hand was icy cold.

At last, someone broke the silence. His voice, hoarse and aged by ten years, spoke her name: “Lianxin…”

Something struck Ye Qianran’s heart hard, and she frowned slightly.

A bitter smile touched Lianxin’s lips. “Do you remember the first time we met? It was here. I wore this dress.”

Zhuge Liuyun laughed softly, but there was bitterness at the corners of his mouth. “I remember your every gesture, every expression that day.”

Lianxin stepped forward, her pale fingers tracing his brows, his nose, finally resting on his lips. “At that time, I truly thought you were my whole world. I wanted nothing more than to marry you.”

He took her hand, frowning, his voice so hoarse it nearly failed him. “Lianxin, I’m sorry…”

But Lianxin shook her head, her gaze locked on his brow. “You have nothing to be sorry for. In that peach blossom grove years ago, I never came to our rendezvous.”

His hand trembled in hers, but he said nothing. Lianxin continued, “I am the eldest daughter of my family, just like you, unable to let go of so much. I should have understood you best. But when my younger sister told me you hadn’t come, I… I began to hate you, to want to torment you.” Tears slipped from her eyes onto his hand.

“These five years, in hurting you, I hurt myself as well. Later, I thought countless times about telling you the truth, but I was afraid you’d see me differently, afraid you—who are the only one I’ve ever truly loved—would hate me. If you began to hate me, I truly don’t know what I would do.” As she spoke, she slowly knelt before him, hugging her knees, her voice choked, tears falling faster than broken beads.

Liuyun knelt down as well, reaching out to wipe away her tears, his gaze as gentle as ever, as if she were still the bright girl of five years past. “If I could hate you for this, then I never deserved your love. I know your heart better than anyone. Knowing you as I do, how could I hate you?”

At last Lianxin wept aloud, her sobs quiet at first, then breaking into unrestrained grief. For these five years she had lived married to another, always swallowing her emotions, hiding away in her room to cry, never having anyone to ask if she was happy or why she was sad. Perhaps he was the only one in the world with whom she could cry without restraint.

When her tears were spent, her voice was soft and calm. “Tomorrow I will follow my husband south to Yangzhou. I will never return to the capital. Now I only wish to tell you—you did not wrong me. Knowing you don’t hate me is enough for me.” She gazed at him deeply, leaning in to kiss his cheek, her gentle voice whispering in his ear, “Liuyun, don’t forget me.”

She snatched up her bamboo umbrella and turned to leave, but he caught her, pulling her into his arms, his voice low, “Lianxin, you must be happy.”

She bit her lip. “You too.”

Lianxin’s figure disappeared into the misty, rain-drenched woods. Zhuge Liuyun leaned against the door frame, gazing into the distance, the last trace of longing in his heart slipping away like fine sand.

When he turned to fetch the oil-paper umbrella by the door, his steps froze, his mouth suddenly dry—Ye Qianran was standing behind him.

Her eyes were lowered, not meeting his gaze. Her face was calm as ever, but her body trembled uncontrollably. Juanbi, sensing the tension, discreetly withdrew to the left-hand room.

Liuyun instinctively wanted to explain, but no words came. How could he explain? There was nothing to explain.

Outside, the autumn rain drummed, mist shrouded the woods, and in the distance, the faint sound of a melancholy flute could be heard. The rain pattered on the plantain leaves before the cottage, like the sound of a woman weeping. Liuyun took two steps toward her, then pulled her into his arms, his right hand holding her waist tightly, his left entwining her fingers ever more firmly. He buried his head in her shoulder, his voice low in her ear, “Qianran, believe me.”

After a while, Ye Qianran’s hands encircled his slender waist and back. He seemed to stiffen, then held her even closer. In a low voice, she replied, “I believe you. No matter what you do, I believe you.”

The bamboo leaves rustled in the forest, rain and mist veiled the window. He bent to kiss her lips. Ye Qianran’s mind went blank as she wrapped her arms tightly about his neck, a shiver of emotion running through her. At first, he kissed her softly, gently, lingeringly, then ever more deeply. He held her close, pressing her warm body against his, their warmth mingling, comforting. In the little house amid the woods, the world faded away. In their silent embrace, it felt as though time itself might end, and the seas and mountains change, but their hearts would remain entwined forever.