Chapter Forty-One: Trust

As evening descended and darkness fell, snowflakes continued to drift from the sky, cloaking the world outside the window in silver. Occasionally, the hurried silhouettes of servants could be glimpsed, but beyond that, all was a hushed, lifeless silence. Ye Qianran intended to bring up the matter of Lülian after supper, for aside from mealtimes, she could find no better opportunity.

After the meal, everyone gathered by the hearth, conversing quietly. Ye Qianran’s gaze swept over the assembled faces and finally settled on her brother. Since his marriage, he had become more composed, though his penchant for jest remained unchanged. The tension between Sister Meng and her brother had eased as well; marriage had indeed transformed them, and there was now a touch of true conjugal harmony.

She did not know what consequences would follow the revelation about Lülian, but she could not remain silent. Paper cannot contain fire, and besides, Lülian carried the Ye family’s eldest grandson.

Staring at the dancing flames in the hearth, flickering like serpents’ tongues, she swallowed and steadied herself, then spoke of the matter in the most ordinary tone she could muster.

A sudden hush fell over the room. Ye Yuandao and Wen Qiumei exchanged glances. Ye Qianran kept her eyes fixed on her brother. Upon hearing the news, Ye An lost his composure, stumbling from his stool. Once helped to his feet, he turned pale and looked toward Meng Lanyi, who, aside from a slight whiteness in her complexion, betrayed no emotion.

Ye Qianran sighed softly, barely audible. She had long known Sister Meng to be a woman who did not wear her emotions openly, but even in the face of such a situation, her calm surprised Ye Qianran.

Wen Qiumei and Ye Yuandao were eager to clarify the matter, yet with Meng Lanyi present, they found themselves unable to speak freely, and could only fix their gaze on Ye Qianran.

The atmosphere was painfully awkward.

After a long silence, Meng Lanyi rose, paid her respects to her parents, and, aided by her maid, departed. Ye An, uncertain whether to follow or not, could only watch her leave in a daze.

As soon as she was gone, Wen Qiumei could no longer restrain herself, hurriedly preparing to question Ye Qianran, but Ye An intercepted her. “Mother, let me speak with my sister alone. Don’t worry about this now. I will give you an explanation in due course.”

With that, he dragged Ye Qianran away.

He pulled her all the way back to Bamboo Snow Pavilion, where Lülian sat before the window, lost in thought. At their entrance, she started, flustered, and rose hurriedly.

Seeing her, Ye An released his grip on Ye Qianran.

Ye Qianran rubbed her wrist in annoyance. “Brother, what are you doing? You hurt my wrist.” Lülian, with Ye An so close, felt uneasy, unsure how to face him. She wanted to slip away quietly, but was halted by Ye An’s low voice, “Don’t… don’t go yet,” and her body froze.

Ye Qianran tilted her head, smiling mischievously. “Lülian, don’t leave. You’re involved—if you go, what could he possibly ask me?”

Ye An shot her a glare, his expression solemn. “Qianran, don’t make trouble here.”

Ye Qianran pulled a face at him, then ducked behind the curtain into the inner room, leaving only Lülian and Ye An.

Outside, the north wind howled; snow weighed heavily upon the bare trees, threatening to fall in the night. The window lattice rattled loudly in the cold. Ye An’s gaze lingered on Lülian; he had questions, yet did not know how to begin. At length, he spoke, the words awkward and unnatural, “Qianran said you are… with child. Is it true?”

Lülian lowered her eyes and nodded.

“Was it the night of the wedding?” Ye An asked tentatively.

Lülian looked up at him. His eyes were bright but puzzled, clearly recalling nothing. Her heart was a tumult of emotions; she did not know whether to feel glad or sorrowful. The man before her was the father of her child, the first man in her life, yet he knew nothing, remembered nothing.

Her eyes stung; she drew a deep breath. “Are you happy, young master?”

“Hm?”

“Are you happy, knowing there is this child?”

“…” Ye An could not answer. He truly did not know how to respond. Was he happy? No. Was he upset? Not really. It was simply a faint feeling. Upon hearing the news, his first thought was how Lanyi would react.

Lülian saw his lack of response, and her heart gradually sank. Though she knew his affection was for the young mistress, she had always believed he felt something for her. Otherwise, why treat her so differently? On their wedding night, he did not seek another, but came to her. She had never dared hope for his love; all she wanted was a moment’s warmth, however fleeting, and she had told herself it was merely to escape an unbearable fate. Yet how much true feeling lay within, even she did not know.

Lülian turned away, only then realizing her face was wet with tears. Ye An pulled her back, looking into her eyes, his voice as gentle and clear as ever, “Why are you crying?”

Lülian frowned, covering her mouth as her body trembled. Ye An gripped her shoulders, speaking in a flustered rush, “Don’t cry, I meant nothing else. Don’t be afraid. Whatever I’ve done, I will take responsibility—yes, I will take responsibility.” Yet how he was to do so, he had no idea; his words were meant only to comfort her. At the very least, he was a man, and in such matters, one ought to shoulder responsibility.

Listening from the inner room, Ye Qianran finally breathed a sigh of relief.

When Ye Qianran came out, Ye An had already left. Lülian knelt before her with a thud. Ye Qianran made no move to stop her, letting her kneel, her face devoid of any smile. “You need not thank me. This is all I can do. From now on, I will not help you again. Take care.”

Outside, the snow lay deep on the withered branches and trees, the fragrance of plum blossoms drifting in.

Ye An returned to his quarters, lifting the curtain to the inner room. Meng Lanyi sat by the window, lost in thought, unaware that the book in her hands had fallen. Ye An came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, his face full of laughter. “What are you thinking about?”—a question he knew the answer to.

Meng Lanyi trembled, turned, and met his autumn-water eyes, then pushed him away, putting distance between them.

Ye An knew she was angry and tried to approach, but Meng Lanyi raised a hand to keep him back. He stood, still smiling, his voice a pleasant, low timbre, “You’re angry with me?”

Meng Lanyi laughed aloud, finding herself ridiculous. In the moment she was determined to love him, another woman carried his child. Only then did she understand why, subconsciously, she wanted to resist him. Though he hadn’t done it on purpose, he treated every woman with equal kindness. She had grown up with him, watching him flirt and jest with other young ladies, and she had never minded. But one day, he told her he liked her, and her first reaction was not joy but strangeness. She could not explain why she felt that way. Now, everything was clear. He could not give her enough confidence. She did not know whether the tender words whispered in her ear were spoken to others as well. She did not know if she was the most special to him, or merely one among many, fortunate to be chosen.

She looked up at him, her gaze empty, as if he were invisible. Ye An felt a tightness in his chest, his voice stuck in his throat. After a while, he managed to call her name, “Lanyi—”

The smile at her lips widened, blooming like red flowers on a dead tree. “You say you love me—how am I to believe that? I’ve always understood you. From the start, I should have known: you cannot truly love anyone. While you profess love for me, you allow another woman to bear your child.”

“Lanyi, it’s not like that, let me explain…” Ye An stammered, “I… I… I…”—he repeated himself, unable to continue. How could he explain? Was it drunken folly? It was the truth, but sounded only like an excuse.

“Hit a nerve, have I? Nothing more to say?” Meng Lanyi’s eyes and brows were icy, cold to the marrow.

Ye An calmed himself, realizing that nothing he said could make a difference. She had never truly believed him; a minor incident had shattered the trust he spent three months building.

He decided to be honest, regardless of whether she believed him. “It was just an accident.”

“An accident?” Meng Lanyi found the words laughable. She mocked, “With one word—‘accident’—you wash your hands of all responsibility. Ye An, how generous you are.”

“You—” Ye An was so enraged he couldn’t speak, his whole body trembling.

Meng Lanyi arched her brow, “I agree.”

Ye An frowned, not understanding her meaning.

“Isn’t it what you want? To bring her into the household? I agree.” Her words were cold and cutting. “And rest assured, I’ll speak to my father. You won’t be troubled by any of this.”

Hearing this, Ye An grew anxious, pulled her over violently, his eyes wide with fury, his voice suddenly loud, “When have I ever said I’d take a concubine? Who gave you the right to decide for me?”

Meng Lanyi was startled by his aggression, yet her pride would not let her show weakness. She raised her head, her voice as frosty as snow, “Then what will you do? She bears your child—will you abandon her?”

Ye An was once again at a loss for words. Normally so articulate, he became mute before her, terrified of saying the wrong thing. He could not bring himself to deceive her, to use the same platitudes he used with others. This only made Meng Lanyi believe he had acquiesced, and her heart grew even more angry and upset. The words she spoke were against her own wishes, but he seemed to accept them, which made her all the more indignant.

She struggled, trying to push him away, but he only held tighter. In desperation, tears welled up; her hands grew stronger. Ye An clasped the back of her head, his lips pressing against hers without hesitation. His tongue slipped in, tangling with hers, lips and teeth entwined. She was powerless to resist, a shiver coursing through her body. Her nails dug deep into her flesh, tears falling silently. She wanted to fight but had no strength; she wanted to yield, but found herself too pathetic. She did not want to be such a person. Seizing her chance, she bit his lip hard, the taste of blood flooding her mouth. In pain, he let her go, and she slapped him.

Meng Lanyi gasped unevenly. Ye An wiped the blood from his lips with his thumb, laughing abruptly. “Is it so hard for you to trust me?”

She collapsed in the chair, watching his departing figure, the cold seeping from the crown of her head into her heart.