Chapter Forty-Four: A Desperate Gamble

Ye An seemed to have grown accustomed to her silence. He sat down by himself, lifted a teacup, and a faint, self-mocking smile appeared at the corner of his lips. He took a sip of tea. After a moment, as if recalling something, he drew from his breast a small object wrapped in fine silk, set it gently on the table, and spoke in a soft voice. “Today, I accompanied my father on business. Passing by the Pavilion of Literary Treasures, I spotted a little trinket and thought you might like it, so I bought it.”

Still, no response came. Ye An turned his head to look at Meng Lanyi, who sat quietly reading. She turned another page, as if her entire being was absorbed in the book.

Ye An’s brows furrowed slightly. He turned and left the room.

The book slipped from her hands, and Meng Lanyi let out a quiet sigh of relief. Her gaze drifted to the spot where he had just been sitting, finally resting on the silk-wrapped object. She bit her lip.

After a long while, she rose slowly and walked to the other end of the desk. Her fingertips brushed the silk, which seemed still to retain his warmth. Bit by bit, she unraveled it until she saw the item in its entirety. It was a red jade bracelet, just as she had described one night, back when their feelings for each other had been tender. That evening, he had asked her what her saddest memory was. She replied that, as a child, her cousin had given her a red jade bracelet. When held up to the lamplight, the veins within the stone glimmered like phoenix blood. She lost it later and had cried bitterly—her only memory of true heartbreak.

But in truth, that story was not real. When he asked, she couldn’t think of anything and simply made up something she could recall. In fact, she wasn’t sure whether the bracelet had come from her cousin or someone else.

Her fingers trembled as they caressed the red jade. She had never imagined that he would take her words to heart, much less that he would go to such lengths to find this bracelet.

A single warm tear slid from the corner of her eye, fell onto the cold floor, and stirred the fine dust. Her lips, bitten hard, were stained crimson.

The candle’s flame flickered, casting faint and shifting light. In the cold winter night, the room felt emptier than ever. Meng Lanyi glanced at the soft couch—he had not returned.

She lay down fully clothed. Snow still drifted past the window. The candle had burned to its end, only a tiny ember clinging to life. He did not return.

He did not return. The room was dark. Alone, she curled up in the corner. It was so cold. She closed her eyes, forcing a smile—there were no more tears, only laughter.

She suddenly remembered their wedding night—she had spent it alone as well, sitting until dawn.

Those three months of tenderness seemed like a dream. Nothing had changed. After all the twists and turns, she was back where she began.

She was willing to believe he loved her, but she was even more willing to believe he loved others as well.

He... was surely at Bihe Courtyard now.

The night was long.

She did not sleep at all. Gazing at her wan reflection in the mirror, she almost wanted to laugh. What was she doing? When he courted her eagerly, she refused; now that he had left, she played the part of the abandoned, resentful wife. She had brought this misery upon herself.

In a sudden fit of anger, she seized the rouge case at hand and hurled it at her own reflection. With a bang, the case struck the table and burst open, powder drifting through the air and settling on her face. She could no longer restrain herself and began to cry in earnest, as if suffering the greatest grievance in the world, covering her face with her hands, her sobs growing uncontrollable.

Her maid Qingge dropped to her knees with a thud, not knowing what had happened.

She had always known what she did not want, but she had never known what she truly desired.

Ye Qianran’s footsteps paused outside the door. The maid at her side was just about to announce her, but she quickly gestured for silence. The sound of weeping inside was soft and suppressed, yet far more wrenching than any loud, unrestrained sobbing. Ye Qianran pressed her lips together and finally retreated.

She looked up. The azure sky was scattered with a few white clouds—a rare, clear day for winter. Servants were busy clearing snow from the courtyard. Ye Qianran made her way down the corridor to the plum tree, reaching up to pluck a blossom from a branch. For reasons she could not name, her heart clenched with a faint ache.

Narrowing her eyes, she gazed into the distance—withered branches, white snow, high walls, and the winter sun. Suddenly, she thought of Qingfeng. Where was he now? Had he fulfilled his wish to study the arts of the East? That graceful young man, sleeves fluttering in the wind, always seemed untouched by trouble. No matter how great the problem, his gentle words could always make it seem trivial. If only he were here.

“Qianran.” A clear voice sounded behind her. She turned to see her brother walking toward her in the morning light—tall and slender, wide-sleeved robe, eyes like autumn water, always gentle when he looked at others. “What are you doing here, lost in thought?”

With a soft smile, she did not answer, instead asking, “Brother, did you quarrel with sister-in-law?”

Ye An forced a smile, his voice unnatural. “No.”

Ye Qianran reached out to tug a nearby branch, shaking down droplets of melting snow that spattered her clothes, though she paid them no mind. “Did you come from Bihe Courtyard? How is Lulan?”

Ye An smiled. “Nothing escapes you. She’s well, and attended by servants. You needn’t worry.”

Her slender fingers played idly with the branch. Ye Qianran’s gaze dropped, her expression unreadable. “I’m not worried. I just want to ask—do you like Lulan?”

Ye An was taken aback. “Why do you ask that?”

Her eyes and smile were gentle as water. “You once said you’d die for sister-in-law, but now you’re so kind to Lulan. I can’t understand it.”

Ye An looked into the distance. “Lulan once saved me, and she’s carrying my child. How could I not treat her well? But as for your sister-in-law…no matter what I do, she refuses to fully accept me. I feel powerless.”

Ye Qianran sighed. “If someone truly loves you, her heart grows small—so small she cannot bear to see you treat another woman well. I think that by acting this way with Lulan, you’re bound to make sister-in-law misunderstand.”

Ye An tilted his head to look at her. “It’s not a misunderstanding—she simply doesn’t trust me. We’ve been married for more than three months, and she’s never truly accepted me. Toward Lulan, I only feel gratitude and guilt. But I love your sister-in-law. Yet she has never loved me.”

“When I went to see sister-in-law just now, I heard her weeping. She sounded heartbroken.”

Ye An gave a dismissive smile. “She’s never cried before. You must have heard wrong.”

Ye Qianran shrugged. “Believe what you like. Forget I said anything.” As she turned to leave, Ye An seized her arm, staring intently, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Is what you said true?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Why would I lie about something like that?”

At that moment, a maid arrived to summon them. “Young master, young miss, breakfast is ready. Madam requests your presence.” Ye An waved her off and hurried back to Lingyuan alone.

As Ye An lifted the curtain, he happened to meet Meng Lanyi coming out. She greeted him as coolly as ever. Ye An’s gaze lingered on her face, as though searching for a sign. Meng Lanyi stepped across the threshold and walked straight past him. Ye An matched her stride, eyes still fixed on her. “Aren’t you going to ask why I didn’t come home last night?”

A faint smile touched Meng Lanyi’s lips, but before she could speak, he interrupted. “I was at Bihe Courtyard.”

She stopped, turning her head slightly, an eyebrow raised. “So you came back just to tell me—?”

Again, Ye An cut her off. “I did it on purpose.”

Meng Lanyi looked at him in astonishment.

“I wanted to see just how much you truly don’t care about me,” Ye An said seriously, not as if joking.

The breath she’d been holding quietly dissipated, but Meng Lanyi gave no sign, her voice calm. “And did you get your answer?”

Ye An reached for her temple, his low laugh tinged with depth. “Either you hide it too well, or I’m too dense to see anything.”

Meng Lanyi drew back, a wry smile playing on her lips—whether in relief or disappointment, she could not say. She gazed into the distance, a shimmer in her eyes.

Ye An stepped forward, bowing close to her ear, his voice barely above a whisper. “If I can’t find out in one try, I’ll try a few more. Unless you’re afraid that I’ll fall in love with someone else over time—because I’m not afraid of that at all.”

Meng Lanyi had only to turn her head slightly to brush against his handsome face. The wind stirred, tangling their hair together—like a binding knot. The posture was too intimate. Beneath the azure sky, Meng Lanyi could clearly hear her own heartbeat. The snow at their feet—like fleeting time—melted swiftly in the sunlight.

Later, whenever Meng Lanyi thought back to that early morning, with the sudden breeze and the snow-laden earth, standing by the blossoming plum tree, she felt a sharp pang of fear at Ye An’s words.

After that, by day, he and Meng Lanyi were like courteous strangers, a model couple in public. By night, he would go to Bihe Courtyard and not return until the next morning, after washing and dressing.

Gradually, Meng Lanyi grew restless.

Night after night, lying alone, she found herself sleepless, her mind crowded with chaotic thoughts—Ye An painting Lulan’s brows, dressing her warmly, soothing her to sleep, smiling at her, teaching her chess, playing the zither for her… Now, she could not honestly claim she was unaffected. Yet some things, even if she wished to reach for them, still filled her with fear. She had always acted with caution, never taking risks, and when it came to matters of the heart, she was the same. What she did not know was that Ye An only needed a single gentle word from her. Yet she was always stingy with them, never willing to speak.