Chapter Forty-five: Verdant Yearning

In the blink of an eye, it was already the twenty-fifth day of the twelfth lunar month. The end of the year drew near, and the festive atmosphere thickened with each passing day. Everyone was busy with preparations, and even though snow had begun to fall again in recent days, it could not dampen the lively spirit that filled the residence. This year was especially vibrant, for in addition to the festival, Ye Qianran’s birthday was approaching, making the household all the more bustling.

That day, after Ye Qianran played a piece called “Plum Blossoms in the Snow” in her room, she found herself restless and uninspired. Taking up her umbrella, she decided to take a stroll. Snowflakes fluttered gently from the sky, layer upon layer; the old snow had not yet melted when fresh snow arrived. She realized she had seldom visited the back garden since she arrived and grew curious about what sights it might hold. With this thought, she walked along the garden path, her eyes falling upon a boundless sea of white. Where once there had been lush greenery, vibrant blossoms, and shaded trees, now only withered branches and stumps remained. Yet in the corner by the wall, a few plum trees stood defiantly against the wind and snow, their fragrance drifting subtly through the air, delicate and elusive.

Her heart stirred. She made her way through thickets stripped bare by winter, her footsteps crunching on the snow, and circled around the pines and cypresses, now buried in white. By the high wall, a dozen or so pristine-hearted plum trees were in exuberant bloom. Unlike the white or red plums in the courtyard, these had pure white centers and pale yellow petals, each blossom dusted with snow. They lacked the stark chill of the white plums or the fiery vibrance of the red, exuding instead a unique, quiet charm.

Ye Qianran paused beneath one of these trees, closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply. The rich fragrance cleansed her heart of days of gloom and restlessness. She was about to follow the wall to the end of the plum trees when she suddenly noticed a shadowy figure at the far end. Before she could think, words escaped her lips: “Who’s there?”

The figure turned. She wore a silver-white cloak, with a maid standing behind her. The moment Ye Qianran saw her face, a faint smile played on her lips, though her eyes remained devoid of emotion.

She walked forward and bowed gracefully, “Miss.”

It was Lulan.

Since Lulan had moved to Bihe Courtyard, Ye Qianran had not seen her again—or perhaps it was that she had not wanted to see her.

Ye Qianran glanced at the maid holding an umbrella behind Lulan, then at Lulan’s slightly rounded belly. Her expression was unreadable. After a long pause, she turned to leave, but before she could take a step, there was a sudden thud behind her, followed by the maid’s panicked voice, “Miss…”

Ye Qianran turned to see Lulan kneeling in the snow. The maid tried to help her up, but Lulan pushed her away. Ye Qianran looked on, face impassive. “What are you doing? I cannot bear such a gesture from you.”

“Thank you, Miss, for your magnanimity,” Lulan said, bowing deeply.

Ye Qianran’s smile was as faint as water, her voice devoid of emotion. “When I nearly drowned at six, you saved me. I have never forgotten your kindness. From that moment, I swore to treat you well and to grant you what you wished for, as best I could. This time was no exception. I told you: once I helped you with this, we would be even.”

“Are you still angry with me, Miss?” Lulan asked softly, her eyes on the snow at her feet. Snowflakes landed in her black hair, melting instantly.

Ye Qianran raised an eyebrow. “Before you told me you were carrying my brother’s child, you already knew I would help you. You know I cannot abide owing anyone a debt of gratitude. So, the moment you spoke, I had no choice. I’m not angry because you wish to become the Ye family’s second wife, but because you used the special regard I had for you.” She closed her eyes, her tone tinged with sadness. “Everyone has the right to choose their own path. You are clever and refuse to live an ordinary life—I understand. You need not feel you owe me anything. I have repaid the debt from all those years ago. From now on, there are no more ties between us.”

The snow fell heavier. Ye Qianran pulled her cloak tighter, her hand gripping the umbrella numbed by the cold, trembling slightly. Not a single tear escaped her, for she wiped it away as she smoothed her hair.

“Miss…” Lulan called softly, as if wishing to reach out, yet knowing there was nothing left to hold onto.

Ye Qianran turned and left.

Through the swirling white snow, Lulan watched her retreating figure, feeling an emptiness inside as if something vital were slowly slipping away.

Ye Qianran made her way back to Bamboo Snow Pavilion. As she entered the courtyard, she saw Wei Zhuang standing at the end of the covered walkway, gazing at the endless snowfall. She was a little startled, but quickly remembered how he always found ways to circumvent her father and see her. She was used to it now and did not bother to wonder what excuse he had come up with this time.

Seeing her approach, umbrella in hand, Wei Zhuang hurried down the walkway through the snow to meet her, taking the bamboo umbrella from her hand. His gaze lingered on her eyes, which seemed calm, yet he sensed something stirring within them. In a low voice, he asked, “Miss, is something troubling you?”

As she walked, Ye Qianran glanced at him, “Why do you ask such a thing, sir?”

Wei Zhuang smiled gently, “No particular reason. It just seems as though you have something on your mind.”

Ye Qianran’s lips curved into a slight smile, but there was no laughter in her eyes. “You worry over nothing, sir.” Then she changed the subject. “It’s snowing so heavily today—what brings you here?”

Juan Bi had already come out of the house. She took the umbrella from Wei Zhuang, her face flushing before she even looked at him. Ye Qianran cast her a glance, then looked back at Wei Zhuang without speaking. Only when Juan Bi had taken the umbrella inside did she ask, “Did you say something outrageous to her again?”

He looked innocent. “Not at all. I merely asked her if she’d been using your rouge without permission, because she’s becoming prettier by the day. She became too embarrassed to reply.”

Ye Qianran shot him a helpless look. “Why do you still enjoy teasing people so?”

Wei Zhuang’s eyes lit up. “I’ve never teased you. With you, I always speak the truth.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Saying such things to me is teasing enough.”

He made as if to protest, but Ye Qianran cut him off, quickly steering the conversation away. “You still haven’t told me, what brings you here today?”

Wei Zhuang only smiled and led her inside. Puzzled, Ye Qianran followed. Juan Bi removed her cloak. On the left side of the room, atop a qin stand before the floor screen, lay an instrument covered by a silk cloth. Seeing Wei Zhuang’s mysterious demeanor, Ye Qianran’s lips curled with amusement. “What is it? Why all the secrecy?”

Wei Zhuang nodded, and Juan Bi lifted the silk, revealing a seven-string guqin, black as night with a faint greenish sheen, as though green vines were winding around ancient wood. Ye Qianran turned to Wei Zhuang in surprise. “This is…”

“Green Yi, the beloved instrument of Princess Jingyuan of the Western Dynasty,” Wei Zhuang finished for her.

Ye Qianran stepped forward, fingers brushing the strings. A shiver of excitement ran through her as she plucked a few notes—deep, resonant, and ancient, the sound filled the room.

Turning to Wei Zhuang, her eyes sparkled. “Wasn’t it said that when the Western Dynasty fell, Green Yi disappeared with Princess Jingyuan? How did it come into your possession?”

Wei Zhuang lowered his head in a smile. “It was the princess who vanished, not her instrument. Her trusted maid smuggled Green Yi out of the palace. After many years and much wandering, it ended up in the south, where I was fortunate enough to acquire it. I’ve heard of your renowned skill with the qin and wished to gift it to you, if you would accept it.”

Ye Qianran’s gaze lingered lovingly on the instrument, but her voice was modest. “How could I, with my humble abilities, deserve such a gift?”

Wei Zhuang laughed softly. “It is my fortune to have made your acquaintance. Your birthday is near, and I have nothing else worthy to offer—please accept this qin as a token of my regard.”

Ye Qianran’s head shot up in disbelief. “How did you know my birthday is near?”

Wei Zhuang did not answer. Instead, his gaze drifted beyond the door to the swirling snow, his expression growing distant. “Sixteen years ago, I was eleven. It was the coldest winter I can remember; the snow seemed to bury the entire world.”

His look was strange, and Ye Qianran watched him with curiosity. This was the first time he had mentioned his past. She waited quietly for him to continue, but he suddenly changed the subject. “I’ve heard so much of your skill, Miss. Would you play a piece for me?”

A little disappointed at his evasion, Ye Qianran reminded herself it was his private matter and better left unasked. She asked casually, “What would you like to hear?”

His voice remained distant. “Anything you wish.”

That snowy day, Wei Zhuang leaned against the doorframe, gazing at the world cloaked in silver. The sound of the qin filled the silence, and he seemed a different man—quieter, more contemplative than usual.

From that angle, Ye Qianran saw his handsome profile against the falling snow; standing quietly by the door, he exuded a steady, mountain-like presence that left her momentarily dazed. The notes beneath her fingers grew blurred with her thoughts. When the piece ended, Wei Zhuang did not turn, but his quiet voice was unyielding. “Qianran, were you distracted?”

Her face flushed. She hurriedly took out a handkerchief to hide it, stole a glance at him, and secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness he hadn’t turned around, or he’d surely have teased her.

The steward accompanied Ye Yuandao to Bamboo Snow Pavilion. Wei Zhuang and Ye Qianran stood in the corridor, watching the endless snow, chatting about everything and nothing, from the ends of the earth to the most trivial matters. Ye Qianran was amazed to discover that whatever topic she brought up, he could converse with her about it. He seemed to know everything—music, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry, the art of governance, the way of commerce, medicine and pharmacology, astronomy and geography, Daoism and martial arts… He had dabbled in them all, and talking with him was always a pleasure. He could always make her laugh, yet when he was serious, he was solemn in a way that left her slightly bewildered.

Her father regarded him with great esteem and respect. In the past, she had not understood why a man with such a notorious reputation as Wei Zhuang received such treatment from her father. But today she finally understood: Wei Zhuang’s words were like… well, like a discipline in themselves—not mere flattery or empty praise, but subtle and sincere, always leaving one at ease. Even when you knew he was being complimentary, it never felt cloying, and indeed, he was genuinely admirable.

When he left, her father was reluctant to see him go, inviting him to visit often. Wei Zhuang nodded with reserved politeness. Her father insisted she thank him profusely, saying it was not the value of the birthday gift, but the thought that mattered. Wei Zhuang said nothing out of place, merely that he had few friends in the capital and was closest to Master Ye; he regarded Qianran as a younger sister, and it was only natural for an older brother to give his sister a present. These words delighted Ye Yuandao, his eyes crinkling with joy.

After Wei Zhuang left, Ye Qianran eagerly questioned her father about him. But her father knew little, only that Wei Zhuang was an orphan who had once done business in Shandong before drifting to the capital and finally settling there. He recounted how, years ago, Wei Zhuang had helped him in a time of desperate need—without him, he would have been ruined. For this, he said, he owed Wei Zhuang a lifetime of gratitude.

Hearing this, Ye Qianran pouted discontentedly, for Wei Zhuang had told her he had his own motives for helping her father, though her father was unaware.

When bored, Ye Qianran often found herself thinking of Wei Zhuang. She couldn’t understand why the Wei Zhuang of rumor was so different from the one she knew. Was it that she did not truly know him, or had the rumors been wrong from the start? She never found an answer.

And so the days passed, one after another, until at last, New Year’s Eve arrived.