Chapter Fifty-Two: Ten Miles of Peach Blossoms (1)

In the days after Liu Yun left, Ye Qianran did not particularly miss him. He lingered faintly in her heart, there yet not quite there, always tugging at some hidden nerve that would not let her rest easy. She did not feel, as the Book of Songs described, that a day apart was like three autumns gone. Instead, there were days when, before she even rose from bed, she knew she would think of him the whole day through. And then there were days when she would work until late at night, only to suddenly realize that she had not thought of him even for a moment. These things were beyond her control, entirely ungovernable.

In the days without him, time still passed swiftly; in the blink of an eye, it was early spring, the third month, the season when grass grows and orioles fly. Every tree was budding green; every flower was poised to bloom. The spring breeze was gentle, birds sang with melodious turns, spring’s presence thickened, and the air was saturated with its scent.

On such fine days, in such weather, it was the perfect time to go out and enjoy the spring.

Lifting her gaze to the clear sky, she saw the soft white clouds casting irregular shadows upon the lush grass. Willow fluff drifted in the air; the newly sprouted golden-green willows by the lake brushed softly against her cheek. Walking along the lakeside’s mossy stone path, Ye Qianran was dappled by sunlight filtering through the leaves, the shifting light outlining a face of surpassing beauty: skin like snow and jade, long brows, eyes lifted at the corners with a hint of charm, lips thin and red. She wore a dress of watery blue, sleeves wide, swirling in the warm breeze. Under the willows by the lake, she paused, raising a crystal-clear flute to her lips—a flute she had brought from Jiangnan. The song she played, “Spring Longing,” was one her cousin had taught her in Suzhou. Now, separated from Suzhou by vast distances, she could only recall those beautiful days in her memory.

Juanbi, her head tilted, stood behind her, fingers idly twining a soft willow branch. When the song ended, the two sat on a long stone bench by the lake, gazing at the blue sky in the distance, speaking of old times. They remembered the year they visited the Ten-Li Sea of Blossoms outside Suzhou, surrounded by a group of self-proclaimed poetic young men reciting overly sentimental verses. Though it was all rather comical, Ye Qianran, out of respect, would always maintain a serious expression, while Juanbi and Lülian delighted in inventing nicknames for those young gentlemen behind their backs.

Back then, being surrounded by admirers every day had felt tiresome to Ye Qianran, but now, looking back, those days seemed so full and delightful. Here in the capital, glancing around, she hardly knew anyone. Inevitably, a sense of nostalgia welled up within her.

Suddenly, a light sparked in Juanbi’s eyes, as if she had thought of something wonderful. Her large eyes shone with excitement. “Miss, a few days ago, Aunt Liu mentioned there’s a peach blossom grove outside the capital that stretches for miles. Right now, the peach trees are in full bloom. Why don’t we go have a look? I’m sure the scenery there is stunning.”

Ye Qianran was stirred; she had not gone out for a long time, having spent the entire winter cooped up at home. Now, hearing of such a lovely place, she could not let the opportunity slip by. With Ye Qianran’s approval, Juanbi set about preparing at once.

Ye Qianran sought permission from her mother. As expected, Wen Qiumei agreed with a smile, only reminding her to be careful, saying nothing more.

Ye Qianran left joyfully with Juanbi.

Asheng volunteered to drive the carriage for them, and the three of them set off together.

Time had subtly changed many things. In just a year, a trace of maturity had appeared between Asheng’s brows; his smile was no longer as clear as in the past. When Juanbi spoke of Asheng, her fondness was obvious. Ye Qianran knew Juanbi treated Asheng very well, almost as if he were her own younger brother—genuinely caring and attentive.

Though Ye Qianran liked him too, she could never feel fully at ease. There was always a sense that something was not quite right, though she could not put her finger on it. Whenever she asked Juanbi about this, Juanbi, ever straightforward, would just say, “No, I think he’s great.” Eventually, Ye Qianran let the matter rest.

By the time their carriage reached Ten-Li Slope, the sun was already high. Ye Qianran and Juanbi hastily ate some dry rations, then alighted. Asheng took charge of parking the carriage in the wide open space there. Many carriages were already parked, some grand, some plain. Grooms stood beside them, and some, recognizing acquaintances, chatted idly while their masters were away. Asheng, knowing no one here, began to survey the terrain—a habit developed over years of following his father in the army.

Ye Qianran and Juanbi climbed the slope. From the summit, they gazed upon a peach blossom forest stretching for miles below. Ye Qianran let out a long breath. Juanbi exclaimed with excitement, “How beautiful!”

It truly was a magnificent sight. In the distance, blue-green mountains were wreathed in clouds; the sky was a vivid blue above the endless peach forest. The blossoms burned like fire upon the branches, some pure red as blood, some bright as rouge, blending in layers of shade and color. Thousands upon thousands of trees wove a tapestry of floral brocade. As Ye Qianran and Juanbi descended, the white embroidered shoes revealed their pale yellow linings, treading softly on the grass. Peach blossoms drifted through the air; dark hair, streaked with sky-blue ribbons, fluttered like a blue butterfly breaking into a vast pink dream—a striking splash of color.

They reached a level stretch among the hills where a winding stone path divided the peach forest in two. Many had come to admire the blossoms; children with hair in topknots darted through the trees, laughing and playing, while visitors strolled in small groups, conversing as they went. Their flowing garments and the peach blossoms together formed another kind of scenery.

By chance, Ye Qianran turned her head and spotted, beneath a peach tree, a figure robed in elegant sapphire blue, speaking with another whose sleeves fluttered in the breeze. She saw only his profile—a bearing both graceful and refined—but did not recognize him.

It was not until the man turned and met her gaze that Ye Qianran’s heart skipped a beat. His eyes lit up with sudden recognition—it was Wei Zhuang.

Wei Zhuang smiled and explained to his companion that he had seen an acquaintance, then walked toward her. Ye Qianran instinctively wanted to pretend she hadn’t seen him, but it was too late.

He greeted her with the same gentle smile, his voice clear, tinged with a slight surprise that faded into calm, “Miss Ye? It’s been a long time.”

Ye Qianran nodded awkwardly in response. Wei Zhuang glanced behind her. “Is Miss here alone?”

She shifted slightly. “Yes, alone.”

Wei Zhuang smiled, lowering his head, obsidian eyes glinting with a subtle light. “To encounter you in a place like this—fate, perhaps. Would Miss like to join us?”

Ye Qianran forced a faint smile. “You have friends with you; I wouldn’t want to intrude. I’ll take my leave.” With those words, she turned to go, but Wei Zhuang’s pleasant voice drifted on the breeze, every word striking her ear: “Aren’t you curious to know what kind of person Zhuge Liuyun’s opponent is?”

Ye Qianran abruptly turned around. Wei Zhuang smiled softly, “I can introduce you.”

Without hesitation, Ye Qianran followed him. He smiled as he introduced her, “This is Ye Qianran.” Then, turning to her, he said, “And this is Yan Qing.”

Yan Qing gave a gentle smile and extended his hand. “I’ve long heard of Miss Ye. Meeting you today, your reputation truly precedes you—a peerless beauty. It’s an honor.” His words were polite, though beneath them lay a hint of unrestrained pride.

Ye Qianran extended her hand as well. “The most esteemed advisor under the Sixth Prince, who rose to fame at the Battle of Qingqiu—Yan Qing. A pleasure to meet you.”

Yan Qing took her hand, a smile appearing on his face. “I did not expect Miss Ye, a young lady, to recognize me. I am quite surprised.”

Ye Qianran smiled. “You flatter me, sir. Who doesn’t know of the legendary White-Robed Chancellor?” He lowered his head, a restrained smile on his lips. “Miss, you give me too much credit; I am unworthy of such a title.”

Ye Qianran’s smile was faint. “Now that the Sixth Prince has rebelled, and you remain openly in the capital as his advisor—just for that alone, you have my admiration.” Though her words were complimentary, her tone was calm and composed.

Yan Qing clapped his hands and laughed. “Master Wei, your friend is indeed remarkable. No wonder you hold her in such esteem. Today, I finally understand why.”

Wei Zhuang maintained his usual serenity. “Zimu, you talk too much.” Zimu was Yan Qing’s courtesy name; Wei Zhuang always addressed him thus in private.

Ye Qianran looked at Wei Zhuang, slightly puzzled, not understanding what Yan Qing meant.

Realizing he had misspoken, Yan Qing apologized. Their distant companions beckoned, urging them to hurry. Yan Qing glanced at Wei Zhuang, who said, “Go on ahead; I’ll follow shortly.”

With a knowing look, Yan Qing nodded to Ye Qianran. “Miss Ye, I’ll take my leave. Until we meet again.”

Ye Qianran nodded politely in return.

He walked away with easy grace, his wide sleeves billowing in the wind, truly possessing a touch of that legendary elegance—like the wind itself.

Watching his retreating figure, Ye Qianran thought, So this is the rival Liuyun will face in the days to come. And Wei Zhuang—she still had no idea who he really was, or what role he played.

Wei Zhuang noticed her distracted expression and asked with a smile, “What are you thinking?”

Ye Qianran collected herself and walked beside him. “I was wondering—what kind of person are you, sir?”

“Oh? And have you come to any conclusions?” His gaze was intense.

Ye Qianran smiled. “Will you tell me the answer?”

Wei Zhuang smiled silently. “Do you truly wish to know?”

Ye Qianran’s gaze drifted to the distant mountains, her eyes unfocused as if her thoughts had wandered far away. “I’ve met many people, but none quite like you. It always seems as though you are capable of anything—that there is nothing you cannot obtain if you desire it, that you have no worries or cares, that you are untroubled by reputation or convention, living freely and at ease. Sometimes I wonder what sort of person can live like that, but no matter how long I ponder it, I cannot find an answer. Will you tell me, sir?” As she spoke, her eyes rested quietly and earnestly on Wei Zhuang’s face.

Wei Zhuang looked at her for a long moment. The wind lifted the wide sleeves of his robe, the air rich with floral fragrance, petals swirling all around. His long hair, tousled by the wind, occasionally brushed against his face. He smiled lightly, his gaze calm as he looked into the distance. “It’s better that you don’t know, Miss. I am not a good man.”

Ye Qianran’s lips curved in a small smile. “And what is a good man? What is a bad man? If you are not a good man, then by knowing you, does that not make me a bad person as well?”