Chapter Sixty-Seven: Confrontation

She stood shoulder to shoulder with him beneath the eaves of the long corridor. Fallen leaves whirled around them, autumn rain misted the air, and the rich green bamboo of September stood out strikingly against the halo of golden light. Yan Qing drew a handkerchief from his sleeve. “Miss Ye, do you recognize this handkerchief?”

A flicker of surprise crossed her face. Ye Qianran took the handkerchief, gazing up at him, her eyes limpid as autumn water, filled with bewilderment. “How did my handkerchief end up in your hands, Master Yan?” She glanced at it again. “But this handkerchief seems quite old.” As she spoke, she produced her own, and indeed, it was identical. Yan Qing took both handkerchiefs, feeling the same silk, the same needlework, the same blooming orchids—unmistakably crafted by the same hand. With a calm expression, he returned them to her, feigning casualness as he asked, “Did you make these, Miss?”

Ye Qianran smiled. “These belonged to my mother.”

“May I ask your esteemed mother’s name?”

“Wen Nü Qiumei.”

Time seemed to pause. The autumn rain drummed upon the paulownia leaves, branches swayed in shadow. Yan Qing gazed at Ye Qianran in silence. Father, I have finally found the unfulfilled wish you left behind, the woman you could never forget, for whom you remained unwed all your life. At last, I have found her for you.

“But how did you come to have my mother’s things?” Ye Qianran asked, puzzled.

Yan Qing smiled faintly. “Your mother now enjoys the company of her children, surrounded by filial devotion. Nothing could be more complete in life. Yet, it seems she has forgotten many things.”

“What sort of things?” Ye Qianran asked instinctively.

Yan Qing looked up at the dim sky, an enigmatic smile playing about his lips. “You must be wondering why Zhang Yu suddenly wished to marry you, mustn’t you?”

Ye Qianran watched him, a sinking feeling gathering in her heart. Yan Qing turned to her. “It was my doing.”

“Why?” she asked. “What do you stand to gain from this?”

“As you know, I serve under the Sixth Prince, as does Zhang Jing. A third of the officials in the capital are already loyal to him. The best way to win your father over is through you.”

“You mean to force my father into rebellion, to betray the court?” Ye Qianran’s expression hardened, her question urgent, though the answer was already clear.

“I have left your father a path of retreat. Whether he takes it is up to him.” Yan Qing reached out to catch a falling raindrop. Though the fate of entire families was at stake, he spoke as if nothing could trouble him.

“Why are you telling me this?” Ye Qianran fixed her gaze on him. If this was his plan, why confide in her at all? He shouldn’t have.

“Because I am not afraid of you knowing. This is a done deal; even if your father possesses unmatched skill, there are only two paths left to him. I don’t fear his escape. What I fear is that he won’t.”

“You…”

Yan Qing furrowed his brow, as if struck by a sudden mischievous thought, and a strange smile bloomed on his lips. “Why don’t you ask me about Zhuge Liuyun? Apart from His Majesty himself, no one knows more about the front lines than I.”

Ye Qianran fell silent.

“Don’t you want to know?” he pressed.

Ye Qianran did not reply. How could she ask? The man before her was Liuyun’s enemy; how could she inquire after Liuyun with him?

Yan Qing sighed, whether for her or for something else, she could not tell. “Right now, the two armies are battling in Hunan. Before long, a flood of refugees will pour into the capital.”

“The sixty thousand troops sent out by the court in June—defeat after defeat…” She could not hold back. “What of him—how is he?”

Yan Qing only smiled, refusing to answer, diverting the conversation to another. “Before coming here, I asked Mr. Wei if he minded me visiting you. Can you guess what he said?”

Ye Qianran’s body stiffened. Wei Zhuang… how long had it been since she’d heard that name? She still cared, though she would not admit it. Her face remained expressionless as she asked, “And what did he say?” Though her palms were slick with sweat, her voice was steady. Yan Qing watched her with interest. “He said, ‘She is she; I am me. Our ties were severed long ago.’”

Her hand clenched unconsciously. She had known what the answer would be, and yet she still harbored hope. Reality poured over her like cold water, leaving her chilled to the bone, her face so pale it was nearly transparent.

Yan Qing watched her face drain of color and laughed, for he found Ye Qianran an intriguing woman. “Before today, I too believed he spoke the truth. Only just now did I realize—he’s been deceiving me all along. Not only me, but himself as well.”

Ye Qianran stared at him uncomprehendingly, but he suddenly reached out, catching her by the waist and pulling her close. Instinctively, she struggled. His lips grazed the corner of her mouth, brushed over her snowy cheek, pausing at her ear. “If I told you, he’s just outside the door—would you believe me?”

Ye Qianran ceased her struggle, her voice as cold and pure as a newly-bloomed snow lotus on Tianshan. “I wouldn’t believe you.”

“Then do you wish to see him? If you do, don’t resist.” Yan Qing chuckled softly, and before she could react, his lips claimed hers.

Draped in snowy white, the two of them entwined—a dazzling sight. Ye Qianran did not resist, letting Yan Qing kiss her. She too wanted to know: would Wei Zhuang really appear?

At first, Yan Qing kissed her out of mischief, wanting to rupture the façade of that self-righteous man. He knew that Wei Zhuang had been shadowing him all along, claiming their bond was severed, but still unable to let go. Since that was the case, Yan Qing would help him.

Yet, the woman in his arms was so soft and fragrant. Though gentle as water, she possessed a spark that could inflame the heart. He found he could neither let go nor wished to. His kiss deepened, his grip tightened. By the time Ye Qianran sensed the shift and tried to resist, it was too late—he had already pressed her against a pillar, rendering her helpless. A wave of weakness swept over her. How many times had this happened? Did men only wish to possess women’s bodies, caring nothing for feeling, only for desire? She no longer wished to struggle; she gave up. Suddenly, she felt utterly weary. Only Liuyun had ever truly loved her—he was different from all of them.

But Wei Zhuang… she had never understood him, nor could she.

At last, Yan Qing released her, wiping his lips with his thumb, still unsated. “If you weren’t the one Wei Zhuang desired, I’d never let you go. But since he set his eyes on you first, I won’t steal what belongs to another.” He paused. “Sometimes I find your feelings strange. You’re clearly in love with Zhuge Liuyun, yet just to draw Wei Zhuang out, you can endure my touch. What are you truly thinking? It’s a mystery.”

Ye Qianran laughed coldly. “My thoughts are none of your concern, Master Yan. I simply did not expect you to take such advantage of my predicament.”

Yan Qing threw back his head and laughed, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “It’s true I took advantage of you. But you didn’t resist, did you?”

“You—”

Yan Qing caught her accusing finger, his voice thick with implication. “Don’t you want to see Wei Zhuang? He’ll come. He cares for you too much to stay away.”

Ye Qianran stood frozen.

Outside, the rain fell harder. Night draped itself over the world. Autumn chrysanthemums in the courtyard were battered to tattered ruin by the relentless rain. Wind and rain swept down withered leaves, leaving the courtyard desolate. Ye Qianran stood at the window. The autumn rain blew in through the half-open panes, dampening her clothes.

Juanbi came in to light the lamps. The flickering glow filled the room. Ye Qianran stood at the window, her gaze unfocused, her slender form casting a silhouette against the folding screen ablaze with autumn chrysanthemums. Juanbi approached softly. “Miss, the autumn wind grows colder. Shall I close the window?”

Ye Qianran did not move, only murmured, “You may rest now. I wish to be alone tonight.”

Juanbi saw her mistress’s distracted air and felt uneasy, but dared not ask more. Since they had moved to this villa, the young lady had grown ever more melancholy, prone to long silences. Juanbi had grown used to it. Perhaps it was best not to disturb her. Quietly, she closed the door behind her.

Outside, the autumn rain fell fine and steady, drumming against the paulownias. The night was lonely and bleak.

Ye Qianran knew he was there—he and she separated by only a single wall. He refused to come in; she refused to step out.

The night was so dark, the rain so heavy. He would rather stand in that storm than come inside.

Ye Qianran’s heart felt like a stone teetering on the edge of a bottomless chasm.

She stood unmoving at the window. In the darkness, the swaying shadows of trees heaved like black waves, threatening to engulf everything.

The wind was so cold, the rain so icy.

He must hate her now. Truly, never meeting again would be the best ending.

I will walk my own road, you will cross your lonely bridge—we were never meant to share a world.

Yet why does my heart still cling to hope, still yearn for your arrival, even if just for a single glance, a fleeting moment?

If you come, how should I face you? What stance should I take? How should I handle our bond? I have never thought it through. I only long to see you, to look upon you again.

You treated me so kindly, and I to you so cruelly.

I have always been harsh, unfeeling, repaying kindness with coldness.

Why did I treat you so? I do not know. I have asked myself a thousand times, yet found no answer. It was simply instinct.

Looking back, perhaps it was because I knew you loved me, because deep down I knew you would never leave, no matter how I treated you. So I acted without restraint.

What kind of feeling is this? I do not know, nor do I wish to. But at this moment, I want to see you—truly, desperately want to see you.

The candlelight flickered. Night deepened.

Inside, her heart felt painfully hollow, as though a lush spring field, soaked and thriving, had been scoured all night by a bitter dry wind, leaving only cracked emptiness. The void ached.

Never appear before me again.

Do not come before me again.

Ye Qianran had almost never touched wine, but tonight she made an exception. If she went on thinking like this, she would lose all restraint and run out to him. She did not wish to be so pitiful. She must not be the one to step out.

Drunkenness would be best—let a thousand sorrows drown in wine.

To be drunk was best.