Chapter Seventy-Five: Entwined Passions (1)

Once again, it was night. Wei Zhuang found himself particularly loathing the evening hours. Although darkness could conceal many things, it only served to highlight his isolation and helplessness. Each night, an indescribable loneliness would creep upon him, a loneliness so maddening it could drive one insane, denying even the peace of death.

With narrowed eyes, Wei Zhuang leaned over the railing on the second floor. The night was deep, frost cold and dew chilling, lights flickering faintly in the distance. He and she had been locked in a cold war for ten days. At first, it was simply anger—anger that she had gone to seek Yan Qing without consulting him, anger at her independence, anger that she seemed to disregard him. Yet all he had wanted was for her to concede, to say a few soft words. But the longer it lasted, the colder his heart became. He spent his nights in revelry, never coming home, and she knew it, yet cared not at all. The women at his side changed one after another, but she greeted them with a smile. Others praised her generosity, but only he knew that her generosity was born from indifference. This woman was destined to be his nemesis—one he could not let go of, yet could never possess.

The candlelight in the small upstairs room shimmered in the night mist, so close yet so distant. No matter how he approached, there always remained a gap.

Wei Zhuang turned and entered his room.

Ye Qianran descended the stairs.

Wei Zhuang opened the door just as Ye Qianran’s hand was poised to knock, her gesture suspended in midair. He paused for a moment, then his lips curled in a self-mocking smile, his words cold: "What are you here for?" Without waiting for her reply, he continued, "If there's nothing important, I'm leaving. You should go back."

He imagined she would be furious, turn on her heel and storm away. But this time, she remained perfectly still and asked, "Don't go."

"Why not?" he tilted his head, waiting for her answer.

Ye Qianran stepped closer, and without warning, her hands circled his neck, she rose on tiptoe, and pressed her lips to his.

Wei Zhuang’s breath suddenly lightened, staring at her in stunned silence, "What are you doing?"

Ye Qianran rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder, "Guess what I'm doing."

Wei Zhuang pulled away slightly, still unsure of her intent—or perhaps he understood, but dared not believe. He gazed at her quietly, his voice low as if fearing something, "Qianran, if you do this, I might misunderstand."

Ye Qianran's gaze lingered on his face, her voice soft, almost inaudible, "As your wife, I didn't trust you. I'm sorry. I made a deal with Yan Qing without consulting you. I'm sorry. I didn't fulfill the promises I made you. I'm sorry..."

With a sudden movement, Wei Zhuang spun her around and pinned her against the door, his eyes searching hers as if to see into her soul. Ye Qianran did not flinch, letting his gaze strip her bare. She reached up to encircle his neck, and Wei Zhuang stared straight at her, "Qianran, what do you mean?"

Ye Qianran answered with a question, "Do you regret marrying me?"

Wei Zhuang lifted her chin, moonlight spilling in from outside, his gaze sharp and intense as it swept across her brows, eyes, nose, and lips, "Do you regret marrying me?"

Her cheek brushed against his, coming to rest against the warmth of his neck, and she whispered in his ear, "Never."

His heart suddenly softened, like fruit steeped in honey. All the love, hate, entanglements and grudges were forgotten in that moment. He lowered his head and kissed her, a passionate and lingering kiss, as if even their breath might be taken away.

Wei Zhuang’s fingers slid down her temple, his voice gentle, "Qianran, this time it was you who provoked me first. If you regret it in the future, I’ll kill you."

Ye Qianran gazed quietly at him, her hand covering his as it passed over her face, "If one day I betray you, then kill me."

Tonight, there was moon, there was wind, the shadows of trees swayed, the water flowed on and on. She was willing to accept him, and that was enough—more than enough.

Wei Zhuang carried her into the room, the wide bed a testament to his happiness. He lowered his head to kiss her, his warm fingers sliding down her soft body, such burning passion finally finding its home. The woman in his arms was the one he loved. His fingers deftly undid her clothes, Wei Zhuang pressed himself against her neck, beginning to nibble at her skin.

Ye Qianran clung tightly to his back, their bodies pressed together, desire stirring. All the hidden affection, all the denied feelings surged forth in that moment. Wei Zhuang gently took her earlobe into his mouth, his breathing growing more hurried. Through eyes clouded by desire, she teased him at his ear, "How many women’s clothes have these hands undressed?"

His heart grew softer and softer, "No matter how many women’s clothes I’ve undressed before, from now on, these hands belong only to you."

Outside, the moon was full, the cotton-rose blossoms at their peak, the fragrance of the night filling the room with romance.

The next morning, the scent of incense lingered lightly in the air. Wei Zhuang propped his head up with his hand, watching Ye Qianran sit dazed before the mirror, a satisfied smile at his lips. She wore only a white nightdress, her ink-black hair cascading quietly down her back. As she rose from bed, Wei Zhuang embraced her from behind, "What are you thinking about?" In the bronze mirror, two exquisite faces were reflected. Ye Qianran looked back at him in a daze, his lips holding a barely-there smile, warm and gentle, chasing away all her worries and fears. She gazed quietly at him, and Wei Zhuang, inexplicably embarrassed by her gaze, coughed awkwardly, "Is there something on my face?"

Ye Qianran’s hand involuntarily caressed his clean, resolute face, and Wei Zhuang’s body suddenly stiffened. She called him softly, "Yun Kai," tender and lingering.

Wei Zhuang gripped her fingertips, his heart filled to the brim with lasting affection, his eyes flashing with a fierce, cool light, "What did you just call me?"

"Yun Kai," hard steel softened around her fingers.

Wei Zhuang gazed at her, then in the next moment cupped her face and kissed her.

Ye Qianran wrapped her arms around his neck, and he began to kiss her—more meticulously, more tenderly than ever before. Their lips and tongues entwined in passionate longing, as if all his feelings for life were condensed here, as if his entire existence was meant only to hold onto her.

He pressed his forehead against hers, his voice deepening and growing husky, "Qianran, promise me—don’t leave me, never leave me."

Ye Qianran’s fingers lingered at his neck, the heat of his skin nearly scorching her, but she only held him tighter, "I won’t leave you. I’ll never leave you."

Wei Zhuang suddenly laughed, embracing her like a child.

In truth, what he wanted was simple—a beloved woman, a simple home. Nothing more.

Wei Zhuang learned of Wen Qiumei’s fate only ten days after her death. It was not unusual for people to die mysteriously at the Bureau of Female Entertainers; after so long, everyone had grown accustomed to it. The only reason he found out was because Ye Qianran wanted to visit them, so Wei Zhuang made inquiries.

The attendants said she had already been buried, in the mass grave. Ye Qianran searched every corner of the graveyard, not even finding a scrap of her clothing.

Such a vast graveyard, overgrown with weeds, littered with bones, she knelt on the ground in anguish, heartbroken beyond measure. How could this happen?

She couldn’t comprehend how fate could be so cruel. She had already paid dearly for her recklessness—her family’s house confiscated, her father and brother exiled, her mother and sister stripped of their status. She had nothing left. Now even her mother’s life was taken. Was it because her punishment was still not enough? All of it was her fault, yet why did the punishment not fall upon her? Why was she forced to watch those she loved depart, one after another? It was more painful than death.

Wei Zhuang held her tightly, refusing to let go.

Ye Qianran suddenly lifted her head, gripping his sleeve like the last straw of hope in her life, "Yun Kai, I want to see Qian Zhi. I want to see her. She’s all I have now. I can’t lose her, I truly can’t lose anyone else."

A flock of ragged crows descended upon the dry branches of the graveyard trees, their shrill cries piercing the silence. The sun set behind the hills, its dying rays like blood. Ye Qianran knelt on the ground, Wei Zhuang comforting her in his arms, "I’ll arrange for you to see her. Don’t worry. She’ll be fine. She’s so clever and resourceful, she’ll be fine. She’ll get through this."

Yan Qing received the carrier pigeon message from the Bureau of Female Entertainers and merely smiled indifferently. Wen Qiumei’s remains had already been sent back to Wuxi, Jiangsu, to be buried beside her father. He had promised her father to find her, and he would not let him down.

As for others’ feelings, they were of no concern to him.

He steadied his breath, took up his brush, and continued practicing calligraphy before the Buddha. A single character for "stillness" leapt from the page.

Yan Qing set down the brush, hands clasped behind his back. Plants withered, years drifted by, the wild peach blossoms that once bloomed so gloriously in spring now left only bare branches. Only the stream still flowed. Yan Qing closed his eyes, and suddenly felt a desolation in his heart.

He too grew weary, grew tired, often felt lonely. His intentions flitted past like shadows on water, and he could grasp nothing at all.