Chapter 77: Entwined Affection (3)

Time slipped by, day after day, and before long, November arrived. On the seventeenth day, the sky was gloomy, heavy leaden clouds hung low, and after noon, snowflakes began to fall sporadically. They landed on the flagstones, as if someone had dusted them with flour, and the rooftops were covered with a light veil of white. About an hour passed, and not only did the snow not stop—it grew heavier. Inside, the charcoal fire burned bright and steady, filling the room with warmth, but the howling wind outside made Ye Qianran shiver despite herself. She kept turning to look out, and every time she did, Wei Zhuang would tighten his grip on her hand and give it a gentle squeeze. “What are you looking at? Always so distracted.”

Ye Qianran lowered her head and smiled, letting his guiding hand lead her as she continued painting on her silk skirt. It was a technique invented a thousand years ago by a woman of refined mind, using branch painting methods from landscape art to brush expressive, ink-wash patterns onto robes. Both of them were bent over; Wei Zhuang half-embraced her from behind, guiding her hand as they traced patterns on the pristine skirt.

Ye Qianran had thought he was knowledgeable simply from experience, but she hadn’t expected him to be skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. She had assumed he was merely a shrewd merchant, not realizing that beneath that exterior was a scholar’s refined taste. For example, he knew how to paint using this branch technique—something she herself couldn’t do. She could compose poetry, play music, and chess, but painting was utterly beyond her. Wei Zhuang couldn’t resist teasing her: a woman losing to a man in this art gave Ye Qianran a sense of defeat. Nonetheless, she refused to admit it was her own failing; after all, in Suzhou, she was a famed and celebrated talent, with many young gentlemen of noble families falling for her. When she said as much, Wei Zhuang laughed and replied, “Once upon a time, I too was the most admired gentleman in the capital. There were countless young ladies who yearned for me. Looks like we’re a perfect match.”

Ye Qianran scoffed, “I’ve heard of your reputation for charm, but as for how many truly admired you, that’s up for debate. I think it wasn’t the young ladies who pined for you, but rather you who caused them trouble.”

Wei Zhuang, hearing this, suddenly dropped his brush and wrapped both arms around her waist, his expression mischievous. “What did you say?”

Ye Qianran fought back a smile, lowering her head to play with his sash. “What did I say? I haven’t said anything. You must have misheard.”

His hands tightened around her waist, sending a ticklish sensation across her abdomen, and Ye Qianran burst into laughter, instinctively pushing him away. Wei Zhuang pulled her back into his arms, holding her even closer, so there was barely any space between them. His breath brushed her face, his lips curved in warm, playful malice. “What did you just say?”

Face-to-face, barely an inch apart, he consciously closed the distance even more. The cramped space made Ye Qianran feel a little breathless; her body leaned back involuntarily. “I said Master Wei is dashing and charming, the kind everyone loves, flowers bloom in your presence.”

Wei Zhuang’s teasing smile suddenly softened into a look of utmost seriousness. He sighed, brushing her hair at the temple with his fingers. “I don’t need everyone’s love. I only need yours.”

When this man became serious, Ye Qianran sometimes found herself helpless. His sudden tenderness would always make her heart race uncontrollably. She tilted her head against his shoulder, saying nothing, simply holding his waist in silence.

Wei Zhuang lowered his head and kissed her hair, sighed, and held her tightly.

Just then, a young servant lifted the curtain and entered, glancing inside before quickly lowering his head. “Young master, Yan Qing has come to visit.”

Wei Zhuang released Ye Qianran and said, “Let him in.” The servant lifted the curtain for Yan Qing, who entered gracefully in white robes, catching sight of Ye Qianran stepping out from Wei Zhuang’s arms. He smiled lightly, “I wondered why I hadn’t seen Master Wei for more than a month. So it turns out he’s been enjoying the company of his lovely wife. Forgive my intrusion.”

Ye Qianran was heading out. Yan Qing nodded politely to her, and she returned the gesture, lifting the curtain and leaving.

Wei Zhuang came out from behind the desk, gesturing for Yan Qing to sit. “What brings you here?”

Yan Qing bent slightly, then took a seat. “There’s news from Prince Six.”

Wei Zhuang asked, “What news?”

Yan Qing looked up at him. “Prince Six needs me to raise three million taels in the capital. I’ll need your help.”

Wei Zhuang asked, “Why does the prince suddenly need so much money? Is the situation at the front not favorable?”

Yan Qing replied, “Prince Six and the imperial army have been locked in a stalemate in Hubei. The main imperial forces are all stationed there—it’s a protracted battle, and its outcome will determine the fate of the nation. The court recently dispatched six hundred thousand troops to Hubei to join forces with Lantian’s army, so the prince plans to persuade Prince Ning to ally with him. Prince Ning’s armored troops are something the prince has coveted for a long time. Although Prince Ning is a formidable warrior, he’s extremely stubborn, so the prince intends to start with his subordinates. That requires plenty of silver to grease the wheels, which is why he’s asked us to gather funds for future use.”

Wei Zhuang nodded and smiled lightly. “I see.” He was silent for a moment, then casually asked, “How is Zhuge Liuyun these days?”

Yan Qing smiled gently. “I knew you’d ask. Before, you didn’t care because you hadn’t won her heart, and winning her heart was all that mattered. Now that you have her, it’s time to clear away anything that might shake her resolve—right?”

Wei Zhuang looked ahead, neither agreeing nor denying.

Ye Qianran brought tea, about to lift the curtain and enter, but suddenly held her breath, standing quietly outside.

She had heard Yan Qing mention someone—Liuyun.

He said, “To be honest, Zhuge Liuyun is quite a character. In September’s great battle, he was wounded by an arrow laced with poison—he barely survived, but after a month of recovery, he made it through. A pity, really.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Yan Qing smiled. “What do I mean? Surely you know. Publicly, he’s our enemy; privately, he’s your rival in love. Either way, he deserves to die—don’t you think?”

Wei Zhuang was about to speak when Ye Qianran lifted the curtain and entered. The room fell silent. Wei Zhuang looked at her uneasily, afraid she had overheard. Yet she, as always, smiled gently, “Tea for Master Yan,” and handed tea to Wei Zhuang, who finally relaxed a bit, shooting Yan Qing a warning glance not to say anything else. Yan Qing shrugged indifferently.

Leaving the room and walking a long way down the corridor, Ye Qianran finally stopped, leaning against a pillar, her hand trembling, heart pounding.

“Thank goodness he’s all right, thank goodness,” she thought, pressing her chest in lingering fear.

That night, Ye Qianran dreamed of war for the first time—a battlefield littered with bones, Liuyun standing wounded amid the carnage, arrows raining down in the distance. She ran desperately to his side, wanting to push him away, but it was too late. She watched him fall before her eyes, powerless to stop it. “No, no, don’t, don’t!” she screamed, waking from the nightmare drenched in cold sweat.

When she awoke, Wei Zhuang was leaning over her, watching silently. He said nothing, simply gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly as one would a child. Wei Zhuang’s broad chest made her feel safe; his gentle words soothed her heart. Ye Qianran was still trembling, the terror from her dream so vivid. Wei Zhuang lightly patted her back. “It’s all right now. I’m here. Everything will pass, everything will be all right.” His voice was deep, carrying a strange power that gradually calmed her anxious heart. “Once you get used to a peaceful life, you won’t have nightmares anymore. Time heals everything. It’s all right. Everything will be fine.”

Ye Qianran wrapped her arms around his waist, quietly leaning into his embrace. Outside, the snow still fell, the wind blew, the night was silent. Occasionally, a creak came from outside—that was the snow-laden branches breaking. Ye Qianran tugged at his sleeve, softly calling, “Yunkai.”

“Hm?”

“Tell me about your childhood. I don’t want to sleep right now.”

Wei Zhuang wrapped one arm around her waist, the other playing gently with her hair, smiling silently. “My childhood was very simple. There’s not much to tell.”

Ye Qianran shifted in his arms, her voice soft and tender. “Even in the simplest life, there must be some ripples. Tell me about it.”

Wei Zhuang laughed again, tapping her nose with his finger. “You little enchantress, so persistent. All right, I’ll tell you—but you mustn’t laugh at me.”

Ye Qianran nodded obediently.

He gazed into the darkness, the warmth of the woman in his arms so real, yet his childhood world so cold. “From as early as I can remember, I knew I was an orphan, taken in by foster parents. When they found me, they were already in their sixties, childless, so perhaps my arrival brought some life to their lonely old age. Until I was five, when a fire shattered everything—I escaped, but my foster parents, too old to flee, perished in the house.” As he spoke, his tone was calm, as though recounting the story of a stranger, with no trace of emotion—quiet and detached.

Ye Qianran lay still in his arms.

Wei Zhuang continued, “So from five onward, I was an orphan once more. Maybe that was my fate. I wandered through the corners of the capital, banding together with other beggar children. Sometimes we’d steal, play pranks, and when hunger was unbearable, we’d steal from wealthy households. If luck was bad, we’d hunt in the mountains. Especially in winter, when snow blocked the roads, we’d spend days in the forests. I was quite skilled then, often catching plenty of game. But by the time I was eleven, I grew tired of it and eventually went with others to Shandong.”

Ye Qianran sat up and looked at him. “You’re amazing—at five, you could survive alone. When I was five, I was still snuggling in my grandmother’s lap, being spoiled.”

Wei Zhuang stroked her hair at the temple. “Living alone was forced by circumstances. If I’d had parents, I wouldn’t have wanted to wander either. But there are benefits to being a drifter—making a home everywhere, adapting to whatever comes.”

“And after that?”

“After that, I worked as a shop boy in Shandong, saved some money, started a small business, and it grew. Eventually, Shandong couldn’t satisfy me, so I sold everything and came to the capital.”

Ye Qianran collapsed back into his arms. “Those long years—you must have suffered alone.”

Wei Zhuang smiled faintly, barely visible in the dark. “Once you get used to it, it doesn’t matter. Only holidays were hard—I hated them most. During festivals, you feel especially lonely.” He spoke so calmly, yet it made her heart ache. Ye Qianran frowned and quietly took his hand.

“Why didn’t you ever think of marrying? If you had a family, a child, everything would be different. My father was your age when my brother was already eight.”

Wei Zhuang sighed, speaking softly. “Maybe because I never had a home, I’m stingy with feelings. Unless I meet a woman who truly moves me, I never give anything lightly, never even considered marriage.” He pulled her from his arms and gazed deeply at her. “You’re the first to move my heart, the first to make me want to marry. Meeting you, I know all those years of waiting were worth it.”

Ye Qianran hooked her arms around his neck and bit his lips.

Night can conceal many things—emotions, for instance. But night can also unearth feelings buried deep.

After a bout of tenderness, Ye Qianran lay on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, her voice blurred. “Yunkai, don’t be so good to me. I’m not worthy of it.”

Wei Zhuang laughed softly. “If I could, I wouldn’t want to be so good to you. They say a man who treats a woman too well is often unable to keep her. But I can’t help myself—I can’t bear to see you suffer.”

Ye Qianran closed her eyes.