Chapter 79: Reunion with an Old Friend (2)-Entangled in the Years(An old friend from the past)

Time slipped quietly through a kaleidoscope of colors, and in the blink of an eye, winter had arrived, bringing the coldest month of the year. All living things on earth fell into slumber, and the once vibrant estate, with its lush trees and thick foliage, its little bridges and flowing streams, and the endless sweep of fragrant grass, was rendered silent. Only a few lone plum blossoms, braving the northern wind and snow, budded and bloomed, signaling the sole vitality of this winter. Juanbi held an umbrella for Ye Qianran, snow settling on the surface painted with extravagant peonies. They stood in the wind, strands of hair lifted by the breeze. Ye Qianran squinted at the red plum before her, its twisting form enchanting. There were no white plums in the estate; Wei Zhuang had a fondness for the most intense and passionate things—just as he himself was, outwardly calm and dangerous, but within, fiery and fervent. To approach him was to be scorched, so much so that you lost control, so much so that you would willingly shatter yourself for him.

It was not until the next morning, as she ate in her room, that Wei Zhuang returned. His hair was somewhat disheveled, heavy with the smell of wine, his face bearing fatigue and a hint of ruin.

Ye Qianran asked what was wrong, but he said nothing, only fixed his bloodshot eyes on her, making her uncomfortable. She turned to leave, but he spoke slowly, “Yesterday I was with Shengsheng.”

Ye Qianran suddenly clenched her right hand, closed her eyes, and at once imagined him and Xia Shengsheng leaning into each other. The thought that what she had done with him, he had also done with Xia Shengsheng, made her feel sick. Before they were together, whether it was Gu Qingcheng, Xia Shengsheng, or anyone else, she never cared. Even recalling it felt irrelevant to her. Now, that was no longer true. When she thought of Wei Zhuang’s women, the sweet words he whispered in their ears, the playful flirtations, anger surged within her, fierce and uncontrollable.

She spun around to look at him, a wave of disgust rising in her heart. How could this man be so loathsome? How could he be so hateful? If he went, then so be it—why must he tell her? Did he think she was magnanimous? She was not, not in the least.

Wei Zhuang leaned against the headboard with his eyes closed, the scent of wine still exuding from him, his mind seemingly clouded. He murmured, “Shengsheng…”

Ye Qianran closed her eyes, her body trembling relentlessly. She told herself it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter, don’t think about it, don’t think about it, it had nothing to do with her. Yet the more she tried, the more the images of Wei Zhuang and Xia Shengsheng entwined together assaulted her mind. She gripped the table, closed her eyes, unable to stop her body from trembling. Her emotions clamored within her, threatening to burst forth. Suddenly she opened her eyes, seized the porcelain vase before her, and hurled it to the floor with force. The sharp, shrill sound pierced her ears. It seemed not enough—she swept her hand across the table, sending everything crashing to the ground. The clatter of porcelain mixed with the chaos, littering the floor. Wei Zhuang caught her hand from behind, “What are you doing?”

Ye Qianran turned and shoved him away, sneering, “What, does it pain you?”

Wei Zhuang stared at her unmoving. Ye Qianran sneered and strode elsewhere, knocking teacups and teapots from the table, pens, inkstones, and paper from the desk, even his collection of paintings—all fell to the floor at her wrath. She smashed everything she could, but even then, it failed to ease her rage. Wei Zhuang did not stop her. He watched as she destroyed, and a strange emotion bloomed in his heart—the more she smashed, the fiercer she became, the happier he felt.

At last, stepping over the mess, she opened the door. But with a bang, Wei Zhuang slammed it shut behind her. Ye Qianran raised her brows and turned to face him, but he suddenly pinned her against the door, bent down, and kissed her. She shoved him away, disgusted, and wiped her lips with her sleeve. “Don’t touch me. You’re disgusting.”

She turned to open the door again, but Wei Zhuang blocked it with his hand. Ye Qianran looked at him coldly. “What exactly do you want?”

Wei Zhuang tilted his head and gazed at her for a long moment. Then, suddenly, he smiled stunningly. “Are you jealous?”

Ye Qianran’s angry expression changed abruptly; she could not speak. Was she jealous? No, she was not jealous. How could she be? She didn’t love him, she was merely grateful. She didn’t love him.

Wei Zhuang, seeing her stunned, wrapped his arms around her waist. By the time Ye Qianran realized and tried to resist, it was already too late. He pressed his forehead to hers, looking into her eyes, a mysterious smile on his lips. “You like me, Qianran. You like me, don’t you?”

His gaze made her heart tremble. She reached out to push him away. “Wei Zhuang, you…”

Wei Zhuang seized her hand abruptly. “I love you…” he said with such ease, as if he had spoken this phrase countless times before. His gaze was burning and intense, the emotion in his eyes so thick she could not speak.

“Qianran, I love you. From the very first time I saw you, I fell in love with you. Everything I’ve done was for the sake of getting closer to you. I love you, truly love you.”

Ye Qianran’s mind went blank. She stared at him, watched his lips brush her fingertips, in disbelief. She could hardly believe it. She had always thought Wei Zhuang incapable of loving anyone; he wanted her only because she eluded him, only because he had invested so much effort in her. Now, hearing him suddenly profess his love, she felt as if she were dreaming.

She reached out to touch his brow, feeling herself ensnared in some incredible fantasy. He loved her. He truly loved her?

But when she caught the faint smile on his lips, she abruptly woke from her reverie. This man was not to be relied upon. The words he said one day, he could deny the next. She still remembered clearly how he had promised not to touch other women, and yet… Suddenly, she felt she had been played for a fool. A cold smile appeared on her lips. “How many have heard these words before me? The tenth? The twentieth? Or the hundredth?”

Wei Zhuang, ignoring her protest, claimed her lips in a fierce kiss. When he finally released her, Ye Qianran was limp and breathless. He laughed at her. “I only drank with Shengsheng; I didn’t touch her. Why such a reaction?”

Ye Qianran flushed. “You…”

Wei Zhuang looked at her with pride. “Still say you’re not jealous? You’ve smashed the vinegar jar.”

Ye Qianran raised her fists and hit him, wild and frantic. “Wei Zhuang, you bastard!” Wei Zhuang caught her hands, looked down at her. “You’re right, I am a bastard. But Qianran, I love you. I truly love you.”

Ye Qianran leaned weakly against the door behind her, unable to think. Such sweet words, such a Wei Zhuang, she could not refuse. He suddenly lifted her in his arms, whispered in her ear, “If you don’t let me touch other women, you’ll have to make it up to me doubly.”

Ye Qianran’s face grew even redder, red enough to bleed. Wei Zhuang laughed again.

That night, lying in Wei Zhuang’s embrace, Ye Qianran gazed at his sleeping face in the moonlight, a faint smile on her lips, content like a child. Yet she felt a pang of guilt, as if she were still hiding her affection for him, always tinged with uncertainty. She liked him, but not enough to truly love him. At least, between her and that love, another person always stood—“his” shadow, lingering in her heart, like peach blossoms across the riverbank, never to be dispelled. That budding love from long ago weighed heavily on her heart.

She had always existed in a tangled, complicated contradiction. If once she knew what she wanted and didn’t want, now she was like a lost child—night thick around her, paths beneath her feet, yet she did not know which way to go.

Suddenly, a shadow emerged in her heart. She thought of him—his slight smile, his quiet demeanor, not deliberately so, yet able to linger in her heart with an ancient grace. There was a time when Ye Qianran almost forgot that face, letting him fade slowly from her memory. In those days, all her thoughts were consumed by Wei Zhuang and her parents; she had no time to think of him. Later, in the days of passion with Wei Zhuang, she tried to forget him and live well, because whether she remembered or forgot, her life could never again be given to him. Yet why did meeting Qingfeng, seeing him again, suddenly bring back the flood of memories? She was lost, unable to escape the past.

A young attendant came holding an umbrella. “Madam, there is a man named Zhuge Qingfeng at the door, requesting a visit.”

Ye Qianran turned from beneath the plum tree, her voice cool, “Let him in.”

It was their second meeting since their reunion. Juanbi brewed tea for them. The vast parlor was silent. Zhuge Qingfeng took a letter from his breast and laid it on the table. “Since seeing you last, I’ve been considering whether or not to give you this letter. I was afraid that handing it to you rashly might cause unnecessary misunderstanding. But thinking it over, I realized it was wrong not to. After all, this is a matter between you and Liuyun, I cannot decide for you. My task is only to deliver it. Whether you read it or not, that is your business, I should not presume.”

Ye Qianran bit her lip, her mouth dry. “He… is he well?”

Zhuge Qingfeng lifted his teacup, skimming foam from the surface. “During the Battle of Changxi, he was struck by an arrow from the enemy, the arrow tipped with poison. He was unconscious for three days and nights, calling your name all the while. The doctors thought he would not survive, but he awoke, saying that in his fever, he recalled his promise to marry you, so he could not die. At the time, I was grateful—grateful he had you. He is a general and cannot leave the army easily, so he sent me home to visit my parents. Before I left, I swore to him that next time I returned, I would bring you to him. But I never imagined that in just a year, everything would change. You are no longer the Ye Qianran you once were.”

At this, Zhuge Qingfeng looked up at her. Ye Qianran felt his gaze prick like thorns, making her uneasy. She turned away, lips pressed tightly. “Do you think I betrayed him?”

Zhuge Qingfeng walked to her, reached out his hand. Ye Qianran, puzzled, placed her hand in his palm. He held it gently. “I am not here to question you on Liuyun’s behalf. I know that facing sudden calamity alone must be difficult. I don’t know why you married him, but I believe you must know what you want, and how to make yourself happy.”

His palm was warm, and tears were forced from her eyes. Ye Qianran looked up at him, a stranger yet familiar, and remembered the days when she, he, and her brother laughed and played together—like another lifetime.

In this moment, with her hand in his, she realized the difference between them. Qingfeng’s life, as the Buddhist scriptures say, is “the flower yet to bloom, the moon yet to round”—everything holds the possibility of fulfillment. Her life, however, had entered a dead end. Branded a fugitive, it was her fate never to live in the sun. The rest of her days had already been promised to another.

There was no escape. No escape.