Chapter Eighty-Four: A Century of Estrangement (2)

When Wei Zhuang awoke, Ye Qianran was already gone. He dressed, swung his legs out of bed, and noticed the toiletries quietly arranged on their shelf. Resting his hands on the washstand, he felt an irrepressible laughter well up from within—pure and radiant. Having a wife was indeed a blessing. There were quarrels, there were silent treatments, yet no other affection could replace the warmth a wife brought.

Before he had finished washing, Ye Qianran returned, carrying a bowl of soup. He accepted a face towel from the maid, wiped his face, then sat down, glancing from the soup to Ye Qianran with a smile. “What is this?” he asked.

She handed him the bowl. “I made lotus seed soup. Drink it while it’s hot.”

Wei Zhuang didn’t take it, a teasing smile playing at his lips. “Feed me, and I’ll eat.”

Ye Qianran nodded obediently. “Alright.”

He had only meant to jest, sure she would refuse, never expecting her to agree. It caught him off guard.

Propping his chin in his hand, he watched her with curiosity. “Why are you being so kind to me?”

She brought the spoon to his lips. “Drink it, then I’ll tell you.”

He gazed at her for a long moment before finally opening his mouth.

Spoonful by spoonful, Ye Qianran fed him, neither of them speaking. The air was suffused with a gentle quietude, glances weaving silent threads of affection between them.

When the last mouthful was gone, Ye Qianran set down the blue-and-white porcelain bowl. Wei Zhuang waited for her to speak.

She lifted her eyes, her voice soft and cool. “Because you’re good to me.”

Wei Zhuang lowered his gaze and laughed, a note of satisfaction and childishness in it. He drew her hand into his own. “You understand my feelings now, Qianran. That’s enough. I am content with just this...” His words faltered. His head grew heavy, a wave of dizziness overtook him. With the last vestiges of clarity, realization struck. Clutching her hand, weakly, he asked, “What did you put in the soup? What are you trying to do, Qianran... You— I will never forgive—” He could not finish, collapsing onto the table.

Ye Qianran helped him onto the bed, covered him with a quilt, and leaned over to gaze at his handsome brow. A surge of bitter sorrow rose within her. Her slender fingers traced his face, her voice trembling. “I am not a good wife. Though I stayed by your side, I could never give you my whole heart. I have wronged you... Forgive me, forget me. Without me, your life will be better. Someone as fickle as I am does not deserve your devotion. Wei Zhuang, forget me.”

She cast him one final look, picked up her packed bundle, and left.

Today was New Year’s Eve, her seventeenth birthday.

As expected, Juan Bi had a carriage waiting at the foot of Mount Song. Seeing her approach with her bundle, Juan Bi hurried over. “Miss, what are we doing?”

“We’re going to Suzhou,” Ye Qianran replied succinctly.

Juan Bi gasped. “Does Master Wei know?”

“He doesn’t.”

“What about him? He’ll hate you for this, Miss.”

“He’ll forget me soon enough.”

“But, Miss...”

“You can come with me, or stay behind. I won’t force you,” Ye Qianran said, her tone unchanged.

Juan Bi immediately fell silent.

Standing by the carriage, Ye Qianran glanced back. The mountains were hushed, the sky clear, the long winding path stretching ahead toward the capital of the Great Yuan Empire—the city she had lived in for two years. Now she was leaving, perhaps never to return, and a wave of sorrow surged within her, impossible to suppress.

She bit her lip, turned away, and climbed into the carriage, driving it southward.

It was New Year’s Eve, the first year of Yongqian.

Wei Zhuang did not awaken until two days later. His eyes opened in a haze, his head still heavy. Suddenly, a memory jolted him awake. He leapt from bed and rushed out. Outside, Hua Niang and the steward paced anxiously. His sudden appearance startled them, then filled them with joy. “Young Master, you’re finally awake!”

Wei Zhuang, barely able to stand, braced himself against the doorframe. “What happened? Where is Madam?”

Hua Niang looked uneasy. “You’ve been unconscious for two days, Young Master. Madam... She left on New Year’s Eve and hasn’t returned.”

Wei Zhuang’s legs nearly buckled, his body going slack against the frame.

“There’s more...” Hua Niang hesitated, unsure if she should continue.

“What else?” Wei Zhuang forced himself upright. His voice was steady, but a tremor betrayed him.

“When Madam left, she took a bundle with her. I asked where she was going—she said she’d asked a friend to deliver something to her family home in Suzhou. But she hasn’t come back, Young Master. Could something have happened to her?”

Wei Zhuang closed his eyes, gripping the doorframe so tightly his whole body shook. He remembered the day she lost their child—the bright sunlight on her frail, curled form, blood streaming from her as if she might die at any moment. He had never wanted to believe she did it on purpose; he convinced himself it was an accident. No one, he thought, could be so cruel to themselves. But now, what was left? He realized he had only been deceiving himself.

Now, everything was clear. She had planned her departure long ago. She had arranged everything, and because she meant to leave him, their child could not be born.

He dismissed the steward and Hua Niang with a wave, then staggered to the table and sat down heavily, his heart hollow and aching. How utterly ruthless she was. He had thought himself cold, but she surpassed him. On the vermillion table lay a letter. Wei Zhuang forced himself to calm down, but his hands shook as he opened it. Such a simple act, yet it took him an age. Two words leapt out at him—his mind exploded, body and soul shattering as if struck by lightning in a desolate wilderness.

“Divorce Letter.”

Memories spun like a lantern carousel—her presence flickering through his mind, his vision blurring as the letter drifted to the floor. His thoughts were in chaos, filled with fragments of her.

“After marrying you, I’ll be devoted, bear your children, wash your clothes, cook your meals. My heart will only hold you, my eyes see only you.”

“I won’t leave you, never in this life.”

“I am yours for this lifetime—unless one day, you cast me aside.”

“I love you.”

...

Those words faded from clear to faint, then back again, sweat beading on his forehead. His right hand pressed hard against his chest, remembering the line in her letter: “Let us each take our separate paths, strangers for a hundred years.” The blood in his chest, stifled and unshed, burst forth.

“Ye—Qian—ran...”

Speaking her name felt as if he’d spent the last of his strength. The hatred that steamed from his heart in that instant could shake the heavens and shatter the earth.