Chapter 85: Outside Suzhou, Setting Out Alone

Three years later, in the fifth year of Yongqian, late spring.

Outside Suzhou.

March in the south of the Yangtze River: grass grows lush, orioles flit through the air, wildflowers blossom among trees, willows sway gently, travelers crowd the paths, the Suzhou River flows clear and green through the city, reeds on the banks dance in the intoxicating breeze, distant mountains fade into the horizon, a flock of white egrets cry out as they soar into the sky. Along the riverbank, three figures walk: two women, one clad in misty white, the other in vivid green, accompanied by a tall and graceful young man. The warm breeze carries the fresh scent of wild grass. The trio wind their way across the riverbank and a broad meadow, stopping at the foot of a hill—this is the ancestral burial ground of the Wen family of Suzhou. The graves are overgrown with weeds, somewhat desolate, but the one before them is freshly covered with clean yellow earth. The women in misty white and vivid green lay out offerings and paper money, burn incense, bow their heads in reverence. The woman in green helps the other up, asking, “Miss, do you truly intend to leave?”

The speaker is Juanbi, the maid who has grown from a young girl into a newlywed with her hair pinned up.

The woman in misty white lifts her gaze. Hers is a face of breathtaking beauty, once renowned in Suzhou; now, though still lovely, the sharpness of youth has faded. Her dark eyes are calm from all she has endured, her presence steady—this is Ye Qianran.

Ye Qianran nods gently. “I stayed before because Grandfather and Grandmother were still here. Now that both have passed, I have nothing left to hold me.”

Juanbi clutches her hand, pleading, “Miss, you’re alone now. I’m worried. Why not stay?”

Ye Qianran pats her hand in comfort. “You know how we’ve survived these three years. Trust that I can protect myself. Besides, since childhood I’ve envied those heroines in the stories who roam the world with a sword. Now, given the chance, I cannot let it pass.”

The man beside Juanbi speaks, “Juanbi, don’t try to persuade her. You know her temperament better than anyone—once she’s set her mind, not even nine oxen could drag her back.”

Ye Qianran smiles, a faint dimple at her lips. “Qinian, I leave Juanbi in your care. You mustn’t bully her.”

Qinian glances at Juanbi and says, “How could I dare? I’d be lucky if she doesn’t bully me.”

Juanbi shoots him an irritated glare.

Ye Qianran looks at the two, feeling an unspeakable solace in her heart. Among herself, Juanbi, and Lulan, if one finds happiness, it is enough.

“Now, with war and chaos everywhere, refugees and bandits abound. I’m uneasy about you traveling alone,” Juanbi says, brows furrowed with worry.

Ye Qianran squeezes her hand. “Don’t worry, I can protect myself.”

Juanbi turns to Qinian, who gives her a reassuring nod. Only then does Juanbi relax, though she holds Ye Qianran’s hand with lingering reluctance. “Take care, Miss. If anything happens, come to Suzhou for us. I am your maid—always will be, this whole life.”

Ye Qianran nods with a smile, takes the bundle from Qinian’s hands. “I heard from Qinian that you’re expecting. Take good care of yourself.” She turns to Qinian, “I leave Juanbi and her child to you. Please treat them well.”

Qinian smiles and nods. Tears shimmer in Juanbi’s eyes; she hugs Ye Qianran, her voice choked, “Miss, take care.”

Ye Qianran whispers in her ear, “You take care as well.”

Spring sunlight shines on Ye Qianran’s receding figure, stretching her shadow long and slender. She walks slowly but steadily, each step determined. Juanbi watches her, tears falling again. She had entered the Wen household at eight, and now, after more than a decade, she had never parted from her. She once believed she would never leave her in this life. Yet… who could have foreseen she would marry, and to the most charming young man in Suzhou? Truly, life is unpredictable.

Wiping her tears, Qinian sighs and draws her into his embrace.

The sun sets in the west.

Ye Qianran stands in the golden light.

Bathed in the sunset’s glow, Ye Qianran enters the little town. Though small, it is bustling; the setting sun casts a warm hue, making the whole place seem beautiful and inviting. Ye Qianran breathes a sigh of relief, a faint smile on her lips. Tonight, she finally wouldn’t have to borrow a bed in someone else’s home.

She lodges in a small, simple inn. The room holds little besides a bed and table, but Ye Qianran is content. The past three years, she and Juanbi often had nothing certain to eat, sometimes slept beneath the open sky, sometimes encountered bandits who robbed them of all their money. To survive, she had worked at hard labor, and the coins painfully earned were sometimes lost to a moment’s compassion or deception. Even so, they had reached Suzhou. Though the city had suffered from war, though the Wen family fled north to escape the chaos, leaving only her aged grandparents, at least they no longer starved.

Now, with her grandparents gone, Suzhou is nothing but an empty ancestral home. She has no reason to linger.

Lying on the bed fully dressed, Ye Qianran gazes at the worn canopy, feeling a deep loneliness. No one remains at her side; now, she is truly alone.

It’s not the first time she’s felt lonely. That feeling began long ago—so long she can’t recall when. For three years, she’s been busy by day, so busy her mind couldn’t dwell on anyone or anything else. But at night, loneliness and solitude surge over her like the tide. Sometimes she feels frantic—not because she’s lonely, but because in those moments she always thinks of Weizhuang and Liuyun. Yes, Weizhuang drives her mad. She allows herself to think of Liuyun, but forbids herself from thinking of Weizhuang. She was the one who abandoned him, who gave him up. She cannot allow herself to remember; remembering means admitting she was wrong, that she regrets it.

Because she knows if she ever admits she was wrong, regrets it, she will hate herself. She cannot let herself do that; she has nothing left and cannot forsake herself.

Outside, the moonlight is hazy; insects sing near and far. In this remote town, in a strange night, she suddenly feels the urge to cry. She hasn’t shed tears in a long time, not even when her grandparents passed away. She has no tears left.

Yet now she feels like crying.

Human emotions are sometimes so strange.

Like those nights when she wakes suddenly, inexplicably sad—not because anything has happened. Sometimes, after something good, she still feels that bone-deep sorrow in the silent darkness, as if she could be ground to dust.

Her hand finds the jade pendant at her waist, its warm touch steadying her. For three years, this has become her habit; whenever she’s sad, she holds the white jade.

The jade is no longer just a token from a lover—it has become, over the years, her faith. As long as it’s with her, she won’t fall; she will keep moving forward.

It is late at night. The sound of the watchman's drum echoes through the streets: it is the second watch.

Ye Qianran turns over, closes her eyes, determined not to dwell on those tangled thoughts. She has to travel tomorrow and needs a good night’s sleep.

But before she can fall asleep, she hears low voices. Though quiet, they are unnervingly clear in the stillness. She tenses, holding her breath. Three years have taught her well; she senses the voices drawing closer, feels their shadows pause outside her door.

Ye Qianran reaches for the wooden stick beside her bed—a precaution she’s taken ever since she and Juanbi were kidnapped in an inn two years ago.

Then she hears the sound of someone tearing through the paper window. She hides behind the door, sleeves covering her nose and mouth as she smells the faint scent of narcotics wafting in.

Someone is picking the latch. Outside, voices murmur, “Young Master Huang, don’t forget my reward when you get your prize. This is a real beauty, the finest I’ve ever seen.” The voice is low, but Ye Qianran recognizes the innkeeper.

Another man answers, “Good lad. Let me see for myself first. If she’s as good as you say, you’ll get your reward.” The tone is lewd and mocking; clearly, not a decent person.

Ye Qianran holds her breath, gathers her strength, and raises the stick. The door creaks open and closes again. Then, she hears a lascivious laugh. “Pretty girl, tonight, let your master keep you company.” He steps forward, but before he can take another step, there’s a loud thump as the stick strikes him. He collapses, unconscious.

The next day, the innkeeper finds him gagged and tied to the bed, utterly disgraced.

Ye Qianran is especially pleased remembering how she bound him up like a pig, so much so that she practically skips as she walks.

She follows a country path, wild grass and shrubs thick alongside. In the quiet spring day, a herdsboy rides by on his ox, playing a flute—innocent and cheerful, untouched by worldly troubles. His song drifts through the fields.

Ye Qianran greets him, asking, “Do you know about the great battle that happened here last year? I heard many died.”

The boy’s eyes brighten. “Sister means the Battle of Xize, right? My father talked about it. He said so many died—bodies everywhere, rivers of blood. The Xize River took a whole month to wash clean.”

Ye Qianran’s eyes light up. “Do you know how to get there?”

The herdsboy turns on his ox and points ahead. “Just follow this road straight. At the end, you’ll find it, but there’s nothing left now.”

Ye Qianran smiles, her dimples faintly showing.