Wu Ping’an had no idea that Ji Yuwei, after indulging in his own reverie, had still concluded she was a “celestial being.” Returning to the courtyard and reflecting carefully, she realized he was always vomiting blood for no reason—no wonder he didn’t live long in the book.
If this were modern times, he could undergo a full-body examination and perhaps identify the cause of his illness.
Wu Ping’an found herself thinking this unconsciously. He was already this ill, yet he was still being forced to endure it.
“Ah—” She sighed for a long while before deciding to wait until Ji Yuwei was somewhat better before continuing.
Once she resolved to wait for his recovery, she used her limited memories to instruct the young attendants by his side to prepare more blood-nourishing, liver-tonifying foods—light, mild, and easily digestible meals.
Who knew how the attendants managed it? They returned to tell Wu Ping’an that Ji Yuwei’s appetite was poor; he often couldn’t eat, and they truly didn’t know what to do, so they asked Wu Ping’an for help.
Wu Ping’an had only mentioned it casually, never expecting she would now have to take matters into her own hands.
When she carried the food box to find Ji Yuwei, he had just finished drinking his medicine.
Ji Yuwei disliked being cooped up in his room all the time, so he had set up a table with tea and fruits in the Apricot Grove, sitting amidst the flowering trees. His satin-like hair was tied into a Daoist bun, and he wore a white straight-collared robe with a red overcoat, his wide sleeves billowing like clouds. A soft, white light outlined his figure, lending it the gentle warmth of thin jade.
The young man lifted his gaze, his eyes easily settling on her.
“Why has Lady Wu come?” There was a moment of surprise in his eyes, which then softened into a smile like spring mist in a dream. His face showed no trace of illness, as clear and refined as when they first met—the epitome of a noble and beautiful young lord.
Wu Ping’an approached him, first removing her cloth shoes and stepping barefoot onto the carpet. She knelt on the cushion, arranging several small dishes on the table.
“I just heard from the attendants that your appetite is poor. Since they didn’t know how to prepare suitable food, I made a small dish to thank you for taking me in these past days.”
Ji Yuwei lowered his long, slender eyes, glancing at the dishes on the table, which were clearly arranged according to his preferences—complete in color, aroma, and taste, and quite appetizing to smell.
This was the first time she had personally brought food to him after he had instructed the attendants to speak to her.
“Wei did not know they were speaking nonsense in your ear, troubling you,” he said, a faint smile blooming at the corner of his lips. He did not feel that asking her for food was beneath the dignity of an aristocratic clan. His jade-like fingers rested neatly on his knees, his chin slightly tucked in, embodying the elegant and reserved demeanor of a refined scholar.
This posture made what should have seemed like petty concerns appear natural and generous, perfectly within the bounds of indulgence without causing discomfort.
Wu Ping’an often felt very comfortable around him, especially since the young gentleman was as beautiful as jade, and even his dining carried a unique grace.
Ji Yuwei folded his sleeve and picked up his chopsticks, selecting a piece of cucumber carved into a flower shape from the edge of the plate. He placed it on his thin, pink lips, his white teeth gently closing as he ate with great refinement.
Watching him dine, Wu Ping’an was often reminded of the white cat she once kept, sitting primly as it groomed itself.
He ate slowly and sparingly, picking only the most visually appealing items to eat, leaving the rest for the servants to pack away.
Apricot blossoms drifted through the grove, and a few white petals landed on Wu Ping’an’s temple. Unaware, she was startled when Ji Yuwei suddenly reached out to remove them for her.
Wu Ping’an caught a whiff of cold fragrance wafting from his sleeve, then watched as he opened his hand before her.
The young man sighed, “The flower pities its fall.”
With that, he placed the petals he had taken into a bowl of clear water beside him.
Wu Ping’an gazed at the few white petals floating in the water and touched her temple, as if she could still faintly smell the medicinal bitterness.
She asked, “I wonder if your illness has improved?”
Ji Yuwei smiled as he looked at her, his gaze direct: “It’s not a serious illness. I’ve been like this since childhood. After drinking the medicine, I’ll be fine, and I can extract the remaining breath for you at any time.”
Wu Ping’an hadn’t come to ask him to extract breath. Seeing his misunderstanding, she quickly waved her hand: “Young Master, you’ve misunderstood. The matter of extracting breath isn’t urgent either. Let’s wait until you’ve fully recovered.”
Ji Yuwei smiled without speaking.
By the time he fully recovered, she would likely carry someone else’s breath on her for the rest of her life.
After speaking, Wu Ping’an hesitated, then showed a troubled expression.
Ji Yuwei’s gaze swept over her face, and as if inspired, he picked up a wooden ladle, scooped hot tea from the boiling pot on the stove, and pushed it toward her, asking considerately: “Does the lady have anything else to ask Wei?”
His tone was certain, gentle and clear, unhurried as he waited for her to speak up.
Wu Ping’an answered truthfully: “Actually, I’ve been in the courtyard all the time and wanted to go out, but the servant boy said I needed to ask you.”
During the time Ji Yuwei hadn’t been seeing anyone, she had tried to leave the estate, but there was a rule that a token was required to exit. She didn’t have one, which was why she had come today.
She didn’t know that before she arrived, no token had been needed in the estate.
Ji Yuwei knew why she had come. He took the jade pendant from his waist and gave it to her: “Because there has been unrest outside recently, the estate has set this rule. Wei forgot to inform you. This item is for you, and you may leave the estate freely.”
As Wu Ping’an took the jade pendant, she couldn’t help but glance at him. She hadn’t expected him to trust her with it so readily—wasn’t he afraid she would take the pendant and run away after leaving the estate?
Unfortunately, she couldn’t detect any insincerity on Ji Yuwei’s face. The youth not only had a pure gaze, but under the fragrant flowering trees, amidst the white mist rising from the stove, his plain-clothed, lotus-like, Guanyin-like face was illuminated by the pear blossom snow in the courtyard.
Ji Yuwei’s behavior and manners were impeccable, showing the refined elegance of an immortal, reminding her once again of the night she fled.
In truth, she felt gratitude toward Ji Yuwei. After all, if he hadn’t protected her repeatedly and saved her from the monster beasts, she wouldn’t be here today talking to him about leaving.
Yet, while grateful, she also thought that if Ji Yuwei hadn’t asked her to follow him to find the monster beasts, she wouldn’t have ended up in that situation that night. The two canceled each other out, and it wasn’t enough to make her stay out of gratitude.
When she came, she had also considered that Ji Yuwei might not let her go. After all, in the book, he was a terrifying villain who, even years after his death, made people pale at the mention of his name. She hadn’t expected him to agree.
Wu Ping’an once again noticed that the young Ji Yuwei was different from the one in the book, and she felt ashamed for having privately suspected him again.
She held the jade pendant with both hands and thanked him solemnly: “Thank you, Fifth Young Master.”
Ji Yuwei leaned lazily against the wooden armrest, appearing somewhat straightforward, unrestrained, elegant, and free-spirited. He glanced at her as she fastened the pendant to her waist and chuckled: “Seeing the lady so relieved, do you think Wei didn’t want to let you go?”
Wu Ping’an’s hands paused as she tied the jade. Ji Yuwei had guessed correctly.
Even though he had previously risked his life to extract breath for her, and she had felt pity for him, after discovering she couldn’t leave the estate, she had harbored many unfavorable suspicions about him.
Thinking of this, she sighed inwardly.
It couldn’t be helped. She was too prejudiced, always thinking he was the kind of Black Mud Villain described in the book, with ulterior motives behind everything he did. She forgot that his only purpose in finding her was because she carried Yulian’s living essence. In fact, the sooner he extracted it, the more beneficial it would be for him.
Wu Ping’an had many thoughts in her heart, but her expression remained calm as usual: “Sir, you misunderstand. I merely wished to return to take a look.”
“Returning today?” he asked curiously, lifting a white jade porcelain cup to his lips. Steam misted his jade-like face as his fox-like dark eyes blinked, carrying a hint of melancholy. “Wei still wished to ask the lady whether she might have some leisure today.”
Since Wu Ping’an could now leave the estate at any time, there was no urgency. Hearing that he had something to seek from her, she nodded in reply: “Later would also be fine. Might I ask what matter you have, sir?”
Ji Yuwei set down his teacup, his lips glistening as he faced her. “Actually, Wei wished to ask the lady for a favor. Wei delights in music and composed a piece not long ago, yet for a long time I have not found a suitable voice to perform it. Observing that the lady’s voice is beautiful and pleasing to the ear, I specially wished to invite the lady to perform it.”
Wu Ping’an showed embarrassment, waving her hand in polite refusal. “I fear I cannot sing well. Listening is fine, but I truly have little talent for singing; I can only manage to keep the tune from straying.”
“That is sufficient,” Ji Yuwei comforted with gentle eyes, turning his head to instruct a nearby page to bring the konghou and other instruments.
Soon, many instruments were arranged around the Apricot Grove, many of which Wu Ping’an could not name. However, she recognized the ornate red phoenix-tail konghou before Ji Yuwei, having seen him play it once.
The youth, clad in light furs with a loose sash, knelt barefoot in wooden clogs, resting on his heels. As he supported the konghou, his sleeves fell to reveal pale wrists, naturally assuming the ethereal, elegant, and self-appreciating demeanor of Wei-Jin style. He tested the strings and began to sing.
It was still a tune Wu Ping’an could not understand, but his voice was perfect—soft and gentle in tone—so she could grasp the meaning he expressed.
After singing one piece, his pale cheeks flushed rosy, his eyes shimmering as he asked her, “Did you learn it by listening?”
Wu Ping’an shook her head, answering truthfully, “I do not quite understand it.”
He smiled, actively drawing closer to her. “It does not matter. Wei will teach the lady.”
Once again, he had unknowingly come very close to her. With just a slight downward glance, she could see a section of his slender ankle bone beneath the hem of his robe.
“This line is sung like this,” he lowered his voice, pressing his fingertip against her throat and pushing down. “Sound from the chest, release it cleanly in one breath.”
His fingertip slid upward again. Though he was merely touching the bones of her throat, Wu Ping’an felt a strange sensation. Her throat could produce no sound at all; it was very dry, and more than anything, she wanted to escape his hand.
Wu Ping’an truly could not bear it. Just as she began to emit a trembling sound, intending to give up, he suddenly brightened his eyes and praised excitedly, “Yes, that is exactly how to produce the sound. Its tone is extraordinary; it truly suits you.”
“Come, try again,” he gazed at her with hopeful eyes, regarding her as a beloved.
Wu Ping’an tried to follow his pronunciation. Though she could not learn it in one go, under his encouragement and patient guidance, she was still able to sing a decent melody.
After she finished singing, Ji Yuwei’s cheeks were thoroughly flushed, the corners of his eyes damp with traces of powder. His fingertip remained pressed against the bones of her throat, as if fondling a pearl in play, yet also like a cherished, reluctant caress.
“Lady Wu, your voice is truly beautiful.”
He truly wished to lock her in a cage, to have her sing herself to exhaustion for him alone.
Author’s Note:
Soon, Mountain Ghost will regard Ping’an as a confidante, and then they will fall in love.