In the deep of night, the weight of the snow is known, occasionally hearing the sound of bamboo breaking.
“Crack,” a slender bamboo outside the corridor bent under the weight of the continuous heavy snow. Chang Qingqing heard the sound and got up from the Maitreya couch, passing through the moon gate and the antique shelf.
The lotus lamp made of huanghuali wood had gone out, and the long windows were covered with curtains. Only a celadon flower-mouthed lamp on the long table opposite the window was lit, casting a dim light in the room. Chang Qingqing walked lightly to the bedside and, as expected, saw Yan Dong with his eyes open.
Yan Dong usually slept soundly, as Yan Er Gongzi would jokingly say, he wouldn’t even know if someone put a sack over his head and carried him away in the middle of the night. But ever since he woke up from a nightmare seven nights ago, he had been in a daze, not attending the National Academy during the day, nor going out to play, just staying in his room daydreaming, and sleeping lightly at night.
Chang Qingqing had served Yan Dong since childhood, and apart from three years ago when Yan Song was seriously injured, he had never seen the carefree young master so restless and unhappy.
What kind of nightmare could scare him so much?!
Chang Qingqing was very worried but didn’t dare to ask in detail, knowing it would be in vain—
Since the incident, the Duke and the Princess had been visiting daily, the Second Young Master and Third Miss had taken leave from the palace to return, and Yu Er Gongzi and Hou San Gongzi had skipped school to come to the Duke’s Mansion. Everyone tried their best, offering houses and treasures, threatening to hang themselves at the door or rolling on the ground, using all sorts of methods, but they couldn’t get the “cause of illness” out of their master.
Third Miss had searched through medical books and ancient texts but couldn’t find a cure. With no other options, the Duke, who never believed in ghosts and gods, secretly invited a group of monks and Taoists to the mansion, preparing to hold a ritual.
If only the heir was here, he was always the magic cure for the young master, able to dispel any ailment.
Chang Qingqing was worried but didn’t show it, leaning down to say, “Are you hungry? The kitchen still has the plum blossom soup cakes that Third Miss personally made for you.”
“It seems Ah Jie hasn’t given up on becoming a master of both medicine and poison,” Yan Dong said faintly.
Chang Qingqing: “Uh.”
Third Miss was the direct disciple of the Imperial Hospital’s Lin Yuan, having passed numerous exams to become an imperial physician at a young age, even serving in front of the emperor. Her medical skills were unquestionable. However, her cooking skills were so formidable that even the Duke and the Princess, who had been forced to eat raw meat and drink blood while chasing enemies in the wilderness, found it hard to swallow. The Second Young Master, who never caught a cold even when practicing martial arts in thin clothes during the coldest days, ended up vomiting and having diarrhea!
Perhaps Third Miss had no other choice and deliberately used a bowl of plum blossom soup cakes to make the young master restless, so he wouldn’t have the energy to overthink?
Chang Qingqing boldly speculated.
Speaking of which, Yan Dong remembered something, “Tomorrow, remember to give her the ‘How to Become a Culinary God’ book I got from the black market. People with dreams are remarkable, we should support Ah Jie.”
But only in spirit, Yan Dong didn’t dare to touch that bowl of plum blossom soup cakes. He was already destined to die, why suffer unnecessarily?
“Okay.” Chang Qingqing didn’t expose Yan Dong’s fear and reverence.
The wind hit the window, making a loud noise, like a fierce beast roaring before breaking in. Yan Dong’s lips tightened, his hands, which were warming his stomach, slightly curled, scratching his warm belly, “What time is it?”
Chang Qingqing glanced at the incense clock on the long table, “It’s the third quarter of the Yin hour.”
Yan Dong asked, “Can Big Brother come back tonight?”
Chang Qingqing hesitated to speak.
Yan Dong had woken up from a nightmare and hadn’t slept all night, making Chang Qingqing uneasy, so he immediately sent a flying letter. But Qianzhou was nearly four thousand miles from the capital, and many waterways were difficult to navigate in this weather. Even if Yan Song received the letter immediately, he wouldn’t make it in time.
Yan Dong knew he was asking in vain, grumbling discontentedly, “All the departments are about to take their year-end break, yet they had to send Big Brother to Qianzhou. Even a donkey isn’t used like this.”
“Who told our heir to be so highly valued? A corrupt official appeared in Qianzhou, causing a protest, and the court needed to quickly quell the unrest and appease the people. At this time, they needed someone who could represent the court, understand the emperor’s intentions, act decisively, be resourceful, and physically strong to handle this task—no choice,” Chang Qingqing sighed, “The heir is just too capable, too impressive, too favored by the emperor!”
Yan Dong had always liked hearing people praise Yan Song. Hearing this, his brows relaxed, and he finally showed a bit of a smile, “Hey, bring the kang table over, I want to write a letter.”
“Alright.” Chang Qingqing helped Yan Dong up, tucked him in, and turned to bring the kang table from the foot of the bed.
The kang table was waist-bound with a begonia design, carved with ruyi heads, matching the bedroom furniture, all personally selected and arranged by Yan Song when Yan Dong moved out of Xunfeng Courtyard last year.
It was common for brothers to live in the same courtyard when young, but in the capital’s wealthy families, they usually had to separate by the age of twelve or thirteen. It was rare for a young master to live in Xunfeng Courtyard until sixteen. But considering the young master was raised by the heir, it was understandable.
When the Princess was pregnant with the young master, it coincided with the Northern Xia harassing the border, committing massacres. The emperor decided to send troops, both to seek justice for the border townspeople and to unify the country. The Duke was appointed as the Northern Frontier Marshal, and the Princess went to the vanguard camp in armor, only discovering the young master’s existence two months later.
The young master was born in the war-torn border town during the minor cold season, hence the name “Dong” (winter). The border town was bitterly cold, with little spring breeze, thus the town was named “Fengchun” (meeting spring), which was also the source of his courtesy name.
The front line was dangerous, the border town bitterly cold, and the war exhausting. After the first birthday banquet, the Duke and the Princess sent the young master and the heir back to the capital with personal guards, asking the younger brother to take care of them.
Thus, Yan Er Ye began his life of raising four children for his brother and sister-in-law.
It’s said that at first, Er Ye was very troubled. As a widower busy compiling books and revising history, raising a pair of three-year-old twins was already a handful, and now another pair came along, making him wish he had three heads and six arms!
Fortunately, the heir was precocious and didn’t need Er Ye to worry, even taking on the responsibility of caring for his younger brother.
At the first birthday banquet, the young master wobbled from one end of the three-meter-long table to the other, not taking his father’s small wooden gun, his mother’s small horizontal knife, his second uncle’s miniature “Thousand Character Classic,” or the jade abacus made by his late second aunt. Instead, he grinned with his little white rice teeth, reaching out his chubby little hands to hug his big brother standing at the end of the table.
After the birthday banquet, the heir, who originally planned to stay with his parents, accompanied the young master home, carrying the chubby little bundle into Xunfeng Courtyard.
For seven years, the front line was ablaze, while in Xunfeng Courtyard, the small cradle by the bed was removed, and the two-year-old young master moved to the bed, sleeping with the heir; a small desk was added to the study, where the three-and-a-half-year-old young master sat on a small chair, learning to read and write with the heir, using worm-like strokes to send greetings to his parents on the front line. On good weather days, he would always hold the heir’s hand, clinging to him to go to the community school, then leaning against the heir, falling asleep to the sound of reading; a year later, a wooden fragrance pavilion was built in the courtyard, where the young master would drowsily nest in a rocking chair, accompanying the heir in morning martial arts practice and evening zither practice; at six, the young master entered school early, becoming the heir’s little tail, going in and out together every day; in the seventh year, the army returned, and the family was reunited.
The young master was like gold and jade, and the heir was the seamless iron urn, familiar with each other in the same world, unchanged for years. Thus, over the years, the Duke and the Princess never separated the brothers into different courtyards until last year when the heir brought it up himself.
Chang Qingqing remembered the young master’s reaction at that time, bewildered and shocked, unable to react, followed by confusion and helplessness, asking for the reason. The heir, calm and indifferent, only said he was of age and needed to learn to live independently.
The sky fell, the earth collapsed, Big Brother didn’t want me anymore!
The young master’s eyes glistened with tears, pleading, acting spoiled, and playing tricks, but the heir was firm. So, tears flowed like a small waterfall, questioning repeatedly, slapping the table, stomping the ground, throwing a tantrum, but to no avail. Exhausted from the commotion, the young master returned to his room, and that night, he carried two large floral bundles and ran away from home.
Heartbroken, the young master ran out of the capital in one go, but unluckily and dangerously, he was kidnapped just a few miles out of the city! The ransom note reached the heir’s hands, and the young master’s runaway plan collapsed that very day.
Chang Qingqing didn’t know what happened in the mountains that day, only remembering the heir’s grim expression when he set out, and the young master, when brought back, no longer resisted, reluctantly but obediently moving into Fengchun Courtyard.
The elder brother was like a father, the young master relied on and was close to the heir, yet also feared the ruler used for discipline. But after that day, the young master seemed to have an additional fear of the heir, the reason unknown.
Fortunately, the furniture, arrangements, and staff in Fengchun Courtyard were all arranged by the heir, the door plaque personally inscribed, showing his care. Importantly, it was next to Xunfeng Courtyard, providing some solace to the young master who had no choice but to accept reality, and he settled in.
In the midst of reminiscing, Chang Qingqing set up the pen and ink, quietly retreating to the outer room, not disturbing Yan Dong as he wrote his letter.
Yan Dong dipped the pen in ink, the tip paused on the paper, leaving an ink mark: To Big Brother—
He was stuck.
Strangely, he had so much to say, so much he wanted to express, but when it came to the pen, he didn’t know how to say it or what to say.
“Sigh.”
Chang Qingqing, hearing the master’s sigh from the outer room, also sighed, wishing she could immediately grow wings and fly to Qianzhou to bring the heir back.
Outside, the sound of a dog barking was heard, it was Snowball’s voice, followed by the courtyard gate opening. Who dared to open Fengchun Courtyard’s gate in the middle of the night?
Chang Qingqing quickly walked to the bedroom door, opened it, and looked out—
The year-end cold, the night like an ink river, a man braved the wind and snow to return home.
“—Heir!”
“Clang!”
Yan Dong flipped out of bed, knocking over the kang table, spilling ink all over the bed. He didn’t care, rushing out.
Chang Qingqing quickly stepped aside, and Yan Dong dashed out, crashing into the man’s embrace with such force that the man took a step back.
Yan Song shook open his cloak, wrapping the person in his arms, his waist aching from the tight grip. He didn’t speak, just removed the finger sleeve from his right hand, using his not-so-cold palm to cover the back of Yan Dong’s head.
Yan Dong shivered, inhaling the familiar scent of stone leaves, a smell he had known for many years, comforting him during thunderstorms as a child, later a reliance during naps, an ever-present source of reassurance.
He bit his canine teeth tightly, trembling, “Brother, am I dreaming?”
Yan Song frowned, “No.”
His fingertips gently exerted force, threading through the thick black hair, his tone calm and powerful, “Don’t be afraid, Brother is here.”