Thinking of Chen Zhian’s connection, Song Xian lowered her guard toward the young man before her and smiled: “Master Xiao, there’s no need for courtesy—it was only a small effort.”
“To me, that small effort was my very life. I have no way to repay such a debt. If young lady ever needs assistance, you may come to Marquis Yongyi’s residence and seek me out.” Xiao Hengyi bowed again, his manner truly sincere.
He looked a little younger than her, his gaze clear and upright, his words carrying a firmness that brooked no refusal.
Song Xian found herself unaccustomed to being addressed as “young lady”—it had been many years since anyone had called her that.
“I appreciate your kind intentions,” Song Xian replied with a bright smile. “But my husband’s family name is Wei. You may call me Madam Wei.”
Xiao Hengyi was momentarily taken aback, but quickly composed himself. “Yes, Madam Wei.”
He then drew from his sleeve a small jade ornament shaped like a deer’s head. “With this token, Madam may find me whenever needed.”
The jade was clearly a precious keepsake. Song Xian refused without hesitation.
But Xiao Hengyi insisted repeatedly, and Uncle Zhang added from the side: “Today, Master Xiao even wanted to give me silver. How could I accept that? After much refusal, he finally relented. Second Lady, you should accept this token.”
In the end, Wan Cui had to take it on her behalf.
“This Yongxing Lane is crowded and disorderly. I feel guilty for making Madam come here today. Allow me to escort you back.”
Song Xian had brought attendants with her and wasn’t afraid, but to refuse again would embarrass him. So she agreed.
After asking Uncle Zhang her questions, she and Xiao Hengyi left together.
Xiao Hengyi was courteous and restrained, always keeping a respectful distance.
They walked side by side in silence until Song Xian spoke first: “Why was Master Xiao caught up in that fight the other day?”
At once, she felt the question was too abrupt and quickly added, “If it’s inconvenient, please forget I asked.”
Xiao Hengyi thought for a moment before replying: “It wasn’t much. The Prefecture was arresting someone, and I happened to be there. I lent a hand.”
“Master Xiao has a chivalrous heart—rare indeed.” Song Xian smiled faintly. “But next time, don’t be so rash. Failing to catch someone is a small matter, but if you’re injured, it’s not worth it.”
Xiao Hengyi walked beside her, able only to see her profile, yet he still caught the curve of her lips. She seemed like a flower slowly blooming—soft and radiant. He quickly looked away. “Yes, Madam is right.”
No more words were exchanged. They walked quietly, passersby turning their heads to look. Both were finely dressed, their appearances distinguished. Walking together, they made a pleasing sight.
At the end of the alley, Song Xian turned back. “Thank you, Master Xiao. Let us part here today—until next time.”
Only then did Xiao Hengyi dare to look at her directly. “Mm. Farewell, Madam.”
He watched her depart, thinking to himself: *What next time? Today’s farewell may well be forever.*
Song Xian did not hurry back to the manor. With Wan Cui, she strolled through the streets, determined to buy all the cloth she lacked today, and also to observe how other shops operated.
Since she planned to open her own shop in the future, she needed to learn from the ground up—going through every step to gain confidence.
Seeing Song Xian in good spirits, Wan Cui felt happy too. Her steps grew lighter as she followed.
“Madam, this Master Xiao is truly remarkable. If only Miss Zhian were marrying him—she would surely enjoy endless blessings.”
Song Xian laughed and scolded her: “Nonsense. Zhian’s marriage is already settled; nothing can change that. Besides, how can you be so sure Master Xiao is good or bad?”
“If Madam thinks Master Xiao is a good man, then he must be a good man.”
“When did I ever say that?”
Wan Cui gave a little huff. “I’ve followed Madam for so long. If I still couldn’t tell, then all these years would have been wasted.”
Song Xian was momentarily at a loss for words and could only retort with a touch of mock anger: “You’re the one who knows me best.”
By the time dusk fell, Song Xian and her companion finally returned to the General’s residence.
The room was dim. Song Xian first told Wan Cui to light the lamps, then instructed two servants to neatly put away the bolts of cloth they had bought that day. Pouring herself a cup of water, she was still mulling over how to make use of the fabric when she suddenly looked up—and saw someone sitting on the couch not far away, staring fixedly at her.
Startled, Song Xian relaxed only after recognizing the man as Wei Ling.
“Second Master, why are you here?”
Wei Ling did not answer. He walked straight over, glanced at the piles of cloth on the table, then at her, and said with displeasure: “Why were you gone so long?”
“Ah?” Song Xian was taken aback, hearing the clear note of irritation in his voice. “I lost track of time while wandering about. Did you need me for something?”
“Nothing.” Wei Ling gave her another look. “I had Bai Yi deliver some things to the storeroom. Tomorrow I’ll have him bring more cloth.”
Song Xian had meant to say it wasn’t necessary, but swallowed the words and instead replied: “Thank you, Second Master.”
Only then did Wei Ling’s expression soften. He turned to the servants: “Serve the meal.”
Soon, dish after dish was carried in, dazzling Song Xian’s eyes—spinach with lamb, pork ribs stewed with angelica and red dates, stir‑fried pig liver with celery, chicken soup with huadiao wine and ginseng.
Song Xian looked at Wei Ling in confusion, her eyes full of questions. What was all this for?
Wei Ling, of course, would not answer. For the first time, he took the initiative to place food in her bowl, saying lightly: “Eat.”
Song Xian did not move her chopsticks. His brows drew together. “What’s wrong? Not to your taste?”
It wasn’t that she disliked the food—only that she never ate pig liver, and that was exactly what he had given her.
Song Xian shook her head, picked up the piece of liver, raised it to her lips, but quickly set it down again. She simply could not bring herself to eat it.
Wei Ling noticed her hesitation, reached over with his chopsticks, and transferred the liver into his own bowl. Then he placed a piece of lamb in hers.
Song Xian shook her head again. She didn’t eat lamb either—she always found its flavor too gamey.
“Not eating this either?”
Song Xian nodded. He had no choice but to pick it up again, saying helplessly, “You’ll eat ribs at least, right?”
This time, Song Xian didn’t refuse.
Watching her nibble in tiny bites, Wei Ling couldn’t help but laugh. “I didn’t know you were so hard to please.”
Song Xian: “…”
Hard to please? She only avoided two or three foods, yet tonight he had arranged for exactly those, and even picked them out for her. If he had eaten with her a few more times, would he really say such a thing?
Song Xian felt a flicker of dissatisfaction, but she didn’t argue—just ate quietly.
“You’re far too frail. You should eat more.”
“Yes,” Song Xian replied casually.
Wei Ling seemed unusually talkative today, going on without pause. “Why do you need so much fabric?”
Before she could answer, he continued: “You don’t need to worry about my clothes. Every year, the household arranges new garments for everyone, and Mother even makes me two extra sets. I can’t wear them all out in a year. Why trouble yourself?”
Song Xian suddenly lost the desire to explain anything—she didn’t even want to clarify that the fabric wasn’t meant for his clothes. Every word was framed as concern, urging her not to overwork, yet each one pressed down on her heart, dismissing her past efforts as needless toil. What hurt most was that he knew those clothes had been painstakingly made by her—yet he had never worn them once.
Lowering her head, Song Xian answered flatly, “Yes, I understand.”
She barely ate a few bites before setting down her chopsticks and moving aside to sort through the fabric she had bought that day.
After a while, Wei Ling came over, standing behind her. His cool, clean scent enveloped her at once.
Song Xian ignored him and continued her work. Then came a faint sigh. He leaned closer, drew her into his arms, and in a tone she had never heard before—gentle, indulgent—asked, “What are you sulking about?”
Song Xian froze, the soft cloth slipping from her hands.
“I know I’ve neglected you these past few years. From now on, whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. If you don’t wish to go before Mother, I’ll speak to her myself—she won’t make things difficult for you. As for household affairs, Sister‑in‑law is enough; you needn’t worry.”
Wei Ling’s voice was clear, like his face—cool and pure, like a breeze brushing through leaves. It was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard, yet at this moment, coming from above her head, it felt strangely unfamiliar. His hands were clasped over her chest; when Song Xian lowered her gaze, she could see his long, pale fingers, the joints distinct.
She counted them—one, two, three. Lately, he had come into her room more often than in the entire first half of the year combined. His words and actions had changed, even carrying a hint of trying to please her, something Song Xian found hard to believe.
She was not a suspicious person, nor did she dare think too deeply. She feared that clarity would only wound herself.
She only knew that within all this, there might be guilt, concern, or compensation—but not the one thing she truly wanted.
After a long silence, with no further movement from him, Song Xian drew a deep breath and finally said, “Mother has always wanted a grandson.”
Children were a knot in her heart, one she could not untangle, not in three years. Sometimes she tried to comfort herself—perhaps Princess Duanrong disliked her, didn’t want her to bear a child. But that excuse was too fragile.
That medicine had come from the Liuying Pavilion kitchen. He could not have been unaware.
The moment the words left her lips, she regretted them. Whether it was Princess Duanrong or him, it no longer mattered. She would never drink that medicine again.
She had just begun to pull away from his embrace when Wei Ling released her first, no longer looking at her. He stepped back two paces and said quietly, “Children… cannot be had. I’ll speak to Mother.”
Song Xian laughed inwardly. See—some things cannot be spoken aloud.
So be it. At least now she knew the answer—no more regrets.