That evening, after supper, Wan Cui brought back news: Wei Ling had returned to the residence.
Song Xian, reading on the soft couch, froze for a moment. Out of habit, she almost rose, but halfway through the motion, she faltered, realizing something, and laughed quietly to herself. Three years, and even now her body still reacted by instinct.
Liuying Pavilion was divided into front and rear courtyards. The front housed Wei Ling’s study and quarters, while Song Xian lived in the rear. The two were not connected.
As usual, Wan Cui asked, “Madam, shall I send a bowl of calming soup to the study? I’ve already told the small kitchen to prepare it.”
Calming soup? Song Xian lowered her gaze, pulling the fallen blanket back over herself. Memories surged silently.
Wei Ling often disappeared for days, returning only once every three or five. She would wait and wait until word came from the study that he was back. Then her waiting ended, and she would happily bring the food and calming soup she had prepared.
When was the last time? Ah, yes—about a month and a half ago. That night it rained heavily. She stood at her doorway, watching the sheets of rain pour down, her heart full of worry. Was he still outside? Had he found shelter? Would something happen to him?
Before long, a shadow appeared at the archway, blurred by night and rain. She couldn’t see clearly, but hope rose in her chest. As the figure drew closer, hope gave way to joy.
Xiao Shizi said he had returned.
She had been flustered, rushing to the small kitchen herself to heat the calming soup and add the ruyi cakes she had made earlier to the food box. She hurried so quickly that Wan Cui, holding the umbrella, couldn’t keep up.
But in the study, she was stopped by Bai Yi, who said Wei Ling had ordered that he would see no one. Being turned away was nothing new. Still, she persisted each time, hoping that one day he would notice her devotion, her care.
Usually, she would hand the box to Bai Yi and leave. But that night she longed to see him, so she pleaded. Perhaps Bai Yi softened for a moment and let her in. The study was empty. She placed the box on the table, hesitated, then dared to step into the inner room. From the bathing chamber came faint sounds, and a blush crept across her face. Though they had shared a bed only rarely, they had been intimate. Those memories stirred unbidden.
She stood dazed for a moment—then the door of the bathing chamber swung open. Their eyes met. Wei Ling, startled, wore his inner robe loosely, the lines of his abdomen faintly visible, strong and defined. She turned her face away at once, not daring to look.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was cool and detached.
She explained her purpose. Though she already knew he would not respond warmly, his words still struck like cold water: he said he had already eaten, and that she must never enter the study again without permission. She agreed quietly, took out the calming soup from the food box, reminded him to drink it before bed, and then left under his impatient gaze.
Thinking of this now, Song Xian let out a low laugh. Back then, she had lied to herself, telling herself that the chill she felt was only because the rain had been so heavy that night, soaking most of her clothes. But now she understood clearly—the coldness had never been the rain. It was Wei Ling himself. What he rejected was not just a bowl of calming soup. He rejected all her warmth, her entire being. She had once thought she could force her way into his heart, but after battering herself bloody, nothing had changed.
Song Xian shook her head. She would not do such foolish things again.
Wan Cui asked once more, and Song Xian replied: “Is it prepared?”
“Yes.”
“Then bring it here.”
Since it was already prepared, why waste it? She herself had been sleeping poorly these days. Giving it to Wei Ling would only be a waste.
So Wan Cui watched as Song Xian drank the calming soup herself, eyes widening in shock. “Madam, but this was meant for the young master—”
“What, your mistress cannot drink it?”
Suddenly, Wan Cui felt tears of joy. She hurried to say: “Of course you can! If you want more, I’ll make as much as you like.”
Song Xian rose and walked toward the bed, smiling faintly: “All right, it’s late. Go rest.”
“Mm!” Wan Cui nodded firmly, watching her climb into bed. She extinguished the inner candles but left the outer lamp burning, so the room was half‑lit, the flame flickering beneath the shade.
That habit had been Song Xian’s doing. Ever since her marriage to Wei Ling, whether he came to the rear courtyard or not, she always left a lamp for him. She had always been sensitive to light. Before marriage, she couldn’t sleep with even a candle burning, and all the curtains had to be drawn tight. Otherwise, she would lie awake all night.
But after marriage, she discovered Wei Ling never slept in darkness. Even in the study, he kept a lamp burning. Bai Yi said it was a habit from childhood, impossible to change.
If he could not change, then she would. Changing herself, little by little, she had adapted—once tossing and turning sleepless, now gradually accustomed. She had changed, but he had not changed at all. Now she realized: this lamp was no longer needed.
“Wan Cui,” Song Xian called softly, “extinguish the outer lamp as well.”
Wan Cui obeyed. With a gentle breath, the room fell into darkness and silence. The familiar feeling enveloped her. In the dark, Song Xian curved her lips faintly and closed her eyes.
Meanwhile, the front courtyard study was ablaze with light. Wei Ling, weary, sat at his desk, rubbing his wrist.
Bai Yi reported: “Master, during the month you were away, all was calm in Shengjing. Three days ago, Eunuch Wei came from the palace, requesting you to enter court upon your return.”
Wei Ling, dressed in a dark satin robe, sat upright, expression stern. Bai Yi dared not lift his head, continuing: “The Princess also asked after your whereabouts. I conveyed the message you instructed me to give her.”
“What of Father?” Wei Ling suddenly asked.
“Some days ago, the General drank with Minister Chen and injured a tavern boy in a drunken mishap. The Princess suppressed the matter.”
In the Eastern Xia dynasty, laws were strict, and officials were expected to be upright. The emperor prided himself on loving the people as his children. Such a scandal would harm the General’s household.
Wei Ling gave a short laugh, his face expressionless: “A mishap?”
Neither Bai Yi nor Bai Ze dared respond, remaining silent.
Fortunately, Wei Ling did not press further. He said: “Send word to Eunuch Wei—I will enter the palace tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
Wei Ling lifted his teacup and took a sip, frowning. Bai Ze, thinking the tea had cooled, quickly ordered fresh tea.
But then Wei Ling said suddenly: “Why is this tea?”
Bai Yi, who managed Liuying Pavilion’s affairs, stiffened. Was something wrong with the tea? It shouldn’t be. He had carefully stored the Tianshan white tea, and the servants were well‑trained. How could there be a mistake?
Bai Yi risked a glance upward. He saw his master’s expression flicker with something unnatural—gone in an instant—as Wei Ling continued drinking.
After a while, seeing his expression unchanged, Bai Yi finally said: “Two days ago, Madam fell and was unconscious for a whole day. Would you like to go see her?”
In the past, whenever Madam was unwell, someone from the rear courtyard would send word to the front. Bai Yi knew her intent—she only wished Master would come to the rear courtyard. But he was either absent or too busy, rarely finding time to go.
Bai Yi thought: if anyone truly cared for Master, Madam surely was one of them. Over these three years, her devotion was plain to see, even more than the Princess’s.
But Master was cold by nature. Ever since the death of Master Jingxuan, he had seemed like a different man, radiating an aura that kept others at a distance. If not for Bai Yi and Bai Ze serving him since childhood, they would never have been allowed so close.
Time after time, his responses to Madam were scant. The disappointment in her eyes was something only he failed to notice.
This time, fainting for a whole day was no small matter. Bai Yi weighed it carefully, then spoke, lowering his head.
Wei Ling paused, as if surprised he had brought it up. He asked casually: “Has the physician seen her?”
“Yes. But the servants in the rear courtyard say Madam’s condition seems unusual these past two days. Perhaps it’s from striking her head…”
Bai Ze coughed suddenly. Bai Yi startled, realizing he had spoken too much, and quickly added: “It should be nothing serious. Master need not worry.”
Bai Yi cursed himself inwardly. Master had just returned, weary from travel, not yet rested—why mention Madam now? There would be time later, no need to press it at once.
“Mm.” Wei Ling answered, his gaze drifting to the purple clay tea set, lost in thought.
“Then please rest well, Master. I take my leave.” Bai Yi bowed.
As the two attendants reached the door, a faint voice came from behind: “Forget it. Bai Yi, come with me to take a look.”
Master and servant walked toward the rear courtyard. Bai Yi followed silently, heart somewhat relieved. Though he usually managed only the front courtyard, he had known that on the day Madam fainted, no one from the household came to see her.
Madam treated them kindly, without arrogance. They could not meddle in the family’s affairs, but they knew who was good and who was not.
If Master went to the rear courtyard tonight, Madam would surely be glad. Yet soon Bai Yi saw the rear courtyard shrouded in darkness, and murmured: “Madam knew Master returned tonight. Why would she extinguish the lamps so early?”
Wei Ling did not answer. He looked at the courtyard, even the lanterns under the eaves extinguished, and remained silent.
Behind him, Bai Yi said: “Perhaps Madam has only just lain down, not yet asleep. Will Master stay in the rear courtyard tonight?”
“No. Let’s go back.” Wei Ling turned and left without pause.
In the faint moonlight, Bai Yi glimpsed his master’s expression and froze. Was that a trace of anger? Could it be he was angry that Madam had not waited for him?
Bai Yi could not understand.