Wei Ling left in a fury, nearly smashing the door off its hinges.
Song Xian remained seated before her dressing table for a long while, lost in thought. Three years had slipped by in a blur, leaving only a hasty, bitter ending.
When she first entered the General’s household, she was seventeen. Though a substitute bride, she still carried hopes for her husband, dreaming of harmony and shared music. Now at twenty, she departed with nothing but disappointment, their paths forever diverging.
She should have realized sooner how fragile and costly love between man and woman could be. Three years had taught her enough—never again would she be so foolish. She would not long for it, not touch it, and never again wrong herself for it.
A cold wind swept through the half-open window, snuffing out the candle on her dressing table. The figure in the bronze mirror blurred into shadow.
Wan Cui entered quietly. “Madam, the water has cooled, and the night grows late. Perhaps you should rest.”
Wan Cui had not accompanied her mistress to the waterside pavilion and did not know what had transpired. She only sensed that Madam and Master had quarreled, and that Master was furious. Lately, Madam’s face had carried more smiles, and she often went out of her way to meet him. The Master, too, had returned to the rear courtyard more frequently. Wan Cui thought things were slowly improving—so why did it now seem worse than ever?
She could not understand, yet dared not ask. Approaching, she said softly, “Madam, allow me to help you change.”
“No hurry.” Song Xian rose. “First bring me brush, ink, paper, and inkstone. Then reheat the water.”
Wan Cui could understand her mistress’s insistence on bathing, but why demand writing tools at such an hour?
She fetched the items from the adjoining room. Song Xian was already seated at the desk. “Good. Now go heat the water.”
“Yes, Madam.”
Still uneasy, Wan Cui glanced back at the doorway. She saw her mistress pouring water into the inkstone, gently grinding the ink stick, her movements slow and deliberate. What could be so urgent to write at this hour?
The pine soot ink spread in rippling circles across the inkstone, merging seamlessly with the water until they were indistinguishable.
Song Xian spread the rice paper flat, took up her brush, and dipped it in ink. Yet when she lifted the brush, she did not know how to begin. Drops of ink fell from the tip, leaving scattered marks upon the paper.
After a long while, she replaced the sheet and finally began to write: “To my lord, Yuchuan: By the bond of three lifetimes, we were granted to walk together for a time. I bow in gratitude to Heaven.”
“Though regret and longing are not the same, from this day we part, each returning to our own place, without resentment.”
“May my lord meet a worthy companion, in harmony like phoenix and lute, and live in joy year after year.”
“Respectfully inscribed, Song Xian.”
When the ink dried, Song Xian looked over the words a few times, then folded the letter and placed it inside her mirror case.
At dawn the next day, in the front courtyard of Liuying Pavilion, Bai Ze hurried in and asked Bai Yi: “Where is Master?”
Bai Yi had just woken, rubbing his eyes. “In his room, I suppose.”
Bai Ze strode quickly inside, Bai Yi trailing behind. “Didn’t you arrive in Qincheng yesterday afternoon? Why are you only back now?”
Bai Ze ignored him, searching the study. After a round, he found no one. “Didn’t you say he was in his room?”
“Huh?” Bai Yi was stunned. “That’s not right. Last night, after returning from Madam’s quarters, he went straight in and wouldn’t let me serve him. Where could he have gone?”
“It’s your fault—you sleep like the dead. Master left and you didn’t even notice.” Bai Ze cursed, then rushed out again.
Bai Yi scratched his head as he followed. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the lock on the side chamber was missing. He immediately called Bai Ze back from the gate.
At the chamber door, the two approached but dared not step further. Bai Yi nudged Bai Ze. “You go.”
What a joke— Master never allowed them into the chamber. He could not bear the weight of his master’s anger.
“Coward,” Bai Ze muttered, giving him a sidelong glance. He still had urgent matters to report, so he could not afford to hesitate. He pushed the chamber door open and called out: “Master?”
“Master?”
No reply.
The two of them knew well enough what was kept inside, so they were not surprised. Bai Ze searched thoroughly and, at last, found him curled up in a corner.
Wei Ling was still in the clothes from the night before, his whole body hunched, looking pitiful.
Bai Yi and Bai Ze exchanged glances, each seeing the same shock mirrored in the other’s eyes.
Bai Yi stepped forward and patted him. “Master?”
Only then did Wei Ling stir faintly awake. When he focused on what lay before him, he closed his eyes again. Opening them once more, he was the man they knew.
“What is it?” Wei Ling rose and walked out, his voice hoarse.
Bai Ze quickly drew a handkerchief from his breast. In the corner were embroidered two characters: Huihua.
Huihua was the title of Princess Royal—no one else in the realm would use it.
Bai Ze said, “Master, Heniang is gravely ill. She may not survive the night. I hurried to fetch a physician and arranged for her care, which is why I returned to Shengjing so late.”
Wei Ling’s hand faltered as he took the handkerchief; it nearly slipped from his grasp.
“Gravely ill?”
“Yes. Neighbors say it is already a miracle she has endured this long. She herself gave silver to those next door, asking them to handle her funeral affairs.”
Wei Ling fell silent for a long while. “Did she say anything?”
Bai Ze replied, “By the time I arrived, He Niang’s mind was clouded. Later, medicine roused her briefly, but she did not believe me—nor my words. I wished to bring her back, but the physician said in her condition, she could not withstand the journey.”
“I understand.” Wei Ling turned and left.
“And young master?”
“Have Bai Yi prepare the horses.”
Song Xian had planned to go to Yin’an Hall early the next morning, but Aunt Qing hurried over, urging her to return to Marquis Suqing’s residence.
She knew the moment had come. Since Tan Huizhi had been present last night, her mother-in-law would surely know by now. She only hoped it would not worsen her illness.
Song Xian left in haste, without even taking breakfast.
Leaving Liuying Pavilion meant passing through the front courtyard. She had not expected to encounter Wei Ling there. He was just coming out of the study, and when he saw her, he froze for a moment.
The distance was not far; Song Xian could see the dark circles beneath his eyes, the unshaven stubble, and the weariness clouding his gaze. She remembered clearly the fierce look he had worn when he stormed out the night before—so different from now.
Song Xian opened her mouth, but no words came. Everything that needed saying had already been said last night. To feign the gentle, dutiful wife again was pointless. Only now did she realize—without those empty courtesies, there was nothing left for them to say.
But she had worried too much. Wei Ling merely glanced at her, then walked out with Bai Ze, never looking back, his figure resolute.
Song Xian stood where she was and gave a small laugh. What was she thinking?
Aunt Qing was still waiting at the gate. Song Xian pushed thoughts of him aside and hurried out.
On the carriage, Song Xian asked softly, “Aunt Qing, how is Mother?”
Aunt Qing, both angry and distressed for her young mistress, replied, “How could she be well? Early this morning, Madam summoned Madam You. Outwardly, she claimed it was to teach her to be sensible and not cause trouble, but everyone knows she only wanted to see her suffer. Having finally found the chance, how could she let it slip away?”
Song Xian sighed, clutching her handkerchief tightly.
“Second Miss, what exactly happened? Wasn’t yesterday the Princess Royal’s birthday? How could such things occur then?” Aunt Qing was baffled. “Didn’t Young Master Wei accompany you back to the Xi Courtyard in good spirits?”
“Aunt Qing, it’s a long story. Please don’t dwell on it.”
“The one dwelling on it is your mother. Ever since returning from Simei Courtyard, she has lain in bed. She doesn’t cough, but she won’t speak. I wanted to fetch you, but she forbade it, saying she feared you would worry. How could I obey her in this?”
Song Xian’s eyes reddened. “Thank you, Aunt Qing.”
“Enough, enough. Hurry back and explain clearly. Don’t let your mother fret.”
“Yes.”
Song Xian entered Marquis Suqing’s residence through the back gate, so as not to disturb others.
Madam You was asleep. Song Xian sat by her bedside, keeping her company. Her mother must have been one of the great beauties of Yangzhou in her youth. Even now, asleep, the elegance in her brows and features could not be hidden. Yet beauty often meets misfortune. Song Xian wished her mother had been ordinary—then her father would not have taken notice, nor would Tan Huizhi have fixed her gaze upon her, and she would not have suffered so much.
Song Xian held her mother’s hand. The warmth seeped into her palm, and her heart gradually steadied. Half-dreaming, she seemed to wander into a strange place. The houses were unfamiliar, the people all strangers, their clothing unlike anything she had ever seen. Panic rose within her, and she began to run, again and again, toward the unknown. Running, she suddenly collided with someone. Looking up, she realized it was her mother. Her mother wiped the sweat from her brow and smiled gently. “Why are you running so fast?”
“Mother, I’m afraid.”
“What is there to fear? I’m here.”
She buried her face in her mother’s embrace. “Mother, where is this place? Can we go home?”
“Silly child, this is Yangzhou. Isn’t this where we live?”
Song Xian’s lips curved into a smile, the scene feeling more and more real. Then a laugh sounded by her ear: “Silly child, what dream makes you smile so happily?”
Song Xian woke at once, realizing she was truly in her mother’s arms.
“Mother, how am I on the bed?”
“When I woke, I saw you leaning at the bedside. I asked Aunt Qing to help lift you up.” Madam You tucked her daughter’s loose hair behind her ear. “You didn’t sleep well last night, did you?”
It wasn’t that she hadn’t slept well—she hadn’t slept at all.
Song Xian didn’t answer that question. Instead, she asked, “How long have I slept?”
“Not yet till noon. Are you hungry?”
“No, I’ll sleep a little longer.” Song Xian nestled against her mother, her voice soft and childlike.
“All right, all right. Sleep, Ah Xian. Mother is here.”
This time she slept until dusk. When she woke, Madam You was gone. Aunt Qing told her she was busy again in the kitchen.
Neither mother nor daughter mentioned the matter. They enjoyed a pleasant meal together.
As night fell, Madam You urged her, “Enough, you’ve kept me company all day. Go back now. Once it’s dark, the road will be hard to walk.”
Song Xian sat beside her in silence for a while. “Mother, I have something to tell you.”
Madam You fell silent, listening as Song Xian spoke: “Mother, last time I asked if you wished to return to Yangzhou. Shall we go back?”
“What did you say?” Madam You was startled.
“I said—I want to divorce Wei Ling.”
At once, Madam You coughed violently, covering her mouth with a handkerchief. Song Xian quickly rubbed her back until she calmed.
Only then did Song Xian continue: “When we return to Yangzhou, we’ll seek out Grandfather. Then I’ll open a shop and sell embroidery. You needn’t worry about our livelihood—I have silver.”
“Ah Xian, do you know what you’re saying?” Madam You dismissed those distant plans. “Would your father ever agree to such a divorce? And what of your reputation? What will become of you in the years ahead?”
“Do you realize how outsiders will gossip about a divorced woman? Others at least have their natal families to shield them. Do you think the Marquis’s household would protect you?”
“According to the First Madam, it is Wei Ling who wronged you. Since even she has not spoken of divorce, why must you rush into it? If you endure, won’t it pass?”
“That is why you, Mother, have endured for twenty years.”
At that, all Madam You’s arguments fell pale and powerless.
Song Xian knew her mother would not easily accept her resolve, so she added softly: “Mother, I don’t want to endure.”
“That is not the same. Young Master Wei is not your father. You are his principal wife. How can you compare yourself to me?”
Song Xian smiled faintly. “In truth, you were better off than I. At least Father was sincere toward you when you were in Yangzhou.”
Madam You hesitated. “Then, in Wei Ling’s heart, there is truly no place for you?”
Song Xian shook her head.
Neither spoke further. Song Xian did not press. It had taken her long to reach this decision—how could she expect her mother to accept it in a mere quarter hour?
After a long silence, Madam You finally said: “Ah Xian, I do not agree.”
Yangzhou was not a place they could simply return to. Years ago, she had followed Song Ken to Shengjing against her parents’ wishes. Even if they were willing to take her back, she had no face to show them. What gossip would her parents endure? How much scorn would she herself suffer?
And what of Song Xian, if she followed her mother back—how would she live?
Ah Xian had imagined everything too well: opening her own shop, selling embroidery. But in Yangzhou, unfamiliar with people and place, such a shop might collapse within days. It wasn’t that Madam You doubted her daughter’s ability, only that she knew how cruel the world could be, and her daughter had seen too little of it.
In Shengjing, she was the Marquis Suqing’s daughter, the General’s wife. A lifetime of food and clothing was assured. Why invite trouble for the rest of her days?
Love and affection—without them, life still goes on.
“Ah Xian, listen to your mother’s advice. Don’t be rash.”
Song Xian had never expected the first obstacle to come from her own mother. Her mother meant well, she knew, and she understood her concerns. But she also knew exactly what divorce meant. If she could not endure one kind of suffering, she would have to endure another. She remained resolute. Nor did she wish her mother to keep sacrificing herself under the guise of “for her own good.”
“Mother, this time, I fear I cannot obey you.”
Madam You was taken aback. “Ah Xian, why are you so stubborn!”
“Mother, there are countless roads in this world. If one is blocked, another will open. Since in the end all roads lead to the same earth, why not choose the one that is easier, the one that brings joy?”
Neither could persuade the other.
Song Xian thought: this path must be walked sooner or later. One day, her mother would understand.
Qincheng.
When Bai Ze led Wei Ling to the small house, many people were already gathered outside.
No one cried, no one laughed. Every face was grave. Bai Ze’s heart sank. He glanced back at his master.
Wei Ling’s expression was unnervingly calm—so calm he seemed less like the living.
The closer they drew, the clearer the voices in the crowd became.
“Heniang was truly unfortunate. She moved here alone, and now, at the end, she is still alone.”
“Isn’t that the truth? Madam Zhang said someone came last night. I thought perhaps Heniang might be saved.”
“Saved? Even if an immortal descended, she could not be saved. Her illness was already beyond cure. I thought she would pass two years ago.”
Someone sighed. “Enough, enough. Heniang was kind-hearted. May Heaven pity her, and in the next life spare her such suffering.”
The mournful sound of funeral music rose, and the crowd fell silent, moving inside.
“Young master…” Bai Ze spoke anxiously, but Wei Ling had already stepped forward.
The courtyard was small. Inside stood the main hall and two side rooms. White mourning banners hung sparsely, and white lanterns lined the corridor. The main hall had been turned into a mourning chamber, a coffin placed at its center.
Neighbors who had come to pay respects had not yet left. Some stayed to help, others gathered in quiet conversation.
Noticing the two finely dressed young men at the doorway, whispers spread. Madam Zhang, whom Bai Ze had asked for help the night before, came forward with a sigh. “Master Bai, Heniang didn’t make it. We couldn’t save her.”
They all knew Heniang’s health had long been poor. But they were busy, unable to watch her daily. If Bai Ze hadn’t come last night, they wouldn’t have known she was at death’s door.
“When did she pass?” A cold voice cut in suddenly.
Madam Zhang, startled to see the handsome gentleman beside Bai Ze, quickly answered: “This morning. When I brought medicine and porridge, I found she was already gone.”
“In such bitter cold, how hard it must have been for her to leave.” Madam Zhang’s eyes reddened. She turned to Bai Ze. “Master Bai, you knew He Niang, didn’t you? Does she have any kin still living?”
Bai Ze glanced at Wei Ling. Wei Ling looked toward the mourning hall, silent.
“Ah, what use are kin? For more than ten years, none came to see her. Now that she’s gone, who would we expect to come?” Madam Zhang wiped her eyes.
Bai Ze could only murmur, “Madam Zhang, thank you for your trouble.”
“We’re neighbors—no need for thanks. When my grandson was ill and we had no silver for a doctor, it was Heniang who helped us.”
Madam Zhang continued speaking, but Wei Ling had already entered the mourning hall. People watched as he approached the spirit tablet, knelt, and bowed three times. Then he went to the coffin, pushed open the lid.
Madam Zhang moved to stop him, but Bai Ze held her back.
Wei Ling looked only briefly, then closed the coffin, returned to the spirit tablet, and bowed three more times. Afterward, he left the hall, stepped out into the courtyard, and stood at the gate for a long while.
The cold wind raged on. No sun shone; heavy clouds covered the sky, threatening rain that would not fall.
Bai Ze looked up, thinking they should depart early if they were to return today. But seeing his master’s back, he said nothing.
When had the master ever been like this? As if his soul had fled, his spirit utterly gone.
Perhaps others did not know—even Bai Yi did not know—why he had come to Qincheng. But Bai Ze knew: finding Heniang was his master’s own undertaking. When he first learned the truth, he had been shocked beyond words. Princess Duanrong was not the master’s birth mother. His true mother was only a solitary woman in this small city. Yet they had come too late. The master had not seen Heniang alive.
Bai Ze was lost in thought when Wei Ling suddenly spoke: “Have you searched the house?”
“Not yet.”
Wei Ling nodded. “Stay here. Return only after the funeral rites are done.”
“Yes.”
Wei Ling returned to the manor around dusk. As he dismounted, Bai Yi hurried forward, his face uneasy. “Master…”
Wei Ling handed him the reins, his tone sharp. “Speak plainly.”
“This…” Bai Yi faltered, afraid to continue. “Yin’an Hall sent word. They seek you.”
Wei Ling frowned, his impatience clear. “What matters?”
“They say Madam has delivered a divorce letter to the Princess.”