“Ah—” Song Xian’s cry of surprise was swallowed before it left her lips. She had no time to react, her whole body stiff, letting him move as he pleased.
The fragrance of her freshly applied balm mingled with the cool, clean scent of him, enveloping her until she could no longer distinguish anything clearly. His movements grew heavier, the hand at her waist tightening.
She could hardly recall the last time they had been so close. In memory, there was only the taste of his rough invasions, his merciless actions, and afterward the empty bed and the bitter medicine.
No—she never wanted to drink that medicine again. She never wanted to be with him like this again. Her lips parted slightly; he suddenly forced his way in.
Song Xian awoke in an instant, eyes opening to see the man so near. His lashes trembled with emotion, fine sweat beading at his brow and sliding down the corner of his eye. She turned her head aside, his kisses falling to her neck and behind her ear, sending ripples through her. But her mind was clear.
Song Xian pressed her hands against his chest, trying to break free.
He would not let go. She gathered all her strength, voice trembling as she forced it out: “Second Master.”
Wei Ling finally released her, his eyes hazy as he looked at her.
Her elder sister had once said: if someone truly holds you in their heart, their eyes will shine with only you. His did not. Even now, with desire fading, his gaze remained cold and empty.
Song Xian lowered her eyes, a faint blush of shame on her face. “Second Master, these days are inconvenient.”
At her words, Wei Ling’s hands slipped from her waist. He stepped back, then pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, murmuring, “Rest well.”
Hearing this rare tenderness, Song Xian’s heart ached inexplicably.
He had never been like this before.
Wei Ling walked to the doorway. “Bai Yi. Prepare water.”
Song Xian froze, blurting out, “You mean to sleep here?”
Wei Ling gave a brief assent and headed straight toward the wardrobe. Song Xian had no time to stop him, watching helplessly as he pulled it open, his eyes narrowing in doubt before turning back to her. If he remembered correctly, there should have been his spare clothes here—alongside garments she had sewn for herself, everything complete from inner to outer wear. But now, not a single piece of men’s clothing remained.
Avoiding his gaze, Song Xian said, “Your clothes had been stored too long and smelled of mildew. I sent them to be washed these past two days, but they haven’t been returned yet. Perhaps you should go back—”
Before she could finish, Wei Ling was already calling out toward the door:
“Bai Yi, bring a set of clothes.”
Song Xian had no choice but to let him enter the bathing room. She had already told him her body was inconvenient these days—why insist on staying?
To her, the marital bed was more a duty than intimacy. Whenever his mood rose, he never cared for her feelings. Their first union had been forced; every time after was either in anger or under the influence of wine. Mutual affection had never existed between them. The thought that he came to her only out of bodily desire left her cold. Even if her body responded, her heart could not feel joy.
Listening to the sound of water in the bathing room, her chest grew heavier. On her lips and brow lingered the warmth of his touch, making her uneasy. She was not ready to share a bed with him again. All she wanted was distance.
Song Xian glanced at the canopy bed. After a moment’s thought, she moved toward it. Better to feign sleep. Yet before lying down, she frowned. Should the lamps be extinguished or left burning?
These past few nights, she had slept only after putting out every light, resting deeply, dreamless until dawn. If the lamps stayed lit, she feared she would not sleep well.
But he, on the other hand, could only rest with the lamps left on. Song Xian sighed. Why had he come to disturb her peace for no reason?
The sound of water from the bathing room ceased, followed by the rustle of cloth. She had no time to think further—hurriedly she snuffed out all the candles in the inner chamber, leaving only those in the outer room. The bed curtains, of course, she let fall.
If he found it uncomfortable, he could return to the study to sleep. She would be more than glad.
Thus, when Wei Ling opened the door of the bathing room, he froze. Though the outer lamps still glowed, the inner chamber was dim, barely enough to make out the way.
His hands clenched, his chest thudded violently. Mist drifted from the bathing room behind him, and in the wavering light, his face was shadowed darkly. He looked toward the closed canopy bed. From within came the faint sound of steady breathing.
She was asleep? So quickly?
Wei Ling did not understand himself. The fear that had risen in him was suddenly replaced by anger. She had fallen asleep while he was still here?
Though they had not often shared a room, she had never gone to sleep before him. She had always been proper and dutiful. He knew his mother disliked her, yet she had never shown resentment, never made a mistake.
If it had been another woman, she might have troubled him every few days with household matters. He had no energy for such things.
He did not understand love between man and woman, nor did he wish to. But he knew she was his wife. He was content with her obedience and good sense, and sincerely willing to protect her dignity.
Yet—when had it begun? When had Song Xian’s presence felt so different to him?
Yes—perhaps it began that time he returned from outside the city. From then on, in her eyes he was no longer the only one; it was as if he had vanished altogether. She spoke to him with a smile, yet he could not feel her sincerity—her warmth was hollow, unreachable.
Wei Ling’s brows furrowed deeper. Bai Yi had said she fell once in those days, fainting for a whole day. He had thought little of it then. But now—had something else happened? Or had Mother said something to her?
Clearly, with Mother behaving as she had today, what wife would be pleased? Why had she shown no reaction at all?
Thinking as he walked, Wei Ling reached the dressing table, hand lifting to relight the candle. Just then, the figure on the bed stirred faintly. He turned to look, and after a moment, let the candle remain unlit.
Forget it. It wasn’t completely dark—no matter.
Mother’s actions must have troubled her somewhat. She was so sensible, never noisy nor quarrelsome. Indulging her for a few days would do no harm.
Wei Ling softened his steps as he approached the bed and lifted the curtain. Inside, the quilt was bunched, Song Xian lying with her back to him, half her back and long black hair exposed. Her breathing was steady—she seemed fast asleep.
Wei Ling climbed onto the bed with care, pulling half the quilt over his chest, cautious not to wake her. When all was done, he smiled silently in the dark. How had he come to this? He stilled, and the one feigning sleep finally found some peace.
Song Xian tried to drift off, but her back remained stiff, unable to move, uncomfortable everywhere. Even with her eyes closed, she stayed wide awake.
After a while, suddenly an arm crossed her waist, a broad hand resting on her lower belly. Song Xian jolted in shock, yet dared not move. He usually slept properly, lying flat, never making extra motions, never touching her. What had come over him tonight?
Song Xian disliked it intensely. No longer caring about feigning sleep, she turned over, using the motion to slip free of his arm. In doing so, she ended up lying on her side, facing him.
After a few moments, Wei Ling suddenly spoke: “Did I wake you?”
Song Xian: “…”
“When you’re asleep, your lips are slightly parted. Now they’re tightly closed.” He seemed determined to confirm she was awake, adding,
“And your eyes keep moving.”
Song Xian had no choice. She opened her eyes—only to be startled by the face so close to hers, staring fixedly, unmoving, unnervingly intense.
Recovering, she shifted back a little and said softly, “Second Master, I’m tired today. Rest early.”
“Ah Xian, tonight I dined at Yin’an Hall.”
Why bring that up again? She no longer wanted to hear it. She lay flat, answering faintly, “I know.”
“Yixian—”
Song Xian cut him off, “Second Master, I truly am sleepy.”
She could not see his face, nor his expression. But after a while, she heard him speak again, almost to himself: “You and your elder sister are nothing alike.”
The sisters rarely spoke of Song Xuan. If her name came up, it was brushed aside quickly. No one mentioned her willingly, as though she were a transparent gulf between them—lift the veil, and someone would fall in.
Song Xuan was different from herself. She had known Wei Ling.
And Song Xian knew—Song Xuan had harbored feelings for him.
And he?
Song Xian dared not think too deeply about why he suddenly mentioned Song Xuan tonight, nor how to respond. She and Song Xuan were two different people—how could they be the same?
Song Xuan had been skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry, and song. Gentle and kind, flawless in conduct. Even Qin Yixian would pale beside her.
Song Xian had often wondered: in what way was she different from Song Xuan? Setting aside status and temperament, perhaps it was this—Song Xian wished for one person, one lifetime. Song Xuan wished for a harmonious household.
A young girl’s heart is hard to fathom, yet easiest to reveal.
In the Marquis Suqing’s household, there had been only the two sisters. Song Xuan had never distanced herself because Song Xian was born of a concubine. On the contrary, she cherished her more for being younger—more than even their father did. Between sisters, confidences were natural. Most of the time, Song Xuan spoke, and Song Xian listened.
Song Xuan had once said: if she married, she would fulfill the duties of a proper wife—honor her parents, raise her children, serve her husband. Everything must be done properly so that her husband can strive in the world without worry.
Back then, Song Xian had thought: *Wouldn’t that be exhausting?* Running about, busy inside and out, all for others. But then she reconsidered—perhaps those were the very things that made her elder sister happy. If so, then it was right. Yet she herself did not wish for that. As a child, Song Xian only hoped that her future husband would always stand by her side, that the two of them would support each other—not that she alone should give endlessly. But now, it seemed she was walking Song Xuan’s path instead—stumbling, straying farther and farther from her own.
Books say: *Pull back before the cliff, it is never too late.*
She still had time to turn back.
Song Xian knew she would not sleep well that night. So she stopped forcing herself, and asked the man who had spoken only once before falling silent: “Then Second Master, in your eyes, how am I different from my sister?”
Wei Ling clearly had not expected her to respond. After a moment’s surprise, he said: “Song Xuan showed her joys and sorrows openly. You do not. You hide them. Unless someone asks, no one knows anything.”
This time, it was Song Xian who froze. She had not thought he would say that. And he was right. She had only realized it as she grew older—she had grown used to hiding things, because speaking them aloud was useless.
Song Xian fell silent again. Wei Ling glanced sideways at her, considered, then said: “Ah Xian, you should learn more from Song Xuan.”
“Yes, I understand,” Song Xian replied casually.
Wei Ling sighed faintly. “Tomorrow I enter the palace. Don’t wait for me at dinner.”
“All right.”
Though he rarely returned to the rear courtyard for meals, she did not understand why he suddenly told her his plans for tomorrow. Still, she answered.
“Sleep now.”