"Qiaoxi, don't you lie to me."
The sun hung high in the sky, wisps of clouds drifting lazily. The heavens stretched into a vast expanse of clear blue like still water, while wind chimes beneath the eaves of Dichen Tower sang softly in the breeze.
Xu Qiaoxi clutched five or six cloth-bound books with exquisite bindings, following Lu Yun step by step.
"Spring airing of books is to check whether last autumn and winter's volumes have gotten damp or worm-eaten. If any have, we pick them out promptly and send them to the bookbinders outside. The rest just need a brief airing. The true airing day is the sixth day of the sixth month, when the summer heat is at its peak."
The two walked into the courtyard, where the warm spring sun poured down in gentle brilliance. Books of varying colors and sizes were laid out in the sunlight like little boats moored at anchor.
The shallow stream of early spring had transformed into a sea of ink and paper.
Xu Qiaoxi looked around.
This was only the preliminary airing? How grand must the summer one be?
This Xie Jilian—peach blossoms of romance had already been sent to his doorstep, and yet he still had the leisure to fuss over books and ink.
Truly the romantic flair of a celebrated scholar.
Xu Qiaoxi set down the books in her arms and walked alongside Lu Yun, flipping through the volumes to inspect them.
Faintly fragrant pages turned beneath her fingertips, catching the soft spring light. Unconsciously, the corners of her mouth curved upward.
Her professional course instructor had been a sprightly little old lady. She loved to toss her short, salt-and-pepper hair and declare with cheerful pride:
"We language people can never be separated from books for a lifetime. Children, spending your youth reading is an incomparably beautiful thing."
Unfortunately, those words always went to waste. Who touched a book after leaving the classroom? Except during finals week.
Yet here Xu Qiaoxi was, truly immersed in a sea of books. Amazing!
Gradually, the speed of her page-turning slowed, and a sigh of melancholy lingered in her heart.
She kind of missed the little old lady's nagging.
She had been gone for two whole days now. She couldn't imagine how frantic her counselor and roommates must be…
"What are you doing—grinning one moment and frowning the next?"
Lu Yun nudged Xu Qiaoxi's arm with her elbow.
"I was thinking…" Xu Qiaoxi paused. "Whether any of these books record strange people or extraordinary events—things like time being out of joint?"
Preferably something that would tell her how to get back.
"Then you'd have to ask the young master."
"Hmm?"
"He's read every book here."
"No way, there are at least five or six hundred of these!"
"More than that," Lu Yun said smugly, tilting her chin toward the other courtyards. "These are just the books from Dichen Tower. The ones in Suoxiang Pavilion are in the west courtyard, and Hongyu Terrace's are in the north courtyard. Our young master began his studies at age four and never forgets anything he reads. There's nothing in this world he doesn't know or understand."
Xu Qiaoxi's tongue practically trembled as she listened: "He-he-he…"
With a brain like that, he should be the one studying foreign languages and memorizing dictionaries.
She couldn't help but feel a surge of respect. Her gaze on the book in her hands grew three parts more solemn.
And with that single look, she spotted something astonishing.
"This book isn't in Chinese characters!"
She immediately flipped through it. Only the large characters on the cover were Chinese, reading: Annotations on Xianbei Customs and Practices.
Whoa.
So Xie Jilian really did understand a "foreign language."
Did this count as meeting a kindred spirit in a strange land?
Xu Qiaoxi ran her fingers repeatedly over the Annotations on Xianbei Customs and Practices, feeling a strange sense of familiarity with Xie Jilian.
"Hurry! Shoo! Bad bird!"
Lan Yan's figure suddenly burst out from beneath the corridor, brandishing a folding fan and waving it through the air.
Her small white teeth bared, she looked as fierce as a kitten pouncing on a sparrow.
"Damn it, I only dozed off for a moment and the larks came!"
Airing books wasn't just about laying them out—you also had to keep careful watch, shooing away the birds that came to peck at flowers and eat fruit in the courtyard, lest they soil the books.
While she was frantically chasing off the birds, Xu Qiaoxi and Lu Yun exchanged a smile.
"Lan Yan!"
Xu Qiaoxi trotted over to her, hugging the book to her chest. "Look!"
Only after making sure the lark had flown far away did Lan Yan turn her gaze to her. "Look at what?"
"This book is about the barbarians."
Lan Yan's expression instantly darkened. She turned her head coldly and made to leave.
"Wait," Xu Qiaoxi grabbed her. "If me speaking strange words makes me a barbarian, then does your young master reading strange books make him one too? Do you hate him as well?"
"I—!" Lan Yan's eyes darted about, her cheeks puffing up, burning red.
Peeking out from behind the Annotations on Xianbei Customs and Practices was a round little face split in a wide grin.
"I promise I'm not a barbarian. Those 'strange words' are just a language I learned. Anyone can learn it, anyone can speak it."
Lan Yan blinked rapidly, knowing she was in the wrong. She turned her head with a light snort, pretending not to care.
Xu Qiaoxi saw her softening and pulled her over to sit beneath the corridor.
"I can also sing songs in the strange words. Do you want to hear?"
"Songs? What song?"
Hearing this, Lu Yun set down her book and ran over to the corridor, wrapping her arms around one of the smooth, cool pillars beside them, her eyes brimming with anticipation.
Xu Qiaoxi felt a little shy under their gaze and lowered her eyes. "It's called 'Alouette.'"
She cleared her throat, and in a soft, gentle voice, half-hummed and half-sang the cheerful little tune.
"Alouette, gentille alouette
Alouette, je te plumerai
Je te plumerai la tête
Je te plumerai la tête"
"Alouette, gentille alouette!
Alouette, je te plumerai!
Je te plumerai la tête!
Je te plumerai la tête!
Et la tête! Et la tête!
Alouette, gentille alouette!
Alouette, je te plumerai!
Je te plumerai le bec!
Je te plumerai le bec!
Et le bec! Et le bec!
Et la tête! Et la tête!
Alouette, gentille alouette!"
As she finished singing, Lan Yan, as expected, burst into giggles again—though far gentler than when she'd laughed at Xu Qiaoxi's down jacket earlier.
"How strange! What song is that? You made it up to fool us, didn't you?"
"No, I didn't!"
Xu Qiaoxi's second foreign language was French. This French nursery rhyme was what her teacher had used to introduce the very first lesson.
"Then what does it mean?" Lan Yan eyed her sideways, waiting for her to explain herself.
Xu Qiaoxi said nothing, just gave her a single wink.
The song was called "The Little Lark."
"Heh heh, I knew you were just messing with us!" Seeing that she wouldn't answer, Lan Yan immediately chirped triumphantly, then scurried over to Lu Yun in a few quick steps. "Look at this one, she's really…"
Her voice trailed off, and she never finished saying what Xu Qiaoxi was really like—just a smile lingering at the corner of her lips.
A gentle breeze swept by, rustling the pages in the courtyard, and the spring sunlight seemed even more golden.
"Hey, have you two gone through the master's paintings yet?"
Lan Yan suddenly asked.
Lu Yun shook her head. "There are so many books, we haven't gotten to the paintings yet. Maybe someone else already checked them."
"No way—what if everyone keeps passing the buck and they get overlooked?"
Lan Yan lifted her skirt, about to head up to the Dust-Washing Pavilion.
"Aren't you supposed to be watching over these books?" Xu Qiaoxi hurried over and patted her on the shoulder. "I'll go."
"Well… alright then," she said, then carefully instructed: "The room at the far right on the third floor is where the paintings are stored. Inside the mother-of-pearl inlaid chest behind the four-panel screen are the master's silk paintings. No need to take them out to air—just check for things like fading. Be careful."
"Got it."
The mother-of-pearl chest was smaller than Xu Qiaoxi had imagined—no longer or wider than a forearm, sitting in silent stillness on the red sandalwood display shelf.
She twisted the brass clasp and gently opened the chest, and a rich fragrance of wood rushed to meet her.
There were few paintings inside, each scroll sealed in a long, narrow box. Only five scrolls in total—even laid flat, they'd leave two gaps before filling the bottom of the chest.
Xu Qiaoxi gauged how precious these scrolls must be, and her heart began to pound before she'd even touched them.
She picked up the scroll whose box looked the most substantial, cradled it in her arm, and carefully undid the ribbon tied around the box.
With packaging this meticulous, nothing should go wrong.
The scroll felt warm to the touch, and the backing paper of the silk mounting was fine and smooth, like youthful skin.
"Oh my…" Xu Qiaoxi breathed out in wonder, curious about what the painting contained.
Against the sunlight streaming through the window lattice, she gently unrolled the scroll.
It was a portrait.
Beneath the shade of flowers, a woman of breathtaking beauty leaned against a rock, gazing with tender affection at the one who had painted her.
Her robes were fragrant, her hair elegant, her ornaments exquisite—every single stroke rendered with utmost care, vivid and lifelike, as if she might step right out of the painting.
Especially those beautiful eyes, bright and full of spirit…
Amber-colored.
Xu Qiaoxi shifted her gaze to the inscription above the portrait: "On the night of the seventh day of the ninth month, in the year Yi Wu, thinking from afar of my beloved… wife!"
Wife?
Xie Jilian had said there was no mistress of this house.
Before Xu Qiaoxi's mind could catch up, a voice drifted quietly in from outside the window.
"Qiaoxi? You're here?"
Behind the figure in the painting, at the window lattice, stood Xie Jilian in robes of plain white.
Outside the building, bright flowers and lovely willows basked in the lively spring light, while he stood with hair falling to his shoulders, loose robes and broad sash—carrying a chill that was seven parts ethereal.
Like a drifting, wandering spirit.
So similar.
Xu Qiaoxi instinctively looked at the scroll in her hands.
He and the woman in the painting looked so much alike.
"Qiaoxi?"
He called her again, and Xu Qiaoxi, like a child caught doing something naughty, rolled up the scroll in a flash. "I came to check whether these paintings have any problems."
Xie Jilian entered the room and walked toward her.
"Have your wounds healed?"
The two spoke in unison, and both froze for a moment.
Xie Jilian recovered first, smiling as he shook his right hand at her—the gauze still wrapped around it.
"Oh… mine are already fine."
The last time she'd seen him was two days ago in the flower hall; all told, they'd only met once, and she felt a little awkward and constrained in his presence.
"Jilian has been remiss, not making things clear to them. You needn't do these menial tasks of sweeping and attending."
A fair, slender hand reached out toward her.
Xu Qiaoxi silently handed him the scroll in her hands.
Xie Jilian unrolled it again, stepping forward two paces into the sunlight. His tall figure was bathed in the golden rays, radiating a brilliance as pure and clear as moonlight.
"The woman in the painting is my mother. Is she beautiful?"
"Beautiful!"
Xie Jilian curved his lips into a faint smile, but the corners soon fell. "Unfortunately, I never got to see my mother."
"Ah?"
"My mother died in childbirth. The moment I was born, she passed away. This painting was done by my father's hand, two years after her death."
"People in Luoyang always say my features are a gift from my mother." Xie Jilian tilted his face slightly, holding up the portrait. "Do I really look like her?"
As if afraid she might brush him off, Xie Jilian spoke a little faster: "My father adored my mother. Since she left, no one in the Xie family has been allowed to utter a single word about her, and there was no one around me to tell me whether I truly resemble her."
A layer of tranquil pale gold rested on his long lashes, soft and downy. His amber eyes, brimming like honey, shimmered as they looked at her.
"Qiaoxi, don't lie to me."
Mother. Mama.
Xu Qiaoxi's relationship with her mother had been thin and cold, perhaps best described by the words her mother had often said to her since elementary school: "What's your rank on the exam? Don't you dare fall out of the top three, or I'll break your legs. I'm serious."
The look in her mother's eyes when she said that—Xu Qiaoxi had remembered it for years, like an endless snowfall piling up in her heart.
After transmigrating, all she wanted was to return to school—the place of freedom she had fought for with over a decade of hard work—not the home with her mother in it.
This noble young man before her, with such looks, such family standing—turned out to be a pitiful soul without a mother.
That was fine too.
He still harbored beautiful imaginings of his mother, and whenever he missed her, a hazy layer of tender attachment drifted over him.
A bitter taste spread in Xu Qiaoxi's mouth, but she still nodded sincerely. "Yes, very much so. The eyes and brows are practically identical."
As if this were some extraordinary praise, Xie Jilian's features softened, and he closed the scroll with a look of complete contentment.
"It is not only Lian's treasured possession, but also my father's. In the next couple of days, when he comes over, he will surely want to see the painting as well."
Now she understood why he had suddenly appeared here.
Xie Jilian carefully put away the scroll, then opened the other scrolls one by one to check them, and finally closed the mother-of-pearl inlaid chest, not letting her help at all.
"If…" Xu Qiaoxi stood to the side, "you don't need me to do maidservant work, then what am I kept here for?"
Her fingers clasped behind her back against the display shelf, the little thought she didn't voice tied itself into a knot.
She actually wanted to ask if he had ever heard of "transmigration," but the look of desperate longing on Xie Jilian's face just now had pricked her heart like a sharp needle.
Seemed like bringing up leaving at a time like this would be a bit "tone-deaf," wouldn't it?
"This…" Xie Jilian tilted his head in thought, then broke into a faint smile. "Lian hasn't decided yet. For now, let's just keep Qiaoxi around."
That ethereal figure descended the stairs, leaving Xu Qiaoxi with a jumble of mixed emotions.
Leaning over the railing of the Dust-Washing Pavilion, she saw the courtyard flooded with dizzyingly bright pages of books, a sea of leaves rustling like waves.
Xie Jilian stood among them, sometimes bending down to flip through books, sometimes standing upright to look around, like an immortal above a white sea.
Was this man her daydream? Too good to be true, without a single flaw to find.
The more she watched him, the more unsettled Xu Qiaoxi felt.
Like a weekend afternoon from her childhood, blowing out colorful iridescent bubbles, watching them pop before her eyes, turning into a light drizzle of sorrow.
Suddenly, Yu Pu came darting over like a bird.
"Master! The Grand Commandant has returned! But… but the Grand Commandant is furious, and he's brought the family rod…"
Yu Pu whispered something into Xie Jilian's ear. Xu Qiaoxi, on the third floor, couldn't hear clearly and instinctively craned her neck toward the courtyard.
Suddenly, Xie Jilian looked up, his eyes staring straight at her, full of worry, and then he hurried away.
A sense of foreboding—Xu Qiaoxi's heart sank like a stone into water.
Someone rushed up the Dust-Washing Pavilion.
It was Lu Yun and Lan Yan.
Lu Yun's voice was so frantic it cracked:
"You're done for! I just heard Yu Pu say that news about you is spreading all over Luoyang City!"
"About me? What news?"
Lan Yan gripped the railing, gasping for breath: "They're saying you're not human—that you're a fox spirit from the woods who came down the mountain to bewitch the young master so thoroughly he won't even take the princess, spending his days with you in… in wanton dalliance."
"Hey! Don't you faint on us!"