Gu Ce’an’s expression had already turned as cold as ice. But Meng Qiyue had been spoiled and indulged since childhood. She had always gotten whatever she wanted. Only what she wanted most now remained out of her grasp. How could she possibly accept that?
Gu Ce’an was accustomed to careful deliberation. Though the veins at his temples began to throb, he suppressed his irritation as best he could before speaking again. “Yue’er, I have always regarded you as a younger sister, and I have never behaved toward you in any improper manner.”
Meng Qiyue could not believe that a man could be without a woman he admired. Instinctively viewing things through her own perspective, she could think of only one explanation: Gu Ce’an must already like someone else. Yet what Gu Ce’an did after leaving the manor was beyond her ability to know. The circle of people she had access to was very limited. And therefore, the list of people she could suspect was equally limited.
“Then who is the person you’re suited to? Who is the woman you don’t regard as a sister?”
The words were practically a demand.
Meng Qiyue fixed her eyes on Gu Ce’an, refusing to look away, determined to tear an answer from him.
The veins on the back of Gu Ce’an’s hand bulged as he clenched his fist.
At that very moment, Song Zhiwei arrived outside the door. A maid lifted the curtain and let her in. For the first time, she felt completely caught between advancing and retreating.
Should she go in? Or should she not? Her scalp tingled with discomfort.
Hearing the commotion, Gu Ce’an forced himself to calm down and turned to look. Seeing Song Zhiwei enter, he didn’t change his expression. He merely used the brief distraction to regain control of his emotions. When he turned back, he was calm once more. “Yue’er, you’ve lost your composure.”
He didn’t realize how cold that forced composure looked from Meng Qiyue’s perspective. It was as though he had never truly cared about her at all. Her entire life had gone smoothly. She had never suffered a single real setback. And now, after being so proactive, she was being rejected so firmly. A wave of humiliation and indignation surged through her, quickly turning into blazing anger.
“It’s her, isn’t it?”
“She sends you pastries! She sends you embroidered pouches! And now she’s completely wrapped you around her finger!”
Meng Qiyue pointed directly at Song Zhiwei. “That day by the pond, I heard everything you said to each other—”
“Meng Qiyue!” At last, Gu Ce’an’s restraint snapped. Anger blazed openly in his eyes. It was the anger of a man who felt deeply insulted.
“Enough!” After he spoke, he had nothing left to say to Meng Qiyue. He composed himself, then bowed formally to his grandmother. “There are matters of state requiring my attention. Your grandson takes his leave.”
With that, he turned and left without the slightest hesitation.
Meng Qiyue stood in the hall, feeling utterly humiliated. Her eyes reddened as she looked helplessly toward her mother, who sighed and pulled her into her arms.
“You, child. Why must your temper be so impatient?” Madam Xu sighed as well. “Yue’er, some things cannot be forced. Perhaps the two of you simply lack fate together.”
Meng Qiyue buried her face against her mother’s shoulder and wept.
Meanwhile, Song Zhiwei stood calmly in the hall, as though she had not just witnessed the extraordinarily dramatic scene that had unfolded moments earlier.
“Greetings, Grandmother. Greetings, Aunt.” Her expression remained unchanged as she offered her usual respects.
Gu Fanghua no longer had the energy to take issue with the niece who had upset her daughter. Instead, she merely studied Song Zhiwei for a moment. Ever since they were young, she had never particularly liked her second sister. The woman had always seemed petty, prone to tears, and forever running to their mother with complaints.
Later, after Gu Fanghua married and her second sister was married off to a distant place, the two of them never saw each other again.
Seeing Song Zhiwei now, Gu Fanghua glanced at her modest clothes, plain cloth shoes, and simple hair ornaments, and immediately felt disdain and contempt. As expected, she was her second sister’s daughter. Like her mother, she was always eager to play the pitiable victim. No wonder her own daughter disliked her.
Madam Xu had already exhausted herself with today’s disturbances and had no energy left to deal with anything else. She waved her hand, dismissing everyone.
This time, Song Zhiwei was not allowed to stay behind. Frowning, she stepped forward to help Zhao Mingxiang, but Zhao Mingxiang avoided her touch and raised a hand to refuse. Her expression was distant.
“Your pharmacy will not be opened. The old madam forbids it. From now on, you should go out less as well. Soon, we’ll find a suitable marriage match for you. Stay home and prepare your dowry. When the time comes, you’ll marry out of this household, and you won’t be treated unfairly.”
Song Zhiwei stood there, stunned by the news, watching Zhao Mingxiang leave just like that. She remained rooted to the spot. Little maids moved around her, sweeping up the shattered porcelain from the floor. In the past, when she came here often, the younger maids would smile and greet her. Now it was as though some spell had been cast over the room.
No one looked at her. No one acknowledged her. They treated her as if she were air.
A chill crept into Song Zhiwei’s hands and feet. Her head felt light and dizzy. She closed her eyes. Only after standing there quietly for a long while did she straighten her back again. As for the pharmacy, she had thought about countless difficulties.
She had anticipated trouble securing medicinal ingredients. She had expected fierce competition among Shengjing’s many pharmacies. She had worried about whether the deworming medicines might be too toxic and how carefully the dosages would need to be adjusted. But she had never imagined that the greatest obstacle would come before she even began. That it would be halted before a single step could be taken.
Yet she had never considered that, given her current status, all of those plans were little more than fantasies.
“What other people promise you never truly counts.” For some reason, those words surfaced in her mind.
Song Zhiwei turned and left the main courtyard she had visited so many times before.
“Only what you promise yourself truly counts.” That thought followed close behind.
She didn’t even know how she made it back to her own courtyard, or how she ended up lying on the wooden bed in her room.
At some point, she fell asleep. The sleep lasted a very long time. Her head burned with fever and dizziness. Through the haze, she vaguely heard Lancao’s voice.
“How could she suddenly fall this seriously ill?”
“We need to fetch a physician.”
“The stewards won’t let me leave the manor. I even offered them gold nuggets, and it didn’t help.”
“What about asking Second Madam?”
“Miss Ran’s people told me not to come over anymore.”
Song Zhiwei didn’t know how much time had passed afterward.
Half-conscious and half-delirious, Song Zhiwei drifted in and out of awareness. The fever came and went, and her thoughts remained muddled. It was as though she had been holding herself together for so long that, once she finally broke down, the illness struck with the force of a collapsing mountain.
She did not want to marry. She absolutely did not want to marry. She wanted to go home.
Holding her young mistress in her arms, Lancao listened as Song Zhiwei’s cracked lips murmured the same words again and again: “I want to go home…”
Lancao felt her heart breaking. Back in Qingzhou, life had never been like this. Her young lady had been the legitimate and only daughter of the family. Surely she had once been cherished and doted upon, living a comfortable life. Yet after she came here, her elders no longer truly cared for her. Despite being so young, she worked tirelessly, only to be toyed with and humiliated like this.
Lancao thought that if she were in her place, she would want to go home too.
That very night, a physician was finally brought in. He carried himself with an air of authority and distinction, nothing like the ordinary doctors one found in roadside clinics. He had been escorted in with considerable respect. By the time he arrived, Lancao had already changed Song Zhiwei into fresh clothes.
The physician examined her pulse from behind a screen. After asking about her condition, he concluded that the illness stemmed from anguish of the heart. He prescribed a formula to reduce the fever, then left.
Lancao clung to that prescription like a drowning person clutching a lifeline. That very evening, she brewed the medicine and tried to feed it to Song Zhiwei.
Cradling her as she drifted in and out of consciousness, Lancao carefully spooned the medicine into her mouth, but no matter what she did, Song Zhiwei could not swallow.
In desperation, Lancao began to cry. Tears fell onto Song Zhiwei’s face, their warmth carrying a faint sting.
Song Zhiwei opened her eyes weakly. Then, suddenly, she spoke. “Give me the bowl.”
Lancao’s face lit up with joy. She quickly helped her sit up and drink the medicine.
This time, Song Zhiwei cooperated and finished every last drop. By the next morning, her fever had broken. As usual, she rose and dressed herself. But that morning, she did not go to pay her respects.
Instead, she remained in her room. Grinding ink and lifting her brush, she began to write. Character after character flowed smoothly from her pen.