The morning mist of the Qinhuai River carried moisture over the bridge. The old locust trees at the base of the City Wall had shed all their leaves, their branches outlining a sparse silhouette against the grayish-blue sky. Frost from last night had accumulated in the tree hollows, being pecked at by early rising sparrows, creating a rustling sound.
Xing Xiuyan opened her eyes; the space beside her was already ice-cold.
She didn't hesitate in the slightest, rising and feeling a slight, tearing soreness.
She lit the candle lamp by the bedside.
Under the dim candlelight, she stepped barefoot onto the cold wooden floor and began to dress.
Her movements were light and slow, not making a single sound.
She first put on her Inner Garment, then slipped into a plain-colored shirt and skirt.
The sash was tied into a neat knot at her waist.
She walked to the Dressing Table and, by the faint light, neatly combed her long hair.
Her hand paused for a moment,
coiling it into a simple woman's Hair Bun.
In the Hair Bun, she inserted only the most ordinary silver hairpin.
Then, she walked into the Study Room.
Feng Yuan was already seated there, wearing only a thin Undergarment, flipping through a scroll.
Xing Xiuyan did not disturb him.
She walked to the desk, picked up the ink ingot, and slowly began grinding it in the inkstone.
She kept her eyes lowered, her long eyelashes casting a shadow beneath her eyelids.
"Awake?" Feng Yuan's voice broke the silence in the room.
"Yes, Husband."
"It's cold outside, put on another layer of clothing."
"Thank you for your concern, Husband."
The conversation ended there.
Feng Yuan continued reading his book; Xing Xiuyan continued grinding her ink.
She only stopped when the ink became thick and emitted a faint, subtle fragrance.
She then poured him another cup of hot tea, before quietly retreating, like a wisp of smoke that had come and gone.
Days flowed by like running water.
Feng Yuan's life was segmented into precise blocks.
In the early morning, he would practice sparring in the courtyard with Zhou Wu.
The cold glint of the Ring-pommel Saber and the Wooden Staff in Zhou Wu's hand wove a dense sound of impact in the air.
"Kid, your blade is getting faster," Zhou Wu gasped, wiping sweat from his face with his sleeve.
Feng Yuan stood still, resting his saber, his chest heaving violently.
"Master's staff techniques are also becoming more impenetrable."
"Stop with the Flattery!" Zhou Wu laughed and cursed. "This ferocity of yours—you were born to do this job. Train for another year or so, and I truly won't be your match."
In the morning, he would shut himself in the Study Room.
What Han Anmeng brought were no longer the Classics and Histories, but Official Reports and documents regarding military affairs at the Northern Border, gathered from various channels.
"The Ministry of Revenue is crying poverty again, docking Thirty Percent of the provisions for the Northern Border Military Garrison Post," Han Anmeng said worriedly, pointing at a yellowed Official Document.
"If those military officers can't even get enough to eat, how can we expect them to fight for the Imperial Court?"
"The Imperial Court just found out that the minor prince of the Uyghur tribe exchanged a hundred catties of refined iron for a few horses at our border market a few months ago."
"What kind of horse can be exchanged for a hundred catties of iron?" Feng Yuan's voice was cold. "Why do they need so much iron? Are they going back to make farm tools?"
In the afternoon, he would occasionally visit Jia Yucun.
What he brought were not gold or silver, but a few boxes of the newly released Soap, or one or two exquisite brushes and inks procured from Suzhou.
The gifts were not grand, but the sentiment felt substantial.
"Feng Yuan, you are now the literary star of Jinling City. Why must you still be so respectful to a mundane official like me?" Jia Yucun stroked his beard, smiling like a Maitreya Buddha.
"Sir is the Student's benefactor. A teacher for a day is a father for life. The Student dares not forget." Feng Yuan adopted an extremely humble posture.
He knew that people like Jia Yucun responded best to this approach.
And most importantly, every three to five days, he had to visit the Prince Zhongshun's Residence.
He would report the income from the Soap business to the Prince, play a game of chess with the Prince, and chat about trivial matters.
He never proactively mentioned court politics, nor did he inquire about any news.
He was like the most loyal dog, one who understood propriety perfectly.
Whatever the Prince said, he listened to.
Whatever the Prince bestowed, he accepted.
Prince Zhongshun grew increasingly satisfied with him.
In the evening, Feng Yuan still had to review material for the provincial examinations, with Xing Xiuyan always accompanying him.
Over time, a different kind of flavor began to emerge from this routine.
One day, at the Long Pavilion outside Jinling City.
The water of the Qinhuai River reflected a shimmering, cold light under the Winter Sunlight.
Inside and outside the Long Pavilion stood numerous Jinling officials who had come to see him off.
Leading them was the Prefect, Jia Yucun.
Everyone was wearing their Official Uniforms, their expressions solemn.
Prince Zhongshun was returning to the capital.
The Prince's Carriage was parked outside the pavilion, and several large ships bearing the Prince's flag were moored quietly at the dock.
Prince Zhongshun, clad in a purple sable Cloak, stood in the pavilion, accepting the farewells of the crowd.
Feng Yuan wore a half-worn Scholar's Robe today, looking somewhat out of place among these richly dressed officials.
He did not crowd forward like the others, but stood far off, his head bowed.
"Feng Yuan," Prince Zhongshun spoke.
All eyes instantly focused on Feng Yuan.
Feng Yuan seemed startled, quickly stepping forward a few paces before dropping to his knees with a thud.
"This humble commoner is here."
"I am leaving. Is there nothing you wish to say to me?" Prince Zhongshun's voice betrayed no emotion.
Jia Yucun's heart tightened.
He truly feared that this rash young man, Feng Yuan, would say something shocking again.
Feng Yuan raised his head, his eyes red.
His handsome face was filled with sincere, unconcealed filial affection and reluctance to part.
"Your Highness..."
His voice trembled slightly, as if suppressing immense grief.
"Your Highness's kindness to this humble commoner is as heavy as a mountain. This humble commoner... this humble commoner is insignificant and has nothing worthy to say..."
He choked up, unable to continue.
He suddenly turned toward an attendant standing nearby.
"Please... please bring this humble commoner a bowl of wine!"
The attendant looked at Prince Zhongshun. Seeing the Prince nod, he brought over a bowl of wine.
Feng Yuan took the wine bowl, both hands trembling.
He did not drink it, but raised the bowl high.
"Your Highness, this humble commoner knows that after this parting today, I do not know when or if I will ever see Your Highness's noble face again."
"This humble commoner is untalented. Last night I tossed and turned, and composed a short poem. Today, I use this cup of wine to bid Your Highness farewell!"
He tilted his head back and downed the entire bowl of wine in one gulp.
Then, he looked at the distant river water, at the sailing ships about to depart, and began to recite in a voice bordering on a sob.
"The south bank is desolate and sorrowful in parting,"
As the first line left his lips, the sorrow of separation instantly gripped everyone's heart.
It was as if the cold winter wind itself carried melancholy.
"The west wind whispers faintly in autumn."
He turned his head and gave Prince Zhongshun a deep look.
That look held too much reluctance, too much attachment.
"One glance breaks the heart,"
His voice now carried a distinct cry.
It seemed every exchange of glances was an agony of heartbreak.
All the officials present were moved by his genuine emotion; many even quietly pulled out handkerchiefs.
Jia Yucun was utterly dumbfounded.
This... this acting was better than the famous performers in the opera houses!
Finally, Feng Yuan seemed to use up all his strength, Kowtowing heavily toward Prince Zhongshun.
He raised his head, tears in his eyes, but his voice became resolute.
"Go well, and do not look back!"
Go!
Please leave well!
Absolutely, absolutely do not look back!
Because I fear that if you turn back and see how reluctant I am to let you go, you will also become sad!
The poem finished, and the man fell silent.
The entire Long Pavilion was deathly quiet.
Only the river wind rustled through everyone's robes.
Prince Zhongshun stood there, silent for a long time.
He looked at Feng Yuan, kneeling on the ground, his shoulders slightly shaking, weeping like a child.
His heart, long hardened like iron by power, actually stirred with a faint ripple of emotion.
He walked forward and personally helped Feng Yuan up.
"Good child."
He patted Feng Yuan's shoulder, his voice carrying a trace of warmth he hadn't even noticed himself.
"I will remember this poem of yours."
"When you come to Shenjing for the examinations, I will host a banquet for you."
He turned around, not looking at anyone else, and ordered his retinue to proceed to the dock.
"Set off!"
The Sound of the horn rang out.
The large ship raised its sails and slowly pulled away from the shore.
Feng Yuan stood by the riverbank, letting the river wind mess up his hair.
He watched continuously, watching the ship shrink into a small black dot, disappearing where the water met the sky.
The surrounding officials began to disperse in small groups.
Feng Yuan turned his head; the tear tracks on his face had long been dried by the wind.
In those eyes, red from crying, there was not a trace of sorrow.