Inside the Xue Residence,
“My child! My dearest heart!”
Aunt Xue collapsed by the bedside, her tears long since dried, leaving only dry sobs.
On the bed, Xue Pan, who usually ruled Jinling City, looked like a mummy.
He was wrapped entirely in white cloth, revealing only a face swollen into a pig's head.
His eyes were narrowed to slits, his lips turned outward, emitting a whistling sound from his mouth, like a dying beast.
“Which damned, black-hearted wretch did this vicious deed!”
Aunt Xue clutched her son’s hand; that hand was also swollen like a steamed bun, the knuckles dislocated, hanging limply.
The Physician standing nearby stroked his goatee and shook his head repeatedly.
“Madam, please accept my condolences. The Young Master’s injuries… his life is not in danger.”
“But the attacker is an expert; every blow landed precisely on the joints and tendons. It causes pain, but it is not fatal.”
“I have practiced medicine for half my life, and I have never seen such technique. This is clearly intended to make the Young Master… suffer excruciating pain for several months, unable to move in bed!”
Upon hearing this, Aunt Xue’s vision went dark, and she nearly collapsed.
“Report it to the authorities! Hurry and report it!” she shrieked.
The Butler nearby replied with a distressed expression.
“Madam, we did report it. But the yamen runners went to that back alley and found nothing; it was pitch black, and no traces were left.”
“The few household slaves who followed the Young Master were also knocked unconscious by a single blow. When they woke, they only said they saw a dark shadow—whether it was tall or short, fat or thin, they knew nothing.”
“This… this was clearly aimed at our Xue Family!” Aunt Xue gritted her teeth.
“The Zhen Family! It must be those lowlifes from the Zhen Family!”
She stood up abruptly, venomous light flashing in her eyes.
“They couldn't beat us openly, so they resorted to such insidious tricks!”
But there was no evidence, no witnesses.
Even if they knew the Zhen Family did it, what could they do?
Should they also find someone to beat the Zhen Family's sons?
Aunt Xue looked at her son groaning on the bed, and for the first time, a sense of powerlessness welled up in her heart.
It seemed that Jinling City, she realized, was no longer a place where her Xue Family could walk roughshod over everyone.
Only a thin layer of snow remained in the courtyard of the Feng Residence.
Xing Xiuyan stood in the corridor, reaching out to catch the icy snowflakes.
The snow landed in her palm and quickly melted into a drop of water, the chill seeping into her bones.
She gazed at the gray sky, recalling the plum blossoms on Xuanmu Mountain in Suzhou, recalling Sister Miaoyu.
“Missing home?”
A flat voice sounded from behind her.
Xing Xiuyan snapped back to attention and saw that Feng Yuan was standing behind her without her noticing.
He was wearing only a single layer of clothing; he had just finished practicing his swordplay, and steam was still rising from his body.
“No… no, I’m not.” She lowered her head.
Feng Yuan did not press further.
He looked at her eyes, which were slightly cold, like water frozen over by ice.
“Pack your things. In a couple of days, we are going to Yangzhou.”
Xing Xiuyan looked up sharply, a flicker of astonishment crossing her eyes.
“Yangzhou?”
“Yes, a new shop opened there; I need to check on it.” Feng Yuan’s tone carried no discernible emotion.
“You… should come along as well.”
After saying this, he turned and entered the Study Room.
Xing Xiuyan stood rooted to the spot, watching his retreating figure. The melted snow in her palm no longer seemed so cold.
Was he… finding an excuse for her sake?
Tonight, she needed to serve her Husband well.
These thoughts flashed through her mind one after another, but she quickly suppressed them.
She walked into the room, opened the large cabinet, and began silently packing her luggage.
The clothes inside were all made from the new silks the Feng Family had bought after she married in.
Yangzhou, by the banks of the West Lake, at the Spring Grass Hall.
A soiree was underway here, attended by nearly all the prominent figures, Salt Merchants, and wealthy families of Yangzhou City.
The garden featured scattered Rockeries and winding streams for wine cups, creating a scene of Romantic elegance.
“Isn’t that Young Master Feng, the Top Scholar of the Circuit Examination from Jinling?”
“I heard his ‘Camphor Soap’ is selling like crazy even in the Capital City!”
“In person, he is even more handsome than the rumors suggest.”
Feng Yuan paid no heed to the gossip. He found a quiet corner to sit, with Xing Xiuyan beside him, quiet as a shadow.
After a few rounds of drinks, the poetic mood was high.
A young Salt Merchant dressed in luxurious robes staggered over, holding a wine cup.
“Young Master Feng!” the Salt Merchant slurred, “I hear your poetic talent surpasses that of Jinling. Why not let us Yangzhou residents feast our eyes today?”
At these words, the gaze of everyone in the garden focused on them.
Feng Yuan set down his teacup and stood up.
He did not look at the Salt Merchant but walked slowly toward the edge of the lake.
The evening breeze swept across the water, stirring up ripples, and a bright moon was slowly rising on the horizon.
He stood with his hands behind his back, feigning profound contemplation, gazing at the river, the moon, and the flowers; his entire presence seemed to merge with heaven and earth.
Xing Xiuyan watched his profile, and for some reason, her heart skipped a beat.
“The spring river tide merges with the sea, the bright moon rises with the tide over the ocean.”
Feng Yuan began to speak.
His voice was not loud, yet it was like the sound of bells and chimes, clearly reaching everyone’s ears.
The clamor in the garden instantly ceased.
With just these lines, he had captured the essence of spring, river, flowers, moon, and night—bringing them to life!
It was an expanse and grandeur reminiscent of the primordial universe, making everyone feel their own insignificance.
“Shimmering, it follows the waves for ten thousand miles; where is there a spring river without the bright moon?”
“The river flows winding around the fragrant meadow; the moonlight on the flower groves makes them all look like fine snow.”
Feng Yuan recited steadily, line after line.
The people in the garden were already entranced by the recitation.
They seemed to see the flower groves under the moonlight, as if covered in a layer of fine snow; they saw the hazy river water, and the solitary bright moon hanging in the sky.
“The river and sky are one color, without a speck of dust; the bright moon hangs solitary in the vastness.”
“On the riverbank, who first saw the moon? When did the river moon first shine upon people?”
This question seemed to descend from the heavens, leaving everyone speechless.
Indeed, who was the first person to see the moon? And since when had the moon begun to shine upon the world?
This was no longer mere poetry.
It was an inquiry into life, into the universe.
“Human lives pass generation after generation without end; the river moon looks the same year after year.”
“I do not know for whom the river moon waits, but I see the long river sending its flowing water away.”
In a corner, a middle-aged scholar, thin and sickly-looking, who had merely been resting with his eyes closed, suddenly opened them wide.
He looked at Feng Yuan’s back, and terrifying brilliance erupted from his cloudy eyes.
The poetry continued.
“A single white cloud drifts far away; on the green maple bank, sorrow is unbearable.”
“Whose boatman is adrift tonight? From where does the moonlit tower yearn?”
“Pitiable is the moon lingering above the tower; it should shine upon the departing one’s dressing table.”
“It cannot be rolled away by the jade curtain, yet it brushes back from the washing stone.”
Xing Xiuyan’s heart was fiercely gripped.
She seemed to see herself, the self sitting alone under the lamp, missing friends and relatives far away.
This poem had pierced her heart.
“At this moment, we gaze but cannot hear each other; I wish to follow the moonlight to shine upon you.”
“The wild geese fly long, but the light does not cross; the fish and dragons leap, making patterns on the water.”
“Last night in the quiet pool, dreams of falling flowers; alas, spring is half gone, and I have not returned home.”
Feng Yuan’s voice took on a trace of melancholy.
Xing Xiuyan’s eyes grew moist.
“The river water flows away with the spring, almost gone; the setting moon over the river pool sinks westward again.”
“The waning moon sinks deep, hidden by the sea mist; the distance to Mount Tai and the Xiang River is endless.”
“I do not know how many people return under the moonlight; the setting moon fills the river trees with longing.”
The poem ended, the lingering sound echoing.
The entire garden was deathly silent.
After a long pause, thunderous applause erupted.
“Magnificent poem! Once this poem is out, there will be no other works about the moon!”
“This is the work of a divine being! Not something an ordinary person could achieve!”
The provocative Salt Merchant had already quietly retreated into the crowd.
Feng Yuan slowly turned around, his expression calm, as if he were not the one who had just composed this timeless masterpiece.
At this moment, the thin scholar, supported by two servants, walked over.
He bowed deeply to Feng Yuan.
“Your talent, Young Master, is like the moon in the heavens; we are all mere fireflies on the ground.”
Someone nearby immediately introduced him: “Young Master Feng, this is the Salt Censor, Lord Lin Ruhai.”
Lin Ruhai!
Feng Yuan’s heart stirred, but his expression remained composed, and he quickly returned the bow.
“Your Lordship flatters me; this Student was merely moved by the scene and scribbled some nonsense.”
Lin Ruhai waved his hand, coughing violently several times, his face growing even paler.
He looked at Feng Yuan, his eyes holding a complex admiration.
“‘Human lives pass generation after generation without end; the river moon looks the same year after year’… What a profound ‘the same’.”
He sighed softly, his voice carrying an ineffable sorrow, and then began coughing again.
A huge wave surged in Feng Yuan’s heart, but he respectfully agreed on the surface.
“I would not dare disobey.”
It was late, and the poetry gathering dispersed.
In the carriage returning to the Inn, Xing Xiuyan kept looking out the window, saying nothing.
After a long while, she turned her head to look at Feng Yuan beside her.
“Husband…” she whispered.
“Hmm?”
“You… you are truly like an Immortal.”
Feng Yuan looked at her; in those eyes that were always cold, it seemed moonlight was flowing.
He did not answer, merely reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair blown across her forehead behind her ear.
His fingertips were slightly cool.
Xing Xiuyan’s heart suddenly burned.
She looked up and met Feng Yuan’s deep gaze; the surrounding chill seemed to dissipate, leaving only the ardent affection in each other’s eyes.
As their lips touched, their breaths mingled.
“Don’t… let’s wait until we get back to the Inn…”
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