A circle of wisteria vines twined around the stone archway, their sparse shadows swaying between two figures.
The two began chatting about the art of flower cultivation.
Lin Xian said, "You can place a few pieces of broken tile at the bottom of the flowerpot, fill the lowest layer with coarse soil, and use fine soil around the roots of the seedlings. This way, the flowers will not only survive more easily but also grow better."
"Mm, I'll try that next time." Ming Ying wore a faint smile on her brow and eyes. This Mr. Lin was humble and courteous, earning her increasing respect. She asked in return, "It seems Mr. Lin also often tends to flowers?"
"Like you, I pass the time by gardening when I have leisure." As if recalling something, Lin Xian added, "I have painted two camellia works. One I gifted to you last time, and the other remains at home. If fate allows another meeting, I shall present it to you as well."
Though the woman before him was confined to the inner chambers and held such a status, each time he saw her, he could glimpse a budding vitality in her eyes.
Ming Ying hastily declined, "Such fine paintings, gifted to someone like me—truly, it would be a waste of a masterpiece."
She was merely a maid; his paintings were worth more than a thousand of her lives.
Lin Xian saw through her embarrassment and discomfort, replying calmly, "As I said last time, the rivers, mountains, wind, and moon have no permanent owners, let alone personal preferences?"
Ming Ying suddenly recalled that day at Fuguang Lou, his two statements overlapping in her heart. "Sir, your painting, I have always cherished it—"
"What are you discussing?"
A man's voice, carried by the breeze, interrupted Ming Ying's words.
Hearing this familiar tone, her heart skipped several beats.
She turned abruptly to find Pei Xiaoyun standing behind her at some unknown moment. His narrow eyes were deep and shadowed, the corners of his lips curved in a faint arc.
"Young Master."
Instantly, it felt as though someone had seized her throat. A chill enveloped her as she bowed belatedly and retreated to the side.
Her heart pounded wildly, her thoughts in disarray.
Had he arrived early? How much had he overheard? He disliked her leaving the house, disliked her speaking with other men. Last time, she had concealed the matter of Fuguang Lou from him—but what about this time?
Yet Pei Xiaoyun deliberately bypassed her, turning his gaze to Lin Xian. "This is one of my chamber maids, always lacking in propriety. Has she offended you?"
Though these words were spoken to Lin Xian, she heard them clearly, bowing her head even lower.
Her expression grew somewhat awkward; the more she tried to ignore something, the more it humiliated her.
Lin Xian replied, "No offense taken. The estate is vast, and I merely happened to ask this young lady for directions."
Pei Xiaoyun regarded the two with an inscrutable gaze.
He instructed Ming Ying to wait on the steps and invited Lin Xian to sit briefly in the pavilion.
Servants brought hot tea, and he sat opposite Lin Xian.
Though the scene appeared calm and composed, an undercurrent of tension lingered.
"You abandoned an official career back then, devoting yourself entirely to painting. I hear that nowadays, acquiring one of your works requires a fortune."
Mentioning paintings, he glanced briefly at Ming Ying before subtly withdrawing his gaze.
Ming Ying met his eyes fleetingly, and in that single glance, her palms grew damp with sweat. She couldn't fathom his intentions, lowering her head as if to bore a hole through her own shadow.
After all, she had accepted Mr. Lin's painting and hidden it in her room without his knowledge.
Lin Xian remained composed, unperturbed. "Merely a jest. Such trivial skills pale in comparison to your current status as a rising star in the court, wielding such power and influence."
Pei Xiaoyun responded with a light, dismissive laugh.
He looked at Ming Ying standing awkwardly at the foot of the steps, tapping his knuckles on the stone tabletop. "Mian'er, come, pour tea for our guest."
Hearing his command, Ming Ying approached with small steps. As her cool fingers touched the teapot, the heat seemed to sear through her, causing her fingertips to tremble slightly. She moved the tea toward Lin Xian. "Young Master Lin, please have some tea."
Pei Xiaoyun suddenly pressed down on her trembling wrist, smiling as he looked at her. "Why are you shaking? Are you afraid of meeting a stranger?"
She started, nearly overturning the teapot.
Scrambling for an explanation, she was about to speak when Lin Xian cut in first. "You called me here for a reason. I assume it wasn't just to reminisce?"
Pei Xiaoyun glanced subtly at Lin Xian.
He chuckled inwardly: What a fine show of rivalry and protection.
He said, "I want you to draw a map of the Northwest Six Tribes' terrain for me. Once it's done, I'll pay you five times the usual fee."
Lin Xian remained silent for a moment before drinking the tea. "It's not impossible, but it can't be done in a day or two."
Pei Xiaoyun needed his help, so he suppressed his displeasure and treated him with courtesy. "That's fine. You can stay at Lanqing Zhuoyuan during this time. Once the painting is finished, I'll have someone escort you back to Hangzhou."
"Very well," Lin Xian replied.
Ming Ying continued to listen intently.
Seeing that Pei Xiaoyun was focused entirely on business and showed no signs of anger, she faintly felt she had overthought things.
As long as Mr. Lin didn't speak, perhaps he wouldn't find out.
Besides, Mr. Lin didn't seem like the type to meddle.
After Lin Xian agreed, Pei Xiaoyun ordered a servant to take him to settle in the courtyard. He specifically instructed that during the painting period, Lin Xian should be given whatever he requested.
After Lin Xian left, Ming Ying remained leaning against a stone pillar, lost in thought.
"What are you still standing there for? Don't you have duties to attend to?"
Pei Xiaoyun glanced at her.
"This servant takes her leave," Ming Ying curtsied and hurried away, the heavy stone in her heart finally lifting.
He hadn't noticed.
She had overthought it.
After meeting with Lin Xian, Pei Xiaoyun went out and hadn't returned even late into the night.
Having narrowly escaped once again, even though Lin Xian was staying at Lanqing Zhuoyuan, Ming Ying dared not speak to him again.
Lin Xian was measured in his interactions. When he encountered her, he no longer initiated conversation, merely giving a slight nod.
The full moon hung high in the sky. It was already the fourth watch of the Hai hour.
Today was Ming Ying's turn to keep watch at night. She waited for Pei Xiaoyun's return in her room while weaving knots.
Her fingers deftly twisted and turned, weaving a few strands of silk into a lark's head knot, with a small, snow-white, exquisite warm jade pendant hanging at the end. Such a plum blossom knot looked most beautiful when attached to a sash.
This knot pattern was fashionable yet not overly elaborate or showy. She wanted to show it to Pei Xiaoyun when he returned, hoping he would like it.
The light at the door suddenly brightened—he had returned.
She didn't notice the dark fury in his eyes. Eagerly, she stepped forward to greet him, only to be met with two icy words.
"Kneel."
Her heart tightened with suffocating fear, the eager anticipation of moments ago replaced by dread. Slowly, she knelt.
Kneeling on the ground, she dared not look up, seeing only the wide hem of his robe casting a shadow.
He was going to punish her, and she didn't even dare ask why.
Pei Xiaoyun paid her no mind, turning instead to attend to some official matters.
His silence and lack of action were like a sword hanging over Ming Ying's head. The slightest movement would cause it to fall.
She twisted her fingers until they turned white and bit her lower lip until it flushed crimson.
He hadn't been angry in a long time. What had she done wrong? She racked her brain but couldn't figure it out.
Was he displeased that she hadn't waited for him outside on the corridor? Or was the charcoal in the room not warm enough?
Just as she was tangled in countless thoughts without finding an answer, she saw him walking toward her.
Pei Xiaoyun closed the book, went to the table, and picked up the square box. Opening it, he found the same pair of earrings he had wanted to give her that day, but couldn't because her ear piercings were too small.
Remembering the scene from earlier in the day where she and Lin Xian had performed in perfect harmony, a fire ignited in his stomach, burning away the last trace of tenderness.
There was nothing unsuitable about it.
It only depended on whether she wanted to wear them, whether she was willing to.
He took out the earrings, dragged an armchair over, and sat down in front of her.
Without uttering a word, his fingertips brushed against her soft earlobe, then he pierced the silver hook of the earring through, forcing a hole in her earlobe, as if driven by a fierce desire to carve his mark into her.
"It hurts… Young Master…"
A wave of immense fear, like a raging beast, roared and engulfed her.
Why was he treating her this way?
She couldn't guess the reason, nor did she dare to resist desperately. All she could do was cry out, her hands clutching tightly at the sharp, cold hem of his robe, hoping for his mercy.
Her left earlobe was pierced, and a drop of blood fell onto the pearl of the earring, staining the pale pink pearl crimson.
"Don't shout." Pei Xiaoyun shook off her hand and pierced the other earring into her right ear, driven by obsession and rage.
"Look, how beautiful you look wearing them." He suddenly leaned forward, seizing her pained expression. "Compared to the painting he gave you, which do you prefer?"
Ming Ying felt as if struck by a thunderbolt, a chill spreading through her entire body.
She had been too naive, foolishly thinking she could hide it from him.
He always managed to spy on her every move. No matter what she did, she could never escape his eyes—like a bird kept in a cage, the moment it glances outside, its owner will clip its wings.
"Speak."
His words were cold and harsh, as if they could dismantle her bones piece by piece and swallow them whole.
Ming Ying felt as if she were drowning in his shadow, and her words of defense seemed feeble and powerless: "This servant and Mr. Lin have nothing between us. We've only met twice, by chance."
Pei Xiaoyun remained silent for a long moment, then reached out his hand toward her.
Ming Ying shifted forward, pressing her face against his palm like a pet dog or cat seeking affection.
"He gave you a painting. In return, what do you plan to give him? How about I gift you to him?" Pei Xiaoyun's palm was damp with her tears, and he wiped them away with his thumb.
He waited quietly for her answer. If she said yes, he would not hesitate to strangle her.
Warm drops trailed from the earrings down her neck. With each drop, Ming Ying flinched.
Gift her to someone else?
In that moment, what struck her more than shock was a bone-chilling cold.
Though she feared his dominance, she also found herself lost in his tenderness, even if only for a moment.
She had been with him for nearly four years. During the most difficult year, when he was constantly constrained and surrounded by danger, she had stood by him.
When assassins broke into the estate, she took an arrow for him. It grazed her neck, leaving a bloody scar—the first time she had come so close to death.
In the bitter cold of winter, she delivered secret messages for him. Afraid of being caught, she hid in the icy lake for a day and a night.
She had accompanied him from obscurity to dazzling prominence, yet from beginning to end, he had treated her like a plaything. Once his interest waned, it was time to dispose of her.
But all she had ever wanted was for him to treat her like a person.
Pei Xiaoyun's expression remained unreadable. "Are you willing?"
Ming Ying shook her head.
Searching her heart, she could only shake her head.
Pei Xiaoyun had gotten the answer he wanted. He pulled her snow-white neck close and bit down again on the freshly scabbed tooth mark.
Warmth ebbed and flowed within the bed curtains. Ming Ying felt herself being torn apart by his force.
The storm surged to the heavens. She was like a small boat tossed in a whirlpool, then overturned by a massive wave. Her cries were broken, and she gasped for breath like a dying fish, only to have his lips fiercely seal hers again—unable to live, unable to die.
It was even more ruthless, even more frenzied than the last time.
Her hair was clenched in his palm, the cascading black strands gathered one by one.
When she was on the verge of passing out, he released his grip. She thought he had shown mercy and let her go, but a sharp pain suddenly pierced her chest.
Stroke by stroke, he personally carved his courtesy name onto her body, arrogantly claiming everything about her.
The characters "Ling Yuan" were etched onto her fair skin, their outlines filled with crimson blood, dazzlingly beautiful.
"Young Master, it hurts… don’t treat me like this…"
Ming Ying wept continuously. When her tears were nearly spent, he finally stopped.
She lay sobbing in his arms, her face pale, her hair disheveled, only her eyes pure and bright.
"Go get the painting," Pei Xiaoyun gently stroked her face. "Since you refuse to go with him, how can you take his painting for nothing?"
Ming Ying’s pupils contracted, and she struggled slightly in his embrace.
For the first time, she felt a selfish desire to defy his will.
She truly loved that painting, and Mr. Lin had sincerely given it to her.
"Will you fetch it yourself, or shall I have someone search for it?" Pei Xiaoyun’s patience wore thin, his voice turning cold.
Ming Ying abruptly held her breath. Lin Xian lived in the courtyard, and she did not want to cause a scene.
She rose from the bed, draped a garment he had torn to shreds over herself, and went to retrieve the painting.
Pei Xiaoyun took the painting, casually unrolled it, and glanced at it a few times before mocking, "It’s quite well-painted, but are you worthy of it?"
He would not allow her to have any other thoughts. She only needed to stay obediently by his side, a beautiful plaything—that was enough.
Ming Ying stiffened her neck and remained silent, though her eyes slowly reddened.
Some said she was worthy, while others said she was not.
Seeing her like this, Pei Xiaoyun grew even more scornful. "What, did he speak a few words to you, and now you don’t know your place?"
"'The rivers, mountains, wind, and moon have no constant master'? Yet now, aren’t you still kneeling and begging your master?"
Ming Ying’s heart felt as if it had been torn apart, ground bit by bit into dust, then trampled into the mud, becoming a mess of sludge that could never be pieced back together.
Shame, dignity—she had nothing left.
Her tears fell to the ground, blooming like flowers one after another.
Pei Xiaoyun wiped her tears away with a light touch. "Go tell him that as a woman confined to the inner chambers, ignorant and foolish, gifting this painting to you is truly like casting pearls before swine and an insult to the artwork itself."