I Taught You Last Night, Do You Remember?
His rough fingertips rubbed against Ming Ying’s eye sockets, like countless fine needles scraping and pricking, forcing tears to stream down her face.
Mr. Lin had given her the painting because he respected her, treating her as a dignified person.
Now, she had to return it to him, proving that he had misjudged her—that she was willingly depraved, willingly debasing herself.
What would he think of her then?
Disappointment, regret, believing that a pitiful person like her must have her own despicable flaws.
In her ears was the man’s merciless pressure: “You’re unwilling?”
Pei Xiaoyun saw a hint of stubbornness in her eyes.
But stubbornness was the last thing a flower clinging to him for survival needed.
To fall into the mud, be ground into dust, and vanish without a trace.
“Young Master, please…” Ming Ying shook her head, putting on the gentle and submissive demeanor he always favored, and began to serve him willingly.
She thought that if she could just appease his anger, perhaps he would allow her to keep the painting.
After all, he didn’t see her as a person. In front of him, her sense of propriety, righteousness, modesty, and shame had long been stripped away.
The beauty beneath him had eyes that seemed to brim with water. With every slight movement, her long lashes fluttered, and her breathing grew labored.
Pei Xiaoyun played with her hair, pinched her flushed cheeks, and exhaled hot breaths against her neck.
At this moment, what burned fiercer than conquest and possession was a raging fire.
For Lin Xian, for a worthless painting, she truly seemed to be enduring humiliation to serve him.
He sneered, “Is this all the effort you’re willing to put into begging me?”
Ming Ying was stung by his humiliating words and struggled to pull away.
Looking back now, even during her years at Mianyuelou, when she was young, many older sisters had protected her.
She had a few thin, unwarm clothes to wear and a bowl of cold food to eat each day.
Until he appeared. Though he saved her, he also stripped her bare, leaving her without modesty or dignity—only to be toyed with and oppressed.
Why? Even if she was born lowly and became his servant, merely speaking a few words with someone else—why did he treat her this way?
She was afraid—afraid of his ruthlessness and cruelty.
Her face flushed with heat, and she tried to escape, but he pressed down on the back of her neck.
“Weren’t you begging me? Keep going.”
Pei Xiaoyun’s anger surged, his forehead throbbing. He lifted her marked waist and threw her back onto the embroidered bedding.
Ming Ying knelt on the bed, crying until the pillow was soaked and her voice grew hoarse.
As the moon set and faint light seeped in, her vision blurred with overlapping shadows. Dazedly, she saw the curtain being lifted and heard him instructing a servant: “Go call Lin Xian over. Have him take his things back.”
Her heart turned to ashes, her eyes swallowed by darkness.
No matter how she begged him, it was futile.
In his hands, she was nothing but a puppet. He would adorn her with accessories, dressing her up according to his whims, never caring for her feelings.
The plundering was not yet over.
Outside the window, two figures stood, unnoticed until now.
First, a servant’s voice rang out: “Young Master Lin, please wait a moment. Our Eldest Master has not yet risen.”
So, Lin Xian had truly been brought here.
Hearing that he was here to retrieve something, he was puzzled. Upon arriving, the tightly shut door only deepened his confusion and unease.
Hearing the commotion outside, Pei Xiaoyun lifted Ming Ying’s limp body and whispered in her ear, “He’s here. I taught you last night—do you remember what to say?”
Ming Ying’s pupils trembled, instantly engulfed by a chilling cold. She bit her lips tightly, afraid that opening her mouth would release a low moan.
Pei Xiaoyun watched her deliberately restrained demeanor and grew even more relentless in tormenting her. Using fingers slick with her saliva, he pried open her lips, leaning close to hear those two words.
“I remember… I remember…”
Ming Ying spoke through tears, the immense humiliation lashing at her heart like a whip, blow after blow.
Then, she was pushed to her feet. With trembling, feeble hands, she hastily smoothed her hair, doing her best to conceal the disheveled marks on her body. After putting on a robe, she opened the door.
When Lin Xian saw her, his calm eyes flickered.
“You’re…”
He was incredulous.
If yesterday her eyes had held resilient vitality, now they were dark and hollow, like a still, ancient well.
How could a person change so drastically overnight?
With Pei Xiaoyun still in the room, Ming Ying dared not look at Lin Xian for more than a moment. Besides, in her current state, how could she face anyone?
She quickly retrieved the painting, her dry, pale lips moving as she spoke rapidly, “I appreciate Young Master Lin’s kindness, but as a foolish and uncultivated woman confined to the inner chambers, keeping this painting by my side would be like casting pearls before swine. It is I… who would disgrace it. I should not have harbored such delusions, nor been so presumptuous. I am unworthy and should not accept it. Please, Young Master Lin, take it back.”
With each word, pain pierced her heart, carving her open until she bled.
Lin Xian was utterly shocked. He could tell these words were not her true will and opened his mouth to say something to her, but the door was firmly shut.
Every breath Ming Ying swallowed felt like it was laced with blades, yet even if they were blades, she had to swallow them down.
She leaned against the door, not daring to let her tears fall.
Once the painting was returned, this matter would be over.
Forcing a smile, she walked toward the bed to attend to Pei Xiaoyun as he rose. She fetched his clothes, bending and kneeling to carefully fasten his waistband.
Then, she hung a flawless white jade pendant on him, as if nothing had happened the night before.
Pei Xiaoyun was highly satisfied with her earlier response.
She would have no spirit or temper, and even if she did, he would grind it down the moment it surfaced.
“I quite liked the tassel you made yesterday. Hang it on me.”
Ming Ying responded softly, fetching the tassel and carefully tying it for him. As she lowered her head, her disheveled hair obscured her eyes.
Pei Xiaoyun smoothed her hair, his gentle words carrying a hint of warning, “Don’t dwell on things you shouldn’t think about or take. Next time, I won’t have the patience to clean up your mess.”
After that day, Ming Ying ran a high fever and lay unconscious for three days and three nights.
The maid assigned to care for her blushed at the sight of the marks on her body, but more than that, she felt a chill of dread.
She awoke on the fourth day, as dusk settled and twilight deepened.
Her frail body leaned against the bed, the dim, hazy light of the sky barely visible, with only the sound of pouring rain to be heard.
The ordinary charcoal in the room had been replaced with hongluo charcoal, its flames bright and crimson, free of any smoke or dust. Several maids entered to deliver medicine, all sweating profusely as they left, yet her hands and feet remained icy cold, her entire body weak.
The wounds on her ear and chest had only formed thin scabs, and every time her clothes brushed against them, it felt like they were tearing open anew.
Yu’er came in to apply medicine and, seeing the bloody hole in her ear, was so startled that the bamboo spatula coated with ointment fell to the floor.
“Sister Ming, how did you get such a severe injury?”
Ming Ying smiled wanly, “I angered the Eldest Master and was punished by him.”
Yu'er had only been in the courtyard for a short while and couldn't believe it. "But Eldest Master doesn't seem like a harsh master, and he never punishes us. Besides, he dotes on you so much—how could he bear to punish you?"
Ming Ying patted her head and said nothing.
In front of others, he doted on her endlessly, but only she knew how terrifying his doting truly was.
Doting and love were entirely different.
Perhaps only when he truly loved someone could he pour out all his tenderness.
But that person would never be her. That person would only be his wife.
The small bit of warmth she longed for was something she could never receive from him.
Pei Xiaoyun had been away for several days, so she lay in bed to recover from her injuries, gradually learning to find joy in hardship by playing Double Six with Ling Shuang and the others.
Her luck was poor, and she wasn't very skilled at the game. After just a few rounds, she had lost all her monthly allowance.
"You've lost all your monthly allowance—what will you do for the New Year? Aren't you going to save some to buy things?" Ling Shuang collected the cards and looked at her increasingly empty purse, wanting to leave her some money.
Ming Ying insisted it was fine and pestered her to bring the cards back out. "Let's play a couple more rounds. You all can take leave to go home for the New Year, but I have no family and can't leave the estate. Money in my hands is like stones—I'll lose it all, and when you return, you can bring me more delicious treats."
A few more days passed, and the continuous rain finally stopped.
That morning, the courtyard was in chaos. It was said that Lin Xian was leaving.
Even though Pei Xiaoyun wasn't there, Ming Ying no longer dared to meet Lin Xian. While the maids who loved to join in the excitement gathered in the corridor to watch, she hid alone in her room doing needlework, not daring to ask a single question.
Lin Xian had finished drawing the mountain landscape maps of the six northwestern tribes that Pei Xiaoyun had requested. Without waiting for his return, he first handed the paintings to Kong Qing, who was by his side, and prepared to set off back to Hangzhou.
As he left, he still held the camellia painting in his hand. Passing by the inconspicuous room in the west, he suddenly stopped in his tracks.
That day, he had stood outside the door and heard Pei Xiaoyun forcing her. He knew it wasn't that she didn't want the painting, but that someone wouldn't let her accept it.
After that day, he hadn't seen her again, only hearing that she had fallen ill.
"Young Master Lin, what's wrong? Did you forget something?"
Lin Xian snapped out of his thoughts, rolled up the painting scroll, and sighed softly. "It's nothing. Let's go."
The clamor faded away, and Lanqing Zhuoyuan returned to tranquility, with the servants each attending to their duties.
Ming Ying set down her thread spool and gazed at the dust motes dancing in the light, warmth trickling from the corners of her eyes.
It was all over, as if she had never gone to Fuguang Lou, never met Lin Xian, and never received his painting.
Those foolish hopes, those delusions—she shouldn't have had them.
"Eldest Master is back." A maid's voice came from outside.
Ming Ying hadn't expected Pei Xiaoyun to return at this hour.
Before she could wipe the tears from the corners of her eyes, the tall man lifted the curtain and strode into the room.
Author's Note:
So mad!