When Pei Xiaoyun entered, Ming Ying was brewing tea for him.
Through a layer of hazy white steam, he caught sight of that pink skirt again.
She bent over to pour the tea, holding the kettle handle with practiced ease, as if the graceful figure he had glimpsed at the back gate earlier was merely an illusion.
Ming Ying guessed it was him from the sound of footsteps. She placed the hot tea on the table and approached him with a smile. "Young Master is back. I've brewed osmanthus dew tea—this time, I got the timing just right."
As she spoke, she reached out to untie the sash of his outer robe. He was very tall, and she had to stand on tiptoe to reach his neck.
She knew his habits well. He was fastidious about cleanliness, and any clothes worn outside had to be removed upon entering the room.
Since the day they had laid everything out in the open, Pei Xiaoyun had treated her well. He never mentioned his impending marriage, and she never asked.
In the evenings when he returned to the estate, he often brought her novel trinkets and the pastries she loved. When he had free time at night, he would teach her to write.
She, in turn, continued to brew his tea and embroider, boldly pestering him to teach her how to paint camellias.
It was as if they were still in Yangzhou, free to disregard everything else.
Pei Xiaoyun did not lower his head to make it easier for her to untie the sash. Instead, he stared at the pink tip of her ear and suddenly wrapped an arm around her waist.
She had been quite obedient lately, doing exactly as he said.
If he hadn’t caught her today, he might have truly believed she would remain this docile.
Ming Ying let out a gasp of surprise, twisting her waist to pull away, her face half-flushed.
He had always enjoyed teasing her, never tiring of it night after night, but doing so in broad daylight was simply too outrageous.
"Mian'er, where did you go today?"
A cold voice from above shattered Ming Ying’s wandering thoughts.
She held her breath, her fingertips trembling slightly. With an unsettled heart, she struggled for a moment before finally undoing the moon-white cloak.
Turning to place the garment back on the incense warmer, the rosy hue faded from her face, leaving her looking somewhat pale. "This servant has been in the courtyard the whole time, embroidering a sachet for you and brewing tea."
Pei Xiaoyun did not press her further. He called for servants to set the meal. As the dishes were laid out, Ming Ying picked up a piece of cherry pork for him and then stood dutifully by his side.
Her palms were clammy, as if damp with cold sweat.
"Sit down. Why are you always standing?" Pei Xiaoyun took her hand, noticing the chill that seeped into his bones. "Are you cold?"
He observed her reaction, having already seen through her restless behavior behind his back.
Ming Ying shook her head, feeling as if a cold tide were about to swallow her whole.
"That white coral hairpin I gave you before—why do I never see you wear it? Don’t you like it?" Pei Xiaoyun hadn’t touched his chopsticks.
Ming Ying clenched her fists, her heart pounding wildly. Overwhelmed by tension, she couldn’t help but lower her head and cough. After a moment, she replied, "This servant… likes it very much. It’s just too precious, so I put it away."
Why would he suddenly ask about that hairpin? Could it be…
Pei Xiaoyun’s cold gaze lingered on her face before he let out an inscrutable laugh.
"Kong Qing, bring him in."
Then, a commotion arose in the courtyard. Amid the whispers of the servants, a man in brown clothes was dragged to the corridor and thrown heavily onto the steps.
Separated by a curtain, the man panicked, kowtowing repeatedly and begging for mercy. "Spare me, Master! Spare me!"
Hearing the familiar voice, Ming Ying’s heart leaped into her throat. Just as she was about to lose her composure, Pei Xiaoyun yanked her to her feet.
He pinched her delicate chin. "Embroidering and brewing tea for me? Hiding away the gifts I gave you because they were too precious? Is that really the truth?"
He had nurtured her so well that even when she lied to him, her lips were red and her teeth white, her words smooth and pleasing to the ear.
All his doting on her these past days had been in vain.
Ming Ying knelt down abruptly, just as she had countless times before when he was angry, pleading before him on her knees.
"Young Master, this servant did not mean to deceive you…"
How dare she act on her own?
Did she think that just because he had been kind to her for a while, she could truly do as she pleased?
She felt like an inanimate object—eating, drinking, every move—all requiring his permission.
Pei Xiaoyun sat before her, looking down from above. "Didn't I tell you not to see him? Giving the things I gave you to an outsider—are you trying to secretly communicate with him behind my back, to fly away together with him?"
Ming Ying clutched at his soft, luxurious robe, shifting her knees toward him. "This servant would never dare to have such thoughts! The hairpin was only taken to treat my foster mother's illness. It would have been returned in two days."
There was no denying it—she admired the man before her, yet she feared him to her very bones.
The look he had given her earlier was like the expression he wore when he choked her during his bouts of rage, sending chills down her spine.
Pei Xiaoyun paid no heed to her tearful pleas.
If she truly knew she was wrong, she shouldn’t have repeatedly ignored his words.
"Kong Qing, go and chop off his fingers, one by one."
The man outside the door turned ashen with fear, kowtowing frantically. "Miss Ming, save me! Please beg this master for mercy!"
Ming Ying had never heard of such a cruel punishment as chopping off fingers. Even if it were a stranger before her, she couldn’t bear to watch.
"Young Master, please spare him! This servant will never meet him again!"
Pei Xiaoyun tried to pull his hand free from her grasp, but she held it tightly in her palm.
Her hand was small and pale, sticky and warm, clinging to him like a soft cake.
His rough fingertips brushed over her tear-filled eyes, which always held an innocence untouched by the world, as if she truly knew nothing.
The sound of the paddle rose and fell, the person on the bench torn open and bleeding, a sight that would terrify any outsider.
The man was carried away, leaving only the lonely sound of the wind in the courtyard.
The man’s screams still echoed in Ming Ying’s ears, and her arms trembled uncontrollably.
This was the first time Pei Xiaoyun had punished someone in front of her. If she refused to look, he forced her to watch.
"Why are you trembling?"
Pei Xiaoyun pulled her slender, bamboo-like arm and drew her entire body into his embrace, warning her, "This is the last time."
The last time he would tolerate her deceit.
Ming Ying was thrown onto the bed, the sound of her clothes tearing assaulting her ears as she was stripped bare by a single hand.
Kneeling.
In bed, whenever he was angry, he always made her kneel.
She sobbed and struggled against the embroidered bedding, while he looked down at her meek pleading posture. He would not spare her; instead, he intensified his actions. Even as she gasped for breath, he would not stop.
As if he truly intended to kill her.
A red silk ribbon bound her entire body, allowing no room for struggle, leaving marks on her that belonged only to him.
In his anger, his preferences were peculiar, his methods always sinister and bizarre, as if she were a heinous criminal, and he sought to humiliate and punish her in this way.
"It hurts…"
The word she struggled to utter was mercilessly shattered by him. She lifted her head, searching for a breath of air, only to have her spine pressed down harshly.
It seemed that beneath him, she was never worthy of raising her head.
In her near-death moment, she thought of many things.
The year he rescued her from Mianyuelou, she hid her budding feelings, wanting only to repay him properly. Even if it meant working like an ox or a horse, it was still better than living in that filthy place.
But he said her hands were so beautiful—how could she do rough chores like sweeping and cleaning?
He called her into his room, listened to her play the pipa, and had her grind ink, make the bed, and brew tea.
His closeness made her unable to resist wanting to draw near.
But she was just a servant—how could she dare to yearn for him?
Until the year she turned fifteen, he gave her a pair of beautiful earrings, pinched her earlobes playfully, and said something to her.
Her face flushed crimson.
He looked at her shy, timid expression and chuckled softly, "Has no one taught you?"
She lowered her eyes and whispered that she knew.
The sisters in the brothel had taught her.
Back then, the thought of serving strange men she had never met terrified her. Those men were ill-tempered, old, and ugly, so she wished she wouldn’t grow up so quickly.
Meeting the Young Master was her good fortune.
Because of him, she didn’t have to serve others. Her first time was with the one she loved.
But gradually, she realized the Young Master wasn’t entirely the gentle, refined man he appeared to be in front of others. Sometimes he was fierce and cold, treating her not with the tenderness one would show a beloved.
Like tonight…
She loved only him, but he could still marry and take concubines, treat her capriciously with joy or anger, and even humiliate her without restraint.
What did she mean to him? A puppet without temper or thoughts, only allowed to smile at him?
Was this kind of life…
truly her fate?
When she woke, there was no one beside her.
Her undergarments were soaked with sweat, clinging tightly to her skin, as if she had just been pulled from water. She tried to get out of bed herself, but her legs felt numb, soft as melted wax.
She could only endure the shame and call for help. Her throat felt as if filled with coarse sand and gravel; after a few calls, it seemed to scrape bloody froth.
The two young maids who came in to fetch water were terrified by her pitiful state, not daring to breathe loudly. They set down the bathtub and hurried out.
Ling Shuang came in to check on her, casually tying up her hair, and couldn’t help exclaiming, "Heavens, how did it come to this?"
The person before her was covered in purplish-red marks, her arms and thighs crisscrossed with dense red lines from silk ribbons. Her eyes were swollen like peaches, and her fair face looked like crumpled paper.
Last night, the Eldest Master had punished someone in the courtyard. Everyone knew he was angry with Miss Ming because of that man.
But after all, Miss Ming was only helping a relative—how could she have dared to act improperly? The Eldest Master had been too harsh.
Ming Ying said nothing, only leaned against the headboard and wept.
She wept until the sky darkened and heavy rain began to fall.
Wind, mist, rain, and dew soaked through the window gauze.
She lacked the strength to get up and bring in the camellias, only hearing a series of thuds.
The wind had blown the flowerpots down.
"Hurry, sweep it all up! It’s a mess everywhere. If the Eldest Master sees this when he returns, he’ll be annoyed. Planting these worthless, lowly white camellias—just looking at them is unlucky!"
Through the window, Ming Ying recognized Yu Zhong ordering the young maids to sweep away the soil and fallen petals.
She silently wiped her tears.
After this rain, she wondered how many of the flowers outside would survive.
Lowly and unlucky.
But they were clearly growing well, only needing a little sunlight.
Yet the heavens were stingy with light, so they could only wither and die in the rain.
Author's Note:
Is anyone reading this? I feel so lonely [bursting into tears][bursting into tears][bursting into tears]