Xiaodie fell silent for a moment. Then, the corners of her lips unconsciously curved upward. She quickly suppressed it again, but when she turned back toward Fu Yunyang, there was still a hint of barely concealed schadenfreude in her eyes and brows.
“Miss, did you hear that?” Her voice tried hard to remain calm, though the end of her sentence lifted slightly. “Shen Jinghong is kneeling outside our gate. From morning until now it’s been at least two or three hours.”
Fu Yunyang didn’t speak right away. She lowered her head, looking at the faint stain of medicine on the blanket, her fingers absentmindedly rubbing the edge of the quilt.
“To see me?” she asked, as if confirming something that didn’t feel quite real.
“That’s right!” Xiaodie’s voice rose again. “Liuer said he’s been kneeling there the whole time. No one can get him to stand. He just keeps saying he wants to see you. Young Master Zhao Zhen tried to pull him up, but he shoved him away so hard he almost fell. When the Shen family tried to drag him off, he said…”
She lowered her voice, imitating Liuer: “’Whoever pulls me, I’ll die in front of them.’”
She couldn’t help laughing a little after saying it, quickly covering her mouth, realizing she shouldn’t be smiling so openly in front of her young mistress.
Fu Yunyang looked up at her.
Her gaze was calm, without reproach.
Xiaodie immediately restrained her expression and said seriously, “Miss, the master has already shut the gates. He said if Shen Jinghong wants to kneel, he can kneel as long as he likes. The master’s exact words were: ‘I have truly seen what kind of family the Shen household is. Yesterday they humiliated someone in our home, today they come to disgrace themselves at our gate. If he wants to kneel, let him kneel until he’s had enough.’”
She carefully watched Fu Yunyang’s expression as she finished speaking.
Fu Yunyang remained silent for a moment.
“Take the medicine bowl away,” she said evenly. She shifted slightly, leaning back against the pillow again, pulling the blanket up to cover her shoulders.
“Mm. Let him kneel. When he gets bored, he’ll leave on his own.”
“Find a time and have Father return his betrothal letter. It’s been delayed long enough it should be settled.”
Xiaodie’s smile froze on her face. She opened her mouth, but the words got stuck in her throat when she saw Fu Yunyang’s calm expression.
“Yes, Miss,” she said dully, lowering her head to clean up the medicine bowl.
At the doorway, she paused and looked back once more.
Fu Yunyang had already closed her eyes, resting quietly against the pillow. Her breathing was light and shallow. Outside, sunlight filtered through the window gauze and fell softly across her pale face.
Xiaodie’s nose stung. She quickly turned away and left on tiptoe.
At the gate of the Grand Tutor’s residence, Shen Jinghong knelt upright.
It was already afternoon. He had knelt from the faint light of dawn until now at least four or five hours. The early spring stone slabs were cold enough to seep into bone; his knees had long gone numb, then painful, then numb again, until now he could barely feel them at all.
A crowd had gathered around him.
People in the capital loved watching a spectacle especially one involving the young master of the Shen family. His earlier incident at the teahouse, being forced by General Shen to personally apologize at the Grand Tutor’s residence, and being dragged out of a pleasure house in disgrace were all still fresh topics of gossip.
Now this scene was even more entertaining: the Shen heir kneeling at the Grand Tutor’s gate, reportedly after forcing a broken engagement and then regretting it, coming back on his knees to beg for an audience.
If the storytellers at the teahouse heard about this, they could easily spin it into an entire new tale.
Zhao Zhen squatted beside him, drenched in sweat, pulling at his arm anxiously. “Jinghong, get up! What are you doing kneeling here? So many people are watching!”
Shen Jinghong didn’t move at all. His back was straight, his gaze fixed on the tightly shut doors of the Grand Tutor’s residence.
“Get up!” Zhao Zhen tugged again. “Don’t you care about your knees? What if you ruin them?”
“Then find me a pair of crutches,” Shen Jinghong said hoarsely, his lips cracked and peeling. “I’ll use them and keep kneeling.”
Zhao Zhen was left speechless. He paced in frustration, then crouched down again, lowering his voice near Shen Jinghong’s ear. “Even if you want to kneel, you don’t have to do it like this! Why not come at a different time? You’re kneeling at their gate at dawn they haven’t even opened the doors yet. Who are you performing this for?”
“For her.”
“They can’t even see you! The doors are closed!”
“As long as she knows I’m here,” Shen Jinghong said, not taking his eyes off the gate. “Someone inside will report it. She’ll know I’m kneeling here.”
Zhao Zhen opened his mouth, suddenly feeling like he didn’t recognize the person in front of him anymore.
Was this really Shen Jinghong the man who feared nothing, listened to no one, who had once been dragged to the Grand Tutor’s residence by General Shen still laughing and joking?
“Jinghong,” Zhao Zhen asked quietly, “what happened to you?”
Shen Jinghong was silent for a long time.
“I made a mistake,” he said softly, almost to himself. “A very big mistake.”
“What mistake?”
He didn’t answer. He just kept looking at the tightly shut doors.
“I just want to see her once,” he said. “Just once. Say a few words to her. Then I’ll leave.”
Zhao Zhen hesitated. “Say what?”
Shen Jinghong moved his lips, but in the end only shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I have to tell her.”
He lowered his head. His once-white robes were already dirty. Dark damp patches had formed at his knees moisture seeping up from the cold stone like frost.
Inside the gate, there was complete silence.
Outside, the sun slanted westward, stretching his shadow longer and longer.
The crowd gradually dispersed. Even the most entertaining spectacle grows dull after a full day. Zhao Zhen had already left. Fang Ziheng and Zhou Yanzhi had come and gone. Shen Dingjiang had not appeared. Liu Yunshuang had not appeared either. Perhaps they were too furious with him to bother anymore.
He was alone.
His knees had gone from numb to piercing pain. His lower back ached. His spine was stiff.
He did not move.
The Grand Tutor’s gates remained tightly shut.