The height of summer in July, the blazing sun still fierce as evening approached, and the orange-red sunset spilled across the eaves of Rongming Hall’s windows.
By the lattice window sat a woman of striking beauty, bent over her desk, brush in hand, copying text. Her hair was arranged in a matron’s bun, her skin pale, her brows and eyes finely drawn. Yet after a full day of transcribing, her dark, luminous eyes showed weariness, and the fingers holding the brush had grown stiff and white.
This was Song Xingyue, seated by the window under punishment. In the grand master’s chair sat her mother-in-law, the Duchess, while opposite her lounged her sister-in-law, Madam Huang, the second young madam of the Duke estate.
Song Xingyue kept her head down, silently copying, while the other two conversed freely.
The Duchess, born a princess and titled Jingxi, was the emperor’s beloved younger sister. Raised in splendor, married into the Duke household after coming of age, she had never known hardship. Now in her forties, her noble face showed no trace of age. She wore a robe of rich brocade, wide sleeves embroidered with golden butterflies, the silk gleaming as her wrist moved. Jingxi lifted her teacup, skimmed the foam, and sipped lightly before turning to Madam Huang: “You are with child now. There’s no need to be running about in this heat. Better to stay quietly in your rooms and rest. If anything were to happen, who knows when I’d have another grandchild to hold?”
Though the words were addressed to Madam Huang, her narrowed eyes flicked toward Song Xingyue like knives.
Jingxi had borne two sons and a daughter. Her eldest son was none other than Xie Linxu, heir to the Duke estate and Song Xingyue’s husband.
She had never liked Song Xingyue—disdaining her low birth, believing she had nothing to offer beyond her face, resenting that such a woman had married her precious son. Two years had passed since Song Xingyue entered the household, yet her womb remained silent. Meanwhile, her sister-in-law, married less than a year, was already pregnant.
How could Jingxi resist seizing the chance to belittle her?
Song Xingyue let the words pass in one ear and out the other, feigning deafness. Yet her hand pressed harder on the brush, ink bleeding across the page.
Madam Huang, savoring her mother-in-law’s favor, cast a gloating glance at Xingyue before replying sweetly: “A daughter-in-law should never shirk her duties. To come pay respects to Mother is only proper. Even if I were late by a quarter hour, I would feel uneasy.”
Her words carried a barbed edge, and Song Xingyue, of course, heard it.
The matter traced back to the night before.
She and Xie Linxu had quarreled fiercely in bed, not resting until the hour of the ox. Yet the next morning, he rose early alone to greet his mother, leaving her behind without a word, not even instructing the servants to wake her. By the time she arrived at Rongming Hall, she was a full hour late. Xie Linxu had already gone to his duties at the yamen.
Jingxi, seeing her tardiness, scolded her harshly and punished her by making her copy texts all day, until her hands were numb and aching.
Madam Huang, hearing of the spectacle, came deliberately late to mock her, seizing the chance to sneer.
Song Xingyue had no strength to defend herself. Late was late—how could she shift the blame onto Xie Linxu for not waking her? It was clear that once her mother-in-law heard, punishment wouldn’t be as simple as copying texts.
Fallen into such a plight, Song Xingyue could only secretly lay the blame on Xie Linxu. He hadn’t bothered to wake her himself—fine. But he hadn’t even allowed the servants to call her. Was it deliberate, meant to harm her? Had she done anything recently to anger him? No… nothing at all.
Just as she was brooding over these grievances, a servant’s voice announced from outside. Moments later, the red silk curtain at the central doorway was lifted. Song Xingyue raised her eyes—and truly, speak of the devil, and he appears. No sooner had she been cursing him in her heart than here he came.
The curtain lifted, and Xie Linxu entered from outside, his bearing commanding. The closer he drew, the clearer his face became. He had likely come straight from court, still dressed in a long robe of deep blue, a black gauze cap upon his head, a plain silver belt at his waist. The attire only emphasized his tall, upright frame. His narrow phoenix eyes tilted slightly upward, his jaw sharp, features cut with precision. Even his thin lips, taken together, spoke of coldness. Upon entering, he cast only a cool glance at Song Xingyue before turning away, bowing to greet Jingxi.
Ordinarily, he came to Rongming Hall only in the mornings to pay respects—once a day at most. Today was unusual: after finishing at the yamen, he had come again.
Jingxi, of course, understood his intentions and knew well why he had come. Her fine brows drew together as she looked at him with displeasure. “So you do have some heart—coming to seek me at this hour.”
“Mother, you are too severe,” Xie Linxu replied. “I went to the palace today to visit His Majesty and received some rewards. I thought first to bring them to you.”
The emperor had been ill of late, even suspending morning court for several days. As he spoke, his personal attendant stepped forward, handing a rosewood food box to Jingxi’s old nurse, who placed it upon the table.
Jingxi’s expression did not soften much, but she did not make things difficult for him either. She gave a short hum, then turned her gaze toward Song Xingyue: “This daughter-in-law grows more and more unruly. You should take her back and discipline her properly. A mother cannot be forever burdened with such worries.”
She spoke without the slightest hesitation, even with Song Xingyue sitting right there.
Xie Linxu said nothing, only inclined his head slightly, then glanced once more at Song Xingyue.
Song Xingyue immediately set down her brush and rose to his side. Together, the two offered their farewells to Jingxi before leaving the hall, one after the other.
Once they had gone, Madam Huang found the spectacle over and her interest waning; she too departed.
When the crowd dispersed, Jingxi’s gaze lingered on the food box before her. “Without this box, do you think he would have come today?”
The old nurse beside her replied softly, “The young lord is truly filial. Princess, why trouble yourself with doubts?”
Jingxi chose not to press further, and silence settled over the room.
It was midsummer, the days long and the nights short. Even now, the sky had not yet darkened. The molten sunset cast its crimson glow upon the two figures as they walked away.
Inside the hall, the ice brazier kept the heat at bay, but once outside, the sweltering air pressed against them. Xie Linxu strode ahead with his tall, commanding frame, his steps long and swift. Song Xingyue, weary from a day of copying texts indoors, could hardly keep pace. Watching his broad back, she could not help but call out, her voice soft and lingering: “Changzhou, wait for me.”
Changzhou was Xie Linxu’s courtesy name. Her tone was the same tender, coaxing cadence she always used when speaking to him with a touch of playful affection.
Xie Linxu was a man of cold temperament, his face habitually stern. Song Xingyue, however, seemed blind to it, clinging to him as if nothing were amiss. No matter how frosty his expression, she always met it with a gentle smile.
Yet even when she called to him now, Xie Linxu paid her no heed, striding on without slowing. Song Xingyue pressed her lips together, lifted her skirts, and hurried after him, her voice softer, more coaxing: “Changzhou, slow down, walk a little slower.”
At that, a vein throbbed at Xie Linxu’s temple. He could not help but recall the night before. Last night, she had called him the same way—her voice broken and trembling, pleading: Changzhou, slower… please, slower.
Unable to endure it any longer, he stopped abruptly. Song Xingyue, caught off guard, stumbled into his back.
Turning, he fixed her with a cold gaze. “Broad daylight—what sort of conduct is this?”
Servants and maids were all around. How could she be so shameless?
He was only twenty-two, four years her senior, yet when he set his face in stern lines, he resembled a strict academy tutor.
Her nose smarting from the collision, Song Xingyue rubbed it and looked at him with wounded eyes. “You walk too fast. I only wanted you to slow down.”
His expression did not soften. His gaze seemed to say: You had better mean only the walking.
But Song Xingyue cared little for his sour demeanor. Since the day she married him, his face had never been pleasant. Even when scolded, she showed no fear. Instead, she tugged at his wide robe and murmured, “Go on, I’ll follow you.” With her holding onto him, his stride could no longer be so quick.
He was about to rebuke her again—Such pulling and tugging, what propriety is this?—but she spoke first, her voice plaintive: “Let’s go back inside, shall we? My hand really aches; it hurts so much.”
She had been copying texts all day, and even now her fingers still trembled.
The setting sun softened Song Xingyue’s face; when Xie Linxu lowered his gaze, he could see the flutter of her long lashes, the faint pallor of her complexion, making her appear fragile and obedient. Yet even at this sight, he remained unmoved. Coldly, he pulled his robe from her grasp and finished the words he had left unsaid: “Pulling and tugging—what propriety is this?”
Song Xingyue stared at her empty palm, stunned for a moment. But soon, she smiled faintly, as if it mattered little. She was used to it. She no longer minded.
Xie Linxu’s temper was like that of his family—stubborn, unyielding, always the same. He walked on alone, though his steps did slow, if only slightly.
From Rongming Hall to Qinghe Courtyard was but the time of a single incense stick. By the time they returned, lamps had already been lit in the courtyard, and supper was laid out waiting. Song Xingyue sat down, finally able to catch her breath, and asked about the morning.
“Why didn’t you call me when you left today?”
And why had he forbidden the servants from waking her? She suspected he had done it deliberately, perhaps sulking over something.
When Xie Linxu was displeased, he rarely spoke of it, but he could nurse his resentment against her for days. Yet no matter how she thought it over, she could not recall anything she had done lately that might have earned such lasting displeasure.