A careless stroke had ruined the page.
Xie Linxu lifted his eyes and saw Song Xingyue still sitting there. He said: “You should go back and rest. I’ll be here a while longer.”
She shook her head: “I’ll wait for you.” She had to wait. If she didn’t, he might sleep in the study again.
Xie Linxu said: “I’ll be very late.”
“No matter. I’ll wait.”
He did not bother to argue further. If she wanted to wait, let her wait. One night would teach her how tiring it was, and she would stop coming.
Song Xingyue, bored, rose to tidy the shelves. But they were already spotless—her touch would only disturb them. She went to the window, thinking to water the lotus stalks, but saw it was unnecessary. Then she came to his desk, ground the ink for him, and found nothing else to occupy her time.
She looked at the shelves and asked: “Changzhou, may I read your books?”
Xie Linxu replied: “As you wish.”
Finding something to pass the time, she happily went to choose. Before the great huanghuali shelves, she picked up a copy of The Record of Transmission and Practice. Usually, in idle moments, she read storybooks. But here, there were none. This text only made her drowsy. She did not know how long she read or how long she waited before she finally succumbed to sleep, collapsing onto the desk.
The long night was quiet, filled only with rain and insects. Inside, silence reigned—even the sound of turning pages ceased.
Xie Linxu looked up and saw her asleep at the desk. Her posture was awkward; soon her neck would ache. He rose and came to her side. She seemed utterly exhausted, her breathing heavy, her brow faintly furrowed.
Her eyes were closed, lashes casting shadows beneath them. Stray strands of hair lay unmoving against her cheek, lending her a rare tranquility. Awake, she never sat still—always moving here and there. But asleep, she was quiet.
Xie Linxu bent down, lifted her in his arms, and carried her to the bed behind the screen. His movements were gentle, yet as he laid her down, she half‑woke.
“Ah Lang…” Half‑dreaming, she clutched at his collar, refusing to let go. Her voice, usually clear and soft, was now thick with drowsiness.
Xie Linxu answered: “I am here.”
Hearing his voice, Song Xingyue seemed to settle. She released his collar, murmured a soft “Mm,” and turned her head back into sleep.
Xie Linxu bent down, slipped off her embroidered shoes, laid her properly on the bed, and adjusted her head. Finally, he stretched out his arm and pulled a quilt across her stomach.
Song Xingyue had a peculiar habit when sleeping—she never let her belly go uncovered. Even if she grew hot and sweaty, kicking off the covers, she would still guard that small patch of her stomach like a treasure, never allowing it to be chilled.
Xie Linxu found it amusing. More than once, when she was fast asleep, he had teased her by pulling the quilt away. Yet before long, somehow she always tugged it back again. He stopped thinking further. He had meant to return to his work, but now he also felt drowsy. So be it—he blew out the lamp and lay down beside her.
Morning light fell across the jade screen. When Song Xingyue awoke, Xie Linxu was no longer at her side. But looking at the furnishings, she realized they had slept in the study the night before. Recalling the events, she remembered reading until drowsiness overcame her and her head drooped into sleep.
It must have been Xie Linxu who carried her to the bed. She did not dwell on it but rose. Because he had agreed to her request the night before, she spent the following days in high spirits. By day, she busied herself with embroidery. At night, she still went to the study to wait for him. Each time she waited, she ended up sleeping there.
Xie Linxu, perhaps annoyed, found her persistence troublesome. At last, unable to bear it, he said: “You never manage to stay awake. Better to go back and sleep comfortably.”
Song Xingyue only shook her head, smiling: “No, with you here, I am comfortable.”
He warned her: “If you keep this up, when Mid‑Autumn comes, I’ll be too busy, with no time to stroll with you.”
She was always like this—careless, insistent. A fine room left unused, waiting only to fall asleep beside him, clinging to him nonetheless.
His words pressed her lips tight. At last she whispered timidly: “I can’t sleep alone. Changzhou, stay with me—or let me stay with you.”
Xie Linxu glanced at her: “Speak properly. Why always in that soft, sticky tone?”
Her head throbbed—now even her manner of speaking was under scrutiny?
If he wanted firmness, she would be firm. Straightening her neck, she said seriously: “I’ll wait for you. This time I won’t fall asleep first.”
Near midnight, they finally returned to their room, not staying in the study.
Once in bed, Song Xingyue was already exhausted, but still clung to his chest, saying: “Ah Lang, don’t overwork yourself. If you wear yourself out, what then?”
In the stillness of night, Xie Linxu, for once, did not wear a cold face, nor speak to her in a stern voice. He said: “After the autumn examinations, the Ministry of Personnel will soon have another major review at year’s end.”
These days, with Ji Jianyun’s return to the capital and Emperor Jingning resuming morning court, discussions had begun again about repairing the Daoist temple. With memorials piling up, Chief Secretary Ming refused to release him back to the Hanlin Academy. Yet his official post was Reader in the Hanlin, which he could not neglect. Thus, he was made to serve two roles at once—one man used as two. Even the strongest could not divide themselves so endlessly. And with the year’s end approaching, the triennial grand review loomed. No official duty could be allowed to slacken. At first, he had slept outside only to spite Song Xingyue. Later, it was simply because he was truly busy.
Song Xingyue understood his meaning. She could tell he wanted to earn a good evaluation in the upcoming review so he could leave the Hanlin Academy sooner. But it was exhausting.
“You’re already very capable,” she said. “Don’t work so hard. You’ll tire yourself out.”
As if afraid he would not believe her, she repeated: “Truly, Ah Lang, you are very capable—very capable already…”
Xie Linxu disliked hearing people speak in a falsetto, disliked unclear words, disliked being coaxed or coddled. He was cold and unyielding, like jade no one could carve, rejecting all that displeased him. Someone like Song Xingyue—he could never like her. They were too different. Nothing in either of them could make the other like them.
He did not like her. She did not like him. Yet her murmured words reached his ears, making even the nerves of his ear and heart itch.
After a long while, he spoke again. A faint laugh forced from his throat, he asked: “If I were not capable, if I were not heir, would you have come to my bed in the first place?”
Would she have drugged another man instead? Anyone she could cling to, she would entice? Now that Ji Jianyun had returned, was her heart restless again?
For two years, Xie Linxu had asked himself this question, always wanting to ask her directly. But what use? She would only deflect, joke, never speak the truth, and brush it all aside. At last, in the stillness of night, he asked. But Song Xingyue, overcome with sleep, had already drifted off. The question remained unanswered.
The fifteenth night of Mid‑Autumn arrived slowly.
The moon was especially round, bright and clear, veiled in thin clouds like gauze cradling a jade plate. Roof beasts, stone steps, winding corridors—all were draped in silver light. The Duke’s mansion shone like a celestial palace.
Maidservants walked beneath the corridors, carrying trays of fruits and dishes. On glazed plates lay mooncakes filled with crab‑roe paste, stamped with the Xie family crest, delicate and fine.
That night, Rongming Hall hosted a family banquet. The first and second branches of the Xie family gathered with the Old Madam to celebrate Mid‑Autumn.
The feast had been arranged by Jingxi. By rights, Song Xingyue, married into the Xie family for two years, should have begun learning household affairs. Yet Jingxi had never taught her, not even entrusting her with a family banquet. It was clear—even now, she still did not acknowledge Song Xingyue as a daughter‑in‑law.
The whole family had rarely gathered together. Xie Xiu drank heavily with the second master of the Xie household, while their wives whispered to each other, no one knowing what was said.
The younger generation, close in age, clustered together with fruit drinks, chatting about where they would go to play later. The second branch’s two concubines and several illegitimate sons and daughters were also present. Madam Huang laughed with her sisters‑in‑law from the second branch. The Old Madam sat at the head, eyes glimmering with faint amusement.
Cool, pale moonlight crept in through the windows. Even the autumn insects seemed hushed. Silver light scattered across the hall, filling the night with family warmth.
Song Xingyue sat quietly beside Xie Linxu, eating in silence. He disliked talking while dining, so she followed his lead. Her mind, however, was elsewhere—thinking only of going out with him later.
Xie Linxu was always busy. Even when he was not, he never thought to accompany her. Now, with this rare chance, how could she not be happy?
The thought of strolling the streets together lifted her mood, even her appetite. After the meal, she slowly nibbled a mooncake.
At that moment, the Old Madam, silent until now, spoke. She looked at Jingxi and asked: “Was this banquet arranged by Xuige’s wife?”
Jingxi paused, puzzled by the question, but answered truthfully: “I oversaw it.”
The Old Madam pressed: “Xuige’s wife has been married in for over two years. Why not let her assist you? Or do you cherish her too much, treating her like a treasure not to be touched?”
Half jest, half doubt—the words made the room fall quiet.
Everyone knew Song Xingyue’s position in the Xie household, and why Jingxi never employed her. Even Song Xingyue herself knew. How could the Old Madam not? Her question, spoken aloud, carried the flavor of deliberate provocation.
Jingxi’s composure faltered. She forced herself not to retort.
The others could not discern the old lady’s intent. But she soon smiled and said: “I am tired. You continue eating. I will rest.”
Jingxi rose: “I will escort Mother back.” She was curious—last time, Song Xingyue had merely delivered a message to the Old Madam, yet somehow won her favor. Surely it was sweet words, the art of beguilement.
Thinking this, Jingxi shot her another sharp look, then followed behind the Old Madam to leave the table.
Xie Xiu, after all his years as an official, knew his wife well enough to guess what she was up to trailing after the old lady. He called out: “Suiqi, don’t you dare anger Mother!”
Jingxi retorted: “As if I need your reminder!”
The incident left the atmosphere awkward. The remaining guests fell silent.
Song Xingyue knew she was the cause of everyone’s displeasure. Sitting there, she felt increasingly uneasy.
Just then, Xie Linxu spoke: “Yue‑niang and I will go out now. Father, uncles, aunts—please continue.”