In front of Fengxiang Tower, the lantern riddle contest had begun again.
A tall wooden frame stood on the stage, hung with glass lanterns. Their translucent shades were inlaid with delicate, fine colored fragments. The thin surfaces, painted with Chang’e, the Jade Rabbit, and cassia trees, flickered with candlelight, shadows dancing across the platform. Beneath each lantern hung a golden slip of paper, bearing the riddles for the night.
Crowds had already gathered. Song Xingyue and her companions arrived just in time and stayed to watch. Having glimpsed Ji Jianyun earlier, she was still distracted. But fearing Xie Linxu might notice, she hid her emotions and pretended nothing had happened.
Xie Linxu’s face remained cold as ever. She could not tell whether he had seen Ji Jianyun. The three Xie girls clustered around him, asking how to solve the riddles.
The crowd pressed closer, pushing Song Xingyue aside. Two or three people now stood between her and Xie Linxu. He stood there in white robes, tall and graceful, his figure luminous under the misty moonlight—an image of elegance. Though only a few steps apart, she felt impossibly far away, as if she could never reach him. Just like when they lay side by side in bed, bodies entwined—so close, yet so distant.
When Xie Linxu turned, he saw her far away, frowning faintly. Unable to push through, she shook her head at him: “It’s fine. You guess the riddles. I’ll just watch.”
He wanted to say more, but Xie Jinfei and the others chattered again, cutting him off.
Separated by the crowd, they could say no more.
The press of people grew heavier. Xie Linxu, aloof and cold, kept others at bay with a single glance. But Song Xingyue was jostled and stifled, clutching her rabbit lantern tightly so it wouldn’t be crushed. She retreated to the edge, no longer joining the riddle fun. Suddenly, a hand reached out, covering her mouth, dragging her into a nearby alley.
The crowd surged, no one noticing a woman pulled into the shadows.
Moonlight bathed the city, but melted at the alley’s mouth. The lane was dark as ever. Only the faint glow of her rabbit lantern lit a small patch of night.
Her cry was muffled, her mouth sealed. The man’s strength was overwhelming. Her back pressed hard against his chest, her struggles reduced to faint whimpers of panic. Half dragging, half holding, he pulled her deeper into the alley, where a bundle of straw concealed them. Pinned against him, she felt as though she might dissolve into his chest.
Ji Jianyun’s voice was low and hoarse. At her ear, he gave a soft laugh: “Ah‑Yue, long time no see.”
“Ji Jianyun… let go.” Through his fingers, she forced out the words, blurred and broken.
He chuckled again, voice deep against her ear: “If you don’t want him to notice, don’t cry out.”
After saying this, he finally released her.
Song Xingyue dared not cry out. She gasped for breath, shoved him hard, then quietly put distance between them. She whispered angrily: “Are you mad?”
What was this situation? Xie Linxu was just outside, separated only by the alley wall. If she were discovered, her reputation would be ruined tonight. Xie Jinfei and the others would chatter about it at home, and Jingxi would surely press Xie Linxu to divorce her.
But Ji Jianyun ignored her anger. In the darkness, his gaze burned so hot it seemed to scorch her face.
He said: “You’re too ruthless, Ah‑Yue. I was gone only two years, and you rushed to marry yourself off.”
She had promised him—promised to wait in the capital, promised to wait for his return. Yet what had he found in the frontier? News that she had become another man’s wife. How could she be so heartless?
Ji Jianyun had asked himself this for two years, never finding an answer. Day after day at the border, he thought of her. And in the end, what did he receive?
Compared to his fury, Song Xingyue’s tone was calm. Catching her breath, she said flatly: “I was sixteen then. What did you expect me to wait with?”
Ji Jianyun clenched his teeth: “We knew each other for three years. Two years, and you couldn’t wait?”
Three years of acquaintance—and yet she could not endure two? To him, it was nothing but opportunism. When the Ji family fell, she turned to another. Clever indeed—she had managed to cross the Xie family’s threshold, when many would have been turned away.
“Two years?” Song Xingyue retorted, her voice low, a cold laugh escaping. “You only said you were leaving. You never said it would be two years.”
He had gone to the frontier without hesitation, leaving her in the capital, without even a promise of time. How was she to wait?
Ji Jianyun argued at once: “The war was urgent. How could I know when I’d return? And I was gone only half a year before you married. Not even half a year—you couldn’t wait. What talk of two years?”
Song Xingyue no longer wished to quarrel. He had returned—but what did it matter? She was married. Could she entangle herself with him again?
She sighed, staring at him in the dark: “In those days, we both had our difficulties. I don’t blame you. You cannot blame me.”
The sky was shadowed, stars faintly glimmering. The hazy moonlight fell on her, making her seem like a celestial consort, pure and untouchable. Yet her words were ghostly, piercing like knives.
Ji Jianyun gripped her chin, forcing her face close, as if to see her coldness more clearly. He laughed softly: “Ah‑Yue, I don’t blame you? Why do you always make things sound so easy?”
Perhaps he truly hated her. His hand showed no mercy. Once, he had wanted nothing more than to hold her in his palm and cherish her. Now, he could treat her with such mercilessness.
Song Xingyue’s jaw ached under his grip. She could not tell if it was pain, humiliation, or grief—but tears spilled from her eyes. “You’re so cruel,” she whispered.
What should be let go must be let go. Why cling so bitterly?
Her tears rolled down her cheeks and fell onto his hand. As if scalded by them, Ji Jianyun suddenly let her go. At last, he only gave her a cold glance before leaving the alley.
Their reunion had been so bitter. Perhaps Ji Jianyun himself knew there was nothing more to say. Seeing her tears, he couldn’t face her, so he turned away.
Watching his retreating back, Song Xingyue wept harder. Afraid others outside might hear, she covered her mouth, sobbing softly. She feared Xie Linxu and the others would notice her absence and suspect something. So she forced herself to stop crying, wiped her tears roughly, and stepped out of the alley.
But outside, Xie Linxu and the others were no longer at Fengxiang Tower. She did not know where they had gone. Dragged away in panic by Ji Jianyun, she could not tell whether Xie Linxu had noticed she was missing or had come looking.
The street was crowded, thronged with people. Yet she could not find Xie Linxu anywhere. The more she searched, the more desperate she became. It was like her recurring nightmares—falling into a pit and being unable to climb out.
Danping was not at her side. She was alone, searching through the sea of faces. Where was Xie Linxu? Where was he?
Chang’an Street was too crowded—she could not find them. Unable to spot anyone nearby, she climbed the arch bridge, intending to search the other end of the street. Just then, fireworks burst overhead.
The first explosion shook the entire street. Children screamed in delight, pointing skyward. Song Xingyue instinctively looked up, seeing the sky ablaze—like trees of fire and showers of silver blossoms that brightened the night.
“Song Xingyue.” His voice cut through the noise of fireworks, clear and unmistakable.
She turned—and there stood Xie Linxu beneath the bridge, clad in white. His brows were tightly furrowed, his face dark with displeasure. Moments earlier, he had been hemmed in at the restaurant, surrounded by his three sisters, unable to leave. He had no interest in riddles, brushed them off, and tried to go—but when he turned, Song Xingyue was gone. He did not know if she had wandered off or been lost in the crowd. He searched everywhere, but she was nowhere to be found.
For a man usually so composed, a strange urgency stirred in his chest. He scoured Chang’an Street, yet still could not see her. And now, at last, he saw her—standing on the bridge beneath the fireworks.
“Song Xingyue.” He called her name again, his tone and expression heavy with anger, clearly vexed that she had run off.
Hearing his voice, she froze, then turned toward him. Against the backdrop of blazing fireworks, she ran to him. Her robes fluttered, her hair lifted in the wind. In that moment, everything intangible seemed real.
She looked anxious, frightened—lost, alone, overwhelmed. Her eyes were red, brimming with tears, as if she had already cried.
“Changzhou.” She threw herself into his arms. His embrace was solid, real. She sobbed softly, broken words spilling out: “I was pushed away in the crowd—I couldn’t find you, no matter how I searched…”
She said nothing of Ji Jianyun, nothing of being dragged into the alley. She only claimed she had been separated in the crowd and couldn’t find him.
Seeing her so aggrieved, Xie Linxu swallowed his rebuke. His lips parted, ready to speak. But then—he caught the scent of another on her body. The smell of wine on her was strong—so very strong. So, had she just cried in another man’s arms?
Xie Linxu pried her hands away from his waist. His eyes lowered, and he gazed at her for a long time without speaking. Behind those eyes, it was as if another person lurked. He wished he could see through her body, to know if someone else was hidden within. The tears she shed in his embrace were nothing but pretense. The tears shed in Ji Jianyun’s arms—that was the real her.
Song Xingyue faltered under his gaze, her heart guilty, her mouth dry, and she even forgot to cry.
She whispered: “Changzhou…”
But his eyes held no emotion. Coldly, he asked: “Where did you run off to just now? Lost in the crowd? If you couldn’t find us, why didn’t you stay put and wait?”
He had not been like this a moment ago. His sudden barrage of questions left her unable to respond.
Finally, he looked down at her again: “If you were lost, you could have gone home yourself, couldn’t you?”
He said: “So, what exactly are you afraid of?”
Xie Linxu didn’t hear her answer—and he didn’t need it.
His indifference dried her tears. She said softly: “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have wandered off.”
He disliked trouble, and he disliked her. Even if she truly had been lost, what difference would it make?
After this incident, neither had the mood to continue the outing. They returned to the Xie estate.
On the way back, the three young ladies remained lively, unaffected. But between Xie Linxu and Song Xingyue, silence reigned—no words at all.
In the carriage, Song Xingyue looked down at the rabbit lantern in her hands. The lantern she had insisted on buying was now crumpled, misshapen from the crowd and her struggle with Ji Jianyun. Back at Qinghe Courtyard, she threw it away.
Danping, seeing this, exclaimed: “What a pity! It’s wrinkled, yes, but still usable. Miss, you were just pestering the heir for it. Such a fine lantern—what a waste.”
She had clamored for the lantern, yet discarded it so easily. Song Xingyue only said: “In this state, what’s good about it? A ruined thing—throwing it away is no loss.”
Danping thought it reasonable and said no more.
Song Xingyue went to cleanse herself in the washroom. The night’s events weighed heavily on her heart. She could not understand why Xie Linxu’s heart was so cold—that even seeing her cry so bitterly, he only knew how to scold.
So cold‑hearted, truly. Even knowing his nature, she still felt resentment—he treated her far too harshly.
Thinking of Xie Linxu, then of Ji Jianyun, she felt utterly exhausted. Slowly she sank into the bath, letting the water cover her head. It did not suffocate her; strangely, it felt almost relieving.
Outside, Xie Linxu waited for her to finish—he needed to bathe too. But tonight she lingered unusually long. Even counting the time to wash her hair, it should not have taken so long. Frowning, he wondered what she was doing inside, and went into the washroom.
Song Xingyue disliked attendants when bathing. Danping had only come in twice to change the water, then waited outside.
Inside, steam hung heavy. The lamplight glowed dimly through the mist.
Xie Linxu approached the bath—and saw her submerged completely beneath the water. His heart jolted, his brows knotted tight. What had he said to her earlier? Was she truly seeking death? Without another thought, without even rolling up his sleeves, he plunged his hands into the pool and hauled her out.
Caught off guard, she was yanked upward, water streaming down her hair and cheeks. The force made her choke, coughing before she could react—then his furious voice rang out: “What are you doing?”
Though he often wore a cold face and spoke sternly, he had never shouted in anger like this. Born to a noble family, he was always composed and dignified. To lose control like this was rare.
Song Xingyue shrank under his grip, staring at him in fear. Water dripped from her hair, sliding down her face. She was drenched, and in the autumn chill, his icy palm on her shoulder made her shiver.
She stammered: “Changzhou, I wasn’t doing anything—I was just bathing.”
“To bathe by sinking yourself completely? Were you trying to die?” His voice was still cold, his face dark as storm clouds.
Frightened by his severity, she reached for his belt, pleading softly, her voice tinged with tears: “Changzhou, I know I angered you today by running off. I won’t do it again. Please don’t be so fierce with me.”
Whether water or tears, her eyes were red and wet. She trembled, looking every bit the wronged little wife.