Every time she did something wrong, she was always like this—fearful, apologetic, promising never to repeat it. But when had she ever truly admitted fault? In the end, it was only words meant to soothe him.
Why should Xie Linxu bother probing into the details? Their days had muddled along like this for two years. She deceived him; he pretended not to know. Most of the time, that was how it went. He had always known he was nothing more than the reluctant choice after Ji Jianyun abandoned her. That was the most infuriating part.
From childhood, Xie Linxu had been proud in all things. Never had he faced such a situation. If she could not let go of Ji Jianyun, why deceive him so bitterly?
Yet realizing his own loss of composure, he calmed himself, released her, and finally only looked down at her, expressionless: “You are always so disobedient.”
Hadn’t he told her long ago—no entanglements with Ji Jianyun, no meetings? But she treated his words like wind in her ears.
Ji Jianyun had only just returned, and already she had rushed to meet him in secret. Did she think him so foolish, so easy to deceive? What did she take him for?
If she could abandon Ji Jianyun and drug him into marriage, now that Ji Jianyun had returned triumphant, would she betray again, rekindling her old love?
Hearing him speak thus, Song Xingyue only shook her head, sobbing: “I haven’t disobeyed. I’ve listened to you these two years. Whatever you said, I obeyed. I only want to live well with you, Changzhou…”
But Xie Linxu no longer believed a word. Her tears were nothing but tools of persuasion. Her schemes, her tricks—he had seen them two years ago when she climbed into his bed. Yet he had let himself be deceived for two years. Now, with Ji Jianyun’s return, he saw her clearly again, saw the hollowness of her so‑called sincerity.
He pressed his thumb against her lips, silencing her words, the gesture heavy with reprimand. His eyes lowered, voice flat: “Yue‑niang, best not to play with hearts. Sooner or later, you’ll bring ruin upon yourself.”
Her words were stopped cold. That single sentence crushed all her pleading.
He no longer cared to listen. Releasing her, he began to remove his outer robe. The brocade had already been soaked when he pulled her from the bath.
Seeing her still sitting in the pool, weeping pitifully, he said mercilessly: “How long will you sit there?”
Song Xingyue realized he meant to bathe. She dared not linger, hastily wiped her face, gripped the porcelain rim, and rose. Water streamed down her shoulders, glistening in the candlelight like scattered stars across pale jade.
Yet even with his beautiful wife before him, Xie Linxu only turned his back, unwilling to look at her at all.
Song Xingyue stepped out of the water and reached for the robe on the rack. Still dripping, she hurriedly pulled it over her damp body. Seeing Xie Linxu so cold and distant, she could do nothing—only bite her lip as she dressed and said: “I’ll call someone to change the water for you.”
Xie Linxu’s voice was icy: “No need. I’ll call myself.”
She dared not speak further. Hastily dressed, she left, trailing a path of water behind her.
Even after she was gone, the washroom still carried a faint, sweet fragrance—her scent lingering in the air.
Xie Linxu drew his gaze back from her retreating figure. He did not summon anyone to change the water. Instead, he sat slowly at the edge of the bath. Half undressed, he realized his body had already responded.
Was it when he first entered? Or when she rose from the pool?
Sitting there, he moved his hand, veins standing out starkly.
His first release had been at sixteen. He could not recall the exact circumstances—whether he had dreamed something indecent, or if anything vulgar had happened that day.
People inevitably remember their first time. Life is a straight line, and for most, the first occurrence repeats until it becomes ordinary. Yet even the most ordinary things begin with strangeness. “First time” always carries complex emotions—curiosity, fear, longing, confusion—all tangled together, impossible to forget.
Perhaps out of instinct to avoid such matters, Xie Linxu had always blurred and evaded thoughts of desire. So much so that he could not clearly recall his first release. He only remembered that when he saw the evidence, he felt anger. The books of sages always treated desire as taboo. Filled with righteousness, he could not face such natural phenomena. Yet he had to accept it—he had begun to feel desire.
He was a man, a young man full of vigor. Like fruit ripening, like the moon rising and setting, desire was unavoidable.
From the start, he disliked such things. Yet later, at the polo grounds, seeing her with Ji Jianyun, he dreamed of her. That dream was so vivid he could never forget it. To him, that time felt like the first true release of his life.
Before marriage, he had seen Song Xingyue more than once at the polo grounds. Perhaps from that dream onward, he could no longer ignore her as he once had. He had begun to notice her, unconsciously. But Song Xingyue likely never realized—because then, her eyes held only Ji Jianyun.
The strange sounds in the washroom grew louder until, at last, Xie Linxu let out a muffled groan. After a scattering of faint noises, the room fell into complete silence. He sat at the edge of the bath, head tilted back slightly. The cold, detached gaze he usually carried was now faintly unfocused. He despised Song Xingyue—but in that moment, he despised himself even more. He clearly did not like her, yet when had she begun to make him so unrestrained?
Song Xingyue waited outside for a long time before he finally emerged. But even then, he wore the same sharp, unwilling expression and refused to speak much to her.
She did not understand why he was so angry over this matter. Afraid that speaking further would only earn more scolding, she kept silent. When they lay down together that night, it was in complete quiet.
In the days that followed, Xie Linxu continued to treat her with indifference. Song Xingyue dared not provoke him. That was his nature—give it a few days, she thought, and the matter would pass. Surely he would not cling to it forever.
By the seventh month, the heat had eased, the weather turning cooler. Jingxi’s old ailment of headaches flared again. After paying her respects, Song Xingyue did not leave immediately, but stayed in Rongming Hall to attend to her. If she didn’t stay, Jingxi might seize the chance to make trouble. Yet Jingxi disliked her presence, finding her an eyesore. If she stayed too long, it might worsen her headaches.
Most of the time, Song Xingyue sat in the medicine room, personally boiling and serving the decoctions. Once, while carrying a bowl, she burned her hand—blisters rising instantly on her pale fingers.
Perhaps seeing her diligence, Jingxi refrained from sharp words. She even ordered ointment brought for the burn.
Song Xingyue accepted it, staring at the jar for half the day.
Only when Jingxi spoke did she return to herself. “You can’t even carry medicine without burning yourself. Don’t bother coming these days. Clumsy hands only make my head worse.”
Clutching the ointment, Song Xingyue felt as though the sun had risen in the west—rarely had she received anything resembling kindness from Jingxi. She smiled and replied: “Thank you, Mother.”
Jingxi reclined against the bed. After finishing her medicine, Song Xingyue took the bowl away. Then Jingxi said: “In a few days, it will be Brother Fu’s autumn examination. Go to Bao’en Temple and pray for blessings. Don’t think it’s not your concern. I’m sending you, so don’t be unwilling.”
This year’s autumn examination was delayed because Emperor Jingning suspended court for nearly a month. It was rescheduled for early September, and Xie Linfu would also take part.
With Jingxi suffering headaches and Madam Huang pregnant, the only one who could make the trip was Song Xingyue.
“A daughter‑in‑law should spare her mother. With Mother ill and Sister‑in‑law expecting, it’s my duty to go pray for Second Brother’s success.”
Jingxi had never entrusted Song Xingyue with household matters, but when she did, she trusted her to handle them.
Song Xingyue’s life in the Xie household was no better than living under another’s roof. Her days were hard, and she dared not make mistakes.
Seeing her agree sincerely, Jingxi said no more, waved her hand, and dismissed her.
Song Xingyue rose and withdrew. After leaving, she calculated when to go to Bao’en Temple. The exam was still about ten days away. Any day before then would suffice to climb the mountain, pray, and return with blessings. She stopped thinking further, silently counted the days, and before she knew it, returned to Qinghe Courtyard.
Night fell quickly. Lying in bed, she waited until the hour of the pig before Xie Linxu finally returned from the study. These past days, he had sulked, staying in the study until late. She had gone to find him twice, but was turned away. After that, she stopped trying. He had been cold to her for several days.
Song Xingyue truly did not understand why her brief disappearance had angered him so deeply, nor why he accused her of playing with hearts.
Could he have seen her with Ji Jianyun? But surely not—the place had been hidden. If he had seen, he would not have let it go so easily. He would have demanded an explanation, not tolerated it until now.
He was strange. What was he thinking? In his heart, what kind of woman had she become? Still, she was used to his moods, used to his cutting words. But silence could not last forever. Now that she had a topic, she thought to use it to break the ice.
After returning from the study, Xie Linxu undressed and prepared for bed.
Song Xingyue sat up, watching his back: “Changzhou, isn’t Second Brother’s exam soon? Mother asked me to go to Bao’en Temple these days to pray for him. When I go, I’ll also pray for you, and ask Guanyin to bless us with a child.”
His only reply was silence. Under the lamplight, his broad back seemed to radiate a coldness beyond words, enough to extinguish even the desire to speak.
Song Xingyue pressed her lips together, stepped barefoot to the floor, and walked behind him. She wrapped her arms tightly around his body.
Xie Linxu had heard her speaking from the start, but had no intention of replying. He stayed silent, assuming she would give up and fall quiet. Yet the next moment, she embraced him from behind. He frowned, reaching to pry her hands away. Sensing his intent, she clung even tighter, pressing her face against his back.
“Changzhou, don’t be angry anymore.”
“I truly know I was wrong. Please, don’t be angry.”
Xie Linxu counted.
Six days. That was her limit. She claimed to know her fault, and at last he spoke his first words to her in days: “Where were you wrong?”
In truth, Song Xingyue did not know. But she knew that, for him, admitting fault was what mattered.
To her, Xie Linxu was simply too inexplicable. She truly did not know what she had done wrong. So she confessed earnestly: “I shouldn’t have run off. I shouldn’t have made you search for me. I shouldn’t have angered you.”
That was all she could think of.
Xie Linxu pried her hands away forcefully: “Rare indeed, that you’d think up such words to placate me.”
He finished removing his robe and climbed onto the bed. Song Xingyue tried to follow, but his cold glance fell on her bare feet.
She understood instantly.
He thought her feet, having touched the floor, were dirty.
She sat at the bedside, called Danping to bring water, and washed them clean.
Afterward, she returned to bed, half kneeling, half sitting at his side. Leaning close to his ear, she pleaded: “Be clear with me, Changzhou. Tell me plainly. I truly cannot guess.”
One who truly knows their fault need only say it once. But she had repeated it again and again, never learning, never changing—and still concealing her secret meeting with Ji Jianyun.
Xie Linxu could not even be bothered to play the teacher.
She rubbed her head against his neck, her soft fragrance close by. He only closed his eyes and said coldly: “I don’t want to lecture you anymore. Every time I speak, you treat it like wind in your ears. I’m tired. Stop making noise.”
Stop making noise. She only wanted to ask him clearly, but in his eyes, it was noise. He said she always treated his words as nothing. How unfair.
He was an old stickler, bound by rules. True, Song Xingyue was not naturally rule‑bound. With Ji Jianyun, she had been used to freedom and indulgence. But since marrying into the Duke’s household, she had tried to follow his rules in everything. Even if she sometimes acted spoiled, she never did anything he truly disliked. And yet he said she ignored him. How could he? He didn’t see her at all.
Song Xingyue felt stifled, losing the will to speak further. She muttered a dry “oh,” turned away, and buried herself under the quilt in silence.
So annoying, so annoying, so annoying. Xie Linxu was so annoying. She cursed him in her heart, but dared not show temper on her face. Secretly, she fought back—pulling the quilt away and rolling to the inner side of the bed, wrapped tightly.
Even without words, Xie Linxu sensed her defiance.
Was she sulking at him? She didn’t even know what she had done wrong—what right had she to sulk?
He reached out to tug the quilt back. Song Xingyue clung to it stubbornly, refusing to let go, deliberately opposing him.