Life in the Duke’s household was truly hard for Song Xingyue. Yet even so, as the heir’s wife, her title alone was enough to intimidate Song Cheng.
Sure enough, his hand never fell. Seeing he could not reason with her, he left with Madam Xu, cursing as he went: “Ungrateful wretch! All my years of raising you wasted—better to have raised a dog; at least it would be loyal and not shout at me. You only cling to the title of heir’s wife. I see the Xie family doesn’t care for you either. When they cast you out, don’t come crawling back to the Songs to disgrace us further!” His voice faded into the distance, swallowed by the wind.
“Sister…” Song Xingmiao spoke softly.
Song Xingyue turned back and forced a smile. She embraced her sister, pressing her cheek against hers: “Ah Miao, if you’re ever wronged, you must tell me. And about your marriage—don’t let them decide for you. If they try to force you, you must tell me. I’m not an outsider. You’re my only family left. Do you understand?”
Their father was no better than an enemy.
When Ji Jianyun’s father, the governor, died in battle at the northern frontier, Song Cheng saw the Ji family losing power. With Ji Jianyun leaving the capital, he assumed his daughter had been abandoned. Seeing no future in the Ji family, he tried to sell her off, hastily arranging a match with a disgraceful man.
That man had some influence, but his character was vile—he lived in debauchery and committed misdeeds. Though unmarried, he already kept more concubines than one could count. Had she married him, her fate would have been sealed. With her grandmother gone and Ji Jianyun departed, she had no one left to protect her. By chance, at a banquet, she encountered Xie Linxu after being drugged, and through that opportunity entered the Xie household. She had no choice—truly no choice. At the time, she was cornered and desperate. Now, married, she feared Song Cheng and Madam Xu would turn their schemes upon Song Xingmiao.
Hearing her sister’s words, sensing the sorrow in her tone, Song Xingmiao stopped resisting. Leaning against her, she murmured, “Mm.”
Song Xingyue stroked her head, then let her go.
Song Xingmiao went to the wardrobe, pulled out a pink dress, and handed it to her. She said: “Sister, an early wish for a joyful birthday.”
She had meant to give it before her sister left, but Song Cheng and Madam Xu had interrupted.
Song Xingyue’s birthday was near—at the end of the month.
Song Xingmiao could not go to the Xie estate, nor could her sister often return to the Song household. So she seized this chance.
Song Xingyue had once loved fine clothes. In her days with Ji Jianyun, he always found ways to buy her beautiful garments to make her smile. But since marrying into the Xie family, she had worn nothing decent. The ugly clothes there were outdated, the fabrics poor.
Song Xingmiao had noticed. She resolved to save money to buy her sister something worthy. She had saved for a long time and finally managed to buy a dress before her birthday. But now, her sister already had new clothes.
Song Xingyue looked down at the dress in her hands, stunned. Then, as she realized, her eyes reddened. She embraced Song Xingmiao tightly: “Ah Miao, thank you…”
Song Xingmiao did not want to say anything sentimental. Instead, she thought of something else and asked, “Sister, Ji Jianyun hasn’t troubled you, has he?”
She knew all about their years of entanglement.
Ji Jianyun’s temper was fierce—he was not the sort to let things go easily.
Song Xingyue did not want her sister to worry. She said: “He was the one who left the capital first. Why should he trouble me? Besides, I’m already married, and he’s at the age to take a wife himself. It was only a youthful affair, long past. Don’t dwell on it.”
She said no more, bade her farewell, and returned to the Xie household.
Song Xingyue planned to go up the mountain soon, but autumn brought frequent rains, and for several days the skies poured. Climbing in the rain was impossible, so she waited until it stopped.
The rain fell off and on for days, then gave way to two more overcast days. Only near the end of the month did the skies finally clear—on her birthday.
A rare sunny day. She feared such days would not last, so she decided not to delay.
Bao’en Temple lay on the mountain, and with the autumn examinations, many would be going there at month’s end. Song Xingyue resolved to rise early and set out. That morning, she and Xie Linxu rose at nearly the same time.
As faint morning light fell across the windowsill, they got up one after the other. By now, they had been sulking at each other for many days. At first, only Xie Linxu refused to speak to her. But after that night, Song Xingyue herself was hurt, and for once she, too, kept silent. For several days, she didn’t speak to him.
They rose together, washed, dressed—yet neither spoke a word.
In the end, Song Xingyue compromised first. At breakfast, when she saw Xie Linxu finishing his meal and about to rise, she spoke quickly: “I’ll be going up the mountain to pray today. If nothing delays me, I’ll be back before evening.”
Xie Linxu gave no real response—didn’t even lift his eyelids. Only a faint “Mm,” as acknowledgment.
Song Xingyue drew a deep breath, not minding his indifference. She forced a smile and said: “I went back to the Song household recently…”
But before she could finish, his brows furrowed.
She explained: “I only went to see Ah Miao. I hadn’t seen her in so long.”
She knew he disliked her contact with the Song family—but Song Xingmiao was different.
She laughed lightly: “I even ran into my father and stepmother. You don’t know—my father nearly tried to hit me.”
Xie Linxu set down his towel, frowning: “He raised his hand against you?”
“How could he dare?!” Song Xingyue brightened at his reaction, hands on her hips: “I told him, ‘Try hitting me, and Changzhou won’t spare you.’ With you here, how could he dare?”
Xie Linxu thought it over. She wasn’t foolish enough to let herself be struck.
Song Xingyue rose and twirled once, showing off: “Look—this dress is Ah Miao’s birthday gift to me. She’s grown up now, and knows how to care for me.”
Song Xingmiao’s taste was indeed good; she knew what suited her sister.
The pale pink skirt swirled as she spun, its hem fluttering like peach blossoms opening in sunlight, her whole figure glowing with a vivid radiance.
Xie Linxu often wondered why sunlight and moonlight seemed to favor her, always wrapping her in strange halos.
As he pondered, Song Xingyue sat back down, lowered her head, and asked cautiously: “Today is my birthday. Could you come home a little earlier?”
She knew he was busy at the Hanlin Academy, serving as a lecturer, often helping in the cabinet. She did not expect him to spend the whole day with her. She only wished he might return a little sooner. Even if she deceived herself, if he came home earlier, she could believe he cared.
She understood her position well, dared not ask for more. If he would just spend her birthday with her, she would forget all the quarrels of recent days, never sulk again.
Hearing no reply, her hands clenched unconsciously. She lifted her eyes and stole a glance—he was looking at her too. She could not tell if that meant agreement or refusal. His indifferent gaze made her cheeks burn. She suddenly did not know what more to say.
Was it truly so difficult to ask him to come home early? Why did he look at her like that? Or perhaps, her lowering herself today only made him despise her more? But what could she do? On what grounds could she sulk with him? If she wanted to keep living peacefully, she could only endure his cold indifference. Even when angered, she had to find her own way to step down.
It seemed she saw Xie Linxu’s thin lips parting, as though he meant to speak. He wanted to say something—but Song Xingyue dared not listen. She feared he would utter something harsher still, leaving her with no place to put her last shred of dignity.
Abruptly, she rose: “It’s late. I’ll be going now. If I’m delayed, I don’t know when I’ll return. And… remember to come home early.”
Without waiting for his reply, she left with Danping.
Xie Linxu did not understand her haste. He had just been about to answer “All right,” but never had the chance. The slow, deliberate man and the hurried woman—always bound to miss each other. He swallowed his words, lifted his robe, and went out.
In his heart, he still resented her secret meeting with Ji Jianyun at Mid‑Autumn. Yet he thought, birthdays come but once a year—it was not right to be cruel over it. In truth, he disliked birthdays. To him, they held no special meaning. Life was thirty thousand days, each the same. A birthday was just another day, nothing to celebrate. But he remembered his last birthday. Song Xingyue had spent half a year carving an ivory puzzle ball for him. He had seen her day after day, grinding at the ivory until her hands bled. He thought her nature would never endure more than half a month; he thought she would give up. Yet half a year later, on his birthday, she placed the finished gift in his hands.
He had received countless gifts of great value since childhood. But that day, seeing her beam as she held out the puzzle ball, he realized for the first time that “birthday” could carry such weight.
He stopped thinking and asked his attendant Shouyuan: “The bracelet I told you to find—have you found it?”
Shouyuan hurried forward, smiling: “Luckily, yes. I’ve arranged with the seller. Today we’ll pay and pick it up. Don’t worry, Heir, I’ll have it back before evening.”
Xie Linxu glanced at him: “Who said I was worried?”
Shouyuan, chilled by his look, dared not jest further. He straightened and said: “Mm, you aren’t worried. I’m the one who is.”