Xie Linxu was staring at her too. He had returned home from duty today, hearing that she had gone out again and hadn’t come back. He hadn’t expected to see her here in Rongming Hall. Had she been scavenging trash? Otherwise, how had she ended up in such a ragged state? Her leg was limping? She had fallen?
Xie Linxu’s brows furrowed tighter and tighter as he looked at her face, catching that stiff smile. He drew in a deep breath, holding back his temper, his hand gripping the robe on his knee more forcefully.
Jingxi was about to say something to Xie Linxu when she saw Song Xingyue enter, carrying a bowl of medicine. Her attention shifted to Song Xingyue. Seeing her so disheveled, she was stunned for a long moment before noticing the medicine in her hands. She frowned: “Didn’t I just drink some? Why bring more?”
All these medicines tasted the same—what was the point of pouring so much down?
Song Xingyue caught sight of Xie Linxu’s cold, severe face and felt a wave of gloom. She had come to curry favor with Jingxi, only to be caught in the act by him.
But she quickly steadied herself, kept her smile, and set the medicine down on the table before Jingxi. “Mother, this medicine is different. When Grandmother was alive, she was close with a master skilled in medicine. This prescription is from him—I sought him out today. Please try it for some time.”
“Skilled in medicine? Perhaps just some charlatan trickster.”
“Of course not. If you don’t believe it, just drink it for a while.” Song Xingyue half‑pleaded: “Mother, please drink it. If it doesn’t work, it’s only wasted effort.”
Even though Jingxi’s heart was full of suspicion and her words sharp, Song Xingyue showed no shame or anger. She kept smiling at her, her dark eyes clear and bright, her small face framed by fox‑like eyes that carried a delicate charm.
Looking at her, Jingxi found herself uncharacteristically speechless, unsure what more to say. In that moment, she understood why Xie Linxu had once said he would marry her, and why their days together had stumbled along, two years endured by sheer persistence.
Looking at Song Xingyue like that, it seemed no one could bring themselves to refuse her outright.
Jingxi muttered complaints as she eyed the medicine, but in the end, she lifted the bowl and drank it. Setting it down, she asked, “What happened to you?”
Song Xingyue didn’t elaborate, only gave a casual explanation: “I slipped while gathering herbs on the road. It’s nothing serious; Mother needn’t worry.”
“Is that so?” At last, Xie Linxu, who had sat silent all this time, spoke. “You slipped and ended up filthy head to toe? Clothes torn? Limping as you walk?”
Where exactly had she fallen to end up in such a state? His voice was low, his words sounding more like an interrogation.
Had Jingxi asked, Song Xingyue would have played up her misfortune. But since it was Xie Linxu, why bother? He wouldn’t drink her medicine, nor remember her kindness. Even if she cried herself half to death, he would only watch coldly. The more pitiful she was, the more satisfied he’d be.
So she brushed him off: “What’s the point of so many questions? A fall is just a fall.”
Seeing Jingxi had finished the medicine, she didn’t linger. “Then Mother, please rest early. I’ll come again tomorrow to brew more.”
Jingxi sensed the strange tension between them—perhaps Song Xingyue was still angry over recent events. Yet today she hadn’t said a single biting word and let her leave without hindrance.
Song Xingyue didn’t look at Xie Linxu again. She bid Jingxi farewell and turned to go, leaving him alone in place.
Her behavior startled Jingxi. In the past, wherever Xie Linxu went, she followed. But today she had snapped at him, then left him behind.
Xie Linxu watched her departing back, his brows drawn tight, a chill pressing around him.
Jingxi glanced from Song Xingyue to Xie Linxu, opening her mouth to speak—but before she could, he rose, excused himself, and followed her out.
Once they were gone, only the heavy scent of medicine remained. Jingxi looked at the empty bowl before her, thought of Song Xingyue, wanting to say something—but no words came. Whether by suggestion or something else, her head seemed less painful. Even when Xie Xiu returned to his room, he found her still sitting at the table, looking oddly unsettled.
Seeing her dazed, Xie Xiu found it strange. He leaned in irritably, sniffed, clicked his tongue, and asked: “Such a strong smell of medicine—what have you taken wrong this time?”
She shot him a glare and pushed his face away. “Taken the wrong medicine, indeed! Spare me your meddling, busybody.” With that, she rose and went inside.
Xie Xiu found her inexplicable and couldn’t be bothered to argue further.
Moonlight flowed like water; the bright moon hung high, scattering its silvery glow across the ground.
The two walked away, one after the other. Xie Linxu followed just behind her, saying nothing, simply keeping pace at an unhurried distance. Song Xingyue no longer bothered to feign a limp. She only wanted to hurry back, unwilling to continue this strange silent walk with him. And so, without a word between them, they returned to Qinghe Courtyard.
As soon as she entered her room, Song Xingyue shook him off, went inside, and ordered the servants to heat water for her bath. After she had finished washing, Xie Linxu entered the bathing room. The chamber still held a mist of lingering steam, carrying a faint fragrance. He stepped to the shelf and picked up the clothes she had changed out of, examining them. He saw many small tears, fine and subtle, almost unnoticeable unless one looked closely. There were faint traces of blood, too. He could more or less guess how she had fallen today. Setting the clothes down, he turned to leave.
Meanwhile, Song Xingyue, freshly bathed, wore only a thin inner robe. She rolled up her sleeve and applied medicine to the scrapes on her arm. She dared not let Danping see these wounds—otherwise the girl would cry and fuss, her eyes swollen like walnuts by morning. So she sent her away and tended to herself in secret.
When she first fell, the pain had been sharp. After bathing, her body felt even more sore. Looking closely now, she realized she had scraped herself in many places. The herbal ointment stung as it spread across her skin. She bit her lip, swallowing the pain back down. Her pale skin made the wounds stand out starkly.
Xie Linxu emerged just in time to see her applying medicine. She finished with her arm, then half‑slipped off her robe, revealing her white back. Turning toward the bronze mirror, she strained to see the injury there. The wound on her back was more serious—likely from scraping against a sharp stone, leaving a raw patch.
Through the mirror’s reflection, Song Xingyue saw it clearly. Only then did the pain truly register, beads of sweat breaking across her brow. How could it not hurt? She had taken a real fall, rolling several times down the rocks. How could it possibly not hurt? The pain was her own doing. She knew it was self‑inflicted, so she had no face to cry—only clenched her teeth and applied the medicine herself.
Though it was late autumn, she looked strangely flustered, the air thick, even drawing Xie Linxu into its tension. Seeing her wounds, he felt an inexplicable agitation. He stepped behind her and took the ointment from her hand.
Song Xingyue startled at the sight of him. She had thought he was still bathing when he entered the room.
She tried to pull her robe back up, but Xie Linxu pressed it down with his hand. His brows knit, his voice cold: “What is there to hide?”
Did she need to conceal herself before him?
Song Xingyue said softly: “There’s no hiding. I can do it myself.”
By now, she truly couldn’t understand him. Didn’t he despise her utterly? Why then bother with her life or death? Or perhaps, the words he had spoken that day were just like always—meant to mock her, to humiliate her—not born of any real intent to divorce? But she couldn’t fathom why he assumed she had skin thick enough to endure such words without reacting.
Did he truly think she had no heart? Or perhaps he simply didn’t care what she thought. After all, she had endured his scorn for two years. To him, those words were nothing unusual. What could she do but listen?
Remembering that incident, she felt only vexation when she looked at him. Yet she lacked the courage to fling his hand away and drive him out.
Because— This was his house, not hers. She was, in truth, living under another’s roof.
Xie Linxu held the ointment, while Song Xingyue lowered her head, her bare shoulder exposed, letting him examine the wound on her back.
The autumn air carried a chill. When his fingertips pressed against her waist, she shivered uncontrollably, goosebumps rising across her skin. She pressed her lips tight, enduring his touch, never lifting her head, never speaking.
The room was silent, no sound at all, until Xie Linxu spoke first: “Was all this effort today only to win her favor?”
Climbing the mountain for herbs, making herself so ragged—was it all just to please Jingxi?
Before his mother, she was willing to act, feigning a limp, looking pitiful. Yet before him, she walked briskly, and if she could shake him off, she would surely run.
She did as he wished—no longer feigning before him, no longer playing the pitiful one. Yet he found this even harder to bear, a thousand times more unbearable than when she acted coy.
Xie Linxu’s palm rested at her waist, his fingertips brushing the wound, but he didn’t dare press harder.
Looking at her injuries, he was so angry he could hardly speak. At last, he forced out a single line: “You think I’m no good, so you turn to others instead… how foolish.”
This man, usually so eloquent, was now so vexed he could only blurt out those clumsy words: “How foolish.”
He couldn’t understand. Was pleasing others worth such a stupid method? Those who dislike you won’t pity you even if you die. If you truly wanted to win favor, a few tears shed before them would suffice. Why make yourself so wretched? Whether it was the chill of his fingers or the sting of his words—
Song Xingyue’s body visibly trembled, a pained murmur escaping her throat.
Xie Linxu heard it and started, his hand frozen at her waist.
“Whatever I do, in your eyes it’s always disgraceful.”
So what if she tried to please Jingxi? If Jingxi continued to treat her as a thorn in the eye, she truly could not go on living like this. But had she schemed anything else? She had only gathered herbs and hurt herself. And in his eyes, even that was some grievous crime.
Lowering her head, Song Xingyue whispered: “From beginning to end, all I’ve wanted is to live well—nothing more. Now you think I’ve shifted my trust in you onto her? Then you truly look down on me too much.”
How could she dare rely on the Xie family again? Fall once at Xie Linxu’s side, then crawl back up at Jingxi’s? She wasn’t a fool to stumble in the same place again and again.
Song Xingyue no longer wished to tangle words with him. Through the bronze mirror, she stared straight at Xie Linxu behind her: “I swear on my life, the one who drugged you was someone else. But it was wrong of me to take advantage and shamelessly climb into your bed. I know you don’t like me. So— I’m sorry. For what happened back then, I truly apologize. Forcing you to marry me was my fault.”
Today, when she said *sorry* to him, it was a true apology. She should never have climbed into his bed—no matter whose bed she climbed into, it should not have been his. Now, she genuinely, deeply regretted it. Back then, she had done such a thing and earned his resentment. Now, being humiliated by him, she could hardly stand on any moral ground to accuse him of wrong. His greatest fault was simply that he treated the wife he had been forced to marry poorly. Even if she quarreled like a resentful woman, she would still be in the wrong. But precisely because she could not reproach him, Song Xingyue felt stifled. And since she was stifled, she chose not to fight. With a few light words, she brushed the matter aside.
Having spoken, things between them would remain as they were—no debts owed, no ties left. In the future, if they divorced, so be it. Each would live their own life, and neither would speak ill of the other.
Afterward, Song Xingyue fell silent. The room was hushed, so quiet that Xie Linxu could even hear her softly exhale, as though relieved.
Xie Linxu noticed her strangeness. Very strange. Stranger than the night he stayed at the Li household and didn’t return.
She looked at him without reddened eyes, without tears, without pain. In the calmest tone, she spoke words of solemn weight, as though determined to sever all ties with him completely.
When she finished, she quietly let out a breath, as if she had cast off an enormous burden.
Sorry? So now—did she think a single “sorry” was enough to draw a line between them forever?