He said he knew everything—but Song Xingyue did not know what exactly he knew. Still, since he said so, she could only take it as true.
By the time they returned to the Xie household, it was already late. Xie Linxu accompanied Song Xingyue back to Qinghe Courtyard, but he did not return to their room. When she asked where he was going, he answered: “There are official matters. I need to handle them in the study.”
Song Xingyue thought nothing of it. “It’s late already. Finish quickly and rest early.”
Xie Linxu gave a quiet “Mm” and walked toward the study. But halfway there, he changed direction and left Qinghe Courtyard.
His servant Shouyuan, puzzled, asked: “Master, aren’t we going to the study? Where are we headed?”
Xie Linxu replied: “To see Mother.”
The two went toward Jingxi’s quarters. Coincidentally, Second Madam Xie was still there, chatting privately with Jingxi.
Xie Linxu meant to wait outside until they finished, but the two women didn’t mind and quickly invited him in.
Second Madam Xie was in her forties, a petite woman with delicate features, still youthful despite her age. Seeing him, she covered her smile with a handkerchief: “We were just speaking of you with your mother. How timely—you’ve come.”
Xie Linxu asked: “Aunt, what were you discussing?”
Jingxi answered: “About Song Xingyue.”
“What about her?”
Jingxi said: “Your second aunt thinks that, since she has not borne children, you should take a concubine. What do you think? I find it reasonable.”
Second Madam Xie agreed: “Yes, Changzhou. Forgive me, but for a woman, family background and character may be overlooked—but if she cannot bear children, that is a grave fault. Since Madam Song cannot give you heirs, why not take a few concubines? No one would blame you.”
Xie Linxu’s expression remained calm as he replied: “She is still young. I am still young. We are not in a hurry.”
It was the first time he had ever spoken directly about the matter of children.
Second Madam Xie sighed heavily: “How can there be no hurry? It’s enough to drive one mad! In ordinary families, a man fathers children at eighteen—that’s just right. You’re already twenty‑two, and Song is eighteen. Everything else can be delayed, but not childbirth.”
Before marriage, marriage could not be delayed. Before passing the examinations, success in them could not be delayed. Before entering official service, establishing a career could not be delayed. Now, without children, children could not be delayed. What, then, was ever allowed to be delayed?
Xie Linxu found it impossible to reason with them, nor did he wish to stir up pointless disputes. He did not hide his purpose, saying directly: “Tonight I came precisely because of Madam Song.”
At his words, both women’s faces changed, their smiles vanishing.
Jingxi, seeing his stance, realized what he meant to say would not be pleasant. She turned to Second Madam Xie and said: “It’s late. Sister‑in‑law, you should go back.”
Second Madam still wanted to listen, but Jingxi dismissed her first.
Since Jingxi had spoken, she could not remain. She took her leave.
Once she was gone, Xie Linxu stated his intent plainly: “Since Madam Song has married into the Xie household, Mother, there is no need to treat her harshly. She is a proper wife, married with full rites. To mistreat her is to disgrace the Duke’s household itself.”
Jingxi snorted: “Are you afraid the Duke’s household will lose face, or that she will? She schemed her way into marriage—do you expect me to treat her as an honored guest?”
Xie Linxu did not look at her, his gaze fixed on the candle flame before him. “She was at fault in that matter. But so was I.”
Jingxi’s brows furrowed. Two years ago, when the scandal broke, he had knelt before her and Xie Xiu and said the same words. *She was at fault. I was at fault too.*
Later, when Song Xingyue’s father made a public scene, Jingxi had wanted to secretly kill the whole family to restore peace. It was Xie Linxu who stopped her. In the end, against the opposition of the entire household, he insisted: since they had already consummated the marriage, he would wed her.
Such an easy phrase—he said *marry*, and so he married. But that decision let the scandal fester, and it destroyed the engagement with the Li family.
And after marrying, what followed was a life of resentment between husband and wife—better not to have married at all.
Hearing him repeat those words tonight, Jingxi, rarely angered by him, lost her composure. She called him by his full name: “Xie Linxu, life is not meant to be lived so rigidly. A fleeting night of passion does not mean you must take responsibility for the rest of your days. Besides, she climbed into your bed first—why must you bind yourself to her? At the time, you insisted on marrying her, and I yielded. I don’t know how you persuaded your father and uncle to agree. But once she entered the household, the inner management was mine. How I treat her—must you interfere as well?”
In Chongming Hall, the candlelight flickered faintly, cicadas humming outside the window. Jingxi’s voice, mingled with the insect song, made the air feel even more tense.
“She broke the rules and behaved improperly. I will discipline her. But these petty punishments are meaningless,” Xie Linxu’s voice was calm against her agitation. “From now on, Qinghe Courtyard’s provisions will come directly from Qinghe Courtyard. Nothing will pass through the central accounts.”
Song Xingyue had never begged him for money. She had no face to do so. Yet thinking back on her two years of marriage, she truly had not even a single decent set of clothes.
Jingxi let out a cold laugh: “You may give her a hundred outfits if you wish—I won’t interfere. You can afford it. But if you hand over all of Qinghe Courtyard’s accounts to her, I tell you this: tonight you give them, tomorrow she’ll use them to aid her natal family.”
Xie Linxu had come only to make his point. Seeing Jingxi’s anger rise, he knew there was no more to be said. “I know what I’m doing,” he replied. With that, he rose and left.
Jingxi watched him go, clutching her chest in fury, yet powerless.
Leaving Rongming Hall, Xie Linxu returned to Qinghe Courtyard. Song Xingyue was in the bathing room. After about fifteen minutes, she emerged. Freshly washed, her whole figure seemed steamed by water. Her eyes, still red from crying, were rimmed with a faint flush at the corners. She wore only a thin undergarment, the collar slightly open, revealing the pale line of her collarbone. Her slender hand held the damp ends of her hair.
She was not the kind of beauty with sharp, perfect features. Her figure was slim, graceful, with gentle curves. Just as the capital’s people mocked, she was “not proper,” too common. Yet despite their scorn, her face was not gaudy—it was delicate, like a flower reflected in water, clear and alluring.
Seeing Xie Linxu seated at the table, her eyes flickered. “Changzhou, you’ve returned,” she said.
He glanced at her once, then looked away. Even facing his beautiful wife, he remained cold and indifferent. The candlelight fell across his profile, sharpening the line of his nose and jaw.
He said, “I’ll inform Nanny Chen. From now on, all your provisions will come directly from Qinghe Courtyard. If you lack anything, you need not ask elsewhere.”
Nanny Chen was the stewardess of Qinghe Courtyard.
From childhood onward, at every festival and occasion, Xie Linxu received gifts from all directions—always precious ones. Jingxi even appointed someone to manage his accounts, investing the money to generate more. And when he placed *tanhua* at nineteen, the emperor was delighted and rewarded him generously. Those funds had hardly been touched. To support Song Xingyue now was no burden at all.
Song Xingyue’s eyes lit up. She moved closer to him, blinking as she asked, “Really?”
She knew Xie Linxu carried the proud integrity of a scholar; he would not haggle over silver. Anything tied to money seemed vulgar. If he withheld from her, it would only make him appear petty. She only wondered why his heart had changed after he went to the study.
But having supplies come directly from Qinghe Courtyard was far better than relying on Jingxi.
Xie Linxu did not look at her. From her words alone, he could hear her joy. Yet he said: “In the future, matters like clothing should not be taken to Grandmother.”
He already knew where her new outfit had come from. A quick inquiry by Shouyuan confirmed that the Old Madam had had it made for her.
Song Xingyue was startled, and at once understood why he had suddenly shown kindness tonight. So—he thought she had gone to beg Grandmother, asking her to make new clothes. He must have believed she was being childish, troubling the elder over such a small matter.
Song Xingyue explained: “It was Grandmother herself who offered. She said my clothes were too old‑fashioned, not suitable for a birthday celebration.”
Compared to her earlier joy, these words were flat, lifeless, without emotion. Why could Grandmother see what he never did? She said no more. After speaking, she turned away to fetch a cloth to dry her hair. Her body carried a faint fragrance, stronger after bathing. When she left, the scent drifted with her. Only as it faded did Xie Linxu finally come back to himself. He released the corner of his robe, which he had clenched so tightly it was wrinkled. He stretched out his hand to smooth it—yet no matter how he tried, the crease would not vanish. He did not sit long. After washing, he went straight to bed. Once in bed, he extinguished the lamp.
Song Xingyue had just wrung out her hair; she was still awake. They both knew the other hadn’t slept. Song Xingyue, still stung by his words, found nothing pleasant to say. Yet her thoughts turned to the matter of children.
Children did not appear from nowhere.
Her fingers reached quietly toward him. “Changzhou, are you asleep?” she asked.
She continued: “We haven’t shared a bed in so long. My monthly courses ended some time ago…”
They said Xie Linxu was cold as an exiled immortal, pure in conduct. The very qualities praised by the world were those Song Xingyue disliked most. She resented that he was like wood, like a monk who had renounced the world. Knowing he was awake, she slipped off her thin undergarment and pressed herself against him. When he did not respond, she reached to undress him herself. At last, when he could bear no more, he seized her wrist. Her slender wrist was easily enclosed in his hand.
“Changzhou… I want this,” she whispered.
More than wanting him, she wanted a child.
At that moment, Xie Linxu suddenly recalled something from long ago. It was about three years ago. At that time, he and Song Xingyue did not know each other. Or rather, they had no chance to know each other at all.
Looking back now, fifteen‑year‑old Song Xingyue and eighteen‑year‑old Song Xingyue seemed hardly different—yet somehow, very different. No difference, perhaps, in the way she said “I want it”—drawn out, clinging, coaxing.
That day, during a polo match, he accidentally stumbled upon the scene of two people meeting in secret. He had just finished a match, sweating, and went to the quiet room to change. Feeling overheated, he took a shortcut through a secluded path—and there he overheard things he should not have.
It was a young man and a woman. He recognized the man: Ji Jianyun, General Ji’s son. Their fathers both served at court, and General Ji was famous. The capital was small; Xie Linxu knew him, though only as a passing acquaintance. As for the girl… he had not seen her before, did not know which family she belonged to. Later, he learned she was Song Xingyue. He was not close to either of them, but their relationship was clearly intimate—too intimate, beyond propriety.
Song Xingyue clutched Ji Jianyun’s arm, impatiently wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. “Ah Yun, your polo was wonderful—better than anyone else’s.”
Ji Jianyun, tall, bent down to let her wipe. Hearing her praise, he doubted it. “I didn’t play well. I nearly let that Xie boy catch up.”
Song Xingyue said: “But he didn’t catch you. He’s strong, but you’re stronger.”
Ji Jianyun laughed, flashing white teeth. “Not just flattery? Truly?”
Song Xingyue nodded earnestly. “Ah Yun is better than the Xie son—better than everyone.”
They did not know that Xie Linxu himself was nearby, hearing every word—her belittling him, her exalting another.
Ji Jianyun grasped her wrist. “Enough, it’s clean. Stop wiping.” Then he said: “I saw you drink several cups today. Aren’t you on your monthly courses? Don’t eat so much ice—you’ll make yourself ill.”
“I know, I know. Just a few sips, it’s fine.” Song Xingyue added: “Ah Yun, I saw a rare manuscript the other day. Could you help me find it?”
Ji Jianyun, seeing her request, lifted his chin, teasing: “Then will you stop this habit?”
Song Xingyue raised three fingers in oath: “I’ll never do it again!”
Still, Ji Jianyun refused to yield so easily. “You never speak the truth. I’ll have to think about it…”
Before he finished, Song Xingyue tugged at his sleeve, coaxing: “Ah Yun, I want it! I want it… Please help me!”
Song Xingyue had barely coaxed him with a few words before Ji Jianyun gave in: “Enough, enough—stop it. Don’t play that trick…”
Their voices faded into the distance, and Xie Linxu did not listen further.
At the time, he had only recently passed the *jinshi* exam and had not yet entered official service. Young, proud, and ambitious, he thought: Ji Jianyun, born of a military family, must be simple‑minded to be so easily swayed by a woman’s coaxing. How disgraceful.
Yet for some reason, that night he dreamed. In the dream, the girl clinging to Ji Jianyun lay beneath him, her soft, drawn‑out voice whispering: “I want it…”
He despised such women. So why did he dream of her? Some things defy reason. To trace their origin is like chasing a fantasy.
Later, he found an explanation for himself: perhaps because in all the capital, he had never seen such a girl. A girl so unrestrained, so willing to mingle with a man outside her family. Why could her voice twist into such tones, producing such sounds? Those who keep rules most strictly despise those who break them.
In the courtyard, white camellias bloomed in late spring, their faint fragrance mingling with the lonely moonlight. In the hazy night, many things quietly sprouted—and then decayed.
“Changzhou, what are you thinking?”
Xie Linxu snapped back from his memories. That dream was no longer a dream. His hand still gripped Song Xingyue’s wrist, tightening until it hurt. She could not help but cry out. At last, he reacted, releasing her hand and stripping away their clothes himself. When he lay with her, he was always plain, orderly—doing only what was necessary. But Song Xingyue was not so restrained. She insisted on moaning and crying out, stirring desire between them, making it less unbearable. Her hand clutching his arm gradually lost strength.
Just as she was swept up in passion, Xie Linxu suddenly spoke: “Ji Jianyun is coming back. Do you know?”
At the sound of those three words—Ji Jianyun—Song Xingyue’s whole body tightened involuntarily.