The long night stretched on. Though the lamp in the room was extinguished, strangely, everything seemed clearer.
He is coming back? After more than two years away, he is returning.
In these two years, she had not seldom heard the name Ji Jianyun. He commanded troops at the frontier. A general—victories piled up, and praise followed. Compared to the civil officials at court, the triumphs of a military man were far more visible. Many spoke of him admiringly, and Song Xingyue had heard countless tales of his deeds. But now, hearing those three words from Xie Linxu’s lips, they sounded chilling.
Xie Linxu noticed her body’s reaction and gave a laugh, its meaning unclear: “So happy?”
From his tone, Song Xingyue felt he knew something. Back then, few people knew about her and Ji Jianyun. He should not know.
She forced a smile: “General Ji’s return has nothing to do with me. Why should I be happy?”
Seeing her feigned ignorance, Xie Linxu said no more.
Yet though she claimed Ji Jianyun’s return had nothing to do with her, her thoughts drifted far away. She fell silent, lost in reverie.
Sensing her distraction, Xie Linxu lost interest. He finished perfunctorily, then withdrew.
After water was brought, the room bustled briefly, then quieted again. Perhaps displeased, Xie Linxu, after washing, went to rest in the study, leaving Song Xingyue alone.
His mood was strange, but she guessed—perhaps he knew something of her past with Ji Jianyun. How he knew, or how much, she could not tell.
Thinking of Ji Jianyun, her chest tightened. Though more than two years had passed, the memory was still a wound—each recollection brought pain.
That night, Song Xingyue dreamed of Ji Jianyun again.
Sweet and bitter memories surged back. In the dream, Ji Jianyun cupped her face and said he would marry her one day. He told her: Wait for me. When I return from the northern frontier, I will come to marry you at once.
Having said so, he turned and walked away.
Song Xingyue tried to grasp Ji Jianyun, but no matter how she reached, she could not hold him—not even the hem of his robe. In an instant, the dream shifted. Now it was Ji Jianyun gripping her shoulders tightly, demanding why she had not waited for him, why she had married another.
For two years, Song Xingyue had often dreamed of Ji Jianyun. Each time was like a lizard breaking its tail, a warrior severing his arm—tears and grief forcibly cut off within the dream, leaving her to struggle awake.
When she woke, Danping saw her brow damp with sweat. She wiped it with a handkerchief and asked: “What happened? What nightmare left you like this?”
The night before, no one knew what quarrel had passed between the heir and his wife. After their intimacy, he had gone to sleep in the study.
Song Xingyue looked at Danping, her thoughts scattered, and murmured: “Danping… he is coming back.”
“Who…”
“Ji Jianyun is coming back.”
Danping quickly raised a finger to her lips, signaling silence.
Outside, servants stood with washbasins. Silk curtains could not block sound. If they overheard and word reached the heir, it would be dangerous.
Song Xingyue gave a bitter smile: “No need to hide it. It was Changzhou who told me.”
Danping gasped: “The heir knows of you and General Ji?”
Song Xingyue said: “If you don’t want people to know, then don’t do it. Once it’s done, it’s hard to keep hidden. Ji Jianyun and I were together for nearly three years. In a city like this, even if we tried to avoid notice, people see each other constantly. Perhaps he stumbled upon us once.”
The night before, she had thought of this over and over. In the end, this was the only explanation.
Danping worried: “Then surely the heir is displeased.”
Song Xingyue, however, seemed resigned: “If he is displeased, he has been displeased for two years already.”
Besides, Xie Linxu’s resentment toward her was not because of Ji Jianyun. Even without him, he would still resent her.
Song Xingyue dared not linger in bed. Fearing the hour was late, she rose, washed, and went to find Jingxi.
Xie Linxu had already arrived before her. His face looked as usual, showing no sign of yesterday’s matter weighing on him.
Just as she thought—though he might know of her past with Ji Jianyun, it had been over two years. In those two years, Ji Jianyun was at the frontier, and she was married. What possibility remained?
They did not stay long in Rongming Hall. Jingxi, unusually, did not come to speak with them. After the family shared breakfast, they dispersed.
That day was the thirtieth of July, a rest day. Xie Linxu did not need to attend court.
After leaving Rongming Hall, Song Xingyue saw that he was heading out again. Instinctively, she asked: “Changzhou, where are you going?”
“To the yamen. Official business isn’t finished—I must go.”
So be it… Song Xingyue did not press further, watching his figure fade from sight.
Though today was a rest day, Xie Linxu went to the Grand Secretariat. His claim of busy work was not an excuse—there truly was much to do.
This month, Emperor Jingning had suspended court. With the emperor neglecting affairs, officials’ memorials piled up in the Secretariat. They had to review, annotate, and send them to the palace.
There were five grand secretaries. Normally, they rotated duties. But this season coincided with the triennial autumn examinations. Grand Secretary Huang, also Minister of Rites, was occupied with exam matters, leaving gaps in the Secretariat’s schedule. For him, the exams were urgent—no one could demand he stay in the Secretariat and risk delaying the imperial examinations.
Meanwhile, Xie Xiu, Minister of Personnel, was busy with the Minister of War, discussing ranks for Ji Jianyun and his officers. Victory at the northern frontier had already been reported, and the emperor had ordered the army’s return. When those generals came back, rewards and promotions had to be arranged—a difficult matter requiring both ministries.
Thus, two of the five secretaries were absorbed in their own ministries. With three of five occupied, the remaining two could not possibly handle the flood of memorials alone.
The chief secretary had already discussed with colleagues and temporarily transferred Xie Linxu from the Hanlin Academy to assist. He was to draft edicts and help with paperwork.
Though officially a Reader in the Hanlin Academy, they treated him as a probationary *shujishi* (junior secretary). The grand secretaries regarded him as a future colleague, already their disciple. His transfer was proper in law and precedent.
Moreover, his talent was well‑known. Born of a noble clan, eldest son of Xie Xiu, sharp and capable in politics—entrusting him with Secretariat work caused no worry.
Even on rest days, the Secretariat never slept. Today, Chief Secretary Ming was on duty.
Chief Secretary Ming was nearly sixty, with kindly brows and a graying beard. His eyesight was failing; he needed spectacles to read memorials. Seeing Xie Linxu enter, he set down his lenses and squinted to recognize him. “Isn’t today a rest day? Why have you come again?” he asked.
Xie Linxu replied: “At home, I had nothing pressing. These days the Secretariat is busy. Yesterday I was free; today I am not.”
Chief Secretary Ming chuckled: “You, you… Even when you married, you didn’t rest. I heard you bowed to heaven and earth, and the very next day went to duty. On your rest day, you should rest. What difference does one day make? But since you’re here, sit down and help with the drafts.”
Xie Linxu did not argue. He rolled up his sleeves, took a brush, and joined Ming in reviewing memorials.
At first, Chief Secretary Ming was absorbed in the work. But once Xie Linxu sat beside him, his tongue could not stay idle.
After finishing one draft, Chief Secretary Ming set aside his spectacles, rubbed his eyes and brow, and sighed: “One cannot defy age. I haven’t even reached sixty yet, but already my eyes fail, my ears fail, my body fails—everything fails. You young men are fortunate, strong and vigorous. Just the other day your father told me, even now that court is suspended, you still rise early each day to pay respects to your mother. Rare indeed. For an official to serve so diligently at home as well—it is truly rare.”
Daily duties were already enough to weary the mind. That he could still devote himself so earnestly to filial piety was remarkable.
Xie Linxu’s ability to “do two things at once” was impressive. Even while listening to the Chief Secretary’s chatter, his hand did not falter in drafting edicts. As he wrote, he replied: “Of all virtues, filial piety comes first. Honoring one’s parents is what a son must do.”
Chief Secretary Ming nodded, clearly approving of these words.
See—everyone said Xie Xiu had raised a reliable son, and indeed, there was nothing to fault. He had earned his degree, held his office, understood human dealings, and even upheld filial piety and propriety.
Admiring Xie Linxu from head to toe, Chief Secretary Ming sighed: “The northern war ended faster than expected. I thought it would take at least five years. General Ji died defending the frontier—such a pity. But the young general has skill. To pacify the north is both revenge for his father and merit in itself. Military merit, inherited merit—when he returns to the capital, how will his rank be decided? Your father and the others will have quite the headache.”
If Ji Jianyun were thirty, it would be easier. But to heap such achievements on a man barely past twenty was difficult. In Great Yan, civil officials were prized above military ones. Too high a rank was improper. Too middling a rank seemed unjust. It was a thorny problem.
And when Ji Jianyun returned, the funds freed from the northern war would unsettle Emperor Jingning again. There would be quarrels.
Chief Secretary Ming stroked his long beard, smiling at Xie Linxu: “If you were your father, what office would you grant this young general?”
Xie Linxu deflected calmly: “Chief Secretary, you know I cannot judge such matters.”
Chief Secretary Ming pressed: “It’s just us two. No need to fear. I only want to hear, as idle talk, what you young men think.”
Hearing this, Xie Linxu did not refuse further. “Great Yan is a land of talent. Heroes are countless. One cannot diminish merit because of age.”
Chief Secretary Ming clapped his hands, laughing: “I nearly forgot—you yourself were a hero, placing *tanhua* at nineteen. A hero judging a hero—perhaps only mutual recognition will do.”
At that moment, a young attendant rushed in, clearly bearing urgent news.
“Masters, a message from Qianqing Palace!”
Chief Secretary Ming straightened, eyes fixed on him: “What news? Speak quickly.”
The attendant replied: “His Majesty commands: with mid‑autumn beginning, morning court will resume.”
Chief Secretary Ming looked unsurprised, turning to Xie Linxu. The latter pressed his lips together.
After a busy day, when duty ended, Chief Secretary Ming invited Xie Linxu to dine at his home. Unable to refuse, Xie Linxu accompanied him.
On the way, Shouyuan asked: “Shall I send word home? Young Madam may be waiting for you.”
Xie Linxu said: “No need. If she’s hungry, she’ll eat. Do you think she cannot dine without me?”
Her heart was occupied with someone else. How could she care for others?
Shouyuan felt the heir was acting strangely today—his words sharp, edged with sarcasm. He dared not speak further, only recalling that last night the heir had gone alone to the study, perhaps after another quarrel with his wife. There was nothing to be done. The more one spoke, the more mistakes one made; better to keep silent.
Meanwhile, in Qinghe Courtyard, Song Xingyue waited and waited, but Xie Linxu did not return.
The night grew late. Even by the hour of the dog, he had not appeared. Danping went to inquire, but no word came back—no one knew where he had gone.
Danping urged her: “At this hour, the heir may have already dined outside. Miss, you should eat first. If you wait longer, the dishes will spoil.”
In this weather, even with ice chests, food left too long would not keep.
But Song Xingyue sat in the main hall, copying Buddhist scriptures. She had been writing on and off for nearly a whole day. Just a little more, and she would finish this rare manuscript, ready to present to the Old Madam tomorrow.
Hearing Danping’s words, Song Xingyue rubbed her aching brow. “It’s fine. Just a little more—I’ll finish.”
Usually, if Xie Linxu were detained outside, he would at least send word home. Perhaps yesterday’s leave had left him with too much work today, keeping him late at the Secretariat.
Danping could not persuade her further. She sighed, stamped her foot, and went to trim the lamp wick.
The flame trembled, shrinking to a bean‑sized glow. With a soft crack, the wick burst and fell into the copper tray. For an instant the room dimmed, then grew brighter.
At that moment, sounds came from the doorway—Xie Linxu had returned.
Song Xingyue, seated in the hall, set down her brush and rose to open the door. She saw him stepping in under the moonlight. She hurried out, crossing the corridor, running straight to him: “Changzhou, you’re back!”
But seeing his wife rush toward him, Xie Linxu’s expression remained cool. He didn’t answer; he just walked inside.
Song Xingyue, watching him, knew he still brooded over her past with Ji Jianyun. However he had learned of it, he knew.
Two years ago, Ji Jianyun had been far away at the frontier. But now, he was returning.
Xie Linxu was unsettled—such a rigid man could not endure such things.
Back in the hall, Xie Linxu meant to go straight to the inner room. But his gaze fell on the Buddhist scripture lying outside.
Song Xingyue followed him. Seeing his eyes on the manuscript, she explained: “I know Grandmother loves to worship. I thought to copy this scripture for her. It’s a rare edition, though damaged. I’ll send her a fresh copy.”
Xie Linxu had occasionally seen her copying texts before, but had never asked much about it. He stepped forward and picked up the Buddhist scripture she had been copying, glancing through a few pages. It was neat, delicate *xiao kai* script, graceful and refined.
Danping had already slipped quietly out, leaving only the two of them.
Xie Linxu’s gaze fell carelessly on the manuscript, but in his eyes flickered mockery. He smiled, sneering: “They say handwriting reflects the person. Yet Madam’s hand seems not much like the person herself.”
For him to utter “Madam” was rare—when he did, it was seldom in kindness.
Song Xingyue resolved to speak plainly, to bring the matter into the open. She could no longer endure his constant sarcasm.
“I know you are brooding over Ji Jianyun,” she said. “I did indeed have some acquaintance with the young general. But do not think too much. We met by chance. He saw how hard my life was and pitied me. Nothing more. I regarded him as an elder brother, and he saw me as a younger sister.”
No matter how deep her past affection with Ji Jianyun was, she could not admit it now. Even if Xie Linxu knew, she must insist it was only sibling‑like.
Brother and sister? At her words, Xie Linxu gave a sudden cold laugh from his chest. What siblings behave like husband and wife? Even knowing her glib tongue and lies, he was still struck by her shameless composure. He would not argue whether they were “siblings” or lovers. She always found a way to gloss things over.
He set down the scripture, his eyes cold upon her: “I care not what passed between you before. But now that he returns, you are a wife of the Xie family. If you commit adultery and disgrace our household, how you are punished… I will not protect you.”
Song Xingyue quickly replied: “How could I? Alive, I am your wife; dead, I am yours. Have you not seen my heart these two years? I have always said—I treated him as a brother. How could I betray you? You know, on our wedding night, I was untouched. Was I not? There was nothing between us.”
Her only relief was that, back then, she hadn’t gone so far with Ji Jianyun. Otherwise, she could never explain herself now.
Her words, paired with her earnest, emotional expression—who could doubt her? Yet Xie Linxu found it laughable, even bitter. That she could dismiss such feelings with a few light words. And what, then, were the two years between him and her worth?
“White jade teeth shedding relics, red lotus tongue shining light.” Expressionless, he recited the line, eyelids lowered, his voice cold and clear—like a jade Bodhisattva chanting scripture.
At first, Song Xingyue did not understand. But soon she realized: he was quoting directly from the Buddhist text she had just copied.
Xie Linxu said: “If I recall correctly, the *Lotus Sutra* has long been lost. The copy in your hands is rare—a lone surviving edition, difficult to find.”