Jiang Yuan said: “To humor her, yield to her, and all will be well—that only works for you, because you are her own flesh and blood. What am I to her? From where she stands, I am the wicked woman who has come to steal her son away. Worse still, I am a country girl who can do nothing to advance your career—who is nothing but a drain on you, sending every copper back to her own family. Why on earth would she ever treat me well simply because I smile upon her and give her her way?”
Jiang Yuan did not know why she was saying all this—but it was plain Lu Ze had not heard a single word. He only saw it as absurd nonsense.
“I am her son, yes—but you are her daughter-in-law. If you did not hold such prejudice against her, you would realize she does not treat people differently.”
Jiang Yuan almost laughed at having wasted her breath. She warned him plainly: “Eyes are a precious gift—if you cannot use yours, give them to someone who can. Is it not your own mother who is filled with prejudice and ill will toward me?”
“She has been made ill by your cruelty—cannot eat, cannot sleep, and dare not even telephone to ask me home! How have you become so hard? Where is the gentle, kind Jiang Yuan I once knew?” Lu Ze asked, utterly bewildered.
Jiang Yuan had no more patience for arguing with a fool. She folded her arms and waited for him to go on.
“Yuanyuan… you have come so far to find me. I am deeply moved, and grateful—grateful that you love me enough to come. If you care for me so deeply, why can you not be kind to my mother? Humor her a little? Give her her way?”
“I cannot.” Her refusal was crisp and final.
Lu Ze’s lips parted and moved, and it was long before he found his voice again. “She is my only mother. If you truly love me and wish to be my wife, you will honor and care for her as a daughter-in-law should. If you persist in wronging her—then I am sorry to say it, but we are not meant to be.”
Jiang Yuan’s lips curled into a sharp, mocking smile. “I am sorry—but as things stand, I am the one your father recognizes and keeps under his roof. You wish me to marry you and serve your mother? Best pray your father does not break your legs for it.”
With that, she shut the door in his face.
The days that followed, Jiang Yuan spent either selling goods at the railway station or sorting and processing cloth at Wang Yajuan’s home. She returned past nine each evening. She recalled laying her clothes ready on the shelf beside the bath—yet when she stepped out, they were nowhere to be found. The spare set she found had fallen to the floor and was soaked through.
Song Yuhua and Aunt Liu kept early hours. Lu Ze was away on intensified training and would not return for days. As for Lu Qinian—he had not come home in days, and even if he had, he would never arrive at this hour.
Seeing no one about, Jiang Yuan wrapped a towel tight about herself, deciding to dart quickly back to her room.
She had not guessed Song Yuhua and Aunt Liu were awake—waiting, in fact, in Song Yuhua’s chamber, watching and listening.
Aunt Liu said: “That Jiang Yuan… with that wanton face and shameless behavior—what if the Commander sees her and takes a fancy…?”
“He will not,” Song Yuhua declared from her wicker chair, eyes half-closed, certain of her answer. “Ten years ago I was far lovelier than she could ever hope to be. Lu Qinian has seen every kind of woman in all the years since—fairer, more beguiling than her, by far. Has he ever spared any of them a moment’s favor?”
Not only did he show no favor—toward women who threw themselves at his head, he showed them no honor whatsoever.
“Comrade Song, you speak as though ten years have touched you not at all!” Aunt Liu flattered readily. “If one must find a difference—you grow more elegant by the day! When I step out with you, people still ask me which fine young lady you are, and whether you are spoken for—offering to introduce suitors! That Jiang Yuan is not fit to stand in your shadow. Beside you, the Commander will never so much as glance at her. I worry over nothing at all.”
Song Yuhua smiled, well pleased with the praise—but still offered a word of advice. “It is not that I fault you—but you have lived in the city for years now. Must you still dress so plainly?”
“How could I ever compare with you?” Aunt Liu replied. “You were born with beauty—even unadorned you shine. As for me, whatever I wear would only make me a laughingstock.”
Song Yuhua pressed her no further, and returned to the matter at hand. “Keep close watch over what happens upstairs. The moment the Commander turns her out—you are to pack her things and cast them after her.”
Jiang Yuan paused outside her door, drawing the towel tighter about her. She opened it just enough to peer out, saw no one in the corridor, and stepped out.
She had taken barely two steps when her gaze fell upon Lu Qinian—standing there, just descended from the stairs.
His dark, cold gaze swept over her—from head to waist, and rested finally upon her face: flustered, cheeks flushed, uncertain.
The towel was narrow; she needed both hands to hold it fast lest it slip. To return to the bath she would have to free one hand to turn the latch—and though it might hold, she dared not risk it.
Besides… to run now would be to admit defeat.
So instead she tilted her head, smiled, and greeted him: “You’re home!”
Lu Qinian looked her over once more. Her hair fell like black silk over her shoulders and breast; her skin, smooth and pale as porcelain, seemed to glow. Droplets of water clung to her pink earlobes, trailed down her long, slender neck, over the sharp elegant curve of her collarbone—and vanished beneath the towel’s edge.
He met her gaze, and arched a dark, sharp brow. “Seducing me?”
Seduce your father—!
Jiang Yuan held her smile, thin and knowing, and met his eyes unflinching. “And if I am? Is it working?”
Lu Qinian considered her gravely, then gave his verdict: “Not nearly well enough. Try harder.”
Jiang Yuan: …
Try harder?
His tone—he did not look upon her as a woman at all. His expression—she might have been a posturing animal. That encouragement sounded for all the world like contempt.
Cannot seduce you? Very well—I shall simply disgust you instead.
Jiang Yuan stepped toward him in two quick strides. She freed one hand from the towel, curled it about his neck for balance, rose upon her toes—and pressed her lips to the sharp, flushed ridge of his Adam’s apple.
Not yet content, she followed the line of his jaw upward, kissing the tense, set line of his chin—and was just about to brush her lips against his own when Lu Qinian could bear it no longer.
His hand rose—calloused fingers curling firm about the nape of her neck, a grip hard enough to snap bone.
“Presumptuous little thing,” he said, his voice even, though a faint, dangerous amusement curved his lips.
Jiang Yuan’s thumb brushed the lingering damp from her mouth. She smiled—unabashed, roguish, like some rake who had just kissed a virtuous maiden against her will.
“You told me to try harder,” she murmured. “Am I being good?”
Just then—footsteps below, and the creak of a door opening. Aunt Liu’s voice rose, and from the tone of it—Lu Ze had returned.
Lu Qinian’s expression hardened at once. His voice dropped, sharp and commanding: “Step out of this room dressed like that again—and you shall be confined to quarters for a month. Get back inside. Now.”
Jiang Yuan was only too glad Lu Ze should not see her so. She slipped quickly back into her room and turned the lock. As she dressed, she listened—Aunt Liu asking Lu Qinian whether she should send Jiang Yuan to the guesthouse for the night, or have her sent away entirely—already bustling about, proposing to pack her bags.
Jiang Yuan gave a cold, knowing laugh. It was Song Yuhua’s scheme, plain and simple.
Lu Ze, arriving too late to see what had passed, heard Aunt Liu’s words and panicked. He turned at once to Lu Qinian, pleading desperately on her behalf.