A face flashed before his eyes—Ma Yan's, with that look of someone holding back words. "Has Fourth Master ever heard of the Song family's mistress?"
Ma Yan, the refugee who had attacked him in Ping'an County—what did any of this have to do with the man before him?
Yinzhen leaned against the window, closing his eyes.
When he opened them again, they were cold as ice, his hand gripping the prayer beads he had just slipped from his wrist.
If she was deceiving him…
The man who arrived was indeed Ma Yan. A few days prior, he had happened to hear that the Song family's mistress had a large store of grain, and he had come once before. But though he was the county magistrate, he hadn't even been able to get through the door.
This time, he didn't have the patience to wait. The moment Dongya left through the front door, he slipped in right behind her. The Song family's courtyard wasn't large—you could see where anyone was at a glance.
"Miss Song." Even in his haste, he remembered to keep his distance from those flowers. These flowers were more precious than if they'd been inlaid with gold—he couldn't afford to damage them. He had no idea what made them worth so much money. Wouldn't it be better if they were grain?
"Magistrate Ma." Song Xilou gave a slight bow, her peripheral vision catching the figure by the right window. Her smile grew a touch brighter. "Has Magistrate Ma come today regarding the matter from last time?"
"Yes, yes, yes." Ma Yan didn't dare meet her eyes—they were too clear, and looking into them made him feel like he was the one lying. He asked hopefully, "What has Miss Song decided?"
Song Xilou turned her profile toward the window, biting her lip and shaking her head. From Yinzhen's angle, he could see her hands twisting nervously. Before long, her crisp voice came through: "Forgive my bluntness, Magistrate, but I have never considered selling this grain."
"With disasters and calamities, no one knows when they will end. I live here with my maidservant and nanny—having some security in hand is what puts my mind at ease."
Two sentences dashed all of Ma Yan's hopes. His straight-backed posture instantly slumped. He waved a hand. "I understand." With the flood upon them, no one knew when it would pass. Every household was short on grain just to survive. If he had grain himself, he wouldn't sell it cheap either.
Still, bitterness lingered. Five days from now, without grain—what would those refugees do?
Inside the room, Yinzhen heard it all clearly and knew he had wronged her. This woman before him had saved his life and possessed excellent skill. If the chrysanthemums she grew won Imperial Father's favor…
In a short moment, a thought took shape in his mind. Looking at that face beyond the window, he couldn't suppress it. If… if this woman were his, then he could naturally bring her to the Beile Mansion.
Besides… she was so beautiful. He shook the thoughts from his head. The immediate concern was that Ma Yan had plainly said he couldn't get the grain—everything after this would still depend on him.
Yinzhen glanced once more, then walked toward the bed. Outside the window, Song Xilou saw Magistrate Ma's dejected state and couldn't bear it. She quickly pressed two pots of flowers into his arms.
"This… what is this for?" They couldn't be eaten or drunk, and they were outrageously expensive.
The young woman across from him had flushed cheeks. She tilted her head in thought, then rose on her tiptoes and whispered something in his ear.
Ma Yan's face showed confusion at first, then understanding, and then sheer delight. He carried the two pots of flowers away, beaming with joy.
With a smack, the window shut. Ma Yan was old enough—why was he grinning like a blooming flower? He wasn't afraid the wrinkles on his face would trap a fly.
In the days that followed, Yinzhen stayed at the Song residence. Su Peisheng had found Fourth Master on the first night, but he couldn't figure out what the lord was planning—he refused to return.
Over several days, Yinzhen came to understand the people in this courtyard. There were only three in the whole place. Dongya was blunt and outspoken, and Nanny Wu was older but had a very kind heart.
As for the mistress of this courtyard, the Song family's lady—Yinzhen thought of her, then looked forward, leaned back in his chair, and smiled. "Come here."
He sat in the armchair, while across from him the woman held a brush practicing calligraphy. But before long, her little gaze kept darting straight at him. When caught, she'd look elsewhere, as if he hadn't noticed.
He held a high position, and his words carried a natural tone of command. Song Xilou hesitated, thinking it over, then shuffled over reluctantly, head bowed in silence like a child who had done something wrong.
"What have you been writing?" His voice softened involuntarily. This woman was different from the consorts in his rear courtyard.
"I… I'm practicing calligraphy." She stuttered when nervous. Yinzhen looked at her hands twisting together and smiled knowingly. "Show me your writing."
The one who had kept her head down finally lifted her eyes, glancing at him in disbelief. Her neck and ears flushed crimson in an instant. "I… my handwriting isn't good. I won't make a fool of myself."
"Must I come over myself?" The man leaning against the armchair gripped the armrest, making as if to rise.
"No, no."
She waved her hands frantically and hurried over. "I'll get it, I'll get it." She pulled a sheet of paper from the desk. Yinzhen said, "Not that one."
The woman holding the paper froze, her eyes going wide and round as if in disbelief. Seeing the all-knowing look in Yinzhen's eyes, she was so embarrassed she nearly ran off.
"Be good. Bring it to me."
One word of "good girl" immediately calmed the nearly-frazzled person down. Though her face was still flushed red, she obediently took out another piece of paper and stepped forward.
"What did you draw?" The gentle tone was deliberately softened. The woman before him was too shy, and he didn't want to frighten her.
The word "you" rolled around in Song Xilou's mouth again and again, but she simply couldn't say it. Yet what could ever be hidden from him? Judging by his confident expression, he must already know everything. So she decided not to say anything at all, and petulantly shoved the paper into his hand.
"See for yourself." She lowered her head and stared at her shoe tips, saying nothing.
The paper was pulled from her hand, but her hand was also taken by his. Song Xilou tried to pull it back—once, twice—but she couldn't free it, and he only held on tighter.
Only after Yinzhen saw that she had stopped struggling did he open the paper in his hand. On it were a few characters written first, their messy strokes revealing the writer's distracted state of mind. On the other side of the paper was a drawing—a person sitting in a grand armchair, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.
"This is a drawing of me." There was no surprise in his words. The woman before him had eyes full of him—he had long since noticed.
Seeing that her head was still lowered, Yinzhen reached out, took her chin between his fingers, and slowly lifted it. She had a pair of bright, limpid eyes, and though they were filled with shyness, she still insisted on looking at him.
Such blatant, unadorned affection made Yinzhen shake his head with satisfaction. "Still too inexperienced. You don't even know how to conceal it a little."
So she liked him—he knew it. At this moment, he was still someone of unknown background, and what she liked was simply him as a person. This was something entirely new to him, and deep down, he was quietly savoring such treatment.
"Who said it's a drawing of you?" The blushing person turned from embarrassment to anger, yanked her hand out of his grip, shot him a glare, and immediately ran off.
She only stopped at the doorway, then secretly turned her head to look behind her. There she saw the person still standing in place. The moment she turned back, he saw her immediately and even waved the paper in his hand at her.
"Run slower."
"Bang." That was the sound of the door being slammed shut by the person who had turned from embarrassment to anger.