“Be good, my Ali. Just one last time—humor me, will you?” The man coaxed, his voice dropped to a deep, gravelly murmur that vibrated against her ear.
Upon the bedside table, the oil lamp cast a soft, dim glow, suffusing the room in a hazy, golden warmth that clung to every wanton, breathless moment shared between them.
“Be good indeed… enough! I can’t possibly take any more— I shall perish like this— mmph—!” Liu Muli pleaded, her voice frayed and breathless, yet still laced with that unmistakable, soft, yielding sweetness that undid him entirely.
His gaze darkened further, his eyes swimming with unbridled desire. He let out a low, quiet laugh. “Foolish words. How could I ever bear to let anything befall you?”
“And if I were… if I were to be killed?” she asked slowly, her tone edged with faint, bitter cynicism, as though she believed he could never truly care enough to avenge her.
“Would you avenge me?”
Her words struck him like a blow to the chest. Leaning in, he pressed his forehead firmly to hers, his dark, luminous eyes burning with a tempest of tangled, overwhelming emotion.
“I would. I would tear the world apart for you— flay them alive, break every bone in their wretched bodies. And if you were gone… I should never wish to live another day myself.”
The capital was no quiet county town; it was a den of intrigue, shifting loyalties, and hidden dangers.
At his vow, Liu Muli’s fingers curled instinctively inward, her heart trembling uncontrollably. Visions of her past life flashed once more across her mind, swift and vivid as lanterns parading past her eyes. She spoke, her voice thick and hollow with grief. “You would not.”
Beneath the words lay a quiet, heartbroken catch she could not quite suppress.
Wei Linye searched her face deeply, a faint, sad smile touching his lips. “How can you be so certain that I would not?”
She parted her lips to speak, yet in the end, said nothing at all.
Outside, rain continued to fall in a steady patterning, gusts of wind howling fitfully through the dark.
Wei Linye mistook her silence for unease. Brushing a gentle hand over her cheek, he soothed, “Ali, wait for me here at home, my love. Stay safe, and do not go wandering off.”
Her gaze fluttered, fragile as the beating wings of a butterfly, buffeted by the storm of his affection that swept over her without end. She made no answer. For she knew— one day she would be gone, far, far away from here. And in this life, they should never meet again.
When dawn broke, the sky hung heavy and grey. A heavy downpour had passed, leaving the air damp and cool, carrying a biting chill beneath its breath.
Wei Linye gazed down at the woman resting in his arms. His eyes burned with a fierce, possessive devotion, his voice husky and thick with longing as he whispered her name once more. “Ali…”
He murmured it again, as though he could never tire of the sound. “Wait for me. Do not cast your eyes upon other men while I am gone— and do not run from me.”
Alas, his beloved lay utterly spent, so exhausted she could not lift a single finger. She slept deeply, peacefully, and heard none of his parting words.
With great care, he gently disengaged himself and rose. The thin quilt slipped away, revealing the hard, sculpted lines of his abdomen— powerful, vital, and strong. He dressed swiftly, then leaned down to press one last lingering kiss upon her lips.
Out in the courtyard, Madam Huang had long since prepared a hearty breakfast: steaming rice, stir-fried greens, rich bone and melon soup, and steamed pork patties— a feast fit for a traveler.
Seeing her son emerge not from his usual quarters but from elsewhere, she registered only a momentary surprise before asking casually, “Is Muli not yet awake?”
Wei Linye’s expression softened. “Not yet. Pray do not wake her, Mother. Should she rise, simply tell her I have already set forth.”
“Ah… Muli is usually up with the dawn. It is most unlike her to sleep so late…” Madam Huang’s voice trailed off abruptly, her face flushing hot with understanding.
For there, upon the side of her son’s neck, peeking just above the collar of his robe, was a distinct, reddened mark— unmistakably the imprint of teeth. And who else could have left such a mark upon him but Muli? Surely no rat could have reached so high!
In an instant, Madam Huang understood precisely why her daughter-in-law still slept. She felt a sharp urge to scold her son for his excesses— yet knowing the pair might be parted for a year or more, she swallowed the words and sighed instead.
“Very well. I shall say nothing. Though it is a pity she could not see you off.”
“It matters not,” Wei Linye replied evenly. “It is perhaps better this way. I would not have her weep and grieve over my departure.”
“True enough. The girl wears her heart upon her sleeve,” Madam Huang nodded in agreement. Then she added, “Er-gou has not yet arrived. Go and double-check your belongings— ensure nothing has been left behind.”
“I shall.” He nodded and turned back inside.
He carried few books— only those few essential volumes he intended to read along the way. Others he could easily borrow from bookshops once he reached the capital. Clothing too was kept to a minimum: two extra sets of garments, one lined with cotton against the cold, and a heavy, hooded cloak of sable fur in rich chestnut-brown.
It was a gift his elder brother had purchased for him, long ago.
Liu Muli possessed an identical cloak, in the very same hue— also a gift from their late brother. She, ever fond of beauty, had embroidered a cluster of blooming pear blossoms upon its lining, thinking it made the garment all the lovelier. Later, Wei Linye had asked her to stitch the very same pattern into the inside of his own cloak.
*Pearl blossoms… how fitting,* he thought.
He looked down at the delicate embroidery upon his cloak, his gaze softening into a tenderness no one else would ever see.
High above, the heavy clouds parted. Golden sunlight spilled down from the heavens, gilding the distant mountains veiled beneath thin, silvery mist and bathing the world in radiant, warm light.
Seeing the weather clear so beautifully lifted Madam Huang’s spirits as well.
Presently, Er-gou arrived driving an ox-cart, its wooden wheels rumbling and clattering loudly over the rutted, muddy road. The bedding laid upon the floor had been freshly replaced with a thick, soft layer of straw, making the ride far more comfortable than before. Er-gou had also nailed sturdy wooden planks high along all sides— more than a foot in height and fastened with thick, stout pegs— to ensure stability and prevent passengers from being jostled against the sides during the journey. He had taken the precaution ever since Liu Muli had nearly tumbled from the cart on her last ride. The board at the rear was narrower, barely half a foot wide, serving as a convenient step for climbing aboard. Er-gou had also shifted the front driving plank backward by a foot, creating a comfortable seat where he might lean back and rest his spine against the wood.
Madam Huang admired the refurbished cart and praised him with a smile. “Er-gou, this is splendid work! You have turned it into quite a handsome carriage indeed!”
Er-gou scratched his head, grinning sheepishly, his face flushing with pleasure. Neighbors who had hurried over at the commotion laughed and agreed. “It looks wonderfully comfortable! We shall certainly call upon you when next we travel!”
“Ha-ha! Most certainly…”
Several elders and neighbors had gathered by the courtyard gate, chatting and laughing noisily. The clamor woke Liu Muli.
She stared up at the aged wooden beams overhead, blinking slowly in bewildered silence. Tears rolled unchecked from the corners of her eyes, falling one after another like pearls snapping loose from their string. Only then did she realize she was weeping. She brushed the tears away with the back of her hand.
“Why do I cry… is it not a fine thing that he is gone?” she whispered tremulously to herself. Yet a great, crushing weight pressed down upon her chest, squeezing the breath from her lungs in a rising tide of suffocating sorrow.
With trembling limbs, she rose, dressed, arranged her hair simply, and made her way to the courtyard gate.