Unable to attain, yet unable to let go.

At night, when Zhuge Qingfeng vaulted over the wall to return to the Minister’s residence, the light in Liuyun’s room was still burning. He stepped forward, hesitating at the door, his hand raised to knock, unsure whether he should speak or not. He lingered in that posture for a long time before finally lowering his hand slowly. Just as he turned to leave, the door opened. Zhuge Liuyun, his face calm, looked at him with faint surprise and said, “I noticed you as soon as you arrived. I thought you’d come in, but after waiting so long without hearing your knock, I had no choice but to open the door myself.”

With those words, he turned sideways to let him in. But Qingfeng did not enter; instead, he drew him to sit beneath the wisteria trellis. The night mist drifted lightly through the air, the coolness washing away the heat of summer. Moonlight, pale and deep, fell across his face, lending him an indescribable handsomeness, unchanged from six months before when he left—still aloof, detached from the world, a faint smile hovering at his lips, the mirth never reaching his eyes.

“Why do you keep staring at me?” Zhuge Liuyun quietly asked, noticing his gaze.

Zhuge Qingfeng turned away, his long fingers tapping the stone table, his expression calm. “When I first saw that jade pendant on the young lady, I thought you’d finally let go of your old wounds.”

Zhuge Liuyun let out a soft laugh. “It ended up in her hands by accident. I haven’t had time to retrieve it.”

“She has a shadow of Lianxin about her,” Qingfeng’s words fell one by one into Zhuge Liuyun’s heart. His fingers on the stone table suddenly stiffened.

“But I don’t think they’re alike at all. Rather, I think you see Lianxin in every young lady you meet,” he retorted.

“…”

“Honestly, I don’t like to talk about Lianxin. She feels heavy to me. Is she so heavy on your heart as well?”

Zhuge Liuyun’s cool features betrayed no emotion. “I’m used to it.”

Zhuge Qingfeng sighed quietly. “All these years, I wanted you to forget Lianxin and start anew, but it seems to have had the opposite effect. I don’t know if you truly can’t forget her, or if you’re punishing yourself. For someone devoted in love, I have nothing to criticize. But for someone who drowns excessively in past mistakes, that’s simply weakness.”

Zhuge Liuyun gave a weary smile and rose. “You’ve improved since you returned, at least your arguments aren’t the same tired ones. But,” he paused, “no matter what, I will not forget Lianxin. I owe her too much.”

Zhuge Qingfeng watched him walk away, a sense of helplessness flooding his heart. Yet he stood and called out loudly, “Zhuge Liuyun, acceptance doesn’t mean forgetting. The two are not in conflict at all.”

Zhuge Liuyun did not look back. Zhuge Qingfeng pressed his forehead in resignation—this man was truly stubborn beyond compare. Then, as if recalling something, he gazed at the sky and muttered to himself, “That jade pendant, since it was returned by Lianxin five years ago, has never left your side. Now, left at the Ye household, you’re not even in a hurry to take it back. How strange.” With that, he walked away slowly.

Zhuge Liuyun’s hand froze on the half-open door, his slender back held straight as a pine, framed by swaying tree shadows and faint moonlight—a lonely kind of defiance.

The next day, when Zhuge Liuyun sent someone to Zhuxue Pavilion, Ye Qianran was momentarily at a loss. Hadn’t he said he would retrieve it himself? Did he truly not wish to see her at all? How could he treat her so coldly? Day after day, she clung to that jade pendant, nurturing hope, longing for his arrival, yet also fearing it. Though she knew he could never love her, and had imagined countless scenarios, each time she looked at the pendant, she comforted herself: perhaps he cared for her, even just a little. As long as there was a glimmer of hope, she could live in her dreams, content in her own small world, even when she couldn’t see him.

Now, even that fragile hope was gone, her heart left hollow and aching as if swept by a cold wind. She was still so young, untested by the trials of love, clinging stubbornly to her feelings like a little girl. As she handed the jade pendant to the page, she also gave him a delicate ivory die she had kept hidden for so long. She had made it after reading Wen Tingyun’s “New Yangliu Branch,” after meeting him for the first time. Red adzuki beans were embedded in the ivory—the latest token of affection among lovers. At that time, she hadn’t known she was making it for him; she thought it a passing whim. Only later did she realize that perhaps, from the very first meeting, she had already fallen for him, though she hadn’t known it herself.

Exquisite dice hold red beans; does he know the love that’s etched into my bones?

Ye Qianran didn’t know how he would react—she didn’t even dare to imagine. But with a resolve born of desperation, she tried once more. She couldn’t believe he felt nothing for her. She didn’t care about his past, or how much it meant to him. She only wanted his present feelings, a little space in his heart—just a sliver would be enough. Yet even such a small wish was so hard to fulfill. She dreaded the thought that she held no place at all in his heart, feared she was alone in this one-sided longing. Having never loved before, she couldn’t distinguish between like and love. Still, her heart harbored the tender hopes of a young girl, a bit of wishful thinking, a touch of obsession.

Yet, ever since she sent the ivory die, it was as if it had sunk into the sea—no response at all. Ye Qianran didn’t know whether to feel relieved or heartbroken.

Zhuge Qingfeng, on the other hand, vaulted over the wall every night. The three of them would chat idly of poetry and the moon, painting and wine, singing to their hearts’ content. As these gatherings grew more frequent, their conversation became more relaxed, less formal, more natural.

One day, as Ye Qianran found herself staring dazedly at Zhuge Qingfeng yet again, he finally lost patience. With a swift motion, he stood up and seized her arm, marching her outside. Baffled, Ye Qianran shook him off, frowning. “What are you doing?”

Zhuge Qingfeng’s expression was exasperated. “My lady, let me tell you, even though I’m Liuyun’s brother, I loathe being someone’s substitute. You can’t keep looking at me while thinking of Liuyun—I can’t stand it. I might as well take you straight to him.”

With that, he tried to pull her along again. Ye Qianran stepped back, slipping from his grasp, her cheeks flushed, but she stubbornly denied it. “Nonsense, I’m not!”

A hint of disappointment and resignation crept into Zhuge Qingfeng’s eyes. He turned to Ye An, who sat on a stone stool with a cup of wine. “Brother Ye, is your sister always like this?”

Ye An tossed back his wine, then strolled over with a teasing tone, “She’s always been this way—so stubborn. I’m used to it.”

“Brother!” Ye Qianran shot him a reproachful glance.

Zhuge Qingfeng stared at her intently for a long moment, then gripped her shoulders and spoke gently, “Qianran, if you like Liuyun, you can hide it from anyone but me. I know him better than anyone—except himself.”

Ye Qianran gazed at him, eyes wide and clear, as if looking at him and yet already drifting away. After a long silence, she nodded firmly.

Zhuge Qingfeng let out a soft breath. “Qianran, remember this: when it comes to love, a man’s first instinct is to retreat, a woman’s is to be brave. If a man seems not to like you at first, it doesn’t mean he truly doesn’t care.”

“Oh? That’s a novel thought,” Ye An raised an eyebrow. “Who told you that?”

“My own experience…”

Ye An laughed and sank back into his bamboo chair.

Ignoring his mockery, Zhuge Qingfeng pressed on. “Do you want to see him now? I can take you right away.”

Ye Qianran looked up at him, shook her head, then after a moment, nodded.

Zhuge Qingfeng seized her hand and led her out.

Ye An sprang from his chair, grabbing her other arm, forcing her to stop.

His playful expression had vanished, replaced by a grave calm. “Zhuge Qingfeng, are you mad? It’s so late—are you truly going to take her out?”

Zhuge Qingfeng pulled Ye Qianran behind him, his face equally serious. “Ye An, if you don’t want her to become like you, let her go. Tonight, she’ll either give up, or start anew. Hesitation gets you nothing.”

“The pain of not getting what you want, yet being unable to let go—you know that feeling better than anyone.”

Ye An’s face darkened, his grip slowly loosening. Ye Qianran glanced uneasily at her brother, certain he was thinking of Sister Meng. She tried to pull her hand free, but Qingfeng motioned for her not to worry.

“My master once told me: what you see isn’t always true; what you hear isn’t always true; what others tell you isn’t always true. Only what you feel is true. But often, people don’t trust their own feelings.”

With that, he didn’t hesitate. Taking Ye Qianran in his arms, he leapt onto the wall. Looking back, Ye Qianran saw Ye An standing alone in the courtyard, dappled in shifting shadows, his silhouette stretched long and solemn under the moonlight.