Leaving the Residence (2)

As soon as they left the stall, Juanbi began to mutter, “That old man is truly strange. Everyone else can’t wait to pay him, but he gets angry when you give him money. I just can’t figure out what he’s thinking.” She tugged at Lvlian’s sleeve and asked, “Don’t you think so?”

Lvlian teased her, “Don’t assume everyone’s as money-minded as you.”

Juanbi stamped her foot angrily and huffed, clinging to Ye Qianran’s sleeve. “Miss, look at her! Just because she knows a few more words than me, she bullies me all the time,” she said, her face full of grievance.

Ye Qianran shook her head with a smile. She was used to Juanbi and Lvlian always bickering behind her, their voices overlapping. If there ever came a day when they didn’t quarrel, she would find it strange, and only then would she feel the need to mediate.

As they spoke, they passed a sumptuously decorated establishment with a sign reading “Warm Pavilion,” its splendor dazzling to the eye. The bickering behind her abruptly ceased, and Ye Qianran paused, turning slightly.

Juanbi furtively tugged at Lvlian’s sleeve, whispering, “So this is the legendary first brothel of the capital. No wonder it’s extraordinary.”

Lvlian whispered back, “I’ve heard the most beautiful woman in the capital is here. I wonder what she looks like?” The curiosity of women is indeed insatiable—especially toward places they have never entered.

Hearing this, Ye Qianran frowned slightly and was about to turn when a man brushed past her from behind, nearly knocking her over. Juanbi and Lvlian hurried to steady her, and the man, realizing his mistake, turned to apologize. Yet, when he saw her face, he was momentarily stunned and blurted out, “It’s you?”

Ye Qianran was taken aback and studied him carefully. He looked about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, dressed in a moon-white robe with wide sleeves embroidered with clouds. He was tall, with a wheat-colored complexion, pronounced features, a square jaw, and his hair tied up with a small silver crown inlaid with jade. His eyebrows slanted upward with a hint of mischief, his obsidian eyes glinting with faint mockery, and at his lips played an elusive smile. He was unlike anyone Ye Qianran had ever met: a little aloof, a little roguish, carrying a worldly indifference yet a burning curiosity for all things.

She felt as though she had seen him somewhere before, but couldn’t recall where, so she asked, “Do I know you, sir?”

He gazed deeply at her and replied, “No, but we will soon become acquainted.” With that, he entered the Warm Pavilion.

A fine sheen of sweat appeared on Ye Qianran’s nose. He had looked at her just once, yet her heart was suddenly thrown into disarray and a chill rose within her. She suddenly remembered he was the man from the stairs of the Eight Directions Inn that day.

Lvlian quickly produced a silk handkerchief for her. “Miss, do you know him?” she asked. Ye Qianran shook her head and, leaning on Juanbi, continued walking slowly.

Juanbi sneered, “How could Miss know someone like that? He looks nothing like a decent person.”

Lvlian added, “I agree—he has an odd, unruly air about him.”

Ye Qianran said nothing, drifting into her own thoughts. When she finally looked up again, she found herself standing before the Jewelry Pavilion. She hadn’t intended to stop, but realized it had been a long time since she last visited such a place. With nothing urgent to do, she stepped inside.

There were few customers within the Jewelry Pavilion. Only an official’s young lady, dressed in a chrysanthemum-patterned top and a pleated skirt of wishful moons, accompanied by her maid, was selecting jade hairpins. As Ye Qianran entered, the proprietor bowed and greeted her. “Attend to the other guests,” she said. “I’ll browse on my own.”

But the proprietor hurried over to her, and upon learning what she desired, began to introduce various jade hairpins. None caught Ye Qianran’s eye; they were either too ornate or too vulgar. The proprietor quickly led her elsewhere, and she found herself standing side by side with the other young lady. Suddenly, her eyes lit up with delight as she pointed to an azure peacock hairpin inlaid with emeralds. But another delicate, fair hand pointed to the same hairpin.

The proprietor’s face showed a hint of awkwardness. Ye Qianran glanced at the other young lady, who was also looking at her. She appeared seventeen or eighteen, with an oval face, almond-shaped eyes, small lips, and fair skin. She wasn’t a stunning beauty, but her demeanor was composed and dignified. Meeting Ye Qianran’s gaze, she gave a gentle smile. Ye Qianran politely returned it and said, “A gentleman does not covet what others desire. Since you chose it first, sister, I’ll select another.”

She was about to turn away when the young lady spoke slowly, “It’s said throughout the capital that the Ye family’s young lady possesses a beauty that could topple kingdoms. Seeing you today, I find even that praise insufficient.”

Ye Qianran was mildly surprised. She hadn’t revealed her identity—how did this young lady know her? She inclined her head and asked, “How did you know who I am, sister?”

With a soft smile, the other replied, “My father and Uncle Ye have been friends for years. I have visited your home and met Aunt Ye a few times. You resemble her greatly, especially around the eyes and brows—it’s unmistakable.”

Ye Qianran’s doubts were dispelled and she smiled. “Sister, you have a good memory. I am ashamed not to have recognized an old friend.”

“You’ve only just arrived in the capital—it’s natural you wouldn’t know. I often hear Aunt Ye speak fondly of her daughter from Jiangnan, saying that once you arrived, I must visit you. What a coincidence, meeting here today!”

Ye Qianran listened with a smile, racking her brain to recall which of her mother’s friends this might be, but still could not remember. Embarrassed, she hesitantly asked, “May I ask your given name, sister?”

The young lady started, realizing she’d forgotten to introduce herself. Before she could reply, her clever maid stepped forward and said, “My mistress is Meng Lanyi, daughter of the Minister of Personnel.”

Ye Qianran quickly bowed, “Greetings, Sister Meng.”

Meng Lanyi hurriedly supported her and examined her closely. “You’re truly beautiful. I haven’t seen anyone in the capital who can compare. Today, I finally understand what the ancients meant when they said beauty could make one forget the taste of meat for three months—surely, they spoke of you.”

Ye Qianran had been accustomed to such compliments since childhood. At first, they made her shy, but with time, she grew used to them. She merely smiled and replied, “Sister, you’re the one renowned for beauty. Such praise makes me uneasy.”

Meng Lanyi took her hand and only smiled, saying nothing more. The proprietor seized the opportunity to interject, “Will the two young ladies be taking this hairpin?”

Ye Qianran thought, since Meng Lanyi was the Minister’s daughter and acquainted with her family, she would claim the hairpin first. “I’ll take this hairpin as a present for you, sister, as a token for our first meeting.”

Meng Lanyi had intended the same, but did not expect Ye Qianran to react so swiftly. They exchanged polite refusals, good-naturedly debating the matter, until finally Meng Lanyi accepted the hairpin. They agreed to visit each other often in the future to alleviate the boredom of their days, and then each departed in her carriage.

By the time Ye Qianran returned home, it was already dusk. The soft glow of the setting sun gilded the Ye residence in gold. The servants standing on either side of the gate looked different in this light, their handsome young faces shining. Upon seeing the ladies return, one of the boys hurried up, cheeks flushed. He was exceptionally delicate, with a clear and steady gaze untouched by the world, which reminded Ye Qianran of her beloved cousin in Jiangnan. Pleased, she asked, “How old are you?”

The boy bowed and replied, “Miss, I am twelve this year.”

Ye Qianran nodded with a smile and turned to Juanbi. “Such a pretty child shouldn’t be left to bake in the sun at the gate every day. Go tell the steward to assign him as a guard in my courtyard.”

The boy was taken aback. A glimmer of hope flashed in his eyes before fading. Bowing his head, he said, “My martial skills are lacking, Miss. I fear I’ll disappoint you.”

Ye Qianran smiled gently, but before she could speak, Juanbi answered for her, “Miss wishes to promote you. If your skills are lacking, you can learn. Only if you’re dull is there no hope.” She glanced at Ye Qianran, who smiled in approval. After so long together, Juanbi and Lvlian understood her ways well.

This time, the boy responded quickly, bowing low. “Thank you for your favor, Miss. I, Asheng, will do my utmost not to disappoint you.”

Ye Qianran nodded with a smile and led Juanbi and Lvlian inside.

The sky was ablaze with golden-red clouds. Occasionally, flocks of wild geese flew overhead, leaving faint, blurred shadows on the horizon. Lvlian said that when wild geese fly high, good things are near.

Ye Qianran made no comment.

When she arrived at Qinghui Hall, Ye Yuandao was not home; only Wen Qiumei was there, sitting at the window in the main hall, embroidering a handkerchief. From time to time, she looked out at the blooming crabapple tree by the window, its soft pink petals radiant in the evening glow. Wen Qiumei’s expression shifted between frowning and smiling, as if lost in thought. Ye Qianran approached from behind, but her mother did not notice.

Ye Qianran gently embraced Wen Qiumei’s shoulders from behind. Wen Qiumei started, then turned to see her daughter. She smiled, set down her needlework, and took Ye Qianran’s hand. “Why are you only just home?”

Ye Qianran sat opposite her, feeling a warmth in her heart. “Yes,” she replied, then her gaze fell on the handkerchief her mother was embroidering—the delicate image of an orchid, elegant and serene among its leaves. It seemed even the air was fragrant with its scent, just like her mother’s character.

“Mother, do you love orchids so much?”

“Orchids dwell in secluded valleys yet remain unsullied. They have always been my favorite,” Wen Qiumei replied softly.

“Orchids are noble and refined, their nature pure—just like you, Mother. The ancients said a person’s favorite flower reflects their character. How true that is.”

Wen Qiumei brushed a stray lock of hair from Ye Qianran’s forehead and smiled. “Someone once said the same to me, but I took it as a jest. Now, hearing you say it, I know he meant it sincerely.” Wen Qiumei sighed faintly.

Ye Qianran’s playful spirit arose. She hugged her mother’s neck and whispered in her ear, “Was that person Father?”

Wen Qiumei only smiled and said nothing.

Ye Qianran took her mother’s silence as assent. “Ha! I always thought Father must be a simple, honest man. Who knew he was so glib in his youth? But Mother, you chose well. While others have three or four wives, only Father has remained true to you.”

Wen Qiumei gazed at the embroidered orchid, a fleeting sadness in her eyes. Ye Qianran was startled; perhaps she had been mistaken. With harmony between her parents and children at their knees, her mother’s life should have been complete. Or perhaps Ye Qianran simply couldn’t understand why her mother would feel such sorrow—she was too young, her heart too full of optimism, believing everything in the world to be simple.

Time would teach her otherwise.

Perhaps, years later, Ye Qianran would finally understand the loneliness that passed through her mother’s eyes.

Before Ye Qianran left, Wen Qiumei gave her the handkerchief embroidered with orchids—just as she had for Ye An and Qianzhi before. Now, Ye Qianran had one too.

Ye Yuandao had never been in the habit of returning late, but tonight, for some reason, it was nearly midnight and he had not come home. Fearing their mother would be lonely, Ye Qianran and Ye An did not return to their rooms after dinner. Instead, they kept her company in silent understanding.

The moonlight poured like mercury across the vermilion corridors. The black sky was pricked with a few stars, and a solitary crow called mournfully from a branch, adding a note of desolation to the spring night. Suddenly, the wind rose, rattling the plantain leaves outside the house, and then it began to rain. The raindrops fell like tears, slicing through the silent darkness, struggling as they descended. The air was tinged with a faint sadness.

At last, Ye Yuandao entered the main hall with the steward. Wen Qiumei quickly stood up. The candlelight flickered, casting shifting shadows. Ye Yuandao’s face was pale, bloodless, bearing a quiet sorrow; there was none of the light in his eyes as before. His clothes were still damp with rain. His gaze swept calmly over them all before coming to rest on Wen Qiumei. In a low, hoarse voice, he said, “The emperor has passed away.”

Ye Qianran’s brow furrowed as a surge of complex emotions rose within her.

This emperor, once so powerful and awe-inspiring, could not escape the fate of mortal life and death. On this ordinary day, his illustrious life had ended. From now on, he would live only in the histories, like the monarchs before him. No matter how tirelessly he had toiled in life, this land was no longer his. This age no longer belonged to him. Whether the empire flourished, declined, or perished had nothing to do with him anymore.

Ye Qianran gazed through the drizzling rain at the swaying shadows outside. The entire empire seemed to have fallen into silence and darkness.

Elsewhere in the capital, in a shabby, nameless hut, an old man of sixty put on his old official robes taken from the bottom of a chest, clutching the candy figurine of the late emperor in his hand. He lay down quietly and closed his eyes. That night, he dreamed.

He dreamed of the first time he sought refuge with Liu Ao. It had seemed a fine day, the sky a clear blue with not a cloud in sight. That night, the two of them talked until dawn, lamenting the late start of their friendship. They had dreamed of the future, made mutual promises to meet again in glory. Liu Ao was twenty-six; he was thirty—both young men brimming with ambition and vision.

Their old friends—some had died in war, some had been ruthlessly eliminated by the one who ascended the throne. And he alone had accompanied the emperor to the very end of the road.

The next day, people found the old man dead, a faint smile on his lips. He had passed peacefully.

He had once hated the emperor so much—hated him for his ruthless purges, for leaving no room for mercy. Now the emperor was dead, and all grudges were ended.

He followed him into the afterlife.

Such are the mysteries of human feeling.