Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Enigmatic Wei Zhuang

After the Double Ninth Festival, Ye An’s wedding day drew ever closer. The Ye family estate was suffused with festive cheer, and ever more visitors arrived to offer their congratulations. Among them were not only high-ranking officials and noblemen, but also wealthy merchants. Ye Yuandao was already the richest man in the capital, and Meng Jiang held the highest position among the Six Ministries; the union of their families was a true marriage of power and fortune. Many sought to ingratiate themselves, and so Ye Qianran watched as wave after wave of guests came and went from dawn to dusk. There was only one phrase to describe the scene: carriages streamed by like water, and the gates were crowded as a marketplace.

One afternoon, Ye Qianran sat beneath a fiery maple tree playing the qin. She played "Longing for Each Other," the melody winding and lingering, yet her mind drifted to the conversation she overheard in the western bamboo grove between Lianxin and Liuyun. It was as if a grain of sand had entered her heart—not fatal, but impossible to ignore, leaving her uneasy. This must be the so-called death by a thousand cuts; Lianxin had gone, yet still left her unsettled.

Her playing grew increasingly discordant, until the final note faded and Ye Qianran returned from her reverie. Raising her eyes, she saw her father and Wei Zhuang standing before her, their figures blazing against the backdrop of scarlet leaves. Wei Zhuang’s gaze was cool and detached. Ye Qianran rose gracefully and saluted them. Her father introduced, "This is Mr. Wei," then turned to Wei Zhuang, "This is my daughter Qianran."

Wei Zhuang nodded politely, as if he had never met her before. Ye Qianran felt puzzled—when had he become so formal? But with her father present, perhaps he was only putting on an act. She thought no further; though she had learned much about him from Juanbi and wished to avoid further entanglement, he possessed knowledge she urgently needed. After discussing music scores for a while, she found an excuse to keep Wei Zhuang behind.

Once her father departed, Wei Zhuang leaned lazily against the maple tree, glancing at her sideways. His voice was indifferent and languid: "Why did you ask me to stay, Miss?"

Ye Qianran stopped three steps before him, tilting her head to study him. "You seem a little different from before."

"Oh?" Wei Zhuang raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Ye Qianran pondered for a long moment. "I can't quite say. It's just… different."

Wei Zhuang suddenly pulled her close, his right hand securing her waist, their breaths mingling. His tone was sly: "Is this more like before?"

Ye Qianran hurriedly broke free, her cheeks flushed but her voice clear. "Sir, why do you always resort to such antics?"

Wei Zhuang laughed lazily, his expression nonchalant, yet an inscrutable depth flickered in his obsidian eyes. He asked, "Three months since we last met—how are you and Liuyun?"

Ye Qianran instinctively stepped back, her eyes wide with disbelief as she looked at him as though he were some strange creature. "How do you know?"

Wei Zhuang replied coolly, "You told me."

Ye Qianran cast him a skeptical glance. "When did I tell you?"

Wei Zhuang shifted to a more comfortable position, still leaning against the maple. "That night, while you slept, you kept calling his name."

Her cheeks reddened once more; she could not find words as she stared at the fallen leaves at her feet. A fleeting anger flickered in Wei Zhuang’s eyes, vanishing as quickly as it came. It was as if that momentary rage were a mirage, for he spoke again in a tone bordering on indifference: "Do you like him very much?" As if her answer mattered not at all.

Ye Qianran shook her head, paused, then nodded, and shook her head again.

Wei Zhuang stood and started to walk away. When he reached her side he paused, "I shall take my leave." Ye Qianran looked up in surprise and instinctively grabbed his sleeve. "You’re leaving so soon?" Wei Zhuang’s gaze fell on her hand clutching his arm. Like touching hot coals, she withdrew instantly. He asked, "Is there something else you wish to say, Miss?"

Ye Qianran stared at him intently, trying to see through him, uncertain whether he had truly forgotten or was merely toying with her. "You... don’t remember?"

Wei Zhuang shrugged, unconcerned. "Business has kept me busy lately. My memory isn’t what it was. Perhaps you could remind me, Miss?"

His indifference irked Ye Qianran, but she persisted, "Before you left, you said you would stay in Suzhou for a while. So I implored you to visit my grandparents..."

Wei Zhuang tilted his head, as if pondering. Ye Qianran watched him earnestly, hoping he hadn’t forgotten—how desperately she wanted news of Suzhou.

After a long moment, Wei Zhuang finally responded, "Oh—so that’s what you meant."

Ye Qianran’s face flushed and her eyes sparkled with hope. "I knew you wouldn’t forget, sir."

A mysterious light flashed in Wei Zhuang’s eyes, though his lips curled in a careless smile. His voice was cool, "I’m sorry, I forgot."

Her smile froze, the light in her eyes extinguished, and her mind turned to chaos. Ye Qianran was stunned.

Wei Zhuang pretended not to notice her disappointment, his thin lips uttering indifferent words: "Next time, when I pass through Suzhou, I’ll be sure to visit." With that, he turned and left.

His bamboo-colored robe was embroidered with elegant patterns, his tall silhouette stretched long by the slanting sun. The air carried a faint chill. After a slow realization, Ye Qianran finally understood the meaning behind his expression. She turned and called after him, anger flaring in her dark eyes.

Wei Zhuang stopped and looked back at her.

Ye Qianran approached, regarding him sideways, her voice laced with suppressed fury. "Do you find this amusing, sir?"

He raised his brows, lips curling faintly, though his face showed no smile. "I do not understand what you mean, Miss."

"I never forced you, sir. You promised me of your own accord, you gave me hope. For three months after you left, I waited every day for your return. Is this indifference all I’ve waited for?"

Wei Zhuang brushed his fingers across his brow, turning his head to look at her, his voice icy. "I never promised you anything. You misunderstood me. Is that my fault?"

Ye Qianran’s face turned pale, her lips bitten, and after a long silence, she forced a cold smile. "Your words have indeed enlightened me, sir. Clearly it was I who overstepped. We have no real connection, and I was presumptuous." Each word was as cold as white plum blossoms blooming in February. With that, she turned and walked away without looking back.

Wei Zhuang pressed his lips together, restraining himself, his voice still calm: "Such clarity and understanding from you, Miss. I am most grateful."

Ye Qianran stopped, her body trembling with shame, anger deepening in her eyes. He had been the one to entangle her, yet now made it seem as if she were the one clinging desperately. It was intolerable. She drew a deep breath, fought the urge to shout, and forced herself to calm down. Her words were ground out between clenched teeth: "I hope you too, sir, can be so clear and understanding."

Wei Zhuang left the Ye estate just as dusk was falling. The western sky was bathed in golden hues. He rested his hand on his brow and gazed into the distance, a trace of weariness between his brows.

In the rear courtyard of the Warm Pavilion, the garden where the courtesan lived alone, chrysanthemum blossoms swayed by the pond. Autumn wind swept through, and the leaves of the phoenix tree before the house drifted down. Gu Qingcheng was crouched among the chrysanthemums, silent, lost in thought. She looked up as Wei Zhuang passed through the flower gate, a gentle smile on her brow.

Inside, sandalwood incense burned in the brazier, its delicate fragrance filling the room. Wei Zhuang sank into the lounge chair, eyes half-closed, his face showing exhaustion.

Gu Qingcheng brewed tea by his side, the finest Yixing clay teaware arrayed on the table. She warmed the cups, poured hot water into the teapot, and scattered premium Biluochun leaves. The leaves sank, unfurled; the buds were like spears, the leaves like banners. Steam mingled with the fragrance, rising in clouds, the leaves swirling like snowflakes, tender and fresh at the bottom.

Wei Zhuang breathed in softly, his expression relaxing. He said mildly, "Three months apart, Qingcheng, your tea brewing has grown ever more refined."

Gu Qingcheng smiled quietly, lowered her gaze, and sat beside him. "Sir, you have not tasted it yet. How can you know my skills have improved?"

Wei Zhuang slowly opened his eyes, his voice almost sighing, "The aroma alone is enough."

Gu Qingcheng moved behind the lounge chair, her slender hands gently massaging his shoulders. "It is your discerning palate, sir, that makes my tea worthwhile. Only you would not disdain it."

Wei Zhuang closed his eyes again. "Words from your lips are always pleasant to hear."

Gu Qingcheng smiled silently, massaging his shoulders as she asked, "Did you gain anything from this trip to the south, sir?"

Wei Zhuang smiled. "It was mainly to soothe and cultivate relationships. You know—money makes everything easier."

Gu Qingcheng laughed again. "You brought back fruit and specialties from Jiangnan, and left them in my room. If you don’t open them soon, they’ll spoil."

Wei Zhuang sat up from the lounge chair, expressionless as he stared at the teaware. "A friend asked me to bring them from Suzhou."

Gu Qingcheng returned to the table, sensing the tea was ready, and poured him a cup, her eyes lowered. "Why not give them to her? Soon they’ll be wasted."

Wei Zhuang raised the cup, blew gently. The scent wafted up, tea mist swirling. His voice was low and a little blurred, "I just… suddenly don’t want to give them to her."

In the west, the sun’s last rays finally disappeared. Night deepened, mist drifted in the air, and stars appeared in the dark sky. Moonlight filtered through clouds, casting a gentle glow on the fallen phoenix leaves before the house. Wei Zhuang lay exhausted, his head resting on Gu Qingcheng’s lap, and drifted into sleep. The room was silent. Gu Qingcheng’s hand smoothed his brow, as if to erase its furrows. The wind passed through the window lattice, filling the room with fragrance.