Chapter Thirty-Nine: Transition (1)

When Ye An awoke the next morning, sunlight streamed through the window. Instinctively, he raised his hand to shield his eyes. As he turned over, he felt a lingering heaviness in his head, his body uncomfortably pressed against the hard surface of the bed. He sat up, massaging his temple, only to realize that the room was unfamiliar—not the one he was used to waking in. The furnishings were simple and immaculate, devoid of any unnecessary ornamentation. Then he remembered: this was Lulan’s room. Last night, in a bout of melancholy, he had sought her out. The memory of his wedding day returned in a rush—Meng Lanyi’s cool indifference, his own mounting headache. He swung his legs off the bed.

At that moment, Lulan entered, carrying a basin and washing utensils. The sunlight poured in through the doorway, and Ye An turned his head slightly to avoid the glare. Lulan smiled as she set the utensils on the washstand, announcing cheerfully, “Young Master, you’re awake.”

Ye An nodded, still groggy, rubbing his forehead. “Why did I end up sleeping here last night?”

“You drank quite a bit, Young Master. Later, you fell asleep at the table—I had no choice but to help you to bed,” Lulan replied, coming to his side and supporting him gently. “You should wash up now; the Master and Madam are waiting for you in the main hall.”

Ye An frowned as he walked to the washstand. “Waiting for what?”

Lulan reminded him, “It’s the first morning after your wedding, Young Master. You’re supposed to serve tea to your parents. Have you forgotten?”

Ye An spun around to stare at Lulan, as if recalling something important. He turned as if to dash out but checked himself, offering her a faint smile. “I’ll go now.”

And with that, he left as swiftly as the wind.

The smile faded from Lulan’s face. She lowered her eyes and, after a long moment, remembered to carry the untouched washbasin away.

In the bridal chamber, Meng Lanyi sat at the table, a cup in her hand, her expression as indifferent as ever. When Ye An entered, she rose to instruct the maid to help him change and wash. After a flurry of awkward movements, they finally set out together in silence.

By the time the tea ceremony was over, the sun had climbed higher in the sky. In the distance, Ye Qianran waved at them, and Meng Lanyi’s face lit up with a gentle, sun-warmed smile, as radiant as spring itself. Ye An was momentarily startled, a grain of discomfort settling in his heart like sand.

When Ye Qianran departed, Meng Lanyi’s expression reverted to its usual coolness. Ye An gave a short laugh, curiosity glinting in his eyes. “Which one is the real you—graceful and gentle, or cold and unfeeling?”

Meng Lanyi pressed her lips together and tilted her head to look at him. “Didn’t you say you loved me? Which me did you fall in love with?”

Ye An was momentarily at a loss for words.

Meng Lanyi lowered her head and let out a sudden laugh. “I used to think I didn’t understand love. Though I never accepted you, you said you loved me, and I just believed it. After thinking about it all night, I still can’t figure out—what is it about me that makes you love me so deeply? Can you tell me?”

There was a spark of genuine curiosity in Meng Lanyi’s eyes. He had rarely seen her look so simple and almost childlike, though her tone was earnest.

After a long silence, Ye An finally responded. He reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from her temple, his tone seemingly casual but intensely sincere. “Is the answer really so important to you?”

Meng Lanyi instinctively took two steps back, putting distance between them, face composed. “It’s not that important, really. I’ve just always liked to get to the bottom of things since I was a child. If I can’t figure something out, I feel unsettled. If you don’t want to answer, just pretend I never asked.” She turned to leave, but Ye An caught her right hand.

A low, gentle voice, soft as night dew, rose from his throat. “I’m sorry.”

Meng Lanyi looked at him, bewildered.

Ye An drew her into an embrace, resting his head in the hollow of her shoulder. She struggled briefly, but when his voice sounded again, she stilled. “Yesterday was our wedding day. No matter how angry I was, I shouldn’t have left you. I’m sorry.”

Meng Lanyi was stunned into silence. After a long pause, she whispered his name, “Ye An.”

“Yes?” he replied, still holding her.

“What’s wrong?”

Ye An shook his head. After a moment, he spoke in a soft voice, “We’re married now, destined to walk this road together. I regretted leaving you as soon as I walked out, but I didn’t dare come back, so I just kept drinking. Lanyi, let’s not let this happen again, all right?”

His words were so sincere that for a moment, Meng Lanyi nearly blurted out her agreement. But a sliver of doubt held her back, and she swallowed the word before it escaped.

Quietly, she gazed out at the tall trees bathed in autumn sunlight, among which butterflies flitted over blooming chrysanthemums. She raised her right hand and wrapped it around his slender waist.

Ye An froze for an instant, then held her even tighter.

At night, Ye An arranged a soft couch in their room and slept there every day. In the deep silence of night, he would gaze at the bright moon and star-strewn sky, and the two of them would talk about their hearts, their youthful memories. Only then did they begin to resemble a true married couple. As time passed, the masculine habits Meng Lanyi had accumulated over the years were gradually softened. She began to learn the arts of a lady—embroidering purses, reading poetry, and sometimes, when the mood struck, dancing. She had never cared for such things in her youth, but now, learning them from the beginning, she felt as if she had been reborn. At times, she marveled that this was what a woman’s life was supposed to be.

She and Ye Qianran were close. Since marrying into the Ye family, they met almost daily—chatting in the manner of young women, sometimes discussing affairs of state. Though she no longer needed to handle her father’s official documents, Meng Lanyi had been trained since childhood to analyze court politics, and it felt strange to give it up entirely. Fortunately, Ye Qianran shared her interests and made for delightful company. Sometimes, when Ye An returned from the merchant’s office, he would join their discussions. But more often, it was Zhuge Liuyun who spoke with Ye Qianran. The two saw each other every few days—sometimes stargazing on the rooftop, sometimes strolling hand-in-hand through the streets. For Ye Qianran, any time spent together was good.

Qingfeng left half a month after Ye An’s wedding. At that time, his master, Daoist Liaoran, happened to be passing through the capital and took his disciple with him. Qingfeng didn’t even have time to say goodbye to Ye Qianran before he was whisked away. Liuyun said they were heading to the Eastern Isles, a mysterious land whose ninja arts had long fascinated Qingfeng.

Ye Qianran sometimes envied Qingfeng’s freedom—to leave or return as he pleased, unburdened by cares. She recalled her childhood travels with her grandfather, journeys that often lasted more than half a year. Though the hardships were many, the experience was exhilarating. She had always admired the sword-wielding heroines in the stories she read in her southern boudoir, roaming the world at will. But in reality, she felt powerless—unable to lift or bear weight herself—and this sometimes discouraged her. When she confided in Zhuge Liuyun, he laughed and said that, for all her outward composure and intelligence, he hadn’t expected such a free-spirited soul underneath. He promised that, after retiring from official life, he would take her traveling across the land, helping her realize that dream.

Ye Qianran was delighted—not because she longed to roam the world with a sword, but because of his intention. In truth, she never told him that, after meeting him, she had abandoned that dream entirely. Her only wish now was to be his wife, to grow old together.

Time passed quickly, and soon the twelfth lunar month arrived. Winters in the north were especially cold; the wind howled, and snow fell thick and fast, turning the land into a world of silver. In the courtyard, white and red plum blossoms braved the snow and bloomed sparsely. On a whim, Ye Qianran had Juanbi bring a bamboo umbrella and went to admire the newly opened blossoms. The air was filled with the fragrance of plum; white ones cold and pure, red ones vivid and bright. The two trees bloomed together, painting a unique beauty in the snow-covered world. Snowflakes continued to fall tirelessly, her soft silk shoes creaking on the snow as she stood under the umbrella, watching the swirling snow like a child at play.

Wei Zhuang held a bamboo umbrella as well, and from afar he saw Ye Qianran standing beneath her own, wrapped in a hibiscus-pink cloak. Even in profile, the radiance of her face was unmistakable, her dark eyes shining with a subtle light.

He didn’t approach, simply stood amidst the whiteness, gazing at her with the joy of one admiring a beautiful scene. From his vantage, the distance was a sea of snow, the foreground dotted with blooming red plum, and under the bamboo umbrella, a mischievous young lady reached out to catch snowflakes, her maid standing behind her—an enchanting tableau.

Perhaps his gaze was too intense, for Ye Qianran soon noticed him. She turned her head and caught his eye. Wei Zhuang smiled slightly and walked toward her at an unhurried pace.

Ye Qianran’s heart skipped a beat, and she motioned for Juanbi to avoid him. Since their sharp exchange that day, they had met a few times—mostly when he came to the residence to discuss business with her father, and always, by some coincidence, she encountered him.

This irritated and frustrated her. Though she no longer disliked him as much as she did at first, his words on that occasion had been too much. If she let herself become entangled again, she would be betraying her own pride. So she avoided him whenever possible.

But Wei Zhuang gave her no chance. Sensing her intent to escape, he quickly stepped in front of her.

Blocked, Ye Qianran was a little annoyed but still greeted him politely with a nod. Mischief sparkled in Wei Zhuang’s obsidian eyes. “I’m sure you’ve cursed me more than once in your heart, haven’t you, miss?”

Ye Qianran glared at him, her displeasure plain. To her surprise, he smiled warmly, his teeth as white as the snow.

His voice was low and pleasant. “It’s only natural you treat me this way. If you were too polite, I’d be flattered.” As he spoke, his brows arched roguishly, his striking features those of a devilish prince from some distant land.

Ye Qianran shot him a cold glance. “What brings you here, Mr. Wei?”

Wei Zhuang smiled again, gentle as before. “Are you still angry with me, miss?”

Ye Qianran snorted dismissively, her expression saying plainly that she had never cared about their previous altercation. But the truth was, she had, and Wei Zhuang could sense it.

Wei Zhuang nodded at Juanbi, signaling her to hand him the umbrella. Ye Qianran tried to stop her with a look, but it was too late—Wei Zhuang had already taken the umbrella, leaving his own behind, and now stood beside Ye Qianran under the same shelter.

She looked at his triumphant expression and shook her head helplessly.

For reasons she couldn’t explain, being near Wei Zhuang always made her feel pressured, as though she had no control over anything and could only follow his lead. This unsettled her and made her want to avoid him all the more.