Chapter Fifty: Departure-Entangled in the Years(An old friend from the past)

Ye Qianran placed the embroidered pouch on the table and opened the envelope. What greeted her eyes was Lulan’s delicate, graceful handwriting:

“My lady, forgive me for leaving without a word. I truly cannot bear to face you again. I once believed myself clever and worldly, thinking that the more clearly I understood things, the less I was willing to resign myself. When the chance came to change my fate, I could not let it go. But later I discovered that things were far more complicated than I ever imagined. Many things I believed I could endure, when faced with them for real, I found I could not bear at all. Call me useless or weak if you wish, my lady—I simply cannot go on. I do not know where I will end up, but I will bring this child into the world and raise him with all my heart. Only now do I realize how wrong my earlier thoughts were: a child’s fate need not be changed by his family alone. I can change it, and one day, when he grows up, he can change it himself. So I am no longer stubborn—I choose to leave. Do not worry for me, my lady, I will care for myself. When I am not by your side, you must take good care of yourself too. In the end, I wish you a lifetime of peace and happiness… Lulan bows her head.”

Ye Yuandao’s steady, sonorous voice sounded, “Enough, enough. Being anxious will do nothing now. All we can do is wait for news. Don’t just stand there. Sit.” He then instructed the waiting housekeeper to serve breakfast.

After the morning meal, Ye Qianran and Ye An bid their parents farewell and went their separate ways. Ye Qianran walked into Bamboo and Snow Pavilion, seated herself at the round rosewood table, and fixed her gaze on Juanbi, saying nothing.

Juanbi fidgeted under her stare, unable to meet her eyes, and asked nervously, “Miss, why are you looking at me like that?”

Still silent, Ye Qianran kept her eyes locked on her.

Juanbi felt her skin prickle, goosebumps rising all over. Guiltily, she tried to divert Ye Qianran’s attention, eyeing the vivid green bracelet on Ye Qianran’s wrist. She forced a cheerful exclamation, “Wow, miss, your bracelet is so beautiful. Did Young Master Liuyun give it to you?”

Ye Qianran’s expression remained unchanged. Juanbi coughed awkwardly. “Miss, please don’t look at me like that. You’re scaring me.”

Ye Qianran withdrew her gaze, reaching out to pour herself some tea. Juanbi quickly took the teapot from her hand, filling her cup with exaggerated diligence. Ye Qianran let out a low laugh, accepting the cup. “Lulan… where is she?”

Juanbi let out a nervous laugh, twisting her hands, her expression unnatural. “I don’t know.”

Ye Qianran sipped her tea, unruffled. “Let’s see how long you can keep this up.”

With a thump, Juanbi knelt. “Miss…”

Ye Qianran set her teacup down. “Speak.”

Juanbi clutched at the hem of Ye Qianran’s skirt, her face pleading but her tone unyielding. “Promise me you won’t tell the master or madam, and I’ll tell you.”

Ye Qianran tilted her head. “If I meant to expose you, I wouldn’t have waited until we were alone. You should know I won’t tell them.”

Instantly, Juanbi’s face lit up, and she said coyly, “I knew you were the best, miss.”

Ye Qianran sighed and shook her head. “Don’t flatter me. Just talk.”

Juanbi got up. “Miss, wait here a moment.” She hurried out and soon returned with a pouch and a letter, which she handed to Ye Qianran.

Ye Qianran placed the pouch on the table and opened the letter. Once again, she saw Lulan’s elegant script:

For a long time, Ye Qianran did not move. At last, she set the letter aside and closed her eyes, memories flooding back to when she was five years old: the first time she saw Lulan on the street. Lulan stood quietly in the crowd, her face bearing a precocious maturity that did not match her age. She was being sold in the street, her price a mere ten taels of silver. Ye Qianran had instantly taken a liking to her and begged her grandmother to buy her. Back then, Lulan was only seven. In the blink of an eye, more than ten years had passed. Both she and Lulan had grown up. Everything had changed; nothing was as it once was.

She reached for the embroidered pouch, gently caressing its surface. A single tear slid from the corner of her eye, falling onto the blooming hibiscus at her side. Suddenly, Ye Qianran felt weary. Some things, she realized, change and vanish before one is even aware of it, and those are the things she could neither alter nor hold onto.

Outside, the wind pressed softly but insistently against the thick window paper. Inside, the charcoal fire crackled, while the pale sunlight slanted in, casting a hazy glow over the small room. Behind her, the floor screen was adorned with blooming irises, their fragrance seemingly filling the chamber. Ye Qianran rose and pushed open the window. The cold wind rushed in, striking her face, but she remained oblivious, gazing blankly at the withered parasol tree outside, sorrow creeping over her entire being.

The world is ever-changing and unpredictable.

Meng Lanyi sat by the window, her slender fingers resting on the edge of the writing desk. Ye An, eyes lowered, asked her, “What are you thinking about?” Meng Lanyi’s lips curled into a faint, ambiguous smile. “Nothing at all.”

Ye An pressed his lips together, then rose from the other side of the desk and knelt before her, his arms resting on the sides of her chair, trapping her in. He tilted his head slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are you unhappy?”

Meng Lanyi met his gaze, her eyes skimming over his brows, eyes, nose, and lips. After a moment, she asked, “And you? What are you thinking?”

Ye An looked down and smiled, capturing her hand and pressing it to his cheek. “I’m thinking about what you’re thinking.”

“Then... Lulan, have you not thought of her?” Meng Lanyi stared at him intently, searching his face for any sign.

“How could I not? She is the mother of my child.” Ye An’s laughter was soft and low. Meng Lanyi’s body stiffened, and she instinctively tried to withdraw her hand. But Ye An held it tight, lifting his eyes to her. “When I think of her, it’s no different than thinking of my sister, my parents, or Liuyun. But when I think of you, my heart aches. She is my responsibility; you are my love. Do you understand?”

Meng Lanyi’s brows knit together as she regarded him with a complicated expression.

Ye An lowered his head and smiled again. “I have always wanted to say these things to you, but you never let me. In this world, you are my only love. There will never be another. Whether you believe me or not, these words are from the bottom of my heart.”

Her hand brushed his jade-like cheek, her almond-shaped eyes misting with feelings she could not name. Ye An gazed at her, transfixed, until after a long moment, Meng Lanyi’s voice came, dazed and uncertain: “How many others have heard these words before me?”

Ye An’s body tensed, then he gripped her hand more tightly. “So this is why you’ve always kept me at arm’s length—afraid I would be fickle, afraid I only cared for you on a whim?”

Meng Lanyi said nothing.

But Ye An already understood her answer. He clasped her hand even more firmly. “I have never spoken these words to anyone else. You are the first.” He paused. “It’s not that you dislike me. You just never had enough security, is that right?”

Meng Lanyi pulled her hand free, stood, and walked around him. She picked up the tongs by the brazier and poked the coals. Sparks leapt up, heat enveloping her. Her voice was very soft, as though speaking to him or perhaps to herself. “I don’t know what it means to like someone, or to love someone. Matters of the heart have always been a mystery to me. I only know that losing something after having it is worse than never having it at all. But last night, when you said you loved me, my heart was moved. I even thought, perhaps I could take a chance for once. Perhaps you truly are different from all other men. Now you say these words, and I am glad. I think I was right not to leave yesterday, or I would never have heard you say these things.”

At some point, Ye An had come up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, burying his face in the curve of her neck, his warm breath caressing her skin. He spoke softly, “I will never let you lose me—never.”

Meng Lanyi gave a small, almost imperceptible laugh. “And if you find Lulan?”

“I’ll take care of her. If she needs me, I can marry her. But I will never love her.”

The brazier gave a soft pop as a spark landed in the air and vanished in an instant. Meng Lanyi placed her hand on his, which was resting at her waist, closed her eyes, and savored this brief moment of tenderness and warmth.

Lulan, in the end, was never found. Ye Qianran had known all along this would be the result. If Lulan wished to hide, she would not be easily discovered. Ye Qianran believed that leaving would be better for Lulan than staying. There was a wider world waiting for her, and for a woman as clever as she, a better future was hers to seek.

The twenty-fifth day of the first month—ten days had passed since the Lantern Festival. Liuyun had not come. Ye Qianran knew that once the first month was over, he would depart with the army for the southwest.

She had been waiting for him all this time.

But ten days had passed, and still he had not come.

Earlier, her father had tentatively asked for her opinion on Liuyun following General Lantian’s army to the southwest. She knew what her father was worried about. She was sixteen this year, old enough to marry, and suitors came one after another. Her father hoped to settle her marriage soon, lest complications arise. She had only answered perfunctorily.

She thought back to what she had told Liuyun on the night of the Lantern Festival: “You’re going to war. I’ll wait for you. But I don’t want to wait for you nameless and without a title. Go to my father and propose. Once you do, I’ll be yours, and I can wait for you wholeheartedly.”

After saying this, she had not given him a chance to refuse, turning away and leaving at once.

She had waited for him with hope and joy, but he never came.

She was growing restless, irritable. As each day passed, hope turned to disappointment, and a small thread of anger within her heart grew and grew.

The twenty-sixth day of the first month.

The setting sun cast a pale, lifeless light, devoid of warmth. The wind continued, and the snow began to fall. Sparse flakes drifted to the ground, covering the bluish stone floor with a thin layer. Winter birds cried mournfully. Ye Qianran stood under the eaves, watching the drifting snow, her heart turning to ash.

Liuyun, do you really care so little for me?

The cold wind, mingled with snowflakes, stung her face, sharp as knives. She did not care; she had already lost hope. Liuyun would not come. If he cared, he would have come long ago.

Though her hope was gone, though she no longer dared to dream, she could not let it go. Why would he not come? If he would not propose, he could at least give her an explanation. But there was nothing—not a word, not a letter.

She had no idea what he was thinking. She had tried so hard to get close to him, to understand him, but he remained a mystery. In this relationship, she appeared to be the one in control, but in truth, she was not. She knew he cared for her, but she never felt secure. It always seemed as if she could not do without him, while he could walk away at any moment.