Double Deception (Part One)

Ye Qianran kept the jade pendant but did not send anyone to find Zhuge Liuyun to retrieve it. She needed time to calm herself, to sort through her feelings, to let time prove whether her attraction to Zhuge Liuyun was merely a passing curiosity.

Since then, Zhuge Liuyun also never came to claim the jade pendant.

The days slipped by, one after another.

It was June, and the weather was stiflingly hot. The sky hung overhead like a great boiler, making it hard to breathe. After lunch, Ye Qianran wore a pale purple emerald smoke blouse and a pleated skirt of misty blue, tied at the waist with a light sash. She sat on a swing in the garden, swaying gently back and forth. The swing had been made by Ah Sheng, who, though only twelve, was clever and resourceful. He had said that the young lady could enjoy herself on it when she was idle, and had twined the swing with wisteria, thick and lush, making it beautifully adorned.

Ye Qianran swung idly, her feet brushing the soft grass, thick and close to the ground. Not far behind her stood a peach tree, now bare of the pale pink blossoms that had clustered in early spring, leaving only sparse leaves and branches. In contrast, the low crape myrtle beside the swing was in full bloom, clusters of red-purple flowers crowding the branches. Some branches, overwhelmed by the weight of their blossoms, drooped low. Through the dense flowers, patches of blue sky could be glimpsed. Ye Qianran reached out to brush the branches aside; petals fluttered down like a rain of flowers. Juan Bi stood beside her, telling jokes, sometimes pausing, sometimes laughing.

A breeze swept by, hot and thick, only increasing the oppressive heat.

Juan Bi wiped sweat from her brow repeatedly, glanced up at the blazing sun overhead, and complained, “Why is summer so hot? It’s enough to kill someone.”

Ye Qianran laughed at her complaint. “But I think summer is quite lovely.”

Juan Bi stared at her in disbelief, her voice sharp and thin, “Why?”

“Don’t you think there’s a beauty in heat at its extreme?” Ye Qianran tilted her head, gazing at the cloudless sky, her voice dreamy.

“Beauty?” Juan Bi repeated incredulously. “I don’t feel any beauty—I just feel terribly hot.”

Ye Qianran withdrew her gaze, and seeing Juan Bi drenched in fragrant sweat, she spoke kindly, “Go fetch some chilled watermelon and place it in the pavilion. When the heat becomes unbearable, you can have some to cool off.” She pointed to a small pavilion not far from the crape myrtle tree.

Juan Bi’s eyes sparkled with joy. “Miss, you always think of others!” With these words, she ran off.

Ye Qianran shook her head with a smile. The girl was truly undone by the heat.

The wind stirred, swaying the branches.

Behind the peach tree stood a man, softly laughing.

Ye Qianran, alert, stepped off the swing and turned. He stood beneath the tree, and through the weave of branches, she could only make out the vague silhouette of a stranger.

Yet the figure seemed oddly familiar. Unable to see his face, she could not recall who he was.

He stepped out from behind the tree, approaching her.

At last, Ye Qianran saw him clearly—it was him!

The man she’d seen on the staircase at the Eight Directions Inn, the man who’d brushed past her at the warm chamber, the man who radiated danger and wildness, a hint of sinister charm and untamed spirit, whose gaze was as sharp as a blade!

Suddenly, the burning sun overhead seemed to lose its intensity.

A strange tremor passed through Ye Qianran’s heart.

She had never felt this way before.

He seemed to know that she recognized him, a hint of smugness on his face, lips curled slightly, obsidian eyes glittering. His gaze swept over her in a peculiar manner, as if she were a beautiful bonsai and he its master, free to admire as he pleased. This unsettling feeling made Ye Qianran uneasy. She coughed twice, stepped back, trying to put distance between them.

He lowered his head and laughed, as if enjoying her discomfort.

He looked to be twenty-seven or twenty-eight. If he wasn’t her father’s friend, then he must be her brother’s. Though he stared at Ye Qianran, making her feel uneasy, she couldn’t ignore propriety. She nodded slightly as a greeting.

He slowly circled the swing to stand before her. Ye Qianran unconsciously retreated, backing up until she was pressed against a rockery, unable to go further.

He seemed to read her mind and did not advance, continuing to regard her with that strange gaze, saying nothing.

Ye Qianran cleared her throat, pulled a handkerchief from her waist, and covered her lips, signaling her embarrassment.

He finally withdrew his gaze, lowered his head to the grass, then looked up and asked, “Are you the famed beauty of the capital, renowned for your unmatched elegance?”

Ye Qianran, though she knew he meant no good, had not expected such bluntness. She forced a smile. “I hardly deserve such praise. It’s merely others’ flattery.”

He smiled gently, his eyes tinged with mocking disdain for her reply. “I agree, it’s exaggerated. Looking at you, you’re only slightly better than those women painted with rouge.” His tone was as flat as the bland rice porridge she drank on ordinary days.

Accustomed to compliments, Ye Qianran was stung by being called a painted woman, her hand clenched unconsciously. The words wounded her pride, bringing a chill to her heart. She had never been treated this way. Her own voice turned cold, and she retorted with a sneer, “You have an exceedingly high opinion, sir. Naturally, I am not worthy of your gaze. Perhaps you’d prefer the girls in the warm chamber.”

He did not take offense at her words, seeming not to notice the sarcasm, smiling gently as he replied, “You’re right. I’ve always found that you young ladies of the boudoir are not as good as those girls in the warm chamber.”

Ye Qianran began to tremble, her face alternately pale and flushed. He dared compare her to those courtesans! How could he so insult her, a woman raised in honor and dignity? What gave him the right?

She bit her lip, clenched her fists, struggling to compose herself.

He caught sight of her tightly clenched hands, her body trembling with force, and continued, “At least they are sincere. If you have money, you can do as you please. But you ladies—always playing coy, feigning restraint while seeking attention, mixing truth with falsehood, impossible to read.”

“Despicable,” she spat through gritted teeth. Clearly, he was no good man.

He laughed heartily, as if her words were the most amusing thing he’d heard.

Ye Qianran’s face burned. The laughter was too harsh, unbearable. He stepped forward, leaned close to her ear, and whispered, “But I rather like women painted with rouge.”

Ye Qianran’s anger surged. She swung her hand and slapped him hard across the face, a blow carrying malice and a deep hatred.

She was, after all, the daughter of the capital's richest man. Anyone who offended her would not find her forgiving—she would always repay a slight.

He seemed startled, but after recovering, did not grow angry. He simply dropped his playful expression and his face turned serious. He stretched out his arm, trapping her between the rockery and himself. She tried to escape, but he tightened the circle. Her anger vanished suddenly, replaced by fear. He was so tall, radiating strength and danger. Now that she had provoked him, she did not know what he might do. A chill of dread crept into her heart. He stared at her, full of challenge, their proximity so close she could smell the faint scent of ambergris on him. She turned her head away, refusing to meet his gaze, and said, “Let me go.” She tried to keep calm, but a tremor in her voice betrayed her.

“I am a petty man who always demands retribution. You struck me, and you still expect me to let you go?” He raised an eyebrow, his words full of malice.

Ye Qianran bit her lip. “Then what do you intend?”

“You know what I intend,” he said, slowly leaning in. Ye Qianran closed her eyes, pressing her head against the rockery with all her strength. In that moment, countless thoughts raced through her mind, but none offered a clear way out of her predicament.

A long time seemed to pass, yet nothing happened. She cautiously opened her eyes. He was watching her with great interest, his face alight with smug satisfaction.

Ye Qianran realized she had been played, and anger flared anew. She raised her hand for another slap, but he caught her wrist before it landed.

“Such lovely hands—it would be a pity if they were hurt from striking me.” He traced her arm, inhaling along its length, closing his eyes as if savoring the scent. “So fragrant.”

Seizing the moment, she yanked her wrist free and pushed him away with all her strength, leaping to the empty ground nearby. She pulled out her handkerchief, covering her lips, her eyes filled with contempt.

He seemed not to notice, advancing slowly. She turned her face aside, her disgust plain to see.

He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “My name is Wei Zhuang. Remember it—we will meet again.”

With that, he left with a smile.

Ye Qianran let out a long breath, her tense body relaxing at last. She did not know why, but he always made her feel inexplicably wary. Not just today—even before, when she had merely seen him, she felt a sense of alertness, her whole body taut.

She watched as he walked away, lingered against the rockery for a moment, then went to the pavilion, pressing her hand to her chest, her heart still racing.