Chapter 76: Entwined in Tender Longing (2)

Ye Qianran first saw Qianzhi on an early winter afternoon. The sky was overcast, leaden clouds pressed low, and the daylight had shrunk to a bleak, pale circle. The north wind howled down the street as Weizhuang led her into the Courtesan Bureau. Qianzhi stood under the wan sunlight in oversized clothes, loose and ill-fitting, her frail body seemingly at odds with the maturity in her eyes—far beyond her years. Ye Qianran’s heart twisted painfully. She wiped at her reddened eyes and walked toward her.

Ye Qianran embraced her, faintly recalling how, upon first arriving in the capital, Qianzhi had thrown herself into her arms, calling her “sister” with childish innocence. Two years had passed, and everything had changed. Now Qianzhi no longer tugged at her sleeve to act spoiled; instead, she had learned to comfort her. “Sister, don’t worry. I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Ye Qianran looked at her, tears falling uncontrollably. “Qianzhi, now you’re the only one left in the Courtesan Bureau. In the future, you’ll suffer much, face many hardships, but you must trust your sister, and believe in yourself. One day, the clouds will part and the moon will shine through. No matter what happens, don’t give up. Endure, grit your teeth and get through it, do you understand?”

Qianzhi nodded, half-understanding. “Sister, don’t worry. I’ll get through it. I won’t let anything defeat me. I will be strong.” Her voice was still childlike, but now carried an undertone of resolve.

Ye Qianran nodded in relief, yet her heart ached. In less than a month here, Qianzhi seemed to have changed completely. The once playful, spoiled little girl had become silent and sensible—a small adult. Should Ye Qianran be glad, or should she mourn?

Weizhuang helped her up, then pulled a brocade pouch from his robe and handed it to Qianzhi, bending down. “Little Qianzhi, keep this pouch safe. If you ever find yourself in trouble, open it and follow the instructions inside. I can’t promise it will free you from hardship, but at least it can save you in a crisis. Understand?”

Qianzhi took the pouch obediently and nodded. “Thank you, brother.”

Ye Qianran embraced Qianzhi again. “Qianzhi, I’ll always be watching over you. You must endure. Now you’re all I have, you mustn’t come to harm.”

Qianzhi patted Ye Qianran’s shoulder. “Sister, don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

That night, Ye Qianran was shaken from a nightmare by Weizhuang. Her forehead was slick with cold sweat. She had dreamed of the day her family was destroyed; she ran desperately, trying to warn her father of the impending disaster, but could never find the way home. Her heart beat like thunder. She kept urging herself—there’s no time, there’s no time. Panic, screams, terror, she ran across hills and fields but could not find the path that would calm her.

Weizhuang leaned over her, wiping the sweat from her brow, his voice gentle. “Nightmare?”

Ye Qianran seemed still caught in the dream, staring at him in a daze before remembering she had merely been dreaming.

Unable to see his expression in the darkness, she felt comforted simply by his presence. She shifted closer, burying her head in his chest, her voice muffled and tinged with grievance. “I dreamed my parents were taken away. I knew exactly when disaster would strike and tried to warn them, but I couldn’t find the way. I couldn’t find the way. I was so scared, truly terrified.” Her tears soaked his nightclothes—and his heart—with a burning, stinging pain. He sighed, holding her tightly. “It’s all right. It’s all over now. Everything will be better.”

Only then did Weizhuang truly realize that the pain lingered constantly in her heart, evaporating from every part of her, ready at any moment to shatter her fragile façade of calm.

He gently patted her back as if soothing a child. “Don’t worry. I’ve already asked my friends in Bazhou to look after Master Ye and Young Master Ye. As for the Courtesan Bureau, I’ve settled everything. None of them will come to harm.”

Ye Qianran stirred in his arms but continued holding him. “Thank you.”

Weizhuang chuckled softly. “No need for thanks—just remember to treasure me. Men like me are rare; not everyone has your fortune to meet one.”

Ye Qianran smiled. “If a good man like you marries a criminal’s daughter like me, isn’t that a terrible loss?”

He rolled over, pinning her beneath him, his expression more serious than ever. He caressed her flawless face, almost sighing. “Do you know, my desire for you is stronger than for anyone else. I’ve waited for you longer than I’ve waited for any woman. Whether you’re a noble lady, a poor girl, or a criminal’s daughter, it doesn’t matter. I want only you. In this world, I want only you.”

Ye Qianran turned her head away, her heart filled with warmth—so warm it hurt, so warm she wanted to cry. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. Weizhuang cradled her face in his hands, kissing her tear-stained cheeks. “Whenever you cry, my heart breaks. Promise me you won’t cry again. I will never let you cry again.”

She gazed quietly at him, nodding in a daze. Weizhuang leaned in and kissed her, deeper and deeper.

Outside, the moon shone faintly through the window.

The next morning, Ye Qianran was sitting in front of the mirror, lost in thought. Weizhuang loved her in these moments—white nightgown, black hair cascading to her waist, no makeup, slender brows, almond eyes with slightly upturned corners. Her barefaced beauty alone made his heart flutter.

He quietly grasped her shoulder. “What are you thinking about, daydreaming so early?”

Ye Qianran came back to herself, smiling gently at him, her lips curved with tenderness. “Awake?”

Weizhuang nodded, picking up the brow pencil on the table. “How about your husband draws your brows for you?”

Ye Qianran looked at their reflections in the bronze mirror, smiling. “What, you want to imitate the ancients and paint your wife’s brows?”

Weizhuang turned her body, holding the brow pencil with his right hand, his expression utterly serious. “You know, the first time I heard the story of Zhang Chang painting his wife’s brows, I thought him a romantic. I decided that when I had a wife, I’d paint her brows every day.”

Watching his earnest expression, Ye Qianran couldn’t help but laugh. “I always thought you were a rakish rogue, but it turns out you have such a tender side.”

Weizhuang finished one brow, tilted his head to examine it, then began the other. “We’re only just beginning. This is just the tip of the iceberg. Soon you’ll see—not only am I a charming rogue, I’m a loving husband, too.”

Ye Qianran burst out laughing. “You dare say such things—how shameless.”

Weizhuang looked with satisfaction at her brows, then gripped her shoulders and pushed her toward the mirror, proudly asking, “How’s my handiwork? Not bad, right?”

Ye Qianran gazed at the two of them in the mirror, lost in thought, forgetting herself. Weizhuang watched her from behind—her radiant smile, her absent-mindedness—and frowned slightly. His long, strong fingers traced down her cheek to her chin, gripping tightly and forcing her to turn and face him. Ye Qianran snapped back to herself, meeting his gaze, his dark eyes deep with unfathomable emotion.

“Look at me and tell me, what are you thinking?” he demanded.

Her chin forced up, their eyes met. The intensity in Weizhuang’s gaze weighed heavy on her, leaving her breathless and tongue-tied, unable to utter a word. He held her chin firmly. “What are you thinking? Tell me—who are you thinking about?”

He was afraid—afraid that person still lingered in her heart, afraid she was merely going through the motions with him.

Ye Qianran rose, following the force of his fingers. In this moment, her heart held only the man before her. Let the other fade away; she no longer wished to struggle. Let this man fill her heart completely. People say exhaustion comes from endlessly wavering between holding on and letting go. Enough—since the one before her is him, let her think only of him.

Her slender fingers traced his brows, nose, lips. Weizhuang seized her hand, the heat of his grasp igniting her heart. He pressed his forehead to hers, staring deep into her eyes. “Qianran, do you know, I’m on the verge of collapse. Sometimes, holding you, you seem so close. Other times, you feel distant, distracted. I don’t dare ask. I fear scaring you, fear pushing you further away. Qianran, do you know, even now I don’t dare imagine your answer. I fear what you’ll say, fear it’ll destroy me. But I can’t restrain my heart. Qianran, what should I do? Tell me—what should I do?”

Every word stabbed her like a needle. A man who lived so freely now spoke such humble words. Suddenly, Ye Qianran pitied him deeply—this man, her husband, her very own.

She hugged him, pressing her lips to his ear, her heart softening. “I’m thinking of you. You’re the only one in my heart.”

Weizhuang held her tight, his burning lips pressed to her exposed neck. He leaned down and bit her shoulder, leaving a deep imprint. Ye Qianran gasped in pain, but he only hugged her closer. “I’ll remember what you said today. You must remember it too.”