Chapter Seventy-Eight: Reunion with an Old Friend

In the days that followed, Wei Zhuang became increasingly busy, hardly ever at home during the daylight hours. From fragments of conversation, Ye Qianran learned that he was preoccupied with the Shanglin Snow Festival. The name itself suggested refinement, but in truth, it was merely a means to gather the wealthiest merchants of the capital. Only the most prominent merchants in the nation could attend, and the most distinguished courtesans were invited to accompany them. The banquets overflowed with extravagant pleasures, decadent entertainment, and opulence beyond compare. Many longed for a chance to step through those doors and forge connections, but few were given the opportunity. Outwardly, the Shanglin Snow Festival appeared to be little more than an impromptu gathering of wealthy men, yet in reality, it was guarded with the utmost vigilance. There was a list, and if your name was not on it, no matter how wealthy you were, you could not attend.

Wei Zhuang had said that in five days, he needed to extract three million taels of silver from these merchants. It was no simple task, for every attendee was a shrewd veteran of commerce, cunning and ruthless. If he failed to persuade them, they would simply walk away, and so he had to be particularly cautious.

He often returned very late at night, but no matter how late it was, he would always find Ye Qianran waiting for him by the window. Knowing someone awaited him filled his heart with warmth, and even the burdens of his business felt lighter. One occasion remained vivid in his memory: she had returned from the Buddhist temple, while he, slightly tipsy from too much wine at the festival, had seen her in a haze—her gentle, graceful face approaching to tuck his quilt around him.

He lay there, gazing at her in his drunken haze, moved beyond words, feeling the slow, lingering tenderness at the corners of his eyes and lips. Such a beautiful feeling, as if he were living in a vast, enchanting dream—one without Zhuge Liuyun, without the distractions of the world. In this illusion, he and she were happy and blissful together. In that moment, memories flooded back: teaching her to paint, reading with her, playing elegant games together, her gentle smile radiant as the morning sun. He loved her peace, her humble tenderness when she lowered her head.

This warmth made Wei Zhuang feel content and inspired him to devote even more to their relationship. He knew Zhuge Liuyun would return sooner or later; he had to do his utmost to make Ye Qianran fall in love with him. And if he could not win her love, at the very least, he hoped their bond would not shatter when Zhuge Liuyun came back.

Yet the more one fears losing something, the more likely it is to slip away. He had not foreseen it, nor had she.

That day, Wei Zhuang was, as usual, away from home. Ye Qianran and Juan Bi went to Lingyin Temple on the nearby mountain. She was not sure when she had begun to appreciate things imbued with Zen—a sense of the mysterious and eternal that brought her serenity. She often went to the temple to burn incense and pray for her father, brother, sister, grandparents, and... Zhuge Liuyun—all those she loved, wishing them peace and happiness.

Lingyin Temple was built atop Xiling Mountain, and each visit took Ye Qianran two or three hours. She would climb to the summit, passing through gate after gate, ascending winding stone steps flanked by snow-laden shrubs and green trees. Above, white clouds drifted across a sky so blue it seemed within arm's reach. The few pilgrims present only deepened the tranquility, and in this quiet little temple, she cultivated a sense of detachment and openness.

At times, she would ask the abbot about matters that puzzled her; the abbot's serene smile always held ancient wisdom. More often, she would simply sit before the Buddha, breathing in the scent of incense mingled with plum blossoms, listening to the distant chanting. In these moments, she felt a peace she had never known before.

By the time they descended the mountain, the sun was setting. Juan Bi followed behind her, picking their way down the stone steps. The mountainside was deserted, the cold wind stinging their faces. Ye Qianran pulled up her hood and wrapped her cloak tighter, focusing on her steps. Suddenly, Juan Bi exclaimed in surprise, “Young Master Qingfeng?”

Ye Qianran looked up abruptly. Ten steps away, standing on the steps in a fox-fur coat, was Zhuge Qingfeng, staring at her in astonishment. In that instant, her mouth went dry, and she could not find her voice.

Since her family’s downfall, she had seen almost no one but Wei Zhuang. Now, to meet him so unexpectedly was like seeing a long-lost relative. She stared at him blankly, struggling to react. Qingfeng glanced around at the deserted path, then strode up to her, seized her arm, and whispered, “Are you mad? Your wanted posters are everywhere in the capital, and yet you walk about so openly. Do you have no sense of danger?” Though his tone was reproachful, Ye Qianran felt only warmth. How long had it been since she had heard his voice? A year had passed, just like that.

She studied him quietly—the familiar brows and eyes, still elegant and carefree, a little wild yet sincere. She asked, “When did you return?”

Zhuge Qingfeng held her gaze. “I’ve been back several days,” he replied, lowering his head with a shadow of sadness. “When I returned, I heard what happened to your family... I thought you’d left. I never expected to see you here.”

Ye Qianran lifted her head and smiled gently. “It’s all in the past. I’m all right now.”

He looked at her, his voice unconsciously dropping, “Qianran...” But faced with all he wanted to say, he did not know where to begin.

Ye Qianran forced a light-hearted smile. “What brings you up the mountain?”

Zhuge Qingfeng understood she did not wish to revisit painful memories. He smiled knowingly, “I was accompanying my mother to offer incense, but realized at the foot of the mountain that I’d left something at the temple, so I came back for it.” Pausing, he added, “Luckily I did, or I wouldn’t have seen you.”

Ye Qianran smiled, “It’s getting late. You should hurry. Once night falls, the mountain path becomes slippery.”

He turned and fell into step beside her. “Now that I’ve seen you, I’ll escort you down the mountain.” His words were casual, yet left no room for refusal.

Ye Qianran was briefly reminded of another man—tall and upright, standing beneath the parasol trees, always with a gentle smile and a straight back, like an evergreen pine.

She caught herself, lips curving into a faint smile.

As they walked, she asked about his experiences outside but said nothing of her own. Zhuge Qingfeng did not press her; some scars, once healed, should not be torn open again. If she wished to remain silent, he would not ask.

He recounted his travels with a smile, and at last said, “After returning from the East, I stopped by the army where Liuyun is stationed.”

Ye Qianran’s steps faltered. She looked up at him.

He thought she might ask about Liuyun, but instead, she merely gazed at him for a moment, then walked on.

A sense of foreboding settled over Zhuge Qingfeng. He ventured, “I thought you’d want to know how he’s faring.” But as he spoke, Ye Qianran uttered a different sentence, one that made him freeze in his tracks. “I’m married.”

Zhuge Qingfeng stared at her in disbelief. She, however, was composed, as if it were the most natural thing in the world—neither happy nor sad, neither willing nor unwilling.

The cold wind howled through the woods. Zhuge stood on the stone steps, still trying to process her words, when a voice sounded ahead. “Qianran.”

Zhuge Qingfeng looked up in a daze. There, standing tall and poised on the steps, was a man as elegant as a jade tree. He exuded a calm coldness, an aura of danger and cruelty.

The man ascended the steps slowly, his gaze on Ye Qianran gentle and indulgent. Qingfeng looked at Ye Qianran, who introduced them, “This is my husband, Wei Zhuang. And this is Zhuge Qingfeng.”

Wei Zhuang smiled and extended his hand, just as he had once clasped Liuyun’s hand on the steps of Guangji Temple. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Zhuge Qingfeng gathered himself and replied courteously, “The pleasure is mine.”

Then Wei Zhuang drew Ye Qianran into his embrace, his voice soft and tender. “When I came home and you weren’t there, I knew you must have come here. Why venture out in such cold? Aren’t you afraid of catching cold?”

Watching the intimate gestures between them, Zhuge Qingfeng suddenly felt ridiculous. Before his return, he had promised Liuyun confidently that he would bring Ye Qianran to him. Now, he realized how naïve he had been.

Ye Qianran clenched her hands tightly, forcing herself to ignore Qingfeng’s gaze. She could not afford to think of anything now; she feared she would lose control.

At the foot of the mountain, she bid Qingfeng farewell. He hesitated, words caught in his throat, but finally just waved them off.

Wei Zhuang carried her to the carriage, and even after dismounting, he did not set her down. He carried her up to their little room, placed her gently on the bed, and sat beside her.

“Are you hungry? Shall I ask Hua Niang to bring some food?” Wei Zhuang’s voice remained gentle.

Ye Qianran rose and walked to the window, slowly unfastened her cloak, and sat at the table, pressing her hand to her forehead. “I’m not hungry,” she murmured.

Wei Zhuang sighed and moved to her side, his fingers resting gently on her temples, massaging with a delicate touch. The room fell into silence—so quiet they could hear each other’s breathing. The warmth of his fingers gradually soothed her restless heart.

She liked this tranquil moment.

Such stillness brought her peace and comfort. Unwittingly, her eyes drifted closed. The sensation of his touch was so soothing that she leaned her head into his lap, wrapping her arms around his waist, and murmured in a daze, “Yunkai.”

“Hm?”

“Yunkai.”

“What is it?”

She shifted slightly but said nothing. After a long silence, she finally whispered, “It’s nothing.” Her voice was soft, a little hoarse and indistinct. Wei Zhuang laughed quietly, stroking her hair. “If something troubles you, you can tell me.”

Ye Qianran only shook her head.

Wei Zhuang sighed, a faint sadness flickering in his dark eyes. He cupped her face, bent to kiss her forehead, his fingers tracing the smoothness of her cheek. “Sometimes I’d rather you held someone else while thinking of me, than hold me and think of another.” With that, he left the room, saying nothing more. Ye Qianran could not stop him.