After the dream, the high tower is locked; awakening from wine, curtains hang low. When last year’s spring resentment returns, fallen flowers and a lone figure remain—beneath the light rain, swallows fly in pairs.
I remember when I first saw little Ping, clad in a gown embroidered with two overlapping heart characters. Her fingers brushed the pipa strings, her song threaded with longing. That night, the bright moon hung high, once illuminating the path where the colorful clouds returned.
The cicadas’ song had thinned, and after several cool rains, the breath of autumn quietly stole into the air. Outside the window, the hibiscus bloomed brilliantly, pink petals pressed against the fading blue of the sky. Leaning against the barre, she mistook it for a rose—the rose from that morning now hidden in her locker, its sweetness still lingering faintly on her fingertips.
When she looked up, Teacher Zhou’s gaze brushed past her. Startled, she began a series of ronds de jambe—her movements smooth as silk, her every turn fluid and luminous. The teacher’s stern face softened into a smile.
The changing room was alive with chatter, the air filled with perfume and laughter. Among them, Xiaofan had the sharpest eyes and the loudest voice.
“Susu! Where did this come from?” she exclaimed, snatching up the rose. “It smells divine!”
Mu Lan leaned in, eyes twinkling. “Do we even need to guess? Of course it’s from our Zhuang Chengzhi.”
Xiaofan waved the flower playfully. “I’m going to tell the teacher that Zhuang Chengzhi’s been stealing roses again for his sweetheart!”
Mu Lan hooked her arm through Susu’s, laughing. “Susu, why don’t I give you the lead? You and Zhuang Chengzhi dancing The Butterfly Lovers would be a thousand times more in sync than me with him.”
Susu smiled, threatening lightly, “If you keep talking nonsense, I’ll tell your secret.”
Xiaofan immediately perked up. “What secret?”
Susu only smiled in silence, and Mu Lan reached out to pinch her cheek. “You troublemaker—you’re impossible!”
That evening, a group of them went out for dinner. Mu Lan and Susu lingered behind. Mu Lan had changed into a Western dress; Susu wore a pearl-white gown, simple yet radiant under the streetlamps.
“Why do you always wear these?” Mu Lan teased, linking arms with her. “Come have dinner with me.”
Susu shook her head. “Last time I went with you, I was so nervous I could hardly breathe.”
“You’re too rigid,” Mu Lan said. “They were just teasing you. Besides—every one of them would make a good match. Do you want to dance forever?”
Susu smiled. “You dream of marrying into a rich family and living a life of ease. As for me, I’m destined to keep dancing.”
Mu Lan laughed, “You just want to dance with Zhuang Chengzhi forever.”
Susu swatted at her, laughing.
Across the street, a sleek black Chevrolet waited. Through the window, someone waved at Mu Lan. Her eyes lit up. She gave Susu a quick goodbye and hurried over.
Susu watched the car disappear, then turned—and there stood Zhuang Chengzhi.
“Have you been waiting long?” he asked.
She looked up; his fair, sunlit face carried the warmth of early autumn. “I just came down,” she replied.
Together, they went to eat wontons.
The broth was fragrant with seaweed; the skins were thin as silk. As Susu dabbed sweat from her forehead, Chengzhi said, “What’s going on with Mu Lan lately? She seems distracted.”
“She has a new boyfriend,” Susu said.
“The one from the car?”
She nodded.
“He must be from a rich family,” Chengzhi murmured.
Not only rich—his family was powerful.
Once, unable to refuse Mu Lan, Susu had gone with her to a dinner. It was her first taste of Western dining: chandeliers glittering like stars, marble floors reflecting the light, glasses and silverware gleaming. Everyone there carried the sheen of privilege. Mu Lan, confident and charming, drank easily among them.
A young man named He Zhongze kept teasing her to drink. Mu Lan laughed and tipped the glass back, her jade earrings swaying like small green leaves in the wind. Cheers filled the room.
“Xiao Xu, your girlfriend is refreshingly bold!” someone called. Mu Lan smiled coquettishly.
Later, He Zhongze turned to Susu. “Miss Ren should also have a drink.”
Blushing, she refused, until Xu Changning gently intervened. “Miss Ren doesn’t drink,” he said smoothly. “Don’t frighten her.”
After dinner, Xu Changning called a car for them. On the way, Mu Lan teased, “Susu, that Mr. He seemed interested in you.”
The next day proved her right—He Zhongze sent her an invitation, which she declined politely. Mu Lan sighed. “That’s He Yuancheng’s eldest son! You won’t even give him a chance?”
“Who’s He Yuancheng?” Susu asked honestly.
Mu Lan stared, half laughing. “You don’t even know who Murong Feng is either, do you?”
Susu laughed too. She’d heard of He Yuancheng—a prominent political figure. Since then, the young Mr. He occasionally sent invitations, all of which she avoided.
One evening, Mu Lan was punished with extra practice. The hall was silent when Susu returned to find her.
“Has Teacher Zhou left?” Mu Lan asked, pausing mid-step.
“Yes,” Susu replied.
Mu Lan stuck out her tongue, wiping the sweat from her brow. “Susu, tomorrow’s Sunday. Come out with me?”
“No, thank you. I can’t handle your Mr. Xu’s friends.”
“There won’t be anyone else—just him and me.”
“Then what would I be there for? To be the third wheel?”
Mu Lan blinked, “His sister will be there too. Please come, just to keep me company.”
Susu laughed. “Only an ugly daughter-in-law fears meeting her in-laws. You’re not ugly—why so nervous?”
Mu Lan pressed a hand to her chest. “I don’t know why, but when I think of meeting his family, my heart races. Please, Susu. I’ll be terrified alone.”
Susu sighed. “Alright, I’ll go.”
Early the next morning, Mu Lan arrived. Her Western dress was light, her hair tied with a silk ribbon that fluttered playfully.
“You look beautiful,” Susu said.
Mu Lan laughed, lifting Susu’s long braid. “And your hair’s grown so much! You hide it too well when it’s pinned up.”
They went again for Western food, but the meal was stiff. Xu Changning’s sister, Xu Changxuan, wore a modest but exquisite gown, her diamond ring flashing like a star. She was polite to Mu Lan—too polite.
The atmosphere was cool until Xu Changning broke it. “Any news from Wu Chi?”
Xu Changxuan replied, “I ran into Jin Rui today—she says you still owe her a meal. She’s going to the racetrack later. Let’s go too.”
Xu Changning glanced at Mu Lan, who quickly agreed. “Of course. Susu and I love lively places.”
The racetrack sat beneath rolling hills, facing a lake that shimmered like glass. The grass, imported from overseas, remained a vibrant green even in late autumn. Maples and ginkgoes framed the scene, their golden leaves fluttering like falling fans.
Susu, standing amid such beauty, felt her heart lift.
In the changing room, she hesitated. “I’ll skip changing. I can’t ride.”
Mu Lan laughed. “It’s easy! I’ll have someone hold your reins. Two laps and you’ll manage.”
When they emerged, two calm horses waited. Xu Changning said, “I chose the gentlest for you.”
Susu looked out toward the fields—where a distant rider, swift as wind, was already galloping beneath the sun.
The instructor helped her mount, his voice patient. “From the left, miss. Never approach from behind.”
Her dancer’s balance served her well. Soon, she moved in slow circles, the reins light in her hands. By the time she’d made two rounds, Mu Lan and Xu Changning had vanished.
Feeling sorry for the instructor sweating in the sun, she said gently, “Please rest. I’ll try alone.”
He smiled and left her to it.
The horse walked leisurely along the southern path. Wind stirred the grass; sunlight rippled across the lake. It was so quiet she could hear the soft hum of insects.
Then came a distant thunder—the sound of galloping hooves.
She looked up. A rider was descending the hillside swiftly. Startled, she pulled the reins too hard. The horse reared slightly. She panicked, pulling again. The purebred Holstein snorted, resisted, and bolted forward.
Her body jolted; she nearly fell, but clung to the saddle. The world blurred. The rider ahead turned sharply and, with precise timing, reached out—his hand grasping her reins as the horses crossed.
A strong arm caught her waist. Her braid loosened, and her hair unfurled in a dark arc against the sun.
In that suspended instant, she saw his eyes—deep as the lake, flecked with gold.
Everything else fell away. Only the two of them remained, suspended in the bright wind. His arm around her waist radiated quiet strength; the faint scent of tobacco and mint brushed her senses.
He asked softly, “Who are you?”
She could not answer—fear and confusion tangled her tongue. Her hair curtained her face like a veil.
More hoofbeats approached. Two riders called, “Third Young Master, are you alright?”
He replied calmly, “I’m fine.” Then, turning to her, his tone gentled. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
When the others arrived, their stares made her shrink back instinctively. He noticed, his arm tightening slightly in reassurance. “It’s alright,” he said quietly.
Then his voice hardened. “Who allowed a lady who can’t ride to go alone? Do you want an accident before you learn caution?”
The riders lowered their heads in shame.
Susu’s heart steadied just as she saw two figures riding toward them—Mu Lan and Xu Changning. Relief washed over her. Only then did she realize she was still in his embrace.
Her face flushed. “Thank you… please, put me down.”
He dismounted, turned, and offered his hand. She hesitated before placing hers in his palm. With an effortless motion, he lifted her down.
Moments later, Xu Changning arrived. “Third Young Master!” he greeted with surprise. “I was just saying Jin Rui might bring you here today.”
Mu Lan hurried over. “Susu, are you alright? You didn’t fall, did you?”
Susu shook her head.
The Third Young Master tapped his boot with his whip, turning his gaze toward her. The wind caught her hair as she quietly lowered her head.
“You’re hosting at my place,” he said to Xu Changning, his voice cool. “If someone were injured, how would you explain it?”
Xu Changning laughed. “Fortunately, you appeared in time.”
Susu’s eyes widened slightly—so this estate belonged to him.
“Changning,” the man continued, “treat me to dinner tonight. Your chef’s crab meat lion’s head is worth the trouble.”
Xu Changning grinned. “An honor indeed.”
An attendant whispered something in the young man’s ear.
He smiled faintly. “Ah, Father wanted me at Mang Lake this afternoon to inspect the new airfield. It’s too late now. I’ll have to lie.”
Xu Changning laughed. “Look at that courage! You shame your attendants more than yourself.”
The man smiled easily. “Don’t provoke them. I’ll still come for dinner. If Father asks, Old Song can cover for me.”
Turning back, Xu Changning introduced, “Mu Lan, Miss Ren—this is Murong Qingye, Third Young Master of the Murong family.”
Mu Lan blinked—so this was the famous Murong Qingye.
He stood there, whip in hand, sunlight scattered in his hair. Graceful, composed, yet with a faint untamed air—like the wind itself.
Xu Changning immediately phoned home to prepare dinner.
By evening, everything was ready.
Susu wanted to decline, but Mu Lan, glowing with excitement, wouldn’t let her.
“Just this once,” she coaxed. “Who knows what might come of it?”
Half laughing, half surrendering, Susu followed her into the waiting car.
The dinner at the Xu mansion, though deemed casual, carried with it the effortless grandeur that wealth bestows upon even the simplest gestures. The chandeliers glowed softly, silverware gleamed, and every movement of the servants was a silent performance of refinement. Even Mu Lan, usually spirited, sat with uncharacteristic restraint—like Lin Daiyu’s first, delicate steps into the Jia mansion.
At last, the meal concluded. Servants glided forward with coffee, but Murong Qingye arched a brow.
“Why drink this?”
Xu Changning’s lips curved into a knowing smile.
“I know, tea has been prepared for you.”
A servant appeared with a celadon gaiwan, its glaze shimmering under the lamplight.
Murong Qingye chuckled.
“You’re extravagant, using this to entertain guests.”
“I was afraid you’d say I only have vulgar things here,” Xu Changning replied lightly.
Murong Qingye’s gaze softened with memory.
“I usually use that Qianlong kiln Yùguò Tīanqīng teacup. Once Father saw it, and for some reason, he was in a foul mood. He called me a ‘family fortune squanderer’—a careless blow, but it struck deep.”
From the side, Xu Changxuan interjected.
“The set Madam uses for daily guests is an excellent Jun kiln.”
Murong Qingye smiled faintly.
“Mother has grown lazy of late. In past years, she delighted in tea parties and grand balls. But this year, our halls have been quieter.”
He lifted his wrist, glancing at his watch.
“I must go. Father may already have sent people to look for me.”
Xu Changning did not press him to stay but personally escorted him out. Mu Lan and Susu lingered only a quarter of an hour longer before taking their leave. A car was arranged: Mu Lan was dropped first at her home in the city center, while Susu, living farther in the suburbs, was taken last.
She stepped out, thanked the driver, and watched the Xu family car disappear into the night. Turning into the narrow alley, she walked alone.
The autumn evening was alive with the chirping of crickets. Above, the moon spilled silver light across the road, making its surface gleam like polished glass. She searched her bag for keys, the glow guiding her hands. Her modest courtyard lay ahead, begonias clustered beneath the fence, their leaves glistening in the moonlight. The small iron lock on the gate, weathered by years of wind and rain, resisted her touch. As she bent to open it, a voice broke the silence.
“Miss Ren.”
Startled, her hand trembled, and the key slipped from her grasp. She turned to see a vaguely familiar face.
The man smiled politely.
“Miss Ren, my surname is Lei. My master would like to invite you for tea. Would you honor us?”
Recognition struck—this was Mr. Lei, the attendant who never left the side of Murong’s Third Young Master. Her heart quickened.
“It’s too late. Perhaps another time I could trouble Mr. Murong.”
Mr. Lei inclined his head with courtesy.
“It’s only eight o’clock. We won’t take much of your time.”
She declined again, as gracefully as she could. At last, he withdrew, walking toward the alley. Only then did she notice two black cars lurking in the shadows, nearly invisible unless one looked closely.
Moments later, footsteps approached again. She froze, thinking Mr. Lei had returned. But in the moonlight, it was Murong Qingye himself.
She never imagined he would appear in such a humble alley. Instinctively, she stepped back.
He smiled.
“Miss Ren. Your place is truly elegant and quiet.”
Terror gripped her. He reached for her hand. Shock and anger surged, yet she forgot to resist. His fingers brushed her hair, setting it adrift before it fell back upon her shoulders. She stumbled backward, the locked gate pressing against her. Her heart thundered.
“Mr. Murong, please show some respect. I have a boyfriend.”
His eyes glimmered in the moonlight, lips curved in a faint smile. Cold sweat dampened her back. He seized her hand and drew her toward the waiting car. She resisted, but his strength overpowered her. She stumbled, and in that instant, his arm encircled her waist, guiding her firmly into the vehicle. The door shut, and the car glided away in silence.
“Where are you taking me?” she whispered, trembling.
He gave no answer. Aside from holding her hand, he made no further move. The car drove on, the city lights fading into darkness, until at last it stopped.
The door opened. He stepped out first, then extended his hand toward her. She sat frozen, marble-still, until his persistence wore her down. At last, she placed her hand in his.
They stood amidst towering trees, their shadows cast long by scattered garden lamps. A Western-style building loomed ahead, its courtyard vast and mysterious.
“I have a gift for you,” he said, leading her deeper along a stone path.
She followed, dazed, as though in a dream.
“Turn on the lights.”
At his command, brilliance flooded the garden. She gasped.
Before her stretched an endless sea of lotus, their emerald leaves shimmering like silk umbrellas in the breeze. Strings of pearl-like lights traced the banks, vanishing into the horizon. Despite the lateness of autumn, blossoms still flourished—pink clusters glowing like bowls of liquid light, like maidens dancing upon the waves.
The vision was otherworldly, and she stood entranced, caught between fear and wonder.
He smiled, his voice low and deliberate.
“Is it beautiful? Hot spring water is channeled here, allowing for such beauty even in October.”
She returned a faint smile, dimples softening her cheeks. Her lashes trembled like hibiscus petals stirred by the west wind, delicate and fleeting. After a pause, she whispered,
“It’s beautiful.”
His gaze lingered, gentle yet probing.
“What’s your name?”
The lotus fragrance drifted faintly, mist curling over the pond until the world seemed dreamlike, unreal. She lowered her head.
“Ren Susu.”
He murmured, savoring the syllables.
“Susu… plain clothes, plain heart—the name is perfect.”
She looked up, caught by his eyes, and felt heat rise to her cheeks before lowering her gaze again. In the lamplight, a cool breeze stirred the wisps of hair at her neck, making her skin glow like porcelain.
He leaned closer.
“Why aren’t you smiling anymore? Your smile is beautiful.”
At his words, unease crept into her heart. She bowed her head in silence. He gently lifted her chin.
“Famous flower and beautiful woman delighting each other… Though an old metaphor, the lotus and you truly complement each other. Susu, don’t you understand my feelings?”
She stepped back in alarm.
“Third Young Master, I—”
But before she could finish, he kissed her. Her breath caught, terror flooding her mind. His arms were iron, unyielding. In panic, she clawed at his face. He cried out, releasing her at last.
Her eyes widened in fear, chest heaving. He pressed a hand to the fresh wound, then after a long silence, gave a crooked smile.
“Today I learned that I am so detestable.”
Her back was drenched in sweat, the night breeze chilling her to the bone.
“I want to go home.”
He hesitated, then nodded.
“Alright, I’ll have someone take you back.”
In the car, her forehead was damp with cold sweat. Red marks burned on her wrist where he had gripped her. Outside, city lights streaked past like fireflies, vanishing as quickly as they appeared. Her wrist throbbed faintly, but the fear in her chest only sharpened.
Morning came. By the swimming pool, bougainvillea cascaded in purple and crimson, trellises heavy with blossoms. Sunlight gilded them into a waterfall of color. The breakfast table gleamed beneath the trellis, Western chefs serving in silence. Only the faint clink of silverware and the distant fountain broke the stillness.
Then came the sound of leather shoes in the corridor. Li Boze looked up, smiling.
“It must be Third Brother returning.”
Jin Rui set down her silverware, sipped her coffee, and said coolly,
“Mother, you don’t discipline Third Brother at all. His entourage indulges him, and if Father sees him sneaking in again, he’ll be furious.”
Madam Murong dabbed her lips with a napkin and instructed a servant,
“Go see if Third Son has returned. If so, tell him to come see me.”
Moments later, Murong Qingye entered, freshly changed, smiling broadly.
“Everyone’s here today—Mother, Elder Sister, Brother-in-law.”
Madam Murong’s expression hardened.
“Stop grinning. Why didn’t you come home last night? Your father had people searching everywhere. This time, you’ll explain to him yourself.”
He laughed lightly.
“Father was looking for me? He must have forgotten. I was ordered to Mang Lake yesterday—it was too late to return.”
He pulled out a chair and sat. Jin Rui’s eyes narrowed.
“Third Brother, stop lying. Tell us, what is this?”
She pointed at his face. Only then did Madam Murong notice the fine scratch beneath his left eye.
“How did you get that?”
He smiled.
“On the mountain yesterday, caught by a branch.”
Her face darkened.
“Nonsense. That looks like a fingernail scratch.”
Jin Rui smirked.
“I bet a woman scratched him.”
Murong Qingye laughed.
“Brother-in-law, listen to Elder Sister. How have you endured her all these years?”
Madam Murong cut in sharply.
“Stop diverting. If your father learns of your affairs, he might just kill you.”
He leaned back, still smiling.
“Mom, don’t be angry. Didn’t the doctor say anger causes wrinkles?”
He shot Jin Rui a glance.
“Elder Sister, if Mother gets wrinkles, it’ll be because you gossiped.”
Jin Rui laughed.
“Mother’s anger is caused by you, not me.”
“How dare I upset Mother? I’m counting on her to defend me,” he teased.
But Madam Murong’s voice was stern.
“I can’t manage you anymore. Your father will discipline you.”
Feigning distress, he sighed.
“Then I’ll just have to face the beating.”
She shook her head.
“Why won’t you change? Those people outside are no good—they only lead you astray.”
Jin Rui scoffed.
“Mother, you’re biased. Parents always are. Children make mistakes, but it’s always someone else’s fault.”
Madam Murong sighed, knowing her daughter was right. Since her eldest son’s death, she had spoiled this younger one. Still, her love was deep.
“Haven’t had breakfast yet? Prepare another serving,” she told the servants.
Her eyes returned to the wound.
“Who scratched you? A little higher and it might have blinded you.”
He waved it off.
“It’s nothing. Don’t make a fuss, or Father will hear—and then there really will be broken bones.”
Li Boze chuckled.
“If Third Brother says it’s nothing, then it’s nothing.”
Jin Rui smirked.
“You call this suffering? You’ve always made women suffer. It’s only fair one finally made you suffer.”
“Elder Sister, why won’t you spare me today?” he laughed.
“This is for your good,” she replied. “You’re a wild horse now, but one day you’ll be bridled. I’ll tell Miss Kang and see what she thinks.”
His smile vanished.
“Why mention her? What is she to me?”
Madam Murong interjected.
“I was going to ask—you haven’t seen her in two months. What’s going on?”
“Kang Minxian and I broke up long ago. Don’t bring her up again.”
Jin Rui’s voice sharpened.
“Minxian is beautiful, clever, gentle. Even Father praised her as ‘clever and virtuous.’ Why treat her like this?”
Murong Qingye rose impatiently.
“Mother, I have official business to attend to.”
Without another word, he left, cutting off further reproach.
Seeing him leave in haste, Madam Murong turned to her daughter.
“Jin Rui, what’s with you today?”
Jin Rui’s expression was calm, but her words carried weight.
“I’m thinking of his welfare. Third Brother is young and wild—I fear he’ll cause trouble. If Father finds out, we’ll all suffer the consequences.”
Madam Murong sighed, her voice tinged with weary indulgence.
“It’s precisely because he’s young that he flirts so freely. Wasn’t everyone like this once? As long as he doesn’t cause real trouble, I’ll turn a blind eye. Your father already keeps a close watch on him. If I press him too, things will only grow strained. You know your brother’s temper—when he’s upset, he listens to no one. Last time your father was furious, he didn’t utter a single conciliatory word. Had he spoken just once, would your father have been so enraged? If I hadn’t intervened, who knows what might have happened.”
Her tone softened, though her eyes grew distant.
“Father and son, both with tempers like fire. Your father—whatever he seizes becomes a weapon. And Third Brother is even more stubborn. When that paperweight came flying at him, knowing it could split his head open, he wouldn’t even dodge. To this day, the scar is only hidden by his hair.”
Jin Rui smiled faintly.
“Mom, Father disciplined him just once, and you’ve mentioned it countless times. This truly is ‘the child is beaten, but the mother’s heart aches.’”
Meanwhile, Susu had missed a day of class. Concerned, Mu Lan went to find her after her own lesson. The distance was long, so she hired a pedicab. She alighted at the alley entrance and walked in.
It was dusk. Families prepared dinner, coal stoves glowing at the roadside, earthen pots steaming with fragrant food. Children shrieked with laughter as they played, their voices sharp against the evening air. From afar, Mu Lan saw Susu’s courtyard gate closed and wondered if she was home. Drawing closer, she noticed it was only ajar. She pushed it open and stepped inside.
“Susu,” she called.
No answer. She walked further and saw the door also ajar. Again she called,
“Susu.”
The house was dark. A few rays of sunset filtered through the west-facing window, dimly illuminating Susu lying on the bed. At the sound of footsteps, Susu stirred, turned, and asked softly,
“Why did you come?”
Her voice sounded normal. Mu Lan, familiar in this home, casually switched on the light, then gasped.
“Oh! Why do you look so unwell? Are you sick?”
Susu shook her head.
“I just have a headache, so I wanted to sleep for a while.”
“I knew you weren’t well, otherwise you wouldn’t have missed class,” Mu Lan said. Then she added,
“Changning is hosting dinner tonight and wanted to invite you too.”
Susu brushed her disheveled hair, pausing inexplicably. Mu Lan continued,
“There’s no one else, just him and Changxuan, inviting us two for Yangzhou cuisine.”
Susu murmured,
“In my condition, I really can’t go. Mu Lan, I’m truly sorry.”
But Mu Lan smiled, undeterred.
“Quickly get up, brush your hair, wash your face, and I guarantee you’ll feel better. You’re just sick from being cooped up. Going out for dinner might help.”
Susu forced a smile.
“I don’t want to go.”
Mu Lan tugged her hand.
“No matter how unwell you are, you still need to eat. I remember you love Yangzhou cuisine. This time it’s at Twenty-Four Bridge, an authentic Huai restaurant.”
Without further discussion, she pushed her toward the washstand.
“Quickly wash your face and change your clothes.”
Seven
Susu had no choice but to comply. Soon they were on their way to Twenty-Four Bridge, the most fashionable restaurant of the time. At the entrance, servers bowed respectfully and led them to a private room on the third floor. The Xu siblings were already waiting.
The four sat, tea was poured, and appetizers arrived: Yunsi Cake, Hongfu Zongzi, Su’er Shaobing, Zeng’er Cake. Susu lifted her cup, inhaling the emerald-green fragrance.
A servant whispered to Xu Changning, who replied,
“Let’s wait a bit more. The host hasn’t arrived yet.”
Unease stirred in Susu’s chest. Moments later, the door opened. Footsteps echoed behind the screen. Her heart pounded.
Xu Changning rose with a smile.
“Third Young Master, as the host, how come you’re the last to arrive?”
A laugh answered.
“I was delayed by something urgent. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Susu looked up—and froze. Murong Qingye stood in full military uniform, casually removing his hat and handing it to his attendant. His gaze found hers, and she quickly lowered her head, sipping tea that had long gone cold, its bitterness sharp on her tongue.
Xu Changning teased,
“You came straight over without even changing clothes—that shows some sincerity.”
Murong Qingye smiled.
“Not just some, but complete sincerity.”
The banquet unfolded with exquisite dishes, each more refined than the last. Yet Susu barely tasted them. By the time the final soup was served, nearly two hours had passed.
Xu Changning suggested,
“Let’s go play cards afterward.”
Mu Lan shook her head.
“Susu and I need to go back. We have class tomorrow.”
“That’s fine. I’ll take you back,” Xu Changning said. Then, after a pause,
“My car will be full with just the three of us. Third Young Master, could you trouble yourself to take Miss Ren home?”
Susu quickly interjected,
“No need. I can take a pedicab—it’s convenient.”
Mu Lan added,
“I’ll ride back with Susu.”
But Xu Changning insisted.
“It’s late, and the distance is far. I’d worry about two young ladies. It’s just troubling the Third Young Master once.”
He rose, took Mu Lan’s hand, and called to Xu Changxuan,
“Let’s go.”
Xu Changxuan gave Susu a gentle smile, and the three departed gracefully.
Suddenly, only she and Murong Qingye remained. Her palms dampened, her handbag heavy as stone. She followed him silently, head bowed.
In the car, he asked,
“I heard you’re not feeling well. Are you sick?”
She shook her head. She had left in haste, wearing a lilac-flowered qipao that made her look fragile, almost ethereal. His gaze lingered, and she lowered her head further, embarrassed.
He laughed softly.
“You’re childish, still angry about my impulsiveness? … Alright, I admit I was wrong.”
She remained silent. The car jolted over uneven roads. Then he reached out.
“This is for you.”
A small brocade box. She refused, but he opened it—inside lay a pair of jade-green bracelets, luminous as pools of water.
“Such valuable things—forgive me, but I cannot accept them,” she said.
He did not press.
“Then, shall we go horseback riding again this week?”
She only shook her head. Silence filled the car until they reached her alley. She exhaled in relief, thanked him politely, and slipped inside her courtyard.
Murong Qingye watched until the gate closed, then ordered,
“Let’s go.”
Lei Shaogong observed him fidgeting with the brocade box ribbon—tying, untying, tying again. Finally, he asked,
“Third Young Master, back to Shuangqiao?”
“Back to Shuangqiao. I should check in with Mother.”
The residence was lively. Madam Murong had gathered female guests for dinner, and now they sipped tea while a Kunqu artist performed Begging for Skills.
Murong Qingye paused at the threshold. Jin Rui spotted him.
“Third Brother, why don’t you come in?”
He entered, greeting,
“Mother.”
Madam Murong smiled faintly.
“You’re back early today. You haven’t even changed your clothes?”
He replied smoothly,
“I came straight here after returning.”
Seeing his mother’s attention fixed on the stage, he seized the moment.
“I’ll go change my clothes.”
He ascended the stairs, and when he returned in a Western suit, the sitting room was still alive with chatter and laughter. Without pausing, he walked down the left corridor toward the front of the house and ordered a car.
The attendants exchanged surprised glances—he had only just returned. Lei Shaogong ventured,
“Are you going to Duanshan?”
Murong Qingye’s face hardened.
“Stop nagging.”
Knowing his master’s temperament, Lei Shaogong said no more and quickly had another car brought around. Only once they were seated inside did Murong Qingye give his command, voice low and uncompromising:
“I don’t care what method you use, bring Miss Ren to see me at Duanshan.”
Lei Shaogong bowed his head.
“Yes.”
But unease gnawed at him. He knew well that the Third Young Master’s will allowed no negotiation.
As his most trusted attendant, with a status that hovered between servant and confidant, Lei Shaogong’s expression betrayed his reluctance. Murong Qingye caught it, his stern façade breaking into a smile.
“No backbone! When I asked you to invite Ye Fangfei, I didn’t see you this troubled.”
Relieved, Lei Shaogong understood the matter was momentarily set aside. He smiled back.
“Though Miss Ye is a big star, I heard she agreed most enthusiastically when invited to dinner by the Third Young Master. But this Miss Ren…”
He trailed off, carefully watching his master’s face. Indeed, Murong Qingye seemed unsettled, distracted by thoughts he did not voice. After a moment, he sighed heavily. Waving his hand in dismissal, he allowed Lei Shaogong to withdraw.
In the attendants’ duty room, the evening was quiet. Two colleagues brewed Tieguanyin tea, chatting idly.
“Is the Third Young Master going out?” one asked.
Lei Shaogong shook his head.
“He was going to, but changed his mind.”
Another laughed.
“Even our Third Young Master has times when he hits a brick wall.”
The rules were strict—such remarks could not linger. Lei Shaogong quickly steered the conversation elsewhere, though inwardly he reflected: This Miss Ren has spirit. Perhaps the Young Master’s interest will fade, as it always does, when someone new catches his eye.
The next day was Lei Shaogong’s day off. He joined old classmates at Phoenix Pavilion, their reunion lively and loud. By the time he returned home, it was evening. A call from the attendants’ room summoned him back to Duanshan.
From afar, he saw an attendant standing silently under the rain corridor. The house was unnervingly quiet. Inside, a vase lay shattered, its red amaranthus strewn across the navy carpet like blood-bright blossoms embroidered on silk.
Stepping carefully around the wreckage, Lei Shaogong entered. Murong Qingye reclined on a rosewood couch, an English magazine in hand, though his eyes were fixed elsewhere.
“Third Young Master,” Lei Shaogong greeted.
A grunt answered.
“Isn’t today your day off?”
Sensing the storm had passed, Lei Shaogong smiled lightly.
“I was bored at home, so I came over. Why take your anger out on things? I’ve had my eye on that Yongzheng yellow-glazed lotus vase for years but never dared ask for it. Who would have thought you’d smash it today?”
Feigning regret, he tried to ease the tension. Murong Qingye flipped a page, unimpressed.
“Stop beating around the bush. If you have something to say, say it.”
Lei Shaogong inclined his head.
“Yes. Why don’t we go hunting this week? We could invite Hou Zongqi and Kang Mincheng.”
Murong Qingye set the magazine aside, sitting upright.
“I told you not to beat around the bush. Why are you still rambling?”
Finally, Lei Shaogong spoke plainly.
“Though Miss Ren is beautiful, she is after all just a woman. The Third Young Master needn’t take it to heart.”
Murong Qingye’s eyes narrowed.
“Who told you about this?”
“When the Third Young Master gets angry like this, they naturally wouldn’t dare conceal anything,” Lei Shaogong replied carefully.
Murong Qingye’s voice dropped.
“Stop being so formal with me here.”
He paused, discontent simmering, then muttered,
“I originally thought her mention of having a boyfriend was just an excuse.”
Lei Shaogong caught the fleeting shadow of disappointment on Murong Qingye’s face, and it unsettled him. The scratch beneath his master’s left eye had faded to a faint line, yet it recalled vividly the scene by the lotus pond. Hastily, he shifted the subject.
“Shall we invite Miss Feng to dance tonight? I’ll make the call?”
Murong Qingye only grunted.
Lei Shaogong’s heart tightened. Murong Feng was notoriously strict with his children—if word of such indulgence reached him, disaster would follow. Muttering that he would make the call, Lei Shaogong stepped out and questioned the attendants.
“What exactly happened today?”
As deputy director of the attendants’ room, he commanded honesty. They explained in detail:
“Around five o’clock this afternoon, the Third Young Master was returning from Fanming. The car was waiting for the ferry at the dock when he happened to see Miss Ren and her friend by the river.”
A few more questions clarified the matter. Lei Shaogong understood—it was simply that his master had not gotten what he wanted, and dissatisfaction gnawed at him. Looking up, he saw Murong Qingye emerging and hurried forward.
“Third Young Master, where are you going?”
Murong Qingye lifted his face.
“Nowhere. I’m staying here. You go.”
Lei Shaogong hesitated, then ventured,
“What if the Master—”
Murong Qingye cut him off sharply.
“How would Father know about our affairs? Unless you all go and tell on me.”
His anger was rising again. Lei Shaogong bowed his head.
“Yes.”
He withdrew, taking a car out.
The villa fell silent. This was only a retreat for leisure, with few servants, and those present kept their distance after his outburst. Alone, Murong Qingye walked the gravel path toward the back garden. Flowering hedges lined the way, their dark reddish-brown leaves concealing clusters of small white blossoms, visible only upon close inspection.
At the lotus pond, a gust of wind stirred the broad leaves, making them ripple like countless green gauze skirts. Memory struck—her in a green dress, dark hair falling over her chest, eyes like autumn waters, serene and captivating. Her smile had been gentle, lips curving like a crescent moon, tempting him to steal a kiss.
The scratch on his face had faded, but it marked the first resistance he had ever known. The cool autumn breeze only sharpened the restlessness in his chest.
He lingered until an attendant approached.
“Third Young Master, Miss Ren has arrived.”
Though the Duanshan villa was small, its furnishings were exquisite. Rosewood furniture gleamed, cushions embroidered in Suzhou silk with silver-thread lotus patterns shimmered under lamplight. Near the door stood a twelve-panel rosewood screen, carved with flowers, its polished surface glowing with a purple-red sheen. A floor lamp, its gauze shade diffusing the light, cast a mellow golden glow, shadows deepening the carved hollows into pools of black.
Hearing footsteps, Susu’s fear grew. She instinctively stepped back. Murong Qingye saw her pale face, her hair slightly disheveled, her eyes wide with terror.
“Don’t be afraid, it’s me,” he said softly.
But she retreated further, step by step, like a fawn cornered with no escape. Her dark eyes, round and luminous, brimmed with fear and confusion.
“I want to go home.”
He laughed lightly.
“Isn’t this better than home?”
Taking her hand, he led her to the desk and opened a box. Under the lamplight, jewels glittered, their brilliance dazzling.
“This pearl,” he said gently, “is said to have come from the palace, passed down from my grandmother. It is named ‘Yue’.”
He lifted the chain, moving to clasp it around her neck.
“I don’t want it. I want to go home,” she cried, pushing him away.
But he seized her wrist.
“Susu,” he murmured.
She stumbled, pulled forward into his arms. She struggled, but his grip was unyielding. He lowered his head to kiss her. She raised her hand to resist, but he anticipated it, turning his face aside. His lips pressed against hers, then her cheek, her neck—his kisses heavy, insistent.
Desperate, she fought against him. Her fingers brushed a cold porcelain object on the desk, but she could not grasp it. Summoning all her strength, she freed one hand, but the force sent her stumbling sideways. The teacup on the desk toppled and fell, shattering against the floor with a sharp crash.
Terror overwhelmed her. The world spun as he pulled her close, her tears dampening his hands. In desperation, she seized a shard of porcelain, but he caught her wrist and flung it aside. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her nails clawing at his arm, yet her strength was no match for his.
Her tears fell unchecked, soaking into the tassels of the pillow, cold against her cheek—a coldness that seared more fiercely than fire. Outside, rain began to patter on the parasol tree leaves, a soft rustling that swelled into a steady downpour. Clothes slipped soundlessly to the floor, like faded petals scattered in storm and wind.
By six o’clock, the rain had grown heavier, water rushing in torrents as though the heavens themselves had burst. Lei Shaogong woke with a start, heart pounding. The telephone’s shrill ring cut through the storm. Footsteps echoed in the corridor—something had happened.
He dressed quickly. The on-duty attendant was already at his door.
“A call from Shuangqiao. The Master is looking for the Third Young Master.”
Lei Shaogong’s heart sank. He hurried upstairs, knocked lightly three times. Murong Qingye, usually a heavy sleeper, stirred at once.
“What’s the matter?”
“Shuangqiao says the Master is looking for you.”
The words carried weight. Murong Qingye knew at once this was serious. Within moments, he descended the stairs. The car was ready. As they drove into the storm, Lei Shaogong ventured,
“They didn’t say what it was about, but…” He trailed off. At such an hour, it could only be grave news.
The rain poured in sheets, the headlights cutting through a world of white. Water surged across the road, waves lashing as though the sky itself had split open. The journey from Duanshan to Shuangqiao was short, yet the storm slowed them; nearly an hour passed before they reached the Bichong River.
Two stone arch bridges spanned the swollen waters, giving Shuangqiao its name. The river churned, waves swallowing the bridge piers. At last, the dark sky lightened, a corner of blue breaking through, fading into a pale crab-shell green. Ahead, more than a dozen cars stood before the Shuangqiao Residence.
Murong Qingye’s eyes narrowed.
“Stop the car.”
They halted outside. Attendants hurried forward with umbrellas. The long corridor glistened with rain, flowers and trees beaten into disarray. Bougainvillea, heavy with water, drooped toward the mud. The old mansion loomed, its courtyards hushed and deep.
The sound of leather shoes striking the bluestone slabs echoed sharply in the silence. Turning right, they entered the east sitting room.
Previous/Next
.jpeg)
.jpeg)
.jpeg)
