14. Chapter Fourteen

Early summer, the days growing longer, when Li Lanxin was awakened, the last red glow of the sunset was fading.

Her mind still somewhat foggy, Li Mian helped her sit up, quickly tidying her hair into a neat bun, while Xing’er brought a soft cloth that had been dampened earlier.

Li Lanxin took the handkerchief, the slightly cool moisture pressed against her face, sharpening her senses considerably.

The carriage slowed steadily until it finally came to a halt.

She had visited her clan’s estate just two months ago during the Qingming Festival. After disembarking, she first went to Madam Zhang’s residence to review the protocols for the memorial rites scheduled for the following day. Then she collected the scriptures and plain silk cloth prepared in advance. Tonight, she and Zhuang Ningyuan would painstakingly copy out the memorial text to be burned for her late husband.

The lodging arranged for her and her two maids was the same cramped little courtyard she had stayed in before the festival—smaller even than the two-compound house on Qingluo Lane. But since it was only for one night, it was not a concern.

The estate’s long-term servants had already prepared hot water and bathing supplies in the bathhouse. After her cleansing, Li Lanxin instructed Li Mian to see to Xing’er and get some rest early, then closed the door behind her.

Several lamps were lit within the room, filling it with bright light, but from a distance in the dark, quiet countryside, her quarters were nothing more than a faint flicker in the vast gloom, unable to disguise the subtle loneliness and melancholy.

She laid out the plain silk and scripture texts, carefully dripping a little water into the inkstone with a small spoon before grinding the ink stick on its surface.

Every time she ground ink, she couldn’t help but recall when she first married Xu Yu and he began teaching her about calligraphy and literature in the study. She took great care of him but was rather clumsy in this particular skill.

The very first time, she nearly cracked a fine ink slab; the second time, while Xu Yu was distracted, she kept adding water and ended up grinding far more ink than needed, forcing him to compose several essays a day just to use it all up.

Xu Yu had been so helpless he couldn’t even get angry, smiling wryly, teasing her, “Others have wives and concubines bringing fragrance to their sleeves; you surpass them all, yet when you roll up your sleeves, you only bring me trouble.”

Li Lanxin dipped her brush in ink. Night had fallen; outside, the sounds of footsteps and cicadas were muffled.

Halfway through copying the text, the outside had quieted completely. She rose to trim the lamp wicks and lit two more oil lamps, brightening the room considerably.

Her eyes, strained from years of embroidery work, troubled Li Mian and Xing’er, who urged her to rest more. But money was crucial. If she truly went blind, it would be a reversal of priorities, losing the foundation while chasing the branches. After weighing these, she spent more on oil lamps than before and, unless it was an urgent, valuable order, limited her embroidery after sunset to half an hour.

She actually enjoyed doing her own work quietly when no one was around, much like many nights when she sat alone before her embroidery frame, threading needles and splitting threads.

Immersed in this fulfilling yet unhurried atmosphere, she felt an indescribable peace.

The sudden upheaval earlier today was now forgotten, and her restless heart no longer stirred.

In life, there is no smooth sailing without waves; even the most harrowing storms pass.

Moreover, what she had gone through in the palace was but a brief, passing shower. She had safely attended the polo match, left the palace unharmed, and after tomorrow’s memorial for the deceased, she would return to the capital. There was no need to live in fear.

Li Lanxin breathed deeply and steadily. After another half hour, she finished copying the memorial text. Fearing the ink might smudge or be disturbed by the summer night breeze, she carefully pressed the four corners of the plain silk with paperweights before washing her hands, extinguishing the lamps, and going to sleep.

The moonlight was gentle; the night peaceful and dreamless.

...

A faint mist rose slowly from the beast-shaped gold censer, the mingled scents of sandalwood and dragon’s brain incense permeating the vast palace hall.

Outside, all was silent; within, only a single night lamp burned, its light as still and dark as quiet water.

Zong Lin lay with closed eyes on the sandalwood bed, then suddenly, sharply opened them.

Having trained in the military with his father since he was ten, and marched many years, his senses were keen; it would be no exaggeration to say he was always ready for battle.

Though the footsteps were light, they could not escape his hearing.

Someone had intruded into the bedchamber.

His sharp gaze shifted instantly but froze the next moment, pupils narrowing.

The pearl silk curtain was parted about a body’s width. A woman’s soft silk skirt appeared, two slender white fingers gripping the edge tightly, her lips lightly bitten.

The woman still bore the gentle appearance she had at the pavilion by the pond, her eyes like water; now she looked at him cautiously, seemingly shy.

“You…” Zong Lin was stunned, then sat up with a fierce expression.

“How did you get in?! Guards… ugh!”

A delicate palm pressed firmly over his thin lips. The woman, who had dared only to peek behind the curtain before, now frightened and anxious, threw herself on him, muffling his voice. In that instant, tears welled in her eyes, misting her gaze as she looked at him, helpless and wronged.

Though she had sinister intentions, sneaking into the prince’s bedchamber at night, she now appeared the victim.

Zong Lin’s brows knitted deeply. His large hand easily gripped her slender wrist and pulled it away. Just as he was about to scold her, her hand slipped like a fish out of his grasp.

A soft, broken sob followed. Her arms suddenly entwined around his neck, her body nestling into his embrace.

She cried softly by his ear, plaintive and urgent.

The man’s body stiffened instantly; the woman’s frame seemed boneless, soft and supple, pressing and brushing against him with a slight tremble.

Zong Lin’s mind nearly exploded. His body was used only to iron armor and swords; when had he ever encountered such a soft shackle of a woman, binding him immovably?

“Impertinent!” he shouted in anger.

But the woman would not let go. Instead, she raised her face from his neck, pressing her forehead against his, their hair and features intermingling.

Her lips parted slightly: “Your Highness…”

Lazy and pleading, like a warbler’s melodious trill.

Zong Lin’s whole body tensed uncontrollably; veins bulged on his temples, neck, and backs of his hands.

He raised a hand, intending to pull her away and throw her from the bed, but his calloused palm landed instead on the curve beneath her silk skirt, knuckles knotty, squeezing hard.

His voice hoarse and low: “You are already a married woman, yet you dare covet the prince’s bed and sneak into my chamber at night. Such shamelessness—how can you face your husband?”

The woman seemed ashamed, weeping pitifully: “Your Highness… please forgive my crime…”

“Such a grave offense, how do you expect me to forgive you?” Zong Lin narrowed his dark eyes, folding his knees.

The woman’s body suddenly shrank upward, startled by an unexpected rough weight pressing down.

“Your Highness… Your Highness…” she cried timidly, clutching him tighter.

“What? You have the nerve to secretly climb into my bed, but now you lack the courage to speak plainly?” he sneered.

“If that’s the case, why not go home to your husband?”

His tone was cold and sharp, but his hand dug down deeper.

The woman sobbed briefly, then whispered shyly: “Please, Your Highness, forgive me, forgive me…”

The last words seemed too difficult to say. Suddenly, she raised her head, hesitantly sealing his lips with hers.

The night was filled with shameful passion, entanglements growing intense, silk skirts torn, hair disheveled, and both fell deeply onto the bed.

...

At dawn, Zong Lin suddenly sat up and looked quickly to his side.

The thin quilt was disheveled; the lone pillow undisturbed, leaving only sweat-soaked sheets.

Lowering his head, his face darkened to an extreme, fury radiating from between his brows.

“Guards!”