Chapter Sixty-Six: The Tree Longs for Stillness, Yet the Wind Will Not Cease (Part One)

Night had fallen over Tianjing, yet the city was alive with festivity. Both shops and residences along the streets were adorned with lanterns and bright decorations, while the main thoroughfares bustled with endless crowds, carriages streaming by, drums and gongs resounding, and the air thick with joyful noise. The banks of the Qinhuai River were even more animated, thronged with revelers. At this hour, Yang Yaozong was already within the grand banquet hall on the third floor of the Mortal Paradise. All the guests had arrived and were exchanging pleasantries. Tonight’s hall was arranged much like a buffet from Yang Yaozong’s previous life; a long sideboard lined one wall, laden with food and wine. Tables and chairs were placed around the perimeter for guests to set down their things and sit to converse.

When Yang Yaozong had first arrived on the third floor, he saw the First Prince, Jing Min, and Yin Ruxin greeting guests near the entrance. Jing Min’s complexion was poor and he seemed quite frail, likely from the severity of injuries he had sustained a few days prior, and a young attendant supported him at all times. Yin Ruxin was aware that Yang Yaozong had been invited to this Mid-Autumn banquet, so when their eyes met, both were already prepared, though they could not help exchanging glances charged with emotion. Especially when Yin Ruxin looked at Yang Yaozong—her beautiful eyes brimmed with deep affection, tinged with a wistful longing that seemed equal parts reproach and yearning, warming Yang Yaozong’s heart. Yet, when he thought of the matters Yin Ruxin was orchestrating, a trace of vexation crept into his thoughts.

Yang Yaozong had assumed that, given the prince's injuries, the banquet would be canceled. To his surprise, not only was it held as planned, but Jing Min attended in person. This made Yang Yaozong wonder if he had been overly suspicious about the prince’s possible escape. After a brief exchange of courtesies with him, Yang Yaozong walked to a window-side corner, appearing to admire the view, while in truth he was discreetly observing the guests.

Tonight, there were far more attendees than at the Qixi gathering. Some Yang Yaozong knew, others he did not, but many recognized him and stopped by to chat. He greeted everyone with polite warmth.

Finding himself alone, Yang Yaozong leaned against the window, breathing in the faint scent of osmanthus carried by the breeze, watching the lively scene below, quietly content.

Not far behind him stood two exceptionally lovely young women, whispering to each other. They were Mu Qinghan and Qin Xueyao.

Qin Xueyao tugged at Mu Qinghan’s sleeve, saying, “Sister Mu, look, Yang Yaozong is standing over there! Can you guess what’s holding his attention so completely? Let’s go see.”

Mu Qinghan had arrived a little later than Yang Yaozong and saw him conversing in a corner when she entered. She wanted to greet him, but as soon as he finished with one person, others would approach him in small groups. When she finally found him alone and was about to go over, Qin Xueyao appeared, chatting excitedly. At the time when Yang Yaozong had treated her sprained ankle, Qin Xueyao had been present; whenever she recalled that day, a tide of bashful warmth would rise from the foot he had touched, spreading through her whole body, leaving her flustered. Though the circumstances had left them no choice, and Yang Yaozong had assured her he hadn’t regarded her as a woman at that moment, how could she not see him as a man?

Now, with Qin Xueyao by her side, she felt too shy to suggest going over to greet Yang Yaozong. After a while, Qin Xueyao noticed him as well and, bubbling with excitement, pulled her toward him. As they approached, Qin Xueyao slowed her steps, pressed a finger to her lips, and pouted mischievously at Mu Qinghan, signaling her to keep quiet. Mu Qinghan, recognizing her playful mood, nodded helplessly.

Standing just behind Yang Yaozong’s right, Qin Xueyao cheekily tapped him on his left shoulder. To her astonishment, Yang Yaozong turned his head toward them. She stared at him in disbelief.

Mu Qinghan arched her delicate brows, also surprised that Yang Yaozong had not been tricked. She herself had fallen for Qin Xueyao’s playful antics more than once before.

Though Yang Yaozong appeared to be absorbed in the scenery outside, his ears had been attuned to the conversation within the hall, especially the First Prince’s exchanges. He would glance inside now and then, so when Qin Xueyao and Mu Qinghan stood behind him, he was already aware and was about to greet them when Qin Xueyao tapped his shoulder. Seeing her expression and their positions, he guessed her intent and, suppressing a smile, said, “Miss Mu, Miss Qin, happy Mid-Autumn Festival.”

Mu Qinghan curtsied with a suppressed smile. “Happy Mid-Autumn Festival, Master Yang.”

Qin Xueyao, pouting, muttered, “No fun at all. How come you never fall for it?” Yet, with a trace of indignation, she added, “Happy Mid-Autumn Festival, Master Yang!”

Yang Yaozong smiled. “How is your ankle healing, Miss Mu?”

The mention of her injury brought a blush to Mu Qinghan’s cheeks. She lowered her head, her voice soft as she replied, “It’s much better now. Walking is no trouble at all. But my plans to go to Yanmen Pass will have to be postponed.”

Yang Yaozong nodded. “Indeed. Injuries to the sinews and bones take a hundred days. You must take care.”

“What were you looking at over here by yourself?” Qin Xueyao leaned out to peer at the view.

Yang Yaozong teased, “Admiring the flowers, the moon, and the autumn fragrance.”

Mu Qinghan nodded in understanding.

Qin Xueyao, however, asked curiously, “What is autumn fragrance?”

Yang Yaozong realized she did not understand the phrase was a subtle reference to beauties. He smiled awkwardly, “Ah... the scent of osmanthus.”

Qin Xueyao nodded. “It’s August, the whole city is filled with the fragrance of osmanthus.”

Suddenly, she recalled something and called out more loudly, “Yang Yaozong!”

He raised an eyebrow, turning to her, waiting for her words.

“I overheard a few people just now saying they’re going to give you a hard time—they want you to compose poetry for the Mid-Autumn Festival. Did you prepare anything?” Qin Xueyao glanced back and discreetly indicated the group she meant, then looked at him expectantly.

Yang Yaozong followed her gaze. Among them was Wang Youwei, who always seemed to target him for no reason, and two others he’d met at the prince’s Qixi poetry gathering. They were chatting and laughing, casting glances his way from time to time. Yang Yaozong smiled at Qin Xueyao, “I haven’t prepared anything, nor do I intend to write any poems. I’m just here for the banquet, not to compose verse. But if someone else does, I’m happy to listen.”

Qin Xueyao grew anxious, her lovely eyes wide as she protested, “Aren’t you worried they’ll say... say you’ve lost your touch?”

Yang Yaozong snorted. “I guessed before I even came that someone might try to make me compose poetry. But if you know you’ll wet the bed, do you stop sleeping? Crude as it sounds, the logic holds. Their mouths are their own; I can’t control them. Let them say what they wish.”

Both Qin Xueyao and Mu Qinghan looked at him, half annoyed and half amused. They silently chided his coarse words, but seeing his calm indifference, they grudgingly admitted he had a point, though worry lingered in their hearts.

Qin Xueyao seemed about to urge him once more to prepare a poem, but just then, the group she’d indicated raised their voices conspicuously, as if on purpose, drawing the attention of everyone in the hall.