The gauze veil trembled as the young woman lifted her head, and her gaze collided squarely with his.
Xie Lanting drew a sharp breath. He gripped her wrist and demanded of the madam: “When did this one arrive?”
The madam was startled by his reaction and hurried to explain: “She arrived at the beginning of last month. She’s only been here a short while and knows just two pieces on the pipa.”
Composing himself, Xie Lanting took a deep breath. “I’ll keep her here.”
“Very well. Rong’er, do put on a good performance.” The madam waved the others off and left with them.
The room fell quiet. Xie Lanting looked at the person before him once more. “Lu Qingrong.”
Lu Qingrong’s shoulders drew in. She looked terrified. Her instinct was to wrap her arms around her own head: “Don’t hit me, don’t hit me.”
Why on earth would he hit her?
Xie Lanting pulled back her sleeve. His pupils contracted.
Bruises — green, blue, purple — covered both her arms. Just her hands alone bore this many injuries; the rest of her body was easy enough to imagine.
He couldn’t help but furrow his brow. “What happened?”
Lu Qingrong stared blankly, and for a long while said nothing.
Xie Lanting suddenly felt an acute discomfort.
He said gently to her: “I’m sorry.”
There was no hatred on Lu Qingrong’s face — only panic remaining in her eyes, like a leaf that had lost its home, pushed helplessly by the current to drift back to him.
Xie Lanting took some pastries from the table and poured her a cup of hot tea, hoping to help her calm her nerves.
Lu Qingrong picked up the pastries and wolfed them down.
He waited quite a while. When her emotions seemed somewhat steadier, he spoke again: “How did you end up here?”
Her head was bowed low, still not daring to look at him. She stumbled over her words: “They said my father’s crimes were grave and heinous. They said I had to be registered as a government courtesan.”
Government courtesans in the Great Sheng dynasty sold their art, not their bodies, but the female relatives of convicted officials rarely escaped retaliation and mistreatment — particularly those who had offended powerful figures. A word from someone above was all it took to make her life miserable.
Xie Lanting was somewhat incredulous: “Didn’t you escape?”
“All the land beneath heaven belongs to the king. Where could I run to?”
Something seemed to stir an unpleasant memory. Lu Qingrong began trembling again. “Can you put in a good word for me, ask them to stop hitting me? Please… please…”
Xie Lanting’s brow drew sharply upward.
·
Summer nights ought to be sweltering, yet Chen Baoxiang inexplicably felt a chill run down her back.
She turned to look behind her in confusion.
“They’ve been gone that long, and you’re still thinking about them?” Zhang Zhixu tipped her chin back around. “What is it — didn’t drink enough?”
“Registrar Su’s hand trembled and he spilled wine on me.” Chen Baoxiang said, half-exasperated, half-amused. “I genuinely didn’t drink any. Don’t believe me? Ask Bikong.”
Bikong beside them nodded dutifully: “Really didn’t drink. They were even trying to force alcohol on my Lord, but Lord Xu intercepted it all.”
The hand applying medicine paused. Zhang Zhixu’s eyelid gave a small twitch.
Chen Baoxiang felt her back grow even colder.
To be honest, the two of them had no formal status between them, so she didn’t actually owe him any explanation — but meeting this man’s gaze, she inexplicably felt a pang of guilt: “Old Su and Old Zhao both helped deflect it too — it wasn’t just him alone.”
“Is that so.”
“That is absolutely so. I even made things clear to him — told him not to send me clothes anymore.”
With a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Zhang Zhixu said: “He did put thought into those clothes. He chose fine fabrics. I’ve worn them — I know.”
“What use is fine fabric? They were completely the wrong measurements for me. They didn’t fit.”
“With a few alterations, they might fit well enough.” He gave a slight curl of his lips. “If you said the word, he’d certainly be happy to alter them.”
The moment those words left his mouth, Zhang Zhixu regretted them.
Why must he be so disagreeable when he talked? That wasn’t what he meant at all.
He stole a glance at the person across from him. Bad. She appeared to have gone quiet — she wasn’t responding to him.
Was there still time to walk it back now?
But could someone please teach him — in a situation like this, what could he possibly say to walk it back?
His thoughts churned into a tangled mess. Zhang Zhixu’s spine went rigid. The medicine-coated fingers froze in mid-air, and even his breathing stopped.
The curtain he’d newly bought did have quite the pattern on it. The bedding was quite bedding-like too.
Should he just apologize outright?
He drew a deep breath. Zhang Zhixu raised his head, ready to speak —
His face was suddenly cupped in both of someone’s hands.
He looked up in a daze and saw her smiling.
Chen Baoxiang seemed to have read his emotions with effortless ease. Her smile was teasing: “Zhang Fengqing. You’re jealous again.”