Chapter 31: Silk Threads Entwined, Two Meetings Bound by Fate

The vast sky stretched endlessly, shrouded in mist, as the mundane world donned its first blush of morning. All the splendor and sorrow in Han Chu’s memory seemed to be crushed into dust beneath the turning wheels of the carriage bound for Fangzhou. The once resplendent days, rich with whispered intimacy, became mere shadows of the past the moment she met Yun Ci—memories no longer worthy of longing.

With dawn’s first light, and after all the bitterness and sweetness had been washed away, she emerged anew—a person with no clouds in her heart, like the wind leaving the mountain valley.

Fangzhou was the most prosperous of the five prefectures of Nanxi, and the fiefdom of Prince Mu, Nie Peihan, the Emperor’s seventh son. The capital, Yanlan City, true to its name, was surrounded on three sides by mountains, with a warm and humid climate and ever-present mist. It was a haven for peace and longevity, difficult for outsiders to invade.

Here lay the heart of the Yun clan, the very roots of their power, not far from the Marquis of Lixin’s estate. Though Chu had never set foot in Fangzhou before, she had heard of Yanlan City’s name. Legend had it that the founding empress of the Da Xi dynasty was once titled “Princess Yanlan” before her marriage, adding a touch of romance to the Yun clan’s reason for settling here.

After all, the tale of the Yun ancestors’ close ties with the imperial founders had been passed down for centuries, celebrated as a story of beauty and grace.

It took Yun Ci and his entourage a full month to travel from the imperial capital of Nanxi to the seat of Fangzhou. By the time they reached Yanlan City, the year was drawing to its close. Yun Ci did not take Chu directly to his residence; instead, he entrusted her to the temporary care of the famed physician, Qu Fang.

“Settle here first and let the divine physician treat your throat,” Yun Ci told her upon arrival, not even pausing at his own estate. “I have just returned, and many affairs demand my attention. I fear I cannot care for you for the time being.”

Chu’s eyes sparkled with understanding as she obediently nodded. Yun Ci had been absent from Yanlan for months, and with the imminent inheritance of his title, he would be beset with duties—a fact she readily understood.

Yun Ci’s gaze, gentle as mist, lingered on her face as he smiled. “Physician Qu was Zifeng’s mentor and once saved my life. He rarely stays in one place, only visiting the capital before summer and autumn to gather herbs and check on me. You are fortunate to have caught him here in Yanlan.”

Chu had learned on their way into the city that Qu Fang, renowned across the land, had been invited to Fangzhou by Prince Mu himself. It was said that a favored guest of the prince had suffered a serious hand injury, prompting the prince to summon the physician for treatment.

Clearly, this woman held great importance in Prince Mu’s heart, and Chu felt herself quietly benefiting from this connection.

“When next I come for you, you will truly be Chu,” Yun Ci said meaningfully, then left her in Qu Fang’s care and returned to his estate.

From that day, Chu settled into life in Yanlan City. Qu Fang’s courtyard was small and simply furnished, its garden overflowing with fragrant, colorful herbs. Chu found the tranquil atmosphere to her liking.

Each day, Qu Fang would visit Prince Mu’s estate to tend to the prince’s beloved guest’s injured hand. The rest of his time was spent either treating Chu’s throat or poring over medicinal herbs and texts.

Left to her own devices, Chu would practice her calligraphy, striving to master Yun Ci’s elegant hand. Thus, their days passed in quiet harmony, each respecting the other’s solitude.

Throughout this period, Qu Fang tried several prescriptions for her throat, but with little effect. Chu herself was untroubled; she had never been one for idle chatter, and silence had long since become her companion.

So three tranquil months passed, and the New Year slipped quietly by, with not a single word from Yun Ci.

As February arrived, Chu learned from Qu Fang that the Marquis of Lixin’s heir had officially inherited his title and now presided over the Yun clan. The grand succession ceremony drew envoys from both the northern and southern kingdoms.

Given Nanxi’s proximity, it was Prince Mu who presented gifts on behalf of Emperor Sheng.

Meanwhile, Beixi, beset by internal strife, sent no royal kin. Yet the sole non-imperial prince, defying his sovereign, secretly dispatched his only son with lavish gifts—a clear signal to any discerning eye that the throne of Beixi was soon to change hands.

At the end of February, as was his custom, Qu Fang departed on his travels. Before leaving, he sent a letter to the Marquis of Lixin’s estate.

The next morning, Yun Ci arrived, escorted by the ever-loyal Zhuying.

At that hour, Chu was sitting by the well, washing her hair, unaware that anyone had entered the courtyard. As she soaked her jet-black tresses, a familiar, teasing voice rang out nearby: “Who washes their hair over a well? Aren’t you afraid of falling in?”

Startled by the voice she knew so well, Chu froze. Pushing aside the damp hair from her eyes, she looked up and was instantly lost in a dreamlike trance.

A hundred days had passed, and she had imagined that Yun Ci’s new status would lend him a more imposing air. Yet the young master before her, seated in his wheelchair with a gentle smile, still wore white robes, serene and pure as a clear moon over a tranquil river—almost ethereal.

For reasons she could not explain, Chu felt a sudden sting in her eyes. She knew Yun Ci had not forgotten her, but she had not expected him to return so soon, so suddenly, and at such an awkward moment.

Caught off guard, she stood there with her damp hair in her hands, unsure what to do.

Water droplets slipped from her hair as Yun Ci watched, a soft warmth rising in his heart. He quietly instructed Zhuying, who hurried into the house and soon returned with a dry towel.

Taking the towel, Yun Ci smiled at Chu. “It’s not convenient for me here. Come over.”

Called back to herself, Chu at last believed it was truly Yun Ci. Suppressing a flutter of joy, she walked to his side, bowed her head in greeting, and smiled—radiant and fresh as spring itself.

“A little closer,” Yun Ci gestured, waiting until her skirt brushed against his feet before wrapping her hair in the towel and gently drying it.

Chu was surprised, but more than that, she felt shy and uneasy. Yun Ci seemed oblivious to her fluster, his tone lightly scolding: “Though Nanxi is like spring all year, it’s not wise to wash your hair in cold water—especially for women.”

As he dried her hair, he instructed Zhuying, “Go boil some hot water.” Then, ignoring Chu’s protest, he wrapped her hair snugly in the towel and smiled, “Go wait inside.”

Chu, gathering her composure, dabbed her hair a few times and then helped wheel Yun Ci indoors, seating him in a chair.

Their three months together at Zhuihong Garden had fostered a quiet understanding between them. With gestures and expressions, Chu asked, “What brings you here?”

“Why shouldn’t I come?” Yun Ci replied, a trace of resignation in his sigh. “Chu, since returning to Fangzhou, I feel utterly exhausted.”

Chu fell silent. Of course he was tired. Even in an ordinary household, running affairs inside and out was no easy feat—let alone managing the mighty Yun clan, merchants famed as the nation’s greatest for centuries. Inheriting the title of Marquis of Lixin meant shouldering immense family responsibilities.

For this reason, Chu had not dared hope Yun Ci would think of her so soon, much less appear unexpectedly today.

She made a gesture to indicate she wished to tidy her appearance and asked him to wait a moment.

Yun Ci could not help but laugh. “Didn’t you just wash your hair? Why trouble yourself?”

Chu lifted a lock of damp hair, signaling that appearing disheveled was improper.

“I’m not an outsider,” Yun Ci replied, his voice gentle, the corners of his lips curving up like moonlight on a tranquil lake—warm yet reserved, elegant but never ostentatious.

Chu unconsciously pouted, awkward but not insisting further.

They sat together in silence. Chu could not speak, and Yun Ci was always reserved. Yet the atmosphere between them was neither awkward nor cold. Instead, an unspoken understanding flowed—a language only they shared.

A gesture, a look, even a glance could convey everything.

It was a silent intimacy that outsiders could neither grasp nor intrude upon. Even Zhuying, who had served Yun Ci for fifteen years, could not understand. He quietly prepared two large buckets of hot water for Chu, assuming they were for her to finish washing her hair.

Indeed, the water was for Chu. But Zhuying never imagined his master would personally see to the task! He watched in astonishment as the two returned to the well, mixed the water to the right temperature, and Yun Ci began washing Chu’s hair with his own hands.

As for Chu, though embarrassed and resistant, she ultimately yielded to Yun Ci’s silent persistence.

Was she not afraid of shortening her life, letting the Marquis himself wash her hair? Zhuying was utterly dumbfounded.

His master had always kept a respectful distance from women, treating all alike regardless of age or status. Yet here he was, tending personally to Chu’s hair…

Though the act appeared upright, to Zhuying it carried an intimate undertone. Realizing he was the only awkward party present, Zhuying discreetly withdrew.

Yun Ci, oblivious to Zhuying’s thoughts, went on, applying fragrant herbal paste to Chu’s hair and rinsing it again and again with fresh water.

Chu’s hair was thick and lustrous, smooth as silk in his hands, reminding him of the profound night sea. The subtle fragrance of the herbal paste lingered, and the gentle, chaotic sensation was not unlike the stirrings of his own heart.

Such feelings arose only in her presence.

Chu, for her part, sat quietly, head bowed, letting Yun Ci tend to her hair. Her gaze drifted over the well, lost in thought. Dewy drops clung to her brow and lashes, lending her a fragile beauty, like a pear blossom in the rain—exquisite beyond compare.

Such a scene belonged only in heaven, a vision never before witnessed by mortal eyes.

At length, her hair clean, Chu could bear no more and took the towel from Yun Ci, drying her hair herself. As she twisted out the last drops, a soft voice reached her: “When your hair is dry, change into fresh clothes and come with me to the estate.”