Chapter 43: A Thousand Searches in the Crowd — Confession

A gentle touch on her brow felt as if a stream of spring water glided softly across her skin—clear, faintly ticklish, sending ripples deep into her heart. Chu Xiu could hardly believe what was happening; her eyes, luminous and wide, looked at Yun Ci with fright. It was only after a long moment that she managed to struggle free from his embrace.

Yun Ci did not force her, but let go naturally, as if he could read her thoughts. He nodded with frankness, “Just as you suspect, that is indeed what I mean.” His smile was light as a spring breeze, yet carried a gravity that brooked no denial.

Chu Xiu stood frozen for a long time before she understood the meaning behind his words. She turned her head away, unable to meet his gaze, quietly gathering her thoughts before saying, “I do not understand what you mean, my lord.”

With that single sentence, she drew a clear line between them. The bitterness in her heart drowned out any joy she might have felt; her words were contrary to her true feelings, yet she would not allow herself to shame him.

Yun Ci’s face revealed no disappointment; he simply fixed his gaze on her and asked, “Is that the truth?”

“Yes,” she replied, head lowered, refusing to look at him.

“If it is the truth, why can you not look at me?” His eyes were sharp, piercing straight into her soul, leaving her nowhere to hide. “Chu Xiu, I’ve already seen through your duplicity at Zhuihong Court.”

At this, Chu Xiu shrank back, trying to escape his oppressive presence, hugging her knees to her chest. “You are my benefactor, my lord. Even if I were to serve you as a beast of burden, it would not be enough to repay your grace…”

“Who gave you leave to call yourself a servant?” Yun Ci interrupted her lightly. “Do you not heed my words?”

“No, I—” Chu Xiu felt her throat dry up, unable to utter another word, unsure if it was merely in her mind or something more.

Seeing her evasiveness, Yun Ci recalled that she was still recovering from illness and did not wish to force her. He spoke gently, “I am not one to coerce another nor one to sow affections everywhere. Chu Xiu, you know this well.”

Hearing this, Chu Xiu nearly buried her entire face in her knees, not knowing what to say.

“I only wished to express my feelings,” he said simply, reaching out to stroke a lock of her dark, lustrous hair, then fell silent.

She remained with her head bowed, mute and unmoving.

Yun Ci watched her huddled, self-protective posture—curled up on the couch, head hidden between her knees. She was clearly fleeing, unable to face him. In this moment, she reminded Yun Ci of a small creature of the forest—wounded once, it would always remain wary of outsiders, and when sensing defeat, would simply await the inevitable.

“What are you struggling with?” Yun Ci asked softly. “Or is it that your heart is not yet free of another?” He had once asked her this question at Zhuihong Court, and now, repeating it, he realized both times, it meant the same thing.

He feared she would say the name Helian Qi, yet on reflection, there was nothing to fear—that had been before she met him.

But Chu Xiu still gave no reply, only her shoulders began to tremble.

Yun Ci frowned slightly. “Are you crying?” His heart ached, and he sighed, “Perhaps I have pressed you too hard… Rest well, I can wait.”

His confession fell upon Chu Xiu’s heart with the weight of a thousand pounds, each word branded deep within her. Was this grief? Or joy? Joy, that her feelings were not one-sided; sorrow, that she almost wished they were.

How could she speak of that shameful past, surrendering herself to another man only to be betrayed? Such words were too painful to voice.

Perhaps, all people are selfish—she would rather reject him, rather leave him unanswered, than confess her sordid history and witness his disappointment, disgust, or regret.

So be it. She would refuse him plainly, so he would harbor no illusions. At least, he would remember her kindly, recall her beauty; at least, she could remain by his side, devoted in service. That was enough.

Though mutual affection existed, they forced themselves apart, and the pain was as if their hearts were being cut out.

How bitterly she regretted having given herself so easily to another, letting those nearly vanished memories stand between her and the one truly worthy of lasting devotion. Now, when fate brought the right person, she could only cradle her shattered heart, the words in her soul—

Regret meeting you too late.

The gentle creak of wheelchair wheels reached her ears—Yun Ci must have left the room. Only then did Chu Xiu dare to weep aloud, still not lifting her head, as if making up for all the tears she had shed in silence. Her sobs brought a kind of cruel, desolate comfort.

She cried without restraint, until the thin quilt between her knees was soaked through. Only then did her sobs subside to whimpers, then to sniffles, and finally she raised her head.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a familiar white silhouette—a person she knew all too well. Before she could react, Yun Ci’s hand had seized her chin, denying her any chance of hiding her face again.

He had not left. She had been deceived! Shame and anger warred within her, and tears still clung to her lashes. Meeting his ambiguous gaze, she could not face him, and squeezed her eyes shut.

Warm fingers gently brushed her cheeks, wiping away her tears. Yun Ci, sensing her annoyance, explained softly, “Had I not resorted to this, you might never have raised your head.”

Chu Xiu gave no response, though her sobbing made her chest rise and fall uncontrollably.

His slender fingers traced her long lashes, coming away damp—as though holding the misty rain of March in the southern lands, capable of dyeing the heavens blue and washing the sky clear.

“If your heart were truly hardened against me, why did you cry so bitterly?” Yun Ci’s question was gentle, yet enchanting. “At least let me know—why won’t you answer me?”

She persisted in biting her lip, eyes closed, unmoved.

Yun Ci seemed utterly helpless. “If you want me to say sweet things to coax a girl, I truly do not know how. You’ve bested me this time.”

As if speaking to himself, he looked at her and went on, “Will you not even look at me?”

She remained unmoved.

He gave a rueful chuckle and cleared his throat. “Then as your master, I command you, Chu Xiu—let me ask a question. You need not speak, just nod or shake your head. Will you?”

Then as if remembering something, he added, “You must not lie. Do not deceive me.”

Tears still hung on her long lashes, trembling, but at last she nodded.

“Is there someone else in your heart?” The same question—one Yun Ci longed to have answered.

She hesitated, then shook her head gently.

He smiled, sincere and relieved. “Then do you feel nothing for me—not even a little?”

This time, Chu Xiu didn’t nod or shake her head, remaining rigid and silent.

“Your reaction tells me all I need to know.” Joy was barely concealed in Yun Ci’s voice.

She bit her lip hard, uncertain whether to admit or deny.

“One last question,” Yun Ci said after a pause, his tone solemn. “Are you… ashamed of yourself?”

In the end, she could not hide her thoughts from him. Chu Xiu lowered her head and whispered, “Yes.”

Hearing this, Yun Ci finally released her chin, sighing with gentle affection, “If you are unworthy, then every woman in the world should hang her head in shame… Foolish girl.”

Ignoring whether she had opened her eyes or was even listening, he continued, “There is no other in your heart, nor do you feel nothing for me. Both of us are unwed—so why do you weep?”

Chu Xiu choked on her sobs, refusing to answer.

“Do you remember the poem ‘Broken Strings’?” The mention of it made Yun Ci thoughtful—it was, after all, a poem written for her by another man, yet it had resolved his feelings for her and his admiration of her musical talent.

At the mention of ‘Broken Strings,’ Chu Xiu finally opened her eyes, her expression flustered and evasive. Seeing her so heartbroken, Yun Ci could not bear to expose her wounds further.

He had meant to tell her, through that poem, that he already knew she was Han Chu. Yet, at the last moment, he changed his mind and smiled, “The day you brought the poem to me for critique, you wrote, ‘To find a kindred spirit in this world is a miracle.’”

He paused, watching her reaction, and continued, “Chu Xiu, you and I are such a miracle. Why do you refuse to let it be? We do know each other, and nothing forbids us from being together.”

Knowing, belonging—such extravagant words. Chu Xiu mouthed them silently, feeling as though this scene, this man, was a beautiful dream, too wondrous to be real. That he should feel the same, wish for such a bond—how could she possibly be worthy of such deep and steadfast affection?

She lowered her lashes, unwilling to deceive him. After a moment’s hesitation, she found the courage, her voice hoarse, “My lord, I am not pure… I am not worthy…” The last words were almost inaudible.

“What makes you unworthy? Or do you despise my infirmity?” Yun Ci’s expression was open. “I once struggled with the thought of burdening you with my ailment. But just this once, I wish to be selfish. I am confident I can make you happier than another man ever could. Just as you once could not speak, yet you brought me joy nonetheless.”

“No, that’s not it…” At his words, Chu Xiu’s tears fell anew, and she shook her head desperately. “My lord, I… am not untouched…”

At these words, Yun Ci fell silent. The long quiet stilled her tears, though she had expected such an outcome, still the disappointment was hard to bear.

She turned her face away, forcing herself to explain, “Please don’t misunderstand—it was not the young lord… You do not know him…”

She could say no more, finally daring to look at his ethereally handsome face, pleading, “Please allow me a shred of dignity. Please… say no more…”

Yun Ci met her evasive gaze, and after a long pause, replied solemnly, “Perhaps I am too mild by nature, and you do not yet know—I never change my mind once it is made up.”

As he spoke, he took her hands, offering her the peace of the present. “Fate’s beginning and end are beyond our control. I should thank that man—without him, how could you have come into my life?”

“If there is cause for regret, it is not yours to bear. It is I who failed to meet you sooner, but at least it is not too late. Is that not so?” His words were gentle as an April breeze, warm and comforting.

No woman in the world could remain unmoved by such a heartfelt confession, especially when their destinies had already been intertwined from the moment Chu Xiu lost her voice. She began to weep again, but this time, her tears were tears of joy.

“‘Let not a knight pledge lightly, nor a beauty promise swiftly, lest they should die for me too easily.’ Chu Xiu, I understand this truth.”

Tender whispers could also be unshakably resolute. In that moment, the world itself seemed to stand still. Two people, tightly embraced, had at last found the fate meant only for them.

No matter how exquisite the pen, it could never capture the radiance of this moment.