Chapter 64: A Decade of Grudges Meets the Present (Part Two)

Because of the old dream that visited her in the night, the Grand Madam awoke the next day with a splitting headache. She excused Xia Yanran and the several concubines from their morning and evening greetings, summoning only Yun Ci to her side.

“Chuixiu is being held in the punishment hall—what do you intend to do with her?” With this son, she never concealed her thoughts, nor did she care to waste energy on circuitous conversations.

Yun Ci sat in his wheelchair today, his complexion poor, showing signs of his old leg ailment returning. He pondered a moment before replying, “Mother, what is your wish regarding her?”

The Grand Madam smiled faintly. “She belongs to your household—why do you ask me?”

“But you have never hesitated to involve yourself in the affairs of my household,” Yun Ci replied.

At this, the Grand Madam’s smile faded, her voice turning stern. “Since you ask, I will not hide my thoughts. She once carried your child—even though she miscarried, that counts for something. This time, you’ve punished her harshly in public, which is an explanation to the Second House. I know you are reluctant to let her go.”

She picked up a string of nanmu prayer beads and slowly rolled them in her palm. “With her looks and temperament, the Yun household can no longer keep her. If you cannot bear to see her die, then let her go.”

“Let her go?” Yun Ci repeated softly. “How?”

“Have Shen Yu escort her away, or else give her a sum of money to make her own way outside,” the Grand Madam said, feeling this was already a great concession.

To her surprise, Yun Ci merely laughed. “Zi Feng still has affairs to handle in Fangzhou and will be staying here for the time being. As for Chuixiu… she cannot leave yet.”

“She cannot leave? Do you mean to let her continue to stir up discord between you and your brother?” The Grand Madam’s tone turned icy. “In the past, your second brother was reckless, but he never caused scenes within the household. Yet for Chuixiu, he has made trouble more than once. The Yun family cannot afford this shame.”

“If we send her away, can you guarantee my second brother will leave her in peace?” Yun Ci countered.

The Grand Madam did not reply.

Seeing this, Yun Ci lowered his eyes and said, “I will send Chuixiu away in due time, but not now.”

A sudden sharpness flashed in the Grand Madam’s eyes. “What? Do you fear I will secretly harm her even if I allow her to leave openly?”

Yun Ci denied it. “Mother, you are overthinking.”

But the Grand Madam was not convinced. She sneered, “So, you are truly protecting her—now you even suspect me.” She set the prayer beads on the table with a sigh. “Ci’er, if you defy me for her sake, you do not help her—you only harm her.” Her tone was gentle, but the threat was unmistakable.

Yun Ci seemed accustomed to such words and replied coolly, “Rest assured, Mother. My thoughts are all with Pinyan now. As for Chuixiu, I admit to lingering sentiment, but I do not wish to see her cast out, alone and helpless, only to suffer your second brother’s revenge.”

With those words, Yun Ci had no intention of prolonging the conversation. He cut it off decisively: “Chuixiu will leave—I will see to it myself. But now is not the time. Once I have placated my brother and Zi Feng’s business is finished, she shall leave with him.”

The Grand Madam seemed surprised by his resoluteness, narrowing her eyes in disbelief. “You used to care deeply for her. Is this truly your decision?”

“Of course,” Yun Ci replied with a smile. “As you said yourself, now that Pinyan is the rightful mistress, why should I invert priorities and abandon the essential for the trivial?”

The Grand Madam was taken aback—had she overestimated her son’s feelings for Chuixiu? Staring at his calm, unruffled smile, she was half convinced, half doubtful. “If you truly see it this way, so much the better. Since ancient times, harmony between husband and wife is the foundation of a family. You are the Marquis of Lixin—more than anyone, you must let go of petty attachments.”

“I am grateful for your teaching,” Yun Ci said, turning his head to summon Zhuying. But before leaving, he paused and said, “Today, it was you who first suggested sending Chuixiu away. If the day comes when I do let her go, I ask you to remember your word and not trouble her further.”

The Grand Madam’s brow twitched. “Even if I wished to make things difficult for her, with you watching, could I do anything?”

Yun Ci seemed to halt at those words, a shadow of sorrow passing across his face. “I fear I may not be able to protect her, either…” He was silent for a moment, his tone tinged with self-mockery and sorrow. “Whether she fares well or ill, it will be no concern of mine.”

To the Grand Madam, it sounded as though all her son’s grief was contained in those words, leaving her with a sense of helplessness.

Had she misheard, or…? The suspicion barely formed in her mind before Yun Ci composed himself with a smile. “I promised Pinyan I’d take her to the lotus pond today. If you have nothing else, I will take my leave.”

The Grand Madam was briefly stunned. She waved her hand, dismissing him. “Go, then.” Seeing Yun Ci and Xia Yanran in perfect harmony brought her more comfort than anything else.

Without another word, Yun Ci called for Zhuying to push him out of Rongjin Hall.

An hour later, Zhiyan Pavilion sent word to the punishment hall: Chuixiu was demoted to the laundry, to serve as a washerwoman.

*****

“Chuixiu, hurry up! Madam is waiting for these clothes!” Mistress Jing, the head of the laundry, nearly jabbed a finger in Chuixiu’s face as she urged her on. “Are you done pressing? If so, take them over quickly!”

“Yes,” Chuixiu replied, setting down the hot ironstone and carefully inspecting the garments. Only when she was sure they were perfectly pressed did she fold them and place them on a tray.

In the blink of an eye, she had been in the laundry for over two months, even spending the New Year surrounded by endless piles of clothes. She looked down at her hands—now covered with sores and swollen, no longer the slender fingers that once played the zither.

A sharp pain pricked her skin: the alkaline powder had stung her wounds again. She didn’t have time to apply the ointment Shen Yu had left her. Picking up the clothing, she made her way to Zhiyan Pavilion.

At this hour, Yun Ci should be at Qingxin Study. Knowing she wouldn’t run into him, Chuixiu wasn’t sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

It had been nearly three months. Yun Ci had not visited her, nor given her a chance to explain, as if consumed by hatred. Of course—if their positions were reversed, if he had been deceived, having once cherished a courtesan in such a lofty position, he too would be furious.

Lost in thought, Chuixiu carried the clothes toward Zhiyan Pavilion. Servant girls and attendants looked at her with curious eyes. Her former status as a courtesan was not widely known; after all, the Marquis of Lixin’s household still cared for appearances. Yet, her sudden fall from favored maid to lowly laundry girl was enough to stir gossip.

Chuixiu understood those looks and kept her gaze steady, heading to Xia Yanran’s chambers. As she reached the door, she heard delicate laughter, followed by Yun Ci’s low voice: “Don’t move.”

Chuixiu froze, tightening her grip on the tray. Zhuoyan was standing at the door, covering her mouth with a smile—clearly aware of what was happening inside. After a moment’s thought, Chuixiu said, “These are Madam’s clothes. Would you please deliver them, Sister Zhuoyan? I won’t go in.”

Zhuoyan glanced at her indifferently. “Madam told me to stand outside and not go anywhere. She also said to bring in the clothes as soon as they’re pressed—His Lordship is waiting for Madam to change so he can paint her portrait.”

A portrait? Chuixiu’s gaze dropped to the embroidered smoke gauze skirt on the tray—exquisite and radiant, indeed fit for a painting. But Yun Ci had never brought brush and ink into the inner chambers before.

How foolish a question—she mocked herself. What happened between husband and wife in the privacy of their rooms was natural.

Brushing aside stray thoughts, she knocked lightly. “Madam, your clothes are here.”

The laughter inside ceased abruptly. After a moment, Xia Yanran called out, “Come in.”

Head bowed, Chuixiu entered, caught a glimpse of a white robe, and quickly bowed, then turned to Xia Yanran. “Madam.”

“Set the clothes down,” Xia Yanran said gently, saying nothing more.

Chuixiu obeyed, placing the clothes on the table. Then Yun Ci spoke, his tone cool, “Assist Madam in changing.”

“My lord…” Xia Yanran glanced at Chuixiu, somewhat embarrassed. “Let Zhuoyan assist me instead.”

But Yun Ci would not relent. He looked at Chuixiu, his voice tinged with mockery. “You used to serve Madam’s daily needs—have you forgotten how?”

The sting of his words struck Chuixiu, but she kept her eyes lowered. “I will attend to Madam,” she replied, picking up the clothes and moving behind Xia Yanran.

Xia Yanran cast her an apologetic look but said nothing further. Once dressed, Chuixiu stepped out from behind the screen and whispered, “I take my leave.”

Yun Ci said nothing, which she took as permission. As she reached the door, he called out, “Wait. The ink has dried—prepare the ink.”

Ink? Of course, that had always been her duty.

Chuixiu returned, pouring water into the inkstone and grinding the ink with focused care.

A faint scent of dragon incense drifted on the air, mingled with the aroma of medicine: the same as she remembered. For a moment, Chuixiu was swept by the illusion that she was back in Zhuihong Garden in Jingzhou—everything unchanged, as if there had never been love and hate, right and wrong.

But the illusion was short-lived, shattered by reality.

On the rice paper, Yun Ci painted a face identical to hers, his brush capturing every detail. The radiant embroidered skirt was delicately outlined: a resplendent beauty taking shape.

Had she ever worn such ornate attire, Chuixiu might have believed he was painting her. But the final touch—a beauty mark beneath the eye, painted like a teardrop—pierced her heart like a sharp needle.

Yun Ci was painting his wife.

The many wounds on her fingers suddenly throbbed with pain, reminding Chuixiu of the one who stumbled again and again on the path of love, each fall more grievous than the last. She could barely hold the ink stick, afraid that if she persisted any longer, the ache in her heart would suffocate her.

“Chuixiu, you look unwell,” Xia Yanran said gently, her voice filled with concern.

Chuixiu looked up at that face so like her own, her voice hoarse. “Thank you for your concern, Madam. I am fine.”

Xia Yanran glanced at Yun Ci, then ventured, “My lord, perhaps let Chuixiu go. She no longer serves at Zhiyan Pavilion.”

As expected, Yun Ci paused, then replied with a hint of irony, “She may be done with the ink, but the paper is yet to be cut.”

Xia Yanran smiled. “That’s no trouble—I’ll do it myself.” She approached the writing desk. “In truth, I have never served you with paper and ink before. Let me try today.”

Yun Ci seemed helpless, indulging her with a gentle tone. “Be careful—the dagger is very sharp.”

A dagger? Why use a dagger to cut paper? Before Chuixiu could puzzle it out, a flash of cold silver swept before her eyes, tinged with a faint crimson gleam.

It was the mandarin duck dagger Shen Yu had gifted her!

So, Yun Ci had given one of the pair to Xia Yanran.

Mandarin duck daggers, a pair, each held by one, symbolizing conjugal devotion. There was nothing wrong with him doing so…

Chuixiu drew a deep breath, as if to expel all the sorrow from her chest, and prepared to take her leave. “I…”

She hadn’t finished the word when a crisp clang rang out—the ruby-studded dagger slipped from Xia Yanran’s hand, bounced, and landed squarely at Chuixiu’s feet.