After that, I learned who Xuan Xuan was.
She was the daughter of Qi Zhan's second uncle — not his second aunt's daughter, but an illegitimate one. Her mother had once been kept by a man; when that man died, she had sent Xuan Xuan to the second uncle's household, claiming the girl as his blood. The second aunt wanted nothing to do with her. The second uncle was easily swayed by whoever disapproved of things most recently. So Xuan Xuan had lived in that house in a kind of quiet torment, unwanted on all sides.
Eventually she'd ended up at Chunfeng Lou — the Spring Breeze House, one of North City's most exclusive establishments — simply to survive. The clients were wealthy, and it was that or nothing.
I learned this partly by accident. I'd run into Xuan Xuan once outside. She'd seen me, and those gentle apricot-shaped eyes of hers had stopped, frightened and careful, before she called me "Sister-in-law" in a small voice.
I was not comfortable. But I said "Xuan Xuan" back and kept walking.
* * *
That night I asked Qi Zhan for the full story.
He was quiet for a while before he spoke. "I started looking into it because I wanted to confront her father for being irresponsible. I didn't expect him to have already died. By then, the second uncle's household was already what it was, and she was young and had no way out. So she ended up there."
"My brother's favor — the one he asked of you — that was about this, wasn't it?"
He looked at me and nodded. "I couldn't bring her back home. The best I could do was support her from the outside. It's been held together like that ever since."
I sat with that for a moment. But I suppose he couldn't be entirely blamed for this. "Do you love her?"
He paused. "When I was young, perhaps. Not anymore. She's family now. I couldn't leave her with no one looking after her."
Not anymore. I let those words settle.
I didn't ask anything else.
* * *
The incident with Bai Lu happened on my birthday.
That morning, Qi Zhan had sent me a box of fresh lychees. I didn't think much of it, and I shared some with Bai Lu — the maid who'd served Qi Zhan for years and had always been more or less civil to me.
On the day of my birthday, I'd invited a small gathering of female relatives and close friends. Somewhere in the afternoon, I fell very ill. By the time the house physicians had finished their examination and asked their questions, it became clear: the illness had been arranged. The lychee box had been a vehicle. It must have taken sustained, patient preparation over many days.
Qi Zhan's people identified Bai Lu. He came to me with a face like thunder and asked what I wanted done. I said: sell her contract.
Before she left, I went to see her. She'd been crying for so long that her face had taken on a swollen, collapsed quality. I hadn't come to punish her further. I just had one question: "Did Qi Zhan know how you felt about him?"
She shook her head.
"All right then," I said. "Find a good household with whoever takes you on, and build something steady."
She started to speak through tears — something about how she'd never done anything like this before, how she hadn't been thinking clearly —
"It's over," I said, and patted her hand. "Don't dwell on it."
* * *
By the time everything was settled, I was exhausted. I sat slumped at the table, hair loose, too tired to bother fixing it. Footsteps, and then Qi Zhan appeared across from me and sat down. A long silence. Then: "You've been put through a lot today."
I waved him off. "It's fine. Have someone send the lychees back to you — I don't want them anymore."
"I'll get more lychees," he said. He paused. "But this was my fault. I'm sorry."
Oddly, I heard it without much feeling at all. "It's all right," I told him — and, stifling a yawn — added, almost without meaning to: "How would she think of me as competition? There's nothing in your heart where I'm concerned..."
I trailed off, aware mid-sentence that I'd said something I shouldn't.
Qi Zhan didn't reply. I didn't continue. We sat together in the quiet.
* * *
Not long after that, I went into his study one evening and happened to open a small lacquered box on his desk — and found, inside it, the rabbit lantern he'd made.
I stared at it.
I couldn't tell what it meant. I put it back, closed the box, and walked out.
He came into the study a while later and spent some time in there. When he emerged and saw me, he said: "You went in?"
I nodded. "I opened it by accident. I didn't know that was in there."
He was quiet a moment. "Nothing to it. Just put it in there without thinking."
"All right," I said, and went to bed.
* * *
Starting from that lantern, something in my attention shifted. I began to notice things I'd previously looked past.
Qi Zhan had never, in any of the small daily things, treated me unkindly. Not the general warmth of the whole Qi household, but something particular to him.
He knew I didn't wear gold ornaments, so he never brought me any. He knew I always carried a full bag when I went out, so he always made sure someone came along to carry things. It was in details, in small and quiet consistencies.
I gathered them all up and turned them over, and began, for the first time, to think: what kind of person is he, really?
* * *
After that, things between us became a little easier. Still some distance — but the atmosphere that had once been almost hostile gradually turned simply quiet, and occasionally we talked.
One afternoon I caught a cold and took to bed. During the midday rest, Qi Zhan came to check on me. He sat at the bedside, asked a few questions about how I was feeling, and had someone bring a pot of restorative broth.
I stared at the bowl for a moment. "Why did you come?"
"I'm not allowed?"
"That's not it. I just — didn't expect it."
He didn't answer that. "Drink your broth and sleep. I'll go read."
"All right."
After he left, I drank the broth — still hot — and felt warmth move through me from the inside. I pulled the blanket higher and closed my eyes, and thought: this person. There must be some feeling there after all.
* * *
When I was well again, I was working in the garden one afternoon when Qi Zhan appeared beside me. I hadn't heard him coming and startled badly.
"Don't flail around like that," he said. "You'll scratch yourself on the thorns."
"What are you doing in here?"
"You let me in. You said last time to come and see the flowers sometime."
I had no memory of saying that, but I pressed on. "Then look around. What do you want to see?"
He walked the perimeter of the small garden slowly, examining things, and eventually came to a stop in front of a white magnolia tree. "This one."
"That's a magnolia," I said, walking over to stand beside him. "I brought it from my family home. It survived. I was pleased."
He tilted his head back to look at it, then turned to look at me. "When does it bloom?"
"In winter — the season isn't long." I paused. "Come back and look at it then."
He made a sound of agreement.
* * *
When the magnolia finally bloomed, I'd assumed he wouldn't remember. I was wrong. He actually came — walked through the early cold of a winter afternoon, stood under the tree and looked at the white flowers, nodded once, and turned to leave.
"Hey." Something about the whole exchange struck me as absurd. "Did you like it?"
He didn't look back. "It's fine."
Two words. That was all I got. I'd never had the experience of someone doing that to me before — and yet watching him walk away, I felt something warm move through me anyway, quiet and not quite explicable.
* * *
One afternoon a close friend of mine came to sit with me in the garden. She was the direct sort, and we'd known each other long enough that she didn't bother being indirect.
She looked me over thoughtfully, then asked: "Yun Chu — how are things really, between you and Young Master Qi?"
"Not bad." I drank my tea without hurrying. "He's actually — he's all right. Not as bad as I thought."
She raised her eyebrows. "Really? The way you talked before, I thought you were having a terrible time."
"I never said terrible."
"What about feelings? How do things stand there?"
I put my cup down and thought. "Slowly, slowly. I don't know yet."
* * *
After she left, I sat in the garden for a while in the winter quiet, surrounded by bare branches and the cold smell of earth.
Slowly — where was slowly going to take us?
I didn't know. But perhaps —
Perhaps it was worth moving a little closer.
* * *
For a stretch of days after that, I genuinely wanted us to be closer.
One afternoon I was in my room with my needlework when Qi Zhan came in from somewhere outside. He changed into his house clothes and settled into the chair nearby, picked up the story book I'd left half-read on the table. "Is this any good?"
"It passes the time. Nothing special."
He flipped a few pages and put it down. "What have you been doing lately?"
"Not much." I bit off my thread. "Making a pouch. Thinking about who to give it to."
"Who are you thinking?"
I looked up. He was watching me with an easy, unhurried expression. "I haven't decided. I'll see how it turns out first."
We went back and forth like that for a while — the kind of unimportant conversation that doesn't need to go anywhere. And I noticed then: when he had time, he came to find me. This was a new observation. The thought settled in my chest with a small, quiet warmth.
* * *
And then news came about Xuan Xuan: she was leaving North City. A decent family had made an arrangement for her. She wouldn't be at Chunfeng Lou anymore.
I heard this and glanced, involuntarily, at Qi Zhan. His expression was ordinary. He nodded. "Good. That's the right outcome."
I looked away again, and let out a breath I hadn't fully realized I was holding.
Just then, Qi Zhan turned his head and his eyes found mine. I started to pull my gaze back — and he spoke first: "Yun Chu. There's something I've been wanting to say."
"What is it?"
He was quiet for a moment before continuing. "When I married you, there was something selfish in it. I didn't want you marrying someone else — that was one reason. The other was that the two families had been hoping for this alliance for some time, and it suited everyone. So this marriage happened."
My heart lurched. "You... didn't want me marrying someone else?"
"That's right." He looked at me steadily — his face entirely serious. "Yun Chu, I've known you a long time, and it's always been you. I've kept things from you that I shouldn't have. But this one thing is true."
I looked at him, a sudden surge in my chest. "You — you've liked me?"
"For a long time," he said. "But then all the business with Xuan Xuan happened, and the situation was complicated. I couldn't say it then — I thought you wouldn't believe me. So I kept putting it off until now."
I wound my handkerchief tight in my hands and worked through what he'd said for a long, silent while. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I didn't think clearly. And I was wrong not to." His voice was even. "If Yun Chu still holds it against me, I accept that."
I sat with his words for a very long time, turning them over — and felt something in my chest begin, slowly, to loosen.
* * *
And so, slowly — genuinely slowly — Qi Zhan and I got closer.
He began taking me out: every neighborhood in North City, every tea house and market and canal bridge, with him at my side. When I got moody, he learned how to talk me out of it — with surprising competence for someone I'd assumed was terrible at this.
Once we argued and both went cold and stubborn. I declared I was finished talking to him. That same evening, he had a box of lychees delivered to my room. The moment I saw them, more than half the grievance drained away.
He knew where my soft spots were. He had probably always known.
* * *
One winter afternoon he took hold of my hand, turned to look at me, and said: "Yun Chu — I'd like us to give the rest of our lives a proper try. Will you?"
I kept my eyes on his fingers, turning them over in mine. "So you're saying the time before this wasn't a proper try?"
"The time before was my fault. Going forward —"
"Going forward," I said, looking up at him, "will depend on your behavior. I'm not easily appeased."
He smiled — a rare, genuine one. "All right."
* * *
In the years after that, whenever we argued and he coaxed me back — I always played at being harder to move than I was. I waited for him to try a little longer. Held my expression together a moment past when I'd already softened.
Yun Chu, you stubborn thing. You never give an inch until the very last second.
But it didn't matter. He liked that about me.
— End of Main Story —