Chapter 9

Elder Sister was stunned.

The company, surprised and speechless, seemed none had expected me to play; all fell quiet a moment.

I rose calmly.

Just then, a few small boats, as if startled awake, drifted slowly toward the lake pavilion.

Sheng Yi, carefree, came with his arms full of lotus blossoms and seedpods; he stuck a few at random into a vase, kept a few in his arms. He leaned on a pillar, peeling lotus seeds at his leisure; the snow-white seeds dropped one by one into a porcelain dish.

The vase and dish were pushed together to my side.

“Very lovely,” he said.

I bit a seed and tasted its clear sweetness.

Xie Changyu and his friends came ashore too.

Their boat was elegant and larger, set with a table and brush and ink.

Someone went to meet them. “What did Young Master Xie paint?”

Sheng Yi was bent close, speaking with me; I hid my face behind my round fan, lifting my eyes now and then, answering his smiles. He wanted to reach and stroke my hair, but, the occasion being wrong, drew his hand back in chagrin.

I took no notice of the commotion there.

Xie Changyu glanced my way; his gaze paused a beat, then withdrew.

Someone glimpsed a corner of the painting.

“Is it a beauty, then?”

He said flatly, “A crude work. Not worth a look.”

And straightway crumpled the paper into a ball and crushed it in his palm.

That day, I and my friends played pitch-pot and swung on the swings.

We delighted to the full.

At the creek pavilion, the sun set; the throng, woven like cloth, dispersed each its own way.

I walked a few steps, then went back for the hair ornament I had dropped in the scuffle.

The slanting sun lit the water; half the river a trembling blue.

In the waterside pavilion stood a figure.

White-robed and slender, his sleeves stirred faintly by the dusk wind, his form seemed lonely.

I knew it was Xie Changyu.

That hair ornament—he had picked it up too.

I pressed my lips. “That is mine.”

Xie Changyu’s voice was somewhat hoarse. “I know.”

He handed it to me; the hand holding the ornament hesitated a moment before letting go.

I was about to leave when he called me back from behind.

“Ah Ying.”

This form of address I had not heard from Xie Changyu in a long while. He had used it in our honeymoon days, but in the far earlier past life we were already a bitter couple, let alone this life wherein he would not meet me again.

I did not turn back.

The young man caught up and stood before me.

The setting sun sank behind him; his eyes were most obscure—regretful, and in pain.

“Your sister has confessed.”

“The letters—it was her alone, under no one’s compulsion.”

“She envied you, and did what she did.”

He was somewhat choked, his voice blocked, like a cold spring, bitter and raw.

“I misunderstood you.”

“I am sorry.”

Had it been the past life, I would likely have been glad he had at last learned the truth.

But now, I no longer cared.

Cared not for his view, cared not for whom he liked better.

So I only said, “Mm.”

He lowered his eyes; his eyes reddened at the rims, moist, as if veiled in lakeside mist.

“I was muddled.”

“I thought you basked in every favor, but in truth…”

“I only now learn the family was not mindful of you.”

“They would promise you to Sheng Yi,” at this his trailing voice shook, as if stirred, as if angered, beyond restraint. “Such a man—how is he fit to be with you?”

Xie Changyu looked into my eyes and parted his lips.

“Ah Ying, we are the ones—”