Chapter 8: Shao Zhiyao

On a spring day in Yuanshan Studio, the carved window lattices half-open, framing the distant verdant mountains like a natural ink painting. A white jade vase sits on the plain desk, housing peonies of varying shapes and postures: two already in full bloom, their cascading petals unfurling in the morning light; several others still in bud, their pink-white calyxes tightly enclosed, their secrets hidden within.

Feng Yanyuan leaned against the bamboo couch, a plain robe hanging loosely on his body, and the bamboo slips in his hand reflected the mottled sunlight.

Ruyue lingered by the door with a tea tray in her hand, her embroidered shoes rubbing against the fallen petals in the cracks of the blue bricks, wanting to retreat but then move forward.

"It's making me dizzy." Feng Yanyuan put down the bamboo slips and pressed his fingertips between his eyebrows. "Are you asking for a day off again?"

"I dare not." Ruyue took a few steps closer and gently placed the teacup on the table. "It's about Yunyuan..."

Feng Yanyuan's hand holding the scroll paused imperceptibly. "How is she?"

"The young master was suspicious of her a few days ago and demoted her to a menial job. Today he wants her to arrange flowers..." Ruyue stole a glance at his expression, "I am a dull servant and I really can't figure out what the young master is thinking."

"Did she say that to you?" Feng Yanyuan's face suddenly turned cold.

"Say...what?"

"You said I doubted her and belittled her?"

Ruyue waved her hands hurriedly: "Yuan'er just said that she wanted to live a peaceful life. But we have served the young master for all these years..." She swallowed the words back and let out a light sigh.

The bamboo slips slammed heavily onto the couch, stirring up a cloud of dust. Ruyue picked them up distressedly, "I spent three whole days searching for the scattered slips last time."

Feng Yanyuan asked: "Did she ask you to ask?"

"Yuan'er wouldn't say that." Ruyue arranged the rope. "I was thinking that if the young master likes her...the flowers she arranges, why not let her come to Yuanshanzhai to study. I think she's very smart and can even read!"

"She's certainly clever..." Feng Yanyuan mused. This Yun Yuan was quite measured in her actions. If she was truly an assassin, she was far too patient.

"She is smart, but also frank. It's like a shining arrow, so you should be on guard against it, young master." Ruyue curled her lips, "It's better than those who are humble and sneaky but shoot arrows from behind." She was heartbroken by Yuzhu. She once thought that Yunyuan was mean to Yuzhu. When Yunyuan approached her and invited her to embroider sachets, she took the opportunity to give her some "hints".

The word "open and honest" made Feng Yanyuan's mind spin. Yun Yuan was probably using Ru Yue, albeit more subtly. Ru Yue's words were interesting, though. Regardless of Yun Yuan's intentions in coming to Yuanfeng Courtyard, it would be better to let her become a "clear arrow."

"Let her come to Yuanshanzhai." Feng Yanyuan put down the bamboo slips. "It just so happens that you don't like to be a tutor, and you want to go to Feng Jiu every day."

Ruyue was startled, her face flushed instantly, "Sir... what do you mean?"

"What do you mean?" Feng Yanyuan raised his eyebrows and stood up suddenly, "Let you take a rest and spend more time with your Jiulang." As he said that, he strode out of Yuanshanzhai. He glanced at Ruyue's embarrassed look and a smile of success appeared at the corner of his mouth.

Ruyue reacted and chased to the corridor, stomping her feet at the receding figure: "Master, you are wronged!"

The copper bells on the eaves jingle, as if laughing at the spring melancholy in the yard.

Ruyue placed Yunyuan in Yuanshanzhai. But unlike occasional housekeeping, she would always be by the young master's side. She rambled on about a thousand rules, then held Yunyuan's hand and repeatedly reminded her until her mouth was dry.

It wasn't that she was worried about Yun Yuan, but Young Master Yuan was known for being difficult to please. The teacup on the desk was always hot in the morning, but too warm by noon. The fragrant tea she'd personally ordered yesterday was brought to his lips, but he insisted on drinking freshly picked plum juice. He'd tucked away a half-read book in a sandalwood shelf, but he'd insisted on looking for it. He'd left it on the lacquer table, and he'd blamed him.

This was why the Master refused to keep a maidservant by his side. Although Ruyue often struggled to fathom the Master's temperament, she had been with him since childhood. On the rare occasions when the Master complained about the soup being cooked wrong, she dared to throw the celadon cup in front of him, "If you're so smug again, I won't take care of you!" The Master didn't argue, merely lowering his eyes as he rustled the pages of his silk book. When the clock struck midnight, Ruyue saw the bowl of cold soup still untouched. Finally, with a sigh, she brewed a fresh portion and brought it back.

However, after secretly observing for a few days, Ruyue found that she was worrying too much.

But Master Yuan would drink up all the tea Yun Yuan offered him; Yun Yuan tidied up the lacquer desk every day, and no matter whether the books were left on the desk or returned to the bookshelf, he would pick up any and make comments without a single complaint.

Ruyue also heard that when Yun Yuan was kneeling and grinding ink that day, the corner of her sleeve brushed across the green jade inkstone, and fragrant broken plum petals fell into the pine soot ink. Master Yuan not only did not blame her at all, but also deliberately dipped the purple-hair brush and stared at it for a long time.

The young master clearly hated incense and ink stains. Last time, because a maid had worn a sachet near the desk, the entire box of bamboo slips was thrown into the fish pond. Could it be that the broken plum blossoms in Yunyuan's sachet were special?

She listened to the chatter of the maids, feeling a mixture of emotions. Yun Yuan had only been serving him for ten days, yet the young master hadn't shown a single ounce of anger. This girl seemed to know her limits better than she, who had served him for years. In the hazy twilight, she suddenly spotted ink stains on Yun Yuan's skirt, reminiscent of the old marks left by Madam Yu Rong when she taught the young master calligraphy. Could this girl be some kind of bewitching technique?

Ruyue is not the only one who feels the same way.

The way she gently fanned a palm-leaf fan while brewing tea, the hint of honey in the tea, the paper notes she casually inserted while sorting through ancient books, even the way she tilted her head slightly to face the morning light while arranging flowers—everything felt familiar to Feng Yanyuan. This sense of familiarity clung to him silently like a vine, making him indulge himself unconsciously, even forgetting to be picky.

Until one day, when he looked up from his book, he suddenly saw her skirt lifted by the wind, the pink and white silk unfurling like a peony. In that moment, he seemed to see a figure buried deep in his memory - his long-deceased mother who had always loved peonies.

The person in front of me was already kneeling in front of the table, with his eyes lowered as he calmly served hot tea. There were still a few amber strands floating in the tea, which were honey that had not yet melted.

Feng Yanyuan said in a deep voice: "Who taught you?"

It wasn't a scolding, but it was like icy ice, revealing suppressed anger. Yun Yuan glanced up in panic, then abruptly lowered her gaze—his expression was even uglier than when he'd been injured that day. She didn't know why his expression had suddenly changed, nor did she know what he meant by the question, "Who taught you that?"

"This humble servant is dull... what are you asking, sir?"

Feng Yanyuan raised his sleeves and spilled the tea.

Yun Yuan knelt down and bowed her head, saying in a trembling voice, "Sir, if you don't like this tea, I will go and change it right away."

"I'm asking you, who taught you that?!" Feng Yanyuan shouted angrily, his face flushed, "This sweet tea, this flower, and... and this bookmark..." He picked up the scroll with the paper note with trembling fingertips, and swung it violently, and the scroll crackled and shattered into bamboo pieces all over the ground.

Dust-covered memories were opened, and his heart was filled with irrepressible emotions - those were past events that he had suppressed for many years and no one could mention in front of him.

Yun Yuan was in a state of panic. These preferences were all from the letter sent by the flower spy, and she had memorized them one by one. It's not that she hadn't tried to test him before, but he had clearly been more than a pleasant surprise before, so she had gradually followed his preferences. Why did he suddenly...

"explain!"

The throat-tearing roar even carried with it an air wave, and Yun Yuan's entire body felt as if it was in an ice cave, and he couldn't help but tremble.

“Yes…” No! She couldn’t say it! Her teeth bit through her lips but she couldn’t stop trembling, “It’s Sister Ruyue…”

"lie!"

The hem of the boy's clothes suddenly rose up, and he was about to kick her - the girl was so scared that she curled up into a ball - but she heard a "bang" sound, and the lacquer table was kicked in two.

"Sister... Sister Ruyue..." Yun Yuan was shaking all over. She tried hard to suppress her trembling voice and insisted, "I have told you many things about the young master's preferences. I have made presumptuous... presumptuous guesses." She trembled uncontrollably and was out of breath several times.

"Speculation?" The man's low, cold voice poured down from above his head. "How do you speculate?"

"Your servant..." Yun Yuan finally managed to steady her voice a bit, her thoughts spinning rapidly, "I heard from Sister Ruyue...that the young master is very picky about tea and is never satisfied with any of the preparations...She also said that the young master loves date porridge, and the dates must be cooked until soft before being picked out...and cakes...he prefers those with the scent of osmanthus...but they can't have any osmanthus petals left in them...and..."

"That's enough!" Feng Yanyuan said impatiently, "I'm asking how you guessed it, not what I like to eat."

"The things that the young master likes... are all sweet," Yun Yuan concluded, "only tea... tea is bitter. So I guess that the young master drinks tea to calm his mind, but does not like its bitterness, so I dared... dared to add honey..." When the girl finished speaking, she was already choking with sobs, and tears streamed down her face.

Feng Yanyuan was stunned. He really didn't like tea, but it made him clear-minded. For years, he'd been so focused on complaining about the bitterness of the tea that he'd never even considered adding honey. Or perhaps, for all those years, he'd simply considered sweet tea his mother's favorite, a secret delight he'd secretly enjoyed as a teenager, a joyful memory he'd suppressed for the past decade.

When he came to his senses, the girl kneeling in front of him was crying, her body trembling slightly, and she would shrink back in fear at the slightest movement of his.

He was a little flustered, and when he bent over to help her, he frowned again. It was just a reasonable excuse. She was very good at arguing, and he was afraid that she had already thought of a response.

He turned abruptly, the hem of his robe sweeping across the floor of broken porcelain, and sat down dejectedly before the lacquered table. Cracks spread across the table like a spiderweb. A few remnants of bamboo scrolls, still clinging to white paper slips, fluttered gently in the morning breeze. The white jade vase tumbled to the floor, its belly cracked, but a few peonies still stubbornly clung to the snow-white neck. The broken branches, jagged and slit, stretched towards the void like severed wrist bones.

These details could all be coincidences, and no matter how much you ask, you won't get anything out of it.

"I know you're good at pharmacology—" He deliberately dragged out the last word, his eyes tracing across her slightly tense shoulders like a blade. "I didn't expect you could even calculate the amount of shavings in tea so accurately."

Yun Yuan pressed her forehead against the blue brick, the cold touch piercing her bones. "I'm not good at flattery, and my dancing skills are mediocre, so I've really put some effort into pharmacology."

"Pharmacists are usually very sensitive to smells..." Feng Yanyuan looked at Yun Yuan. She seemed to have calmed down a bit. He asked coldly, "Yuan'er slept with Yuzhu. I'm sure she'd already smelled the poisonous fragrance on her body."

When she finally heard this question, it was like a stone falling from her heart. Yun Yuan's fingertips trembled slightly, but she replied calmly, "Sir, you have a discerning eye. I... did smell the poisonous fragrance on her."

"Then why did you hide it? Are you... in cahoots with them?"

He said this lightly, without any rebuke in his tone, as if he was asking casually whether the winter jasmine had bloomed this morning.

Yun Yuan knocked her head heavily and sobbed, "Master, please forgive me! I shouldn't have concealed it... but... but Yuzhu threatened me... saying that there were accomplices of hers secretly watching this courtyard, and if I dared... she would frame me!" She suddenly raised her head in panic, tears welling in her scarlet eyes, "The day the cook was killed... I was almost mistaken for the murderer! Yuzhu came back and said that she had framed Lu Zhong Caiwei just because... they were noisy..."

Feng Yanyuan read her expression. She didn't seem to be lying. Yuzhu was cunning, and her threats were indeed justified. Even he hadn't expected the cook to commit suicide.

He avoided the girl's tearful gaze and said coldly, "So when she asked you to cooperate in setting the fire, you stole Ruyue's sachet and set a trap for her."

Yun Yuan shrank and lowered his head.

"I have no other choice. But the granary will not harm innocent people, and Sister Ruyue... the young master knows it best and will never be suspected."

"You are quite kind." Feng Yanyuan sneered.

Yun Yuan knelt down, her voice soft but every word clear: "My life is worthless, I have no capital for kindness, all I ask is to protect myself with a clear conscience."

Feng Yanyuan's heart trembled. For some reason, these cold and desolate words suddenly made her feel... real.

His gaze fell on the scattered peony petals, and in a trance, he seemed to see a woman in white gracefully turning from the peony bush, her white hands fluttering, petals falling from her sleeves. That was his mother's original appearance—she always loved to open her arms when the flowers bloomed, waiting for him to fall into her arms. Back then, her laughter, like the sound of a clear spring, could be heard everywhere in Feng's courtyard.

But the scene suddenly changed.

He saw again the haggard figure guarding the long, carved window. His mother counted the petals of the peonies in the yard, one, two... Later, she often lost count. His father hadn't set foot in her yard for a long time, yet she still dressed every day, as if ready to welcome the man who hadn't arrived yet.

It was a long time before he found out that his mother was a musician, and it took him a long time to understand what that meant.

His eyes swept over the kneeling girl. Her pink and white skirt spread out like a withered peony, and her slender neck was like a newly broken flower stem, as if it would break in his palm with the slightest force.

They are just poor people though.

"Make another cup... the same." He said softly, but his tone revealed endless fatigue.

A ray of sunlight leaked in through the hole-shaped window, illuminating the peony lying on the ground, whose bright buds still bore traces of dew.