Chapter 35 Conversation in the Study

The old man's study was located at the deepest part of the house, accessible through two moon gates, in a tranquil setting. Pushing open the heavy solid wood door, a blend of old books, sandalwood, and fine tea wafted out.

The study was large, with three walls lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with all sorts of books—thread-bound ancient books, finely bound foreign works, military theories, historical classics, and calligraphy and paintings collected by the old man over the years. Near the window stood a huge mahogany desk, complete with the four treasures of the scholar's study, and a brass lamp cast a warm glow.

Song Zhiyi followed the old man in and gently closed the door.

"Sit down." The old man pointed to the armchair opposite the desk and sat down in the rattan chair behind the desk.

Song Zhiyi sat down as instructed, her back straight, her hands naturally placed on her knees.

The old man looked at her, his gaze filled with the gentle warmth unique to elders, as well as the wisdom gained from experiencing the world. He remained silent for a few seconds before slowly speaking, "Zhiyi, I'm sorry you had to go through this tonight."

Song Zhiyi shook her head: "I'm not wronged. My aunt and the others... just don't understand."

She spoke with great tolerance. It wasn't that she "didn't mind," but rather that she "didn't understand"—that's the fundamental difference. Not minding is tolerance, while not understanding is an objective statement of facts, tinged with a condescending sense of pity.

The old man understood, a hint of appreciation flashing in his eyes. He picked up the purple clay teapot on the table and poured a cup of tea for each of them: "Before your grandfather passed away, he spoke to me on the phone once."

Song Zhiyi looked up.

"He said that the person he has wronged the most in his life is you." The old man's voice was low. "He said that if his health hadn't deteriorated, and if he hadn't been so worried about you, he wouldn't have forced you to fulfill this marriage agreement."

Song Zhiyi clenched her hands on her knees, her knuckles turning slightly white.

“He said he knew you didn’t care about these things, that you had bigger things to do.” The old man looked at her, his eyes filled with complex emotions. “But he’s old, and he’s become selfish. He just wanted to find someone for you to rely on before he passed away.”

“Grandpa…” Song Zhiyi began, her voice a little hoarse, “He has never wronged me.”

“I know.” The old man nodded. “I also know that you agreed to the marriage entirely to put his mind at ease.”

The study fell silent. The old locust tree outside the window swayed gently in the night breeze, its shadow cast on the window paper like a dynamic ink painting.

"That child Yanli," the old man changed the subject, his tone filled with helplessness and heartache, "has a knot in his heart."

Song Zhiyi listened quietly.

“He wasn’t like this when he was a child,” the old man recalled. “He was cheerful, smart, and responsible. Later… the incident with the Lin family girl hurt him deeply.”

He paused, then looked at Song Zhiyi: "I'm not asking you to pity him, or forgive his indifference towards you. I just want to tell you that he wasn't born this way. He's just... scared."

“He was afraid of being weighed again, afraid of being abandoned again, afraid that after giving his heart again, he would find that all the other person wanted was his status and resources.” The old man sighed. “So he built a wall around himself, keeping everyone out. Including you.”

Song Zhiyi picked up the teacup; the warm tea seeped into her palm through the porcelain. She gazed at the tea leaves floating in the cup for a long time before softly saying, "I understand."

"Do you really understand?" The old man looked at her. "I could tell tonight that you... don't really care about this marriage. For you, it's more like a responsibility to be fulfilled, an agreement to be completed."

Song Zhiyi did not deny it. She raised her head and looked at the old man, her eyes clear and honest: "Grandpa, Mr. Huo and I made it very clear before we got married. It was a five-year agreement, that we would not interfere with each other. This is better for both of us."

"What about five years from now?" the old man asked. "Do you really think that after five years, you can separate cleanly and start new lives?"

Song Zhiyi was silent for a few seconds: "At least that's what I plan to do."

Looking at her calm face, the old man suddenly smiled, a smile that held a knowing understanding of the world: "Child, some things in this world are not as you wish them to be. And some people are not as you wish to avoid as you wish."

He stood up, walked to the bookshelf, and took a wooden box from the top shelf. He opened it; inside was a medal—it was quite old, the edges worn smooth, but still gleaming.

"This is what your grandfather received back then." The old man placed the medal on the table. "Second-class merit for the Sino-Indian border self-defense counterattack. In the Kejie Lang River Valley, he took that bullet for me and almost didn't make it."

Song Zhiyi looked at the medal, her eyes slightly warming.

“I owe your grandfather a life.” The old man’s voice was a little hoarse. “But I’m not letting you marry Yanli to pay off a debt. It’s because I’ve realized that you and Yanli… are actually the same kind of people.”

Song Zhiyi was stunned for a moment.

“You both have wounds in your hearts, you don’t easily trust people, and you both value responsibility more than feelings.” The old man looked at her with deep eyes. “But you also have light in your hearts—Yanli is ruthless and decisive in the business world in order to protect the Huo family’s legacy for generations and to ensure that those who follow him have food to eat. You mediate and save people in the midst of war so that more people can survive and live a peaceful life.”

“You have taken different paths, but deep down you are the same kind of people,” the old man said slowly. “That’s why I insisted on this marriage. Not because of old feelings, not because of any promise, but because… I think you can understand each other.”

Song Zhiyi lowered her head and looked at her palm. There was a shallow scar there, left from when she was learning acupuncture as a child and accidentally pricked too deep.

“Grandpa,” she finally spoke, her voice soft, “thank you for telling me all this. But… I haven’t thought that much about it. For me, marriage isn’t a necessity in life. I have so many things to do, so many places to go, so many people… who need help.”

She spoke frankly and resolutely.

The old man looked at her for a long time, then sighed deeply: "Fine. I won't force you. I only hope you will promise me one thing."

"Please speak."

"Give Yanli some time," the old man said earnestly. "And give yourself some time too. Don't jump to conclusions so quickly, saying that things are impossible between you two. Try... to get to know him. And let him get to know you too."

Song Zhiyi fell silent. The wind rustled outside the window, and the leaves whispered.

After a long while, she finally raised her head and looked at the old man, her eyes calm and firm: "Grandpa, I promise you, I will fulfill the responsibilities of a wife—within the five-year agreement. As for the rest... let nature take its course."

This was the biggest promise she could make.

The old man looked at her and finally nodded: "Alright. Let nature take its course."

He pushed the medal in front of her: "Keep this. It's your grandfather's honor, and it should be passed on to you."

Song Zhiyi accepted the medal; the cold metallic touch made her fingertips tremble slightly. She gripped it tightly, as if she could feel the warmth of her grandfather's hand.

"Thank you, Grandpa," she said softly.

The old man waved his hand: "Go on. It's getting late, you should rest."

Song Zhiyi stood up, bowed deeply to the old man, and then turned and left the study.

The door closed gently.

The old man was alone in the study. He sat in his wicker chair, gazing at the dark night outside the window. After a long while, he murmured to himself:

"Old Shen, this is all I can do for the task you entrusted to me. The rest... depends on the fate of these two children."

Outside the window, the wind had stopped.

Moonlight peeked through the gaps in the clouds, spilling into the courtyard with a soft glow.