Chapter 13: On the Distinction Between Flowers
Xie Huailing arrived at a perfect moment, almost missing Hua Wucuo. She stood behind a step higher up, the shadow of which swallowed her slender figure. She saw him just finished reporting to Su Mengzhen, walking down with his head down, not looking at anyone. A bitter, lingering medicinal smell emanated from him, as if soaked in rotten, old tree roots, carrying an inherently gloomy and musty odor, even more intense than the medicinal juices Xie Huailing had tasted before.
Fortunately, Xie Huailing hadn't eaten anything and her stomach was empty, otherwise she would have vomited violently to feel better. She turned to the side, letting the wooden handrail of the stairs block most of her view, and only came down when Hua Wucuo disappeared at the very end of her sight, and the corridor seemed bottomless and she couldn't see anything.
The maid hesitated, not understanding why her mistress was avoiding the master's confidante, even going so far as to deliberately go upstairs to avoid him upon hearing footsteps. But she also knew who her master was now, and pushed open the heavy wooden door that symbolized the core of power in the Golden Wind and Fine Rain Pavilion for Xie Huailing.
Inside the study, the light was not very bright. The curtains completely blocked out everything outside the window, leaving only a few bronze lamps casting dim yellow light that illuminated the huge map, the bookshelves covering the walls, and the mountains of documents, casting eerie shadows. The air was filled with the scent of ink and paper, as well as the stench of scheming and ruthlessness that seeped into the brickwork. Even more intense was the bitter, almost unbearable, smell of medicine, permeating every inch of the room. This was the very scent that emanated from Hua Wucuo.
Su Mengzhen sat behind a wooden desk piled high with files, his deep red robes stained with congealed blood under the dim light. He wrote swiftly, not even looking up at the sound, the brush tip slicing across the rice paper with a soft, rustling sound. While admiring his focused concentration on official duties, one couldn't help but wonder how he could see so clearly; standing before the desk was a man of short stature, with a kind face but eyes as sharp as silver needles, reporting something in a low voice. Xie Huailing glanced at him and immediately understood: this must be Yang Wuxie, the shadow of Su Mengzhen who controlled the White Tower.
Xie Huailing walked silently to an empty armchair beside the desk and sat down with the elegance that should have been right there. The hard wood of the chair back pressed against her back, and she shifted her position several times before finding a comfortable one. Then, as if she were blind, she began her annoying interruption: "Greetings, cousin. Are you still busy?"
The awkwardness of his accent from beyond the Great Wall hadn't faded much. Su Mengzhen didn't stop writing; he only let out a soft "hmm" in response. After finishing the last stroke, he folded the letter, sealed it with wax, and then handed it to Yang Wuxie.
Yang Wuxie accepted the gift with both hands, his gaze sweeping quickly across Xie Huailing's face without any emotion, before he lowered his head and awaited orders.
"What is it?" Su Mengzhen finally looked up. Her eyes, which were deep-set under her brow bone, burned darkly in the dim light, like two inextinguishable will-o'-the-wisps, and fell on Xie Huailing.
Xie Huailing met his gaze, deliberately drawing out her voice and leaning most of her weight on the armrest of the armchair, saying, "I came to tell my cousin about what I saw and heard on my trip today. After all, a sister goes out for a while, so she should come back and report to her brother properly to put his mind at ease. It would be a real sin to make her brother worry so much that he can't eat or sleep."
Just as Su Mengzhen was about to dip his brush in ink again, the tip of his brush suddenly flicked in mid-air, and a full drop of ink fell uncontrollably, landing with a "thud" on the freshly laid-out snow-white Xuan paper. It quickly spread into a glaring black stain, revealing that the writer's emotions were not stagnant.
He stared blankly at the ink stain, then with a flick of his wrist, put down the pen.
"Manager Yang, you go first," Su Mengzhen said in a low voice.
Yang Wuxie bowed in agreement, holding the newly sealed secret letter, and like a raccoon disappearing into the shadows, silently retreated, closing the heavy wooden door behind him. The hinges turned with a long, drawn-out creak, isolating the two inside. The light seemed to dim further, making Su Mengzhen's slender figure appear ethereal, leaning long and thin against the bookshelves lining the wall.
"Speak," Su Mengzhen said, her gaze returning to Xie Huailing.
Xie Huailing's feigning death in front of him was already a well-practiced act. As if she didn't feel the invisible pressure, she took something from her sleeve, walked in front of him, and placed it on the wooden table. The object was wrapped in a dark velvet cloth. With a flick of her finger, the cloth slid off, revealing a long, sheathed sword. The sheath was ancient and faintly gleamed with a cold light. It was the precious sword from the previous dynasty that she had spent lavishly at the Jucai Tower earlier that day.
"Actually, I came to give you a gift." Although she had gone back to find it before leaving as an excuse, Xie Huailing spoke calmly and without batting an eye. "I saw this at Jucai Tower while traveling today and thought it matched my cousin well, so I bought it."
Su Mengzhen's gaze lingered on the knife for a moment before returning to Xie Huailing's face. The corners of her pale lips twitched, her expression a mix of mockery and helplessness: "Spending my money to buy me a gift?"
“At least you gave her a gift.” Xie Huailing looked back at him matter-of-factly. The light was too ambiguous, and her two red moles fell into Su Mengzhen’s eyes. Her beauty, so close yet so far, was hard to fathom. “Has anyone ever taught you, sir, that when a girl gives you a gift, you should only say ‘I like it’ or ‘I don’t like it,’ instead of getting hung up on things like ‘it’s your money’ or something that doesn’t really mean anything.”
Su Mengzhen, having learned to talk back now, said, "That's not how you use that phrase."
Xie Huailing added unhurriedly, "That's not a very meaningful thing to say either."
Su Mengzhen had nothing to say and remained silent.
The owner of the Golden Wind and Drizzle Pavilion, a man who could turn the world upside down with a flick of his wrist and strike fear into the hearts of countless heroes in Bianjing, was once again rendered speechless and too lazy to delve into her twisted logic. He watched as Xie Huailing pushed the precious sword toward him. She was still complaining about the strong smell of medicine in the room, fanning herself with her hand under her nose. Her beautiful face had faded, and even in this state, she still insisted that he accept it.
With so many things piling up, he coughed twice and gave her the order to leave: "I'll take the knife. If you have nothing else to do, go back."
"What's the rush?" Xie Huailing pressed her finger on his pen.
Instead of leaving, she moved the armchair closer to the desk, sat down, rested her elbows on the cold table, and leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand: "As the saying goes, you reap what you sow. I gave you a gift, shouldn't you give me one in return?"
Strangely, the first thought that came to Su Mengzhen's mind was "Just as I thought": "Go get whatever you want. I haven't shortchanged you on money."
"No need," she said. "I just want you to replace the potted bougainvillea in my room and not put it there for the next few days."
Su Mengzhen frowned slightly: "If you don't like the autumn hibiscus, you can choose other flowers."
“It would be the same no matter what.” Xie Huailing shook her head. The lingering fragrance in her movements seemed to dilute the heavy smell of medicine with the clear blue sky. “The one who cuts the autumn silk is the autumn of the Han Palace. Autumn flowers are all like this. No matter how brightly they bloom, they always make people feel a sense of melancholy and sorrow that cannot be shaken off.” Her voice was very soft, with a hint of inexplicable weariness.
Su Mengzhen was silent for a moment, then said, "Flowers have no heart, so how can they harbor resentment? Those who are sad are merely troubled by the flower admirers themselves, not by the flowers."
Xie Huailing raised her eyes slightly, as if she had heard something amusing, and glanced at him: "Isn't it the flower's fault? How could the flower be without fault?"
“How could the flowers be wrong?” Su Mengzhen retorted.
“That’s an interesting statement. A white horse is not a horse, and a flower is not necessarily wrong.” Xie Huailing argued with him, but Su Mengzhen didn’t linger in her eyes. The bitter taste of the medicine bowl on the plate suddenly drew her over, and she lowered her head. “But the owner is not the flower, and the owner is not me. So how can you know whether the flower is right or wrong?”
She still took a sniff, and the smell of the medicine made her close her eyes and frown. She also suddenly raised her head and said the second half of the sentence: "I thought it was autumn and the weather was cold and all things were withered. Should I leave these flowers in the room? I'm afraid that the rise and fall of things will make me worry."
Su Mengzhen remained silent, first taking the medicine bowl back, and said, "The banner does not move on its own, but people's hearts do. Even if flowers have a thousand faults, it is still caused by people. Appreciating flowers and looking at flowers is human, planting and nurturing flowers is also human."
“That’s true. Planting and nurturing flowers is a human activity, something humans do.” Xie Huailing didn’t argue anymore. She accepted Su Mengzhen’s words and instead asked Su Mengzhen to try to discern the deeper meaning in her eyes.
But that's something you can't find out; you have to find it yourself. Xie Huailing stood up, her wide, plain sleeves billowing, a faint fragrance wafting through the air; she was leaving.
Just as her hand touched the cold door knocker, about to pull it open, Su Mengzhen's voice came from behind her, even softer than before:
"If you just want to replace a few potted plants... such a trivial matter, why bother coming all the way to a brothel to find me?"
Xie Huailing didn't pause; she didn't turn around, nor did she intend to answer. Only the door hinges creaked softly and drawn out under her hands, a suppressed sigh telling Su Mengzhen. The door was pulled open a crack, and the wind from the corridor outside, carrying a deeper chill, rushed in, causing the lamp on the table to flicker violently, on the verge of going out. Without looking behind her, she vanished into the bottomless shadows of the corridor outside.
Only the strong smell of medicine and Su Mengzhen remained in the room. The flame on the lamp struggled, finally stabilizing, flickering on and off. Su Mengzhen remained motionless. Xie Huailing's words were like a fine, damp drizzle, soaking him in the dim firelight, as he pondered in the cool air.
Having reached his current position, he was meticulous and calculating, taking each step with foresight. She didn't speak, but her intentions were clear. The room was dark and oppressive, emanating a chilling light that suppressed his thoughts. He smelled something rotting, a warning licking his spine. How could he separate the intertwined threads of truth and falsehood? So many things flashed before his eyes, and then his fingers traced the paper, clenching into a fist.
For the first time in his life, Su Mengzhen had been so eager to understand someone, and he even regretted not being able to see them clearly.
Will it rain or not?
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