The candlelight flickered gently, and wisps of smoke rose from the incense burner, slowly swirling among the antique shelves before disappearing.
A few sparse branches sway slowly in the autumn breeze outside the window.
Qinghe looked at her master's handsome face, which was slightly illuminated by the light, his fine eyelashes covering his bright eyes. His gaze was fixed on her chest, his expression indifferent yet hesitant, and Qinghe's heart pounded.
She answered "Yes," walked slowly to him, and asked softly, "Does Your Excellency have any orders?"
Xu Silin raised his head slightly to look at her, and after a moment of silence, he spoke again, his voice a little hoarse, "Come a little closer to me."
She walked around the desk, head bowed, slowly approaching him, her face slightly flushed, making her look even more shy and charming.
“...turn your body around a little.”
"Um."
With a blushing face, a full chest, and the scent of lavender, Xu Silin felt a strange tension in the face of all this, and his hand on the desk trembled slightly.
My mouth felt dry.
He picked up the covered bowl, took a sip of tea, sat quietly for a while, and then stretched out an arm to loosely wrap around her waist.
Qinghe took a deep breath and felt a warm current flowing through her body, which quickly spread to her limbs and bones, causing waves of tingling and numbness, especially between her legs.
She had long harbored feelings for the eldest son of the Xu family. He was handsome, always with a rebellious and unruly air, his playful eyes seemingly hooked. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and long-limbed. When she helped him change, she could feel the strong muscles in his arms and his waist—lean and strong, without an ounce of fat—and the lines extending from his back to his tailbone were even more striking…
The night was long and unbearable to imagine. The more Qinghe thought about it, the faster her heart beat, and her chest heaved.
Actually, she had hinted to him that he could touch her, but he had always been indifferent to the maids, as if he didn't care much about matters between men and women.
Today, he clearly seems to want to do something.
Xu Silin stared at the pair of bulging chests, his heart pounding faster. His fingers curled on the table, and he hesitated before speaking, "I want to..."
Qinghe thought he was shy because it was his first time, so she gently comforted him, "Don't be afraid, Master. Just do whatever you want. Anything is fine with Qinghe. I'll do whatever you want."
Hearing her say that, he frowned, hesitated for a moment, and then raised his hand.
He raised his hand to her but then stopped, feeling a little... reluctant to put it down.
He turned his head away, his gaze falling on the brocade carpet, half of his face falling into shadow, his eyelashes fluttering slightly.
Seeing his hesitation, Qinghe simply grabbed his wrists with both hands and guided his hands to her soft chest. Xu Silin was stunned, his handsome face momentarily frozen. He snapped back to reality and abruptly withdrew his hands, "What are you doing…"
"I..." Qinghe didn't understand. It was clearly a done deal, so why was he backing down again? She asked softly, only to see Xu Silin frowning, his hand touching his chest trembling slightly, looking somewhat lost.
"Get out. I want to be alone for a while. Don't come in without my permission."
She reluctantly replied "Yes," then turned around and bit her lower lip in a wronged manner.
After the door closed, Xu Silin held his forehead in his hand and rubbed his temples.
What's wrong with him? He's gotten himself into this state because of Shen Qingchen. His behavior is inconsistent and unpredictable, completely lacking the carefree spirit he used to have, where he could do whatever he wanted.
He tilted his head back slightly, closed his eyes, and let out a long breath.
Outside the window, autumn rain quietly descended from the horizon, falling silently to the earth after soaring thousands of feet through the air.
Like something, it gradually sinks into endless imagination and tenderness.
The rain stopped early the next morning.
The streets of Beijing were still damp, and the first hints of red in the early morning sun peeked through the sky, heralding a clear and bright day.
A horse-drawn carriage clattered along the road to the outskirts of Beijing, the sound of hooves crisp and clear. It passed farmhouses, their chimneys emitting wisps of smoke. Fields of corn shone brightly golden, and the banana trees, after the rain, appeared exceptionally green.
The carriage traveled for nearly an hour, climbed a small hill, and stopped in a bamboo grove.
There is a small grave here, covered with green grass, and a stone tablet stands in front of it, but it is blank.
Dressed in white, Song Yue lifted the curtain and stepped off the carriage. The driver followed behind with a basket containing sacrificial meat and wine.
After he and his servant arranged the offerings, the servant stepped aside.
Song Yue wiped the tombstone with his sleeve, then knelt down in front of it and kowtowed three times.
The man who lies buried in the earth has been dead for seven years. He was the founder of the School of Mind, an important branch of Confucianism, and also Song Yue's teacher. Today is the anniversary of his death.
As a teacher, he imparted all his knowledge to his disciples, especially his most outstanding disciple, who rose to the position of Second Grand Secretary at the age of thirty, a disciple whose every word and strategy could potentially change the face of the Ming Dynasty.
After kowtowing, Song Yue stood up and remained silent, his eyes lowered as he faced the tombstone.
The mountain forest air was fresh in the morning, and the distant clouds could not block the scattered rays of the sunset. The wind blew and rustled the dense bamboo forest next to it.
This is a grove of purple bamboo, and the small stalk he carefully nurtured was brought back from here.
That day, when he arrived at the Zhenfu Division, the wounded Lord Jiang hugged his leg, urging him not to stand idly by any longer; his words still echoed in his ears. "How many good people are still imprisoned in the Imperial Prison? How many bad people sit beneath that plaque of 'The Mirror of Justice'? In this chaotic world, treacherous officials hold sway," he wasn't unaware. He had also experienced the impatience, anxiety, and unbearable frustration that Lord Jiang and others had.
As a successor of the School of Mind, and as one of the many who resented Xu Yan's absolute power, Song Yue had been enduring hardship until he realized that his strength was insufficient to contend with Xu Yan.
He did what he was supposed to do, working tirelessly day and night for the country, while also observing and recording the court's intrigues and the weaknesses of the Xu faction. He needed more experience, more allies, and the patience to wait for the balance of power to shift; he needed a suitable opportunity.
He had been searching within the court for someone of pure heart, exceptional intelligence, and the courage to face formidable enemies. He would nurture and guide this person, helping him advance further in his official career. He needed such a student, someone who could lend him a helping hand in the future when he needed to overthrow the powerful Xu faction.
Facing his teacher's tombstone, Song Yue felt a mix of emotions.
“Teacher, I’ve found it,” he said softly.
But she... is a woman.
A woman who somehow infiltrated this chaotic imperial court, entered his search, and even... stirred his heartstrings.
He was a little unsure what to do with her.
On a forest path, amidst the shade of trees, a woman in coarse clothing approached. She carried a bamboo basket filled with offerings. As she drew closer, she saw his back.
His tall figure stood alone facing the tombstone. In the sunlight and autumn wind, he was dressed in white, his clothes fluttering in the breeze. He was still exceptionally handsome and cheerful.
The woman walked up to him and called out, "Lord Song."
Song Yue turned around and nodded slightly, "Miss Wang."
“You always come this early, sir. I came a little earlier today, but I didn’t expect you to be here before me.” As she spoke, she took out the offerings from the basket and placed them in front of the grave. “Father is truly fortunate to have such a disciple as you, sir.”
Song Yue glanced at the time, then flicked his sleeve and said, "I have already offered sacrifices to my master. Miss Wang, I shall take my leave now."
Wang Fu knelt down and bowed three times to her father. She then stood up and looked at him, saying, "My lord, please wait. On the anniversary of my father's death, you always ask the court for leave. Why are you in such a hurry today?"
"I have a class at the Hanlin Academy today, and I need to go back and teach my students."
She nodded. "Don't be surprised by the rush. It turns out that you've become someone else's teacher. If Father knew this in the afterlife, he would surely be happy for you."
"Um... is there anything else, Miss Wang?"
Wang Fu looked up at him, her handsome features exuding a calm demeanor, her tone even and gentle, "I say the same thing every year. My lord, it's the same this year. The flowers are similar year after year, but the people are different year after year. I wonder if my lord will agree to Wang Fu's request this year?"
Song Yue looked at her, remained silent for a moment, and then said, "That kind of life is not suitable for you."
Wang Fu was the only child of Song Yue's mentor, nine years younger than him. They had known each other since he became a disciple in his teens. After his mentor's death, Song Yue offered to settle her in, providing her with a house and money, and finding her a good husband, but she refused everything. Her only request was to become his maidservant for life.
She inherited her father's intelligence and knew that her status was not good enough for him. Although she had long harbored feelings for him, she never mentioned wanting to be his woman, not even the word "concubine." Although, as the daughter of his mentor, she could have spoken of it in that way.
All she wanted in her life was to be by his side and see him.
Song Yue understood her thoughts and didn't want her to waste her life because of him, so he never agreed to her request.
"Like drinking water, only the person drinking knows whether it is hot or cold." Wang Fu tilted her head slightly and said slowly, "I know that you care about me and want to take good care of me in place of my father. But you should also know that whether a person is doing well or not is not about whether they live well or marry well, but whether their heart has a place to belong. Home is where the heart is at peace."
Sunlight filtered through the bamboo grove, casting jagged shadows on her beautiful face.
"I'm sorry, I have to go back to teaching. My students are still waiting for me." Song Yue turned around and said as he walked towards his carriage. "You are still young. One day you will understand that what you were once obsessed with may not have been what you really wanted."
Wang Fu didn't move, but said behind him, "If you don't agree, then I'll wait until next year. At least I know that you come every year around this time."
Song Yue didn't say anything, but bowed and got into the carriage.
When the carriage returned to the Hanlin Academy, it was just in time for class. The Hanlin Academy was still quiet, because the autumn rain last night had left white locust blossoms scattered all over the ground.
After changing into his casual clothes, Song Yue entered the classroom and habitually glanced down. From the most familiar angle in his field of vision, he noticed that Shen Qingchen's desk was empty.
He finally rushed back, but where had she gone? How dare she skip his class!
"Where is Shen Qingchen?" he asked casually.
Gu Shaoheng immediately replied, "Teacher, Shen Qingchen and Xu Silin got into an argument while drinking yesterday, and Shen Qingchen fell down the stairs and got injured."
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