The warm pavilion suddenly fell silent. Xin Jiuwei gazed at her cousin's smiling eyes and recalled that in her previous life, her sister's dowry did indeed include a painting of plum blossoms in snow, which she later heard was burned in public by her husband's family. At that time, her sister simply stood quietly, her fingernails digging into her palms, and drops of blood on the snow resembled the red plum blossoms in the painting.
"Cousin," she suddenly grabbed Qi Huaihe's hand as he wiped the tea stains, "If my sister marries someone who doesn't understand her paintings..." Her throat felt like it was blocked by something.
Qi Huaihe paused. He slowly withdrew his hand, carefully folding the tea-stained handkerchief into a neat square: "Your sister's painting..." His voice was as soft as falling snow, "...the blank spaces in the snow plum blossom painting weren't a mistake; she intentionally wanted to express the loneliness of a snowy night. It's a pity..."
"It's a pity that few people in this world understand her." Xin Jiuwei continued his words, noticing a glint in her cousin's eyes that quickly dimmed.
The fire in the charcoal brazier suddenly blazed brighter, casting flickering light on Qi Huaihe's profile. He remained silent for a long time, so long that Xin Jiuwei thought the conversation was over, before suddenly speaking: "Wei'er, perhaps for your sister, your safe return home is more important than her own marriage." He looked up, his eyes filled with a seriousness Xin Jiuwei had never seen before. "That year you caught a cold and fell into a coma, she didn't sleep for three days and three nights, and the pile of discarded Xuan paper she painted was half a person high."
Xin Jiuwei's vision suddenly blurred. She hurriedly lowered her head, pretending to straighten her sleeves, but a drop of water uncontrollably landed on the sandalwood table. In her past life, she never knew until her death that her sister would stay up all night painting for her.
"My cousin is right." She tried to keep her voice steady, but couldn't control the tremor in her final words.
Qi Huaihe suddenly reached out and ruffled her hair, just like when she fell from a tree when she was ten years old: "I remember you crying and clinging to my neck, soaking my collar." His warm hand lingered on her hair for a moment. "So, Wei'er, some roads don't have to be walked alone."
Xin Jiuwei bit her lower lip hard. The warmth of her cousin's palm reminded her of that night at Lingyin Temple, when Xiao Xun's hand had stroked her hair in the same way before slowly moving down to cup the back of her neck...
After seeing Qi Huaihe off, Xin Jiuwei stood alone by the window, gazing absently at the snow-covered courtyard. Her cousin's words warmed her heart, but also strengthened her resolve. It was precisely because she cherished her family that she had to personally go to the capital to resolve those hidden dangers.
As dusk fell, a woman dressed in a deep purple dress quietly entered Xin Jiuwei's courtyard. The woman was about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, with a beautiful face but a somewhat worldly air about her. She was Xin Jiuwei's spy planted in the brothel of Yuncheng—the songstress Xin Kui.
"Miss." Xin Kui bowed and took out a secret letter from her sleeve. "A message from the capital."
Xin Jiuwei took the letter, her fingertips trembling slightly as they touched the paper. She knew the texture of the paper all too well—it was the plain paper used exclusively by Lingyin Temple. Forcing herself to remain calm, she asked, "When did it arrive?"
"It was noon today," Xin Kui whispered. "The messenger was a wandering monk who said he would personally deliver it to you, Miss. I saw you were entertaining guests, so I kept it."
Xin Jiuwei nodded, took out a few pieces of silver and handed them to Xin Kui: "Thank you for your hard work. Has there been any unusual activity in the city recently?"
"Minister Lin and his entourage are still in Yuncheng. Besides their routine patrols, they frequently visit various restaurants and teahouses, as if they're investigating something." Xin Kui paused, "There's another matter... I heard that there was some trouble in the capital a few days ago, that the Sixth Prince was assassinated on his way back to the capital."
Xin Jiuwei nearly dropped the letter. She gripped it tightly, her knuckles turning white: "Is the news true?"
"This servant is not certain. I only overheard some merchants from the capital discussing that the Sixth Prince was injured shortly after arriving in the capital and is now recuperating in the palace."
Xin Jiuwei felt as if a heavy stone was pressing on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. She forced herself to remain calm: "I understand. You go back first and continue to keep an eye on Minister Lin's movements."
After Xin Kui left, Xin Jiuwei almost trembled as she opened the letter. The letter contained only a few words:
"I have missed you dearly since we parted at Lingyin Temple. The situation in the capital is complex; do not venture there rashly. I am well, do not worry. — Jueming"
The familiar handwriting was strong and clear, but the last stroke was somewhat weak, as if the writer's wrist was feeble. Xin Jiuwei brought the letter close to her nose and faintly smelled a trace of blood mixed with the scent of ink.
Her heart clenched. Xiao Xun was injured! Although the letter said he was "well," given his character, he would never leave a clue in the letter unless his injury was serious.
Xin Jiuwei paced back and forth in her room, countless thoughts flashing through her mind. Who was behind this? The Second Prince? Or some other force? What was Xiao Xun's current situation? Should she set off for the capital immediately?
Outside the window, the snow began to fall again. Xin Jiuwei opened the window, letting the cold air cool her burning cheeks. Calm down, she told herself. Xiao Xun wasn't someone who could be easily defeated. The fact that he was able to send this letter meant he had already taken control of the situation.
But rational analysis could not quell her inner anxiety. That night in Yingzhou, Xiao Xun's warm embrace, his deep voice, and his words "Wait for me" all came alive now, piercing her heart.
"Xiao Xun..." she called the name silently, her fingers unconsciously tracing the faded hickey on the side of her neck.
That night, Xin Jiuwei tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Xiao Xun covered in blood. At midnight, she finally got up, lit a candle, and began packing her belongings.
No matter how Xiao Xun tried to dissuade her in his letter, the trip to the capital was inevitable. She just needed to be more cautious and not act as recklessly as she had in her previous life.
As dawn broke, Xin Jiuwei barely managed to close her eyes. In her dream, she saw Xiao Xun standing under the ginkgo tree at Lingyin Temple, golden leaves fluttering down, and a patch of blood on his chest...
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