Looking South of the Yangtze River
The next day, when Wen Tingyun went to the county government's archives to check the records, he no longer accompanied Xuanji alone, but instead called upon the taciturn old servant. Upon arriving at the archives, the master and apprentice no longer discussed the matter side-by-side, but instead had the old servant wait nearby.
Sometimes, Xuanji would subconsciously ask Wen Tingyun in a low voice about a difficult point, and he would still answer her, but he would subtly lean back slightly and create some distance between them.
That occasional tacit understanding and casualness, like that between close friends despite their age difference, was carefully concealed by him, wrapped in an impeccable yet cold and distant teacher-student etiquette.
Xuanji, with his keen senses, immediately noticed this subtle yet significant change. The gentleman was using this clumsy yet effective method to rebuild the "wall of etiquette" that had been breached by the old woman's laughter.
Only in the dead of night, when Xuanji is alone under the lamp organizing the day's notes, gazing at the familiar handwriting on the paper, will he allow himself to feel a faint bitterness rising in his heart.
Wen Tingyun would also stand by the window for a long time when he was alone, with a deep and unyielding melancholy between his brows.
Before they knew it, the two had been staying in Jing County for over four months. The revision of the county annals was nearing completion, with most of the arduous research and compilation work finished. However, a sudden autumn chill swept through the county, bringing a sharp drop in temperature and several days of continuous rain.
Xuanji, perhaps due to days of exhaustion and the unfamiliarity with the damp and cold weather, fell ill. At first, she only had a slight cough and chills, which she kept quiet about, forcing herself to finish organizing the last few volumes of her manuscript. It wasn't until that morning, when Wen Tingyun noticed she hadn't eaten breakfast, that he sent an old servant to call her, only to find her flushed with fever, curled up on the bed, too weak to even get up.
Upon hearing the news, Wen Tingyun immediately summoned a physician. The physician diagnosed him with overwork and a cold, requiring several days of rest. Wen Tingyun frowned and immediately instructed his old servant to fetch and prepare the medicine, while he personally supervised the process.
For the first day or two, he had his old servant serve him medicine and he himself came to check on him once or twice a day. However, Xuanji's condition worsened, and he coughed incessantly.
On the third day, Xuanji's cough worsened. The old servant brought over the medicine he had prepared, just as Wen Tingyun came to check on him. "Give it to me," he said, taking the bowl of medicine from the old servant and sitting down on the stool beside the bed. The old servant tactfully retreated to the outer room to wait.
“Sir…” Xuanji struggled to sit up, his voice weak and hoarse.
"Don't move." Wen Tingyun's voice softened involuntarily. He held the medicine bowl steadily in one hand, and with the other, he instinctively reached out and gently supported the back of her neck, helping her to lift her head slightly. His fingertips touched her burning skin, and both of them trembled slightly.
Xuanji closed her eyes and, with his hand in hers, swallowed the bitter medicine in small sips. She could clearly feel the restrained and steady strength from the hand behind her head, and his breath, carrying a faint scent of ink and books, so close to her. An unprecedented sense of vulnerability and dependence gripped her, making her nose tingle slightly.
After feeding her the medicine, Wen Tingyun didn't leave immediately. He picked up a damp handkerchief from the side, took it naturally, soaked it, wrung it out, and then—with slightly clumsy movements—gently placed it on her still feverish forehead. His fingertips inevitably touched her delicate, burning skin again, the temperature seeming to burn into his heart. He quickly put the handkerchief down, but the touch on his fingers lingered like a branding iron.
The cool, damp touch made Xuanji want to sigh in comfort. Wen Tingyun quickly looked away, "You should rest well. If you feel unwell again, have the old servant call me."
Just as he was about to get up, his sleeve tightened. Looking down, he saw Xuanji's slender white fingers gently clutching the corner of his robe. Her eyes, reddened by fever, were slightly upturned, revealing a delicate air she would never normally show: "Don't go, sir..." Her voice was soft and hoarse from illness, "I don't want to be alone."
Wen Tingyun gazed at her flushed cheeks and finally let out a soft "Mmm." Dusk was falling outside the window, casting his long shadow onto the embroidered screen. He sat there quietly, letting her clutch his sleeve, until her breathing gradually became even and deep.
Even in his sleep, Xuanji still frowned, his fingers still tightly gripping the corner of the blue robe, as if grasping the last warmth in the world.
Wen Tingyun did not move in the end, but gently tucked the blanket around her, leaving the robe in her palm.
However, from that day on, the carefully maintained ice wall quietly melted a crack due to this illness. Wen Tingyun would sit not far away when she was slightly better, holding the manuscript he was proofreading, and read it to her softly, both to relieve her boredom and as if it were a kind of silent companionship.
The illness was slowly but surely cured. By the time Xuanji was fully recovered, it was already late autumn in October. The county annals had been completed, and the day for their return journey had finally arrived. As the carriage drove out of the city gate of Jing County, the ginkgo trees along the roadside were already ablaze with golden leaves, and the autumn wind rustled the fallen leaves like butterflies.
By the time the carriage reached the shore of Bai Ping Isle, it was already dusk. The moon shone on the cold river, and several clumps of white water lilies swayed gently in the evening breeze. Seeing that it was getting late, Wen Tingyun instructed his servants to find an inn by the river for the night.
The next morning, the rain stopped and the clouds dispersed. Wen Tingyun got up early and strolled to the riverbank to clear his mind. In the hazy morning mist, he suddenly saw a familiar figure on the Wangjiang Tower. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was Xuanji, alone, gazing into the distance from the railing.
She was clearly an early riser, without makeup, her long hair loosely tied up, her plain white dress fluttering in the morning breeze. She was gazing intently at the river, waiting for someone. The rising sun cast a soft golden glow around her, a sight so beautiful it was breathtaking.
Wen Tingyun suddenly stopped, his heart deeply touched. An indescribable pity and trembling surged within him.
He hurried back to his room, and without even laying out paper, he began to write by the window. With each stroke of his brush, a torrent of unspoken emotions poured forth onto the paper:
After washing and dressing, I lean alone against the river-viewing tower.
A thousand sails have passed, but none are the one I seek; the setting sun casts a gentle glow on the flowing water.
My heart breaks at Bai Pingzhou.
As the last stroke was made, the ink was dripping. He stared at the two characters "Alone," his mind filled with Xuanji's lonely figure. After a long while, he suddenly heard footsteps approaching outside the door. He hurriedly stuffed the poem into his sleeve and looked up to see Xuanji push the door open and enter.
"Sir, it's time for breakfast," she said softly, her gaze sweeping over the scattered ink and brushes on the windowsill, but considerately refraining from uttering a word.
When they returned to the Wen residence, it was almost the end of the year. The carriage rumbled to a stop outside the vermilion gate, where the gate was wide open and the stone lions on both sides had a thin layer of unswept snow on their shoulders, as if they were waiting to greet them.
Wen Jue was the first to rush out. The young man had grown taller, wearing a dark blue silk cloak, his voice clear and joyful: "Father! Junior Sister Xuanji! You're finally back!" Wen Xiang'er seemed much calmer than before, wearing a lotus-colored embroidered plum blossom jacket and skirt, her smile gentle: "Father, you've worked hard. Mother has been thinking about you every day."
Before the words were finished, a figure emerged slowly from the main gate, supported by a maid. It was Madam Wen. She was wrapped in a thick apricot-yellow brocade cloak trimmed with fur, and her complexion was noticeably thinner than before. A gust of cold wind swept by, and she couldn't help but cover her mouth with her handkerchief and cough softly twice, her shoulders hunching slightly.
Wen Tingyun almost immediately stepped forward, naturally taking the lady's arm from the maid and shielding her from the wind with his own body. His gaze fell heavily on her pale face, his brows furrowing almost imperceptibly. "Have you taken your medicine on time? Didn't I tell you to rest properly? Why are you standing in the wind?" His eyes quickly swept over her body, as if to make sure she was dressed warmly enough, and the fingers holding her elbow tightened slightly.
"I've eaten, I've eaten, I've followed the doctor's instructions." Madam Wen replied obediently, a gentle light shimmering in her eyes as she looked up at him. "It's nothing. How could I sit still when I heard the sound of carriages and horses? Besides," she lowered her voice, just enough for him to hear, "my illness is much better now that you're back."
Upon hearing this, Wen Tingyun naturally pulled the hood of her cloak forward, ensuring that the soft fur would protect her forehead and temples, his movements practiced and gentle. "Nonsense," he said softly, his tone softening, "If you make it worse, wouldn't that only make me more anxious?"
Madam Wen smiled and said, "Why don't you hurry up and help your father and sister with their luggage? Xiang'er, go and tell the kitchen to bring the ginger and jujube tea that has been kept warm to the warm room immediately." After making these arrangements, although her breath was a little weak, she was still as proper and thoughtful as ever in managing the household affairs.
Xuanji quickly stepped forward and bowed. "Madam, you are not feeling well and should not have come out," she said softly, her voice filled with concern.
Madam Wen shook her head, coughed again, and then smiled and said, "It's nothing. Seeing you all come back made me happy, and I feel much more relaxed."
Wen Jue was already happily directing the servants to move the luggage boxes, and Xiang'er also hurried towards the kitchen.
Xuanji followed half a step behind the others, gazing at the two figures standing side by side ahead. The lady leaned slightly against her master, who deliberately slowed his pace to accommodate her. Lanterns had already been lit under the eaves of the mansion, casting a warm, yellow light on the courtyard where the snow had not yet melted, making their supporting figures appear long.
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