Version B ending --- Bad Ending (Not for those who dislike tragedies)
Following Chapter 51, Returning South.
In the evening, Wen Tingyun carried a cup of ginseng tea, gently knocked on the door, and entered. He placed the tea beside her, sat down on a chair by the window, remained silent for a moment, and then spoke in a low and calm voice: "Youwei."
Xuanji raised her eyes and looked into his eyes. There was no longer the indifference of a teacher, but a resolute determination after deep reflection.
“Chang’an is a place of trouble and danger; it’s not suitable for me to stay any longer.” His tone was calm, yet every word was clear. “I intend to go to Lingnan to live in seclusion. The climate there is mild and pleasant, far from the chaos, where I may find peace. Would you… be willing to come with me?”
Wen Tingyun's words echoed in the quiet room, like a stone thrown into a deep pool, creating ripples.
Lingnan. Thousands of miles away. A completely unfamiliar place, a place that could completely isolate her from all the right and wrong and memories of Chang'an. She looked at Wen Tingyun. In his eyes was the resolute determination after unloading a heavy burden, the solitary courage to cast aside the shackles of reputation, and even more so, an invitation to join hands that she had longed for for many years and almost thought was hopeless in this life...
At that moment, Xuanji's heart was struck by a powerful surge of warmth and bittersweetness. She almost blurted out the word "good," like a drowning person grasping at the only piece of driftwood.
However, just as that word was about to burst from his lips, another force stubbornly rose from the deepest part of his heart. It was something forged in prison, facing the empty walls and only being able to gaze into the depths of his own soul; it was a clear understanding of his own destiny that arose after experiencing Li Yi's "deep affection" control, the Pei family's infighting, the gossip of the world, and even the fierce determination shown by Liu Qianqian with her life.
She slowly raised her eyes, her gaze passing over Wen Tingyun's earnest eyes, and looked out the window. In the twilight courtyard, the grass and trees were silent.
“Sir,” she began, her voice slightly hoarse from the long silence, yet exceptionally clear, “I am deeply grateful for your kindness and the mystery behind it.”
The light in Wen Tingyun's eyes dimmed slightly, as if he had already sensed the answer to the mystery.
“Sir, you have done so much for Xuanji. You came north to pick me up from prison and sheltered me under your wings. I will never forget this kindness and affection.” She slightly bowed and performed a very solemn salute. “However, Lingnan… Xuanji cannot go with you, sir.”
Wen Tingyun swayed almost imperceptibly, his face drained of color, and his voice was hoarse: "Why? Is it... is it still because you care about worldly gossip? Or... do you resent my past..."
“No,” Xuanji gently shook his head, interrupting him, “It’s not about rumors, nor is it about resentment. Sir, in my life, from entering the brothel, to entering the Wen family, then the Li family, to entering the Taoist temple, and even being imprisoned… it seems that I have always been pushed by fate, always being placed by others. Now, you are willing to give me a pure land in Lingnan, which is also the same.”
She paused, her gaze growing even more resolute: "But in the Xuanji Prison, I repeatedly questioned my own heart, asking myself what I truly desired. Could I try to stand on my own two feet between this world?"
Looking at the confusion and sorrow welling up in Wen Tingyun's eyes, she continued, "Sir, if you take me away, then I will always be 'Mr. Wen's female disciple,' someone whose 'past' you need to settle and take responsibility for. Even far from Chang'an, it will still be difficult to eliminate worldly prejudices. I'm afraid... afraid that over time, that pure feeling will change its flavor in the daily dependence and gratitude. I'm even more afraid... that one day, I will lose myself again in this new dependence."
Her voice was not loud, but every word struck Wen Tingyun's heart like a hammer.
He opened his mouth, wanting to refute, wanting to tell her he wouldn't let her lose her way. However, looking into Xuanji's eyes, at the almost cruel clarity and independence that had emerged after enduring countless hardships, all the words stuck in his throat.
He suddenly realized that he loved her intelligence, her talent, her aloofness, and even more so, the resolute independence she displayed at this moment. If he were to forcibly take her under his wing, he might be destroying the very light he cherished most.
“Chang’an cannot accommodate Yu Xuanji. Perhaps, somewhere else can.” Xuanji looked out the window at the deepening night and said calmly, “The world is so vast. I want to find a place where no one knows me, where I don’t need to rely on anyone’s reputation or carry anyone’s past. I can live quietly as Yu Youwei. I can read, write, and perhaps… teach a few girls who are willing to read.”
She slowly took a step back and bowed to Wen Tingyun once more. This solemn disciple's salute drew a clear and sorrowful line for this entangled and complicated relationship.
“Sir, you should return to Wuzhou, stay with your master’s wife, and find peace in your heart. That is where you truly belong. As for Xuanji’s path… please let me walk it myself.”
Wen Tingyun stood there, stunned, watching her slender yet upright back. It was as if he was truly realizing for the first time that the little girl who once needed his protection had long since grown into a tree that could face frost and snow alone through wind and rain. His heart ached terribly, but in this extreme pain, a sense of relief and... pride also arose.
In the end, he didn't fall in love with the wrong person.
After a long while, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, he had a greater sense of respect and understanding.
“Since it is your wish…” his voice was low, “I… respect your choice.”
Wen Tingyun gazed intently at her, as if trying to etch her image into the depths of his soul. "Youwei...take care."
"Sir, please take good care of yourself."
They never held hands, never embraced, and no physical warmth could soothe their parting. Yet, in the chilly air, two lonely and proud souls, through mutual understanding and comprehension, shared a profound embrace and entanglement, completing a silent, grand farewell.
He turned around, his steps slightly unsteady, and left the room, disappearing into the night outside.
Xuanji stood there alone for a long time, until Qingxing cautiously pushed the door open and came in.
"My lady..." Qingxing called out softly with concern.
Xuanji snapped out of his daze, looked at Qingxing, and his gaze gradually regained focus and strength.
"Qingxing," she asked softly, her tone unusually firm, "I intend to leave Chang'an and find a secluded town in Jiangnan to live in seclusion. The road ahead may be poor, but... are you still willing to come with me?"
Qingxing knelt down without hesitation, her voice clear and firm: "Wherever my wife is, Qingxing will be there! Qingxing is not afraid of poverty, she is only afraid... only afraid that she will no longer be able to serve my wife!"
Xuanji bent down and personally helped Qingxing up, a genuine warmth finally appearing in her eyes. "Alright. From now on, we, master and servant, will depend on each other for survival."
A few days later, a simple carriage drove away from the Wen residence.
Inside the carriage, Xuanji sat by the window, watching the scenery recede into the distance. The outline of Chang'an finally disappeared from view, and she gently closed her eyes.
She knew she had betrayed a deep affection, choosing a more solitary path. But she also knew that only in this way could she truly break free from all invisible shackles and become Yu Youwei, who belonged only to herself and was not subservient to anyone.
Since parting in Chang'an, time has been fleeting. The torrent of time carries with it personal joys and sorrows, rushing forward. Wen Tingyun and Yu Xuanji, these two names, after breaking free from the most intense and heavy intertwining of their lives, are like stars going their separate ways, each illuminating a piece of the literary night sky.
Upon returning to his old residence in Wuzhou, Wen Tingyun truly immersed himself in the misty waters and scholarly pursuits of Jiangnan. He no longer deliberately sought to escape the world, nor did he force himself to forget his emotions. Instead, he poured all his deep longing, the hardships of his life, and his profound understanding of the myriad aspects of love and affection into his writing.
He dedicated himself to the creation and compilation of ci poetry. His style is rich, delicate, and exquisite, especially adept at capturing the subtle moments of women's emotions and the sorrow of parting. The female characters he portrays are vivid and charming, with tender and poignant emotions. He compiled the "Collection of Flowers Among the Flowers," and his artistic taste and creative practice undoubtedly laid the foundation for this collection of ci poems. He is revered by later generations as the founder of the "Huajian School."
His poems, such as "Small hills overlap, gold gleams and fades, clouds of hair seem to brush against snowy cheeks," fully express the lonely and melancholic feelings beneath the magnificent and exquisite craftsmanship; and "The paulownia tree, the midnight rain, unaware of the bitterness of parting. Leaf by leaf, sound by sound, dripping on the empty steps until dawn," vividly depict the pain of longing during a sleepless night, becoming famous lines that have been sung for thousands of years.
He and Li Shangyin were collectively known as "Wen and Li," both renowned for their quick wit and prodigious poetic talent. He could compose eight rhymes with a simple gesture, his poems rich in allusions and vibrant in imagery. However, in his later works, the untamed and sarcastic spirit of his youth gradually subsided, replaced by a sense of melancholy and detachment born of life's experiences. Occasionally, old friends would visit from Chang'an, reminiscing about the capital's past. He would mostly listen silently, only occasionally, when the wine had flowed freely or in the dead of night when no one was around, would he pick up his pen and write untitled verses. Between the lines, one could still vaguely discern that elegant and resolute spirit, yet it had been merged into a broader lament for life and the mists of history.
On countless nights when candlelight flickered, as he put down his pen and gazed at the quiet southern starry sky outside the window, his thoughts were not on fame or fortune, but on whether the woman who ultimately chose to travel alone had also found the peace and freedom she desired.
Yu Xuanji, or rather, Yu Youwei who had returned to her former self, ultimately chose a quiet town on the shores of Taihu Lake. She rented a small courtyard by the water and opened a small girls' school. She no longer used the pen name "Xuanji" or "Wangji," but simply asked the girls in the neighborhood who wanted to study and learn to write to call her "Teacher Yu."
Her life was simple yet fulfilling. By day, she taught girls to read and write poetry, and told them stories of mountains, rivers, and history; by night, she would organize old manuscripts and write new poems and essays under the lamp. One autumn night, she suddenly remembered a poem she had written to that person many years ago, and reading it now brought her a different kind of feeling:
I rack my brains to find the perfect poem to recite under the lamp, and spend the long, sleepless night in fear of the cold quilt.
The courtyard is filled with fallen leaves as the wind rises with sorrow; the moon sinks sadly through the gauze window.
The evacuation was not yet complete, but the wish was ultimately fulfilled; prosperity and decline reveal only the true nature of the heart.
I dwell in seclusion by the paulownia tree, where sparrows chirp and circle the empty woods at dusk.
At that time, she was filled with anticipation and resentment; now, she felt complete relief and peace. She gently closed the old manuscript, her emotions undisturbed.
After experiencing great ups and downs, joys and sorrows, her poetic style has shed some of the detachment of her early years and the indignation of her later years, presenting a clarity and profundity that has been washed away.
Her writing displays both a sense of acceptance of the past, like "the silkworm weaves its own cocoon," and a magnanimous spirit, like "the stream before my door still flows westward, let not white hair sing of the yellow rooster." She writes about the apricot blossoms and spring rain of Jiangnan, and the vast expanse of Taihu Lake, with delicate strokes and expansive imagery, retaining both the unique sensitivity of a female perspective and a breadth of vision and magnanimity that rivals that of men.
The book "Journey to the West" signed "Yang Che" was revised and supplemented during her seclusion and quietly circulated among scholars in Jiangnan. Its value was increasingly appreciated by discerning people and it was praised as "a remarkable book of geography and a wise word on the world".
Occasionally, she would hear the name of that man from Wuzhou in the casual conversations of passing merchants, and hear that his reputation as a literary master was growing. She would always listen quietly, her face expressionless, only when she was alone would she sit by the window and play a tune on her zither, "Youlan Cao".
In the end, as she wished, they parted ways and disappeared from each other's lives, yet in another form, they eternally gazed at each other.
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