You were born before I was born.
The autumn night in Lingnan has shed the sweltering heat of midsummer, and the evening breeze carries the coolness of the mountain streams. Under the lamp, Xuanji is organizing Wen Tingyun's old manuscripts. Her fingertips brush over the verses, some passionate and some melancholic, as if she can touch the hardships and integrity of his life.
She suddenly remembered a long time ago, at the Wen family mansion in Chang'an, the story her master's wife told with a gentle smile—the story of that talented scholar who came to propose marriage and made a solemn promise of "one life, one love, one partner".
She raised her eyes and looked at Wen Tingyun, who was leaning against the bamboo couch with his eyes closed, resting. The curiosity that had been building up in her heart for a long time, mixed with a subtle concern that she herself had not yet explored, quietly rose up.
"Sir," she put down the manuscript, her voice unusually clear in the quiet night, "I... have always wanted to ask, why did you... propose to marry your teacher's wife back then?" She asked tactfully, but her heart was beating inexplicably fast.
Wen Tingyun slowly opened his eyes. He remained silent for a moment, a faint yet genuine gentle smile appearing on his lips—an expression rarely seen on Xuanji's face, one of him immersed in pure and beautiful memories.
"To be honest, it wasn't anything dramatic." His voice was slow and deep, with a warm feeling of reminiscence. "That year, an epidemic broke out in the suburbs of Beijing, and refugees poured into the city, causing some chaos. I often walked around outside the city at that time, and once, I saw her by the soup kitchen outside Ci'en Temple."
Xuanji's heart inexplicably clenched slightly.
"She was wearing a worn-out plain brocade dress, with only an ordinary wooden hairpin in her hair. She was personally rolling up her sleeves and ladling porridge for the refugees who were waiting in line." Wen Tingyun's gaze became distant. "At that time, the wind was strong, making the stove fire flicker. Soot clung to her cheeks, but she was completely unaware."
He paused, his tone carrying an unmistakable admiration: "I stood not far away, watching her. At that moment, she had none of the arrogance of a noblewoman; her simple clothes and plain hairpins could not conceal her beauty. It was a kind of... kindness and resilience that came from the very core of her being. Completely different from the young ladies I usually saw who only knew how to compose poems or were scheming."
The more detailed his description, the clearer the vivid fondness hidden deep in his memory became. As Xuanji listened, he could almost see the scene, how that young, kind, and beautiful Miss Xie, at that moment, shone clearly into the life of the man before him like the bright moonlight.
That scene, that pure reason for falling in love, was so bright, so warm. It was so different from the complex emotions between her and him, which began with strict teacherly discipline, mixed with their hardships, struggles, and eventual transgression.
An indescribable bitterness, mixed with a deep sense of loss, enveloped her silently like a thin mist in the night. She wasn't angry, nor resentful; she simply felt that she had come too late.
"You were born before I was born, and I was born after you had grown old." This line of poetry, which I had read somewhere before, suddenly entered my mind, carrying a sense of fatalistic desolation.
His best years, his first stirrings of love, the courage and sincerity with which he vowed "one love for life" all belonged to his teacher's wife. She had received his purest admiration and most solemn promise.
What she, Yu Xuanji, possessed was the warmth that had settled in him after experiencing the vicissitudes of life, and the companionship he chose after deviating from worldly conventions. Was it simply because, in the remaining years of his life when he needed solace, she happened to be there? She knew that her master and his wife had a deep affection for each other, and that his wife treated her extremely well, but why did she have to ask?
Wen Tingyun finally noticed her unusual silence. He turned his head and saw that her eyelashes were lowered, her lips were a little pale, and her hands on her knees were slightly curled up. His heart tightened. "Youwei?" he called her, his tone questioning.
Xuanji raised his eyes, forced a nonchalant smile, and said softly, "Master's wife... is so kind." These four short words conveyed all the melancholy and self-consciousness in his heart.
Wen Tingyun, with his keen insight, immediately understood her inner turmoil. Looking at her forced smile, he felt both annoyed and tender. He reached out, pulled her close, and placed his hand on her cool back.
“Youwei,” his voice was deep and solemn, “the encounters between people are all governed by fate. A moment earlier or a moment later, and things might not be like they are today.”
He held her hand tightly, his gaze calmly meeting her misty eyes: "Your master's wife and I were childhood sweethearts, and have been together for many years. Our love is deep and unwavering, as clear as day and night. But that belongs to the 'past' Wen Feiqing."
He paused, his fingertips tightening slightly, as if to imprint his next words onto her heart: "And with you, Youwei, it is a meeting of souls after countless trials. It is the courage to do what is impossible, the joining hands after abandoning everything. It came at the right time, not too early, not too late. It doesn't need to be compared with anything in the past, because it is unique in itself, enough to illuminate all the darkness of my remaining life."
His words, like a warm current, gently flowed into Xuanji's cold heart.
She remained silent for a long time, then suddenly spoke softly, "Feiqing, do you know... when was the first time I realized I had developed feelings for you that I shouldn't have?"
Wen Tingyun was slightly taken aback, then smiled at her, his gaze questioning.
Xuanji didn't look at him; her gaze was fixed on the flickering lamplight, as if she could see herself from a long time ago through that faint light.
"It was an early summer night after I sewed bamboo leaves for you. I dreamt... I became your teacher's wife."
She paused, her voice even softer, yet each word clear: "In my dream, I stood by the window of the study, wearing the moon-white ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress) that my teacher's wife often wore, my hair styled in her hair. You returned from outside, carrying the scent of ink and the night dew, smiling as you walked towards me, calling me 'Madam.'"
Her cheeks flushed slightly. "In my dream, you held my hand, your fingertips warm and strong. I looked into your eyes, and there was only tenderness and focus there, as if I were the only thing in your eyes. At that moment, my heart was filled with panic and confusion, yet... yet I couldn't help but succumb to it."
She finally raised her eyes and looked at Wen Tingyun, a hint of embarrassment in her voice: "After waking from a nightmare that night, my heart was filled with turmoil. It was at that moment that I realized my feelings for you were no longer the admiration a disciple holds for their teacher."
Wen Tingyun listened quietly, his eyes swirling with emotions—shock, pity, and a profound sense of being moved. He had never imagined that while he was still adhering to propriety, she had already endured so much struggle and torment on her own.
He reached out and gently took her slightly cool hand in his, his fingertips slowly caressing the back of her hand.
"Youwei..." His voice was low, filled with indescribable emotion, "I had no idea... you had silently endured so much all by yourself."
"Feiqing," she asked softly, "don't you think...that kind of dream is absurd? That it's unfair to your master's wife?"
"No," Wen Tingyun answered without hesitation, tightening his grip slightly. "Dreams are born of the heart; how can they be controlled by human power? Moreover..." He paused, his voice carrying a hint of understanding and tenderness, "perhaps it's not entirely a dream, but rather a deep-seated desire within you that you yourself are unaware of."
"And you? When did you realize your own feelings?" Xuanji turned to the side and looked directly at Wen Tingyun.
Wen Tingyun thought for a moment, a faint smile appearing on his lips, and said, "It was probably when you were sick in Jing County. You grabbed my clothes and wouldn't let me leave. I knew it was against etiquette, but I didn't want to leave you alone."
Xuanji leaned against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, and seemed to melt a little from this warm embrace.
“Feiqing…” she choked, leaning into his arms, “I just… I just have some regrets, that I didn’t meet you sooner.” Regrets for not seeing his youthful, impetuous self, regrets for not being able to stand beside him in his purest years.
Wen Tingyun held her tightly, his chin gently brushing against the top of her head, and whispered with a sigh, "Nonsense. If we had met earlier, I would have been an old-fashioned scholar and you would have been a young girl. How could all of this have happened? It's just as it is now."
Yes, that's perfect. Xuanji closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his embrace. The slight resentment in her heart caused by "you were born before I was born" was gradually soothed by this firm embrace. What she possessed was a unique "now," a chance to stay with the complete, weathered Wen Feiqing in front of her, amidst the everyday life of Lingnan.
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