Imperfect Perfection

A misty haze hung in the air.

The water temperature in the bathtub was just right, at that point that makes your bones feel soft and yielding, neither too high nor too low, enveloping every inch of his skin from his shoulders to his ankles.

Yun Jingheng closed his eyes, his head resting on the curved bath pillow. Water vapor condensed into tiny droplets on his eyelashes, which fell down with a blink and slid down his cheekbones into the water.

He heard Yuanen Yehui say something at the bathroom door, his voice muffled by the steam, and he didn't hear it clearly or care to. Then he heard the door close softly and smoothly.

The footsteps faded into the distance.

The only sounds in the bathroom were the occasional soft ripples of water and the faint crackling of the candle flame flickering on the windowsill.

He soaked for a while, and a thin layer of red appeared on his skin starting from his fingertips. As he was pulled out of the cold water, the hot water gradually seeped through him, and the warmth from his skin to his bones made him feel like he was sinking down.

He must be asleep.

It's not deep, just a shallow layer floating on the surface, like the kind of water you might doze off on your desk in the afternoon.

His mind was scattered; he couldn't pick it up, and he didn't want to.

I don't know how much time passed, but something gently tapped the edge of the bathtub twice.

Yun Jingheng opened his eyes.

Ye Xinglan squatted beside the bathtub, one arm draped over the white porcelain edge of the tub, her chin resting on the back of her hand, tilting her head to look at him.

The sleeves of the dark red maid outfit were rolled up to her elbows, revealing a section of her forearm, which gleamed warmly under the lamplight.

"Young Master stopped making a sound while soaking in the water," she said in a low voice, a smile playing on her lips.

"I thought you were asleep again."

Yun Jingheng blinked.

Two more tiny water droplets condensed on his eyelashes and fell down. He raised his hand and wiped his face, the water on his fingertips trickling down his wrist.

"... How long has it been?"

"Not long, about fifteen minutes."

Ye Xinglan stood up, pulled a dry bath towel from the shelf next to her, and stretched it out with both hands. "The water's all cold. Yuan En said soaking for too long isn't good."

Yun Jingheng stood up from the bathtub, water cascading down his body with a splash.

He took the bath towel Ye Xinglan handed him and wrapped it around his waist and below. The rough fabric rubbed against his skin, sending a slight shiver down his spine.

Ye Xinglan handed him another dry towel, which he took and covered his head with, rubbing it a couple of times.

Her hair, half-wet and half-dry, hung over her forehead, with water droplets dripping down the ends and onto her shoulders.

"The bed is warm now."

Ye Xinglan said, turning around and walking out while glancing back at him, "Young Master, come with me."

Yun Jingheng followed her out of the bathroom.

The wall lamps in the corridor still cast that warm, yellow light, and the dark gold tablecloth had subtle, flowing patterns.

He stepped barefoot onto the floor; the wood was warm from the underfloor heating, and it felt incredibly comfortable under his feet.

Ye Xinglan walked two steps ahead of him, her dark red skirt swaying gently with each step, the large white bow at her waist neatly tied, the ribbon hanging down a bit, gleaming softly under the lamplight.

She pushed open a double door at the end of the corridor and stepped aside to let others pass.

Yun Jingheng went inside.

The bedroom was bigger than he had imagined.

A four-poster bed sits in the center, its dark wooden posts carved with intricate patterns. The bed canopy is made of dark gold gauze, hanging down from the ceiling and gathered at the four corners, partially revealing the neatly made white bedding underneath.

On the low bedside table sat a brass lamp with a milky white frosted glass shade. The light shining through it was warm and gentle, like holding a piece of warm jade.

A very faint scent of lavender permeated the bedroom, rising in Sisi from the pillows and bedding, as if someone had sprayed essential oils on it beforehand and left it to air out for half a day, perfectly preserving that relaxing aftertaste.

Ye Xinglan walked to the bedside, bent down, lifted a corner of the blanket, and patted the mattress.

"Young Master, please lie down," she said. "Xiao Yan has already warmed the bed."

Yun Jingheng stood at the door without moving.

His gaze swept across the bedroom: the bedside lamp, a light gray blanket draped over the armrest of the single sofa by the window, and a half-height dressing mirror standing in the corner, its surface reflecting a soft light under the lamp.

Everything was arranged perfectly, without any sign of haste or perfunctoriness; even the spacing between the curtain folds was as even as if it had been measured with a ruler.

"My hair is still wet," he said.

Ye Xinglan pulled a dry towel from the bedside table drawer and walked over.

She raised her hand and placed the towel over his head, gently pressing the top of his head through the fabric.

"Young Master, please lower your head," she said.

He lowered his head.

Her fingers rubbed his hair through the towel, the pressure neither too light nor too heavy.

He stood with his eyes downcast, his gaze falling on the lace trim of her dark red skirt, the delicate white lace casting small shadows under the light.

After rubbing for a while, she took the towel off, looked at his half-dry hair, and reached out to brush away the stray hairs on his forehead.

"Alright, young master," she said, "Lie down and let it air dry."

She turned around to drape the towel over the back of the chair, and as she passed the window, she casually pulled the curtains closed.

"Does Young Master need Xing Lan to serve you before bed?"

"Need not."

Yun Jingheng's gaze fell on her hands.

Her nails were neatly trimmed, with clean edges and no hangnails, and shone a healthy pink under the light.

He paused for two breaths, then walked to the bedside and sat down.

The mattress was softer than he expected; when he sat down, he sank in, and the springs made a dull creak.

He leaned on the edge of the bed and glanced back at the pillows. There were two, stacked one higher than the other, with light gray fine cotton covers and a dark pattern pressed along the edge.

He lay down.

When the back of my head hit the pillow, the lavender scent became stronger, but it was still faint and not overpowering.

He sank into the mattress, the blanket pulled up from his ankles to his chest, the warmth of the heated blanket enveloping him and seeping into his skin little by little.

Ye Xinglan walked to the door, placed her hand on the doorknob, and glanced back at him.

"Young Master, please get some rest," she said. "What would you like to eat tomorrow morning? I'll have Xiao Yan prepare it in advance."

Yun Jingheng turned his head to look at her.

She stood in the doorway, her dark red skirt shimmering softly in the light of the wall lamp, a relaxed, nonchalant smile playing on her lips.

He caught a glimpse of something very familiar in that arc: Ye Xinglan's usual demeanor on the training field—casual, with a hint of condescension and an air of nonchalance that he was too lazy to say anything.

He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Ye Xinglan smiled, as if she had anticipated what he was about to say.

"I asked casually, young master. We'll talk about it after you wake up."

She closed the door, the latch clicked into place.

The bedroom fell silent.

Yun Jingheng lay on his side, facing the bedside lamp.

The warm light from the table lamp shone through its milky white shade, gently falling on the sheets and pillows.

On the bedside table was a small porcelain dish with two small white round pieces inside, like throat lozenges or something similar.

He stared at it for a few moments, then his gaze moved upwards and landed on the lamp base.

The bronze lamp base is engraved with delicate vine patterns that meander upwards from the base and converge into a lace border at the edge of the lampshade.

The lines of those vines are smooth and natural, with rounded and soft turns, clearly indicating that they are old objects with fine casting.

He glanced at it a couple more times.

Then he noticed something: there was a small, grayish-blue mark on the side of the lamp base, smaller than a fingernail, like a mark left by some liquid that had been splashed on and dried.

He stared at the mark for two seconds, and a blurry image floated into his mind.

He felt like he had seen this lamp somewhere before, or a very similar lamp, with a similar water stain in a similar spot.

But he couldn't remember where he had seen it before.

He turned his gaze back to the gauze canopy on the ceiling.

Dark gold gauze draped down from the top of the four pillars, forming a square canopy with tassels hanging from the edges, each thread shimmering with a delicate light in the lamplight.

He looked at the tassels and found that they were all the same length, with the bottom of each one landing on the same horizontal line, without any difference.

That's perfect.

Looking at the tassels, he suddenly felt as if they had been cut with scissors, each strip cut to the same length before being sewn on.

However, real tassels will always have slight differences in length due to hanging and gravity, even if it's only half a millimeter. They are almost imperceptible to the naked eye, but that "natural unevenness" will still exist.

No.

Not at all.

He shifted his gaze away, turning towards the windowsill.

The curtains were drawn, so the sky outside couldn't be seen.

The curtains are made of dark velvet, thick and draping, with the hem close to the floor without a single wrinkle.

When Ye Xinglan was drawing the curtains, the fabric automatically returned to its neat position after she let go, as if it had been straightened by some unseen force.

A bit... fake?