"Sister-in-law! I'm here!"
The clear, cheerful voice broke the stillness in the main room of Plum Courtyard. Carrying a bamboo basket, Cui Wan bounded inside with light steps, her face still bright with the excitement of successfully making osmanthus cakes and the joy of coming to see Tang Xiang.
Tang Xiang was sitting on the couch beside the window, holding two exquisitely made little red cloth tigers, their clumsy expressions endearing. Her gaze was somewhat vacant, as though she were lost in distant memories. Hearing Cui Wan's voice, she immediately came back to herself and swiftly tucked the pair of little tigers beneath the cushion beside her. A gentle smile blossomed on her face as she rose to greet her.
"Wanwan, you're here?" Tang Xiang looked her up and down. Seeing how much healthier she looked than a few days ago, and the rare spark of vitality in her expression, she smiled with relief. "I've never seen our Wanwan looking so happy. You look much livelier."
A little embarrassed by her words, Cui Wan pressed her lips together in a smile and raised the basket as though presenting a treasure. "Sister-in-law, I've brought you osmanthus cakes! Qiaoju and I picked the flowers fresh today and made them ourselves. Try some!"
As she spoke, she lifted the cotton cloth covering the basket. A waft of steam carrying the sweet fragrance of osmanthus and the delicate sweetness of rice cakes drifted out. Inside lay several neatly arranged cakes, translucent and glossy, dotted with golden osmanthus blossoms.
"They smell wonderful!" Tang Xiang praised sincerely. She picked one up and took a small bite. The soft, delicate texture, the sweetness that was just right, the rich osmanthus fragrance melting in her mouth... Her eyes brightened slightly. "Mm, they're delicious! You're quite skilled, Wanwan."
Tang Xiang's praise made Cui Wan even happier, her eyes curving into crescents.
Tang Xiang savored the cake, her gaze passing through the window lattice as though looking toward Orchid Courtyard. A trace of wistful longing entered her voice. "That osmanthus tree in Orchid Courtyard... A-Lei and A-Qi planted it together when they were boys. A-Lei used to mention it to me often. He said A-Qi had barely been taller than the sapling back then, but had insisted on being the one to dig the hole..."
When she mentioned Chu Molei, Tang Xiang's tone was natural and tender, as though he had only gone out for a while and had yet to return.
Cui Wan knew her sister-in-law was missing her late husband again. A trace of sadness rose in her own heart as she listened quietly.
Suddenly, she remembered the pair of little red tigers she had glimpsed upon entering and could not resist asking curiously, "Sister-in-law, those... those two little tigers you were holding just now were so cute!" She blinked, a hint of innocent anticipation in her eyes. "Do I... do I have a little nephew or niece?"
As soon as the words left her mouth, Cui Wan saw Tang Xiang's hand pause almost imperceptibly around the osmanthus cake.
The smile on Tang Xiang's face froze for an instant. Then, slowly and with immense difficulty, she curved her lips again, but that smile was steeped in sorrow and helplessness too thick to dissolve. She lowered her eyes, her long lashes hiding the emotions surging beneath them. Her voice was soft, so soft it almost seemed the wind could scatter it:
"You do..." She paused, as though it took tremendous strength to continue. "They were twins, a boy and a girl. Two beautiful little ones..."
Joy rose in Cui Wan's heart. She was just about to speak when Tang Xiang's next words fell like ice water over her head-
"But... they..." Tang Xiang's voice caught. She drew a deep breath before using all her strength to force out those few words. "They... went to keep their daddy company."
Cui Wan froze completely. Forgetting even to swallow the osmanthus cake in her mouth, she stared blankly at Tang Xiang, her mind empty.
Went to keep their daddy company? What did that mean? Could it be...
Tang Xiang raised her head. Her eyes had reddened slightly, but she still struggled to keep that broken smile on her lips. As though recounting a distant, sorrowful story, she spoke with heartbreaking calm:
"When I... gave birth, the babies weren't positioned quite right. It was very dangerous. I struggled for a whole day and night..." Her gaze drifted into the distance, as though she had returned to that birthing room filled with the smell of blood and despair. "A-Lei was so frantic that time, pacing in circles outside. I heard his voice change... Later, the midwife told me he had knelt to beg the doctor, crying like a child. He said they had to save my life, that the babies... we could lose the babies..."
At last, a tear escaped, slipping down Tang Xiang's pale cheek and falling onto the osmanthus cake in her hand, where it spread into a small dark stain.
"And then... they... couldn't be saved." Tang Xiang's voice was as light as a feather. "The following spring, fighting broke out at South Mountain, and A-Lei... died in battle too."
She raised her hand and gently wiped away the tear with her fingertips. An almost illusory tenderness and a trace of self-mockery entered her voice. "Perhaps they... were afraid their daddy would be lonely in heaven, so they went ahead to wait for him..."
As Cui Wan listened, she felt as though an invisible hand had seized her heart in a vicious grip. It ached so bitterly she could hardly breathe. She regretted it terribly! Why had she opened her mouth to ask that? She should never have mentioned it! She had touched the deepest wound in her sister-in-law's heart!
"Sister-in-law... I'm sorry... I... I didn't know..." Cui Wan stumbled over her words, so flustered she did not know what to do with herself. Tears welled in her eyes, and she had no idea how to comfort her. "I... I..."
Seeing Cui Wan even more distraught and upset than herself, Tang Xiang instead gathered her emotions first. She reached out and gently brushed a finger down Cui Wan's nose, the gesture affectionate. Her tone was deliberately light, though her voice still carried a lingering nasal thickness:
"Silly Wanwan, what are you apologizing for? That all happened so long ago. I... forgot about it ages ago."
But her slightly reddened eyes and the desolation hidden deep within them clearly said that some wounds could never truly be "forgotten," only covered by the years and buried deep in the heart.
She lowered her head to the half-eaten osmanthus cake in her hand, took another bite, chewed hard, and swallowed. Then she gave Cui Wan a somewhat more genuine smile. "They're truly delicious, Wanwan. Next time... I'd like to have your osmanthus cakes again. Would that be all right?"
Cui Wan nodded hard, but Tang Xiang's forced smile brought tears spilling down her cheeks. She hurriedly wiped them away with her sleeve, her voice choked. "Yes! Next time... I'll make more for you! Lots and lots!"
"Mm." Tang Xiang smiled in agreement, took Cui Wan's hand, and had her sit beside her. She did not mention those heavy memories again, instead asking about her life in Orchid Courtyard over the past few days. How was A-Qi? Why was her neck injured? Did it still hurt? Her tone was gentle and concerned.
Cui Wan also tried to put away her sadness and answered each question, but the closeness and aching sympathy she felt for Tang Xiang deepened considerably.
She stayed in Plum Courtyard for a long time, keeping Tang Xiang company and watching her paint. Only when the sky darkened and the lanterns beneath the eaves were lit did she finally leave amid Tang Xiang's repeated reminders. Carrying the half-empty basket, she slowly walked back to Orchid Courtyard, her heart full of emotion and a lingering trace of heaviness.
The marquis's residence seemed especially quiet and empty in the night. Even the fragrance of that tree full of osmanthus blossoms seemed tinged with a barely perceptible bitterness belonging to years gone by.
The night had grown late. Only a single oil lamp burned in the side room of Orchid Courtyard, its light dim and yellow.
Chu Moqi lay alone on the bed, wearing only a thin, plain-colored underrobe. Eyes open, he stared at the indistinct bed curtains overhead. After a long while, he drew a deep breath and planted both hands hard at his sides.
Even a cripple... still had to exercise... Even if his legs had no feeling at all, he had to preserve as much strength as possible in the rest of his body, and... that pitiful little sense of "control."
He began trying to turn over on his own.
For someone completely paralyzed from the waist down, relying solely on the strength of his arms and upper body, this was no different from a battle.
First, he braced his arms firmly against the bed. The muscles of his shoulders, back, and abdomen tensed and bulged with effort as he tried to move his heavy lower body, like two enormous boulders. He gritted his teeth, veins faintly rising at his temples, his arms trembling slightly from the excessive strain.
Left! Push!
His upper body lifted a little with difficulty and turned slightly to the side, but his waist and hips remained motionless, as though nailed to the bed. Those two unresponsive legs had become his greatest burden and obstacle.
Holding his breath, unwilling to give up, he exerted himself again. This time, he tried to use momentum, wrenching his shoulders and chest sharply to the left while sweeping his right arm backward with all his might, attempting to "drag" his lower body along.
The bed creaked under the strain. His body assumed an extremely awkward position-his upper body had turned most of the way, his face nearly touching the wall on the inner side, but from the waist and hips down, he stubbornly remained on his back. Only his left leg, pulled by his upper body, had shifted a tiny bit.
He looked... ridiculous and wretched, like a fish struggling to writhe on dry land, or... an absurd twisted cruller.
Sweat quickly soaked the hair at his temples and the back of his underrobe. His chest heaved from the exertion and lack of air.
Useless...
He sneered coldly at himself inwardly. If he could not even turn over, what was he but useless?
But that stubborn refusal to admit defeat sustained him. He took several ragged breaths and adjusted his position. Once again, astonishing strength burst from his arms. This time, he practically exhausted every ounce of strength in his body, driving his shoulder, back, and left arm hard against the wall. Borrowing that tiny force of resistance, he simultaneously twisted sharply through his core-
Thud!
A dull impact rang out, accompanied by the shaking of the bed.
At last, he had turned from lying on his back to lying on his stomach.
His face buried in the pillow, he gasped for breath. Every muscle in his body trembled faintly, and sweat dripped from his temples, soaking a small patch of the pillowcase. That last effort had nearly drained all his strength.
Forget it... I'll lie here for a while... I'm too tired...
He lay facedown like that, letting exhaustion sweep through his body. Only his rapid breathing echoed in the silent room. The dim yellow lamplight cast shifting patches of light and shadow across his sweat-soaked back.
After about a quarter of an hour, his breathing gradually steadied, and a little strength returned. Lying on his stomach was uncomfortable; the pressure on his chest left him feeling somewhat stifled.
He wanted to turn back over.
This seemed even harder than turning from his back onto his stomach. Lying facedown made the angle for supporting himself and exerting force through his arms even more awkward. His view was obstructed, and it was harder to draw on that faint strength in his waist and abdomen.
He braced his arms again, trying to lift his upper body first. This time, he needed greater arm strength to fight against the weight of his entire body. His arm muscles bulged, and sweat slid down his forearms.
Little by little, with difficulty, he lifted his chest off the bed. Then he tried to turn his shoulders to the right while sweeping his left arm forcefully backward, attempting to pull his lower body along...
No... it wouldn't budge...
Panting heavily, he stopped and adjusted. Sweat ran into his eyes, stinging them. He blinked hard and shook off the droplets.
Again!
This time, he planted his right elbow firmly against the bed. His left arm swept through a wider arc, almost swinging in a full circle as he flung it backward. At the same time, he twisted his neck and shoulders desperately to the right, his entire upper body straining in an almost contorted posture...
A little... a little...
His heavy waist and hips seemed... ever so slowly, to shift the tiniest amount.
It worked!
He did not dare stop. Seizing that faint momentum, he repeated the movement, using every ounce of strength and will to struggle against his leaden lower body.
Time passed slowly amid the silence and his labored breathing. He did not know how long it had been-perhaps the time it took to drink a cup of tea, perhaps longer. Sweat had long since drenched his entire body. His underrobe clung to his skin, outlining lean muscles filled with explosive strength.
At last-
Thud! Another dull impact.
He had succeeded. From his stomach, he had turned onto his back again.
He collapsed onto the bed, drenched as though he had just been hauled out of the water, even his fingertips trembling faintly. His chest heaved violently, every breath tugging at his aching muscles. Disheveled strands of hair clung to his sweat-soaked forehead, and his eyes were somewhat unfocused from exhaustion.
Only after a long while did he slowly catch his breath. Immediately afterward, however, he sensed that something was wrong.
He propped his upper body up a little and immediately saw a bulge that was impossible to ignore.
He had only just... changed an hour ago...
Chu Moqi's body stiffened for an instant. Slowly, with an almost resigned numbness, he reached down. His hand met warm dampness.
It was no illusion. He had strained too hard while turning over, pressing on his abdomen, and lost control of his bladder. Even the outer fabric of his underpants had been soaked through in a small patch and felt damp to the touch.
Useless...
He closed his eyes. The faint sense of accomplishment he had barely managed to muster from successfully turning over was instantly shattered by this cruel reality.
An intense wave of self-loathing and helplessness engulfed him like an icy tide.
Forget it... no more exercise...
Continuing would only add to his misery and humiliation.
He steadied the racing heartbeat and breathing brought on by strenuous exercise and emotional turmoil, then slowly propped himself up. It was time to bathe, change, and prepare for bed.
"Yan Qin." He called toward the door, his voice hoarse and tired after the exercise.
No one answered.
"...Yan Huai?" he called again, raising his voice a little.
There was still only silence.
Where had those two gone? Usually, one of them was always nearby.
Chu Moqi's mood immediately worsened further. Needing someone and finding no one there made him feel even more incapable, even more dependent on others.
He drew a deep breath, suppressing his irritation. He could not keep lying there wet.
He could only... do it himself.
Gritting his teeth, he propped himself up once more. Using the last of his strength, he inched toward the edge of the bed, then laboriously "dragged" his heavy lower body along and transferred himself into the wheelchair. Every movement came with physical discomfort and that humiliating dampness beneath his underpants.
Once seated securely, he immediately pulled over the thin blanket folded nearby and covered his legs tightly and thoroughly. Only after making certain that the unnatural outline and any possible wet marks were completely concealed did he let out a small breath of relief, though his face had grown even paler and gloomier.
He turned his wheelchair, the rumble of its wheels especially clear in the silent night. Pushing open the side room's door, he went out beneath the covered walkway.
The cool autumn night breeze blew into his face, carrying the lingering fragrance of osmanthus and sending a slight chill through his sweat-soaked body. He tugged the thin blanket higher, his gaze searching the dim courtyard.
He had to find Yan Qin or Yan Huai... At the very least, he had to clean up this mess first.
In the shadows at a corner of the covered walkway, two nearly identical figures were squatting furtively together, their heads close as they rustled about at something. Faint sounds of chewing could also be heard.
"...Do you think the young master noticed there were fewer osmanthus flowers on the tree?" It was Yan Huai's voice, lowered to a whisper but unable to hide his apprehension.
Yan Qin's voice was steadier, though it too held a trace of uncertainty. "How would I know? Go ask him yourself."
"I'd like to live a few more days..." Yan Huai sounded close to tears. Then came another distinct smack of chewing, and he mumbled, "But these osmanthus cakes Madam made... they're really delicious... Much better than the ones sold in the shops! Madam went all around the residence today, giving them out everywhere. She only remembered the two of us when she came back tonight..."
Yan Qin seemed to take a bite too, his voice calm. "Be grateful we got any. Hurry up and finish so we can get back. The young master..."
Before he could finish, an icy, low voice sounded behind them like a ghost:
"What... are you doing?"
Both men froze in fright, then whipped their heads around almost simultaneously, their movements perfectly synchronized. The guilty alarm of thieves caught in the act still lingered on their faces.
At some point, Chu Moqi had silently wheeled himself to a spot not far behind them. He sat upright in his wheelchair, a thin blanket draped over him, his face looking especially pale and cold beneath the moonlight. His eyes were as sharp as a hawk's in the darkness, staring coldly and with obvious displeasure at them, and... at the sweet-smelling cakes wrapped in oiled paper that they had not had time to hide.
Yan Huai's hand shook in fright, and his half-eaten osmanthus cake nearly fell to the ground. He scrambled to catch it, a few crumbs still clinging to the corner of his mouth, looking ridiculous and bedraggled. Although Yan Qin was calmer, he too immediately slipped his cake a little farther behind his back and lowered his head.
Chu Moqi's gaze swept over the crumbs at their mouths and the oiled-paper packages in their hands. His brows knitted even tighter, his tone carrying undisguised disdain and a trace of offended authority:
"Has this household failed to provide you with food, clothing, and necessities? Must you hide here to sneak food?!"
He paused, finding it all the stranger. Yan Qin and Yan Huai were both martial artists. They usually preferred meat and had never shown much interest in sweet, rich pastries. What had gotten into them tonight?
Yan Huai shrank back under the reprimand and scratched his head awkwardly, instinctively trying to explain. "Young master... these... Madam made them..." The moment he said it, he wished he could bite off his own tongue.
"Madam made them?" Chu Moqi repeated, his gaze instantly sharpening further, scraping across Yan Huai's face like a blade. "So you ate them?"
He remembered glimpsing Cui Wan and Qiaoju bustling about from a distance in the courtyard during the day. So she had not only picked the osmanthus flowers, but actually made cakes with them, and even... brought them for these two to eat?
Fine. She really had grown bold. That osmanthus tree... he and his elder brother had planted it together as boys. Without so much as asking him, she had picked so many blossoms to make cakes?
An indescribable emotion surged through his heart, as though his "territory" had been casually invaded, or as though some secret expectation, one even he had never noticed, had come to nothing.
Seeing that his younger brother was about to say the wrong thing again, Yan Qin was just about to explain. But Yan Huai had already rushed ahead, his quick tongue trying to redeem his mistake-or perhaps... pour oil on the fire...
"No, no, no! Young master, you've misunderstood!" Yan Huai hurriedly waved his hands, speaking rapidly. "Madam didn't make them especially for us! She made lots today! In the residence... almost all the servants on duty got some! She even... even took a whole basket to Plum Courtyard especially for the eldest madam! These few we have... Madam left them for us in passing when she came back tonight..."
Everyone... in the residence... got some?
Chu Moqi's breathing paused almost imperceptibly.
She had picked blossoms from the tree he and his elder brother had planted, made cakes, given them to almost all the servants in the residence, and even taken a basket especially to his sister-in-law... Everyone but him had a share.
She had not even said a word to him...
Or rather, she had never thought of giving him any at all.
That realization was like a fine needle, unexpectedly piercing some corner of his heart that even he had never examined closely. It brought a subtle sensation mingling the anger of being overlooked, a trace of inexplicable disappointment, and many more complex feelings he could not put into words.
His face remained rigid. Beneath the moonlight, his already cold features looked even harder, his lips pressed into a tight line, the oppressive air around him frightening.
So everyone had tasted her osmanthus cakes except him...