The night of March seventeenth.
The lamps in Orchid Courtyard had been lit early.
Before leaving, Chu Moqi called Yan Huai over and lowered his voice. "If Wanwan asks, tell her my legs hurt and I've already gone to bed. Tell her she needn't come over."
Yan Huai nodded repeatedly, but his heart kept pounding-what a lie his young master was telling. What if Madam really came to check on him?
After giving his instructions, Chu Moqi changed into an ink-dark brocade robe, drew his cloak tight, and quietly left the residence through a side gate with Yan Qin.
The carriage was already waiting outside.
When Yan Qin carried him onto the carriage, Chu Moqi felt that his legs were heavier than usual. Before leaving, he had had Yan Huai massage them with medicated oil for nearly half an hour, yet the aching fullness seeping from between his bones still would not subside.
He leaned against the carriage wall and helplessly reached down to rub his knees.
Had he known, he would not have stubbornly refused that Meridian-Soothing Pill.
But the medicine left him somewhat groggy, and he feared his mind would not be clear enough if something happened tonight.
Besides, the person he was meeting tonight was Cui Minghai, the father-in-law he had never met. For their first meeting, he did not want to appear muddleheaded before him, much less let him see this wretched state of his, sustained by medicine.
And now his legs had failed him first.
He lowered his head to look at his legs, their bony contours visible even through the fabric, and suddenly thought-if Wanwan knew he was like this, would she cry again?
That little girl would hurry over at even a single cough from him, asking whether he had caught a chill and whether she should summon a physician.
The corner of Chu Moqi's mouth twitched, whether in a smile or self-mockery, he could not tell.
The carriage rattled onward.
Although the dynasty imposed no curfew, fewer than a hundred days had passed since Emperor Yongchang's death. The new emperor had ascended the throne, and the national mourning period had not ended. The streets were far quieter than usual. A scattered handful of shops still had their lamps lit, their attendants dozing against the doorways, with scarcely any pedestrians in sight.
Chu Moqi lifted a corner of the carriage curtain and gazed out at the desolate night.
Spring Breeze House.
The carriage came to a steady stop.
Yan Qin jumped down, brought out the wheelchair and set it firmly in place, then turned back to carry Chu Moqi out of the carriage and carefully settle him into it.
Chu Moqi straightened the hem of his cloak, covering his two insensate legs securely.
Yan Qin wheeled him inside. Three or five other patrons remained, drinking and chatting behind screens, their laughter faint. The attendant at the entrance came forward, his gaze sweeping over the wheelchair beneath Chu Moqi. His broad smile faltered for an instant, then swiftly returned.
"How many in your party? What would you like?"
Yan Qin stepped forward. "Has someone reserved a private room?"
The attendant's eyes brightened. "Yes, yes! A guest calling himself Mr. Ming reserved the Heaven Room upstairs. He's been waiting quite some time." He eagerly pointed toward the stairs. "This way, please-"
Before he finished, he suddenly stopped.
His gaze fell on Chu Moqi's wheelchair, then followed it toward the narrow, steep wooden staircase leading upward.
"Well, you..." The attendant trailed off, his smile frozen as he rubbed his hands awkwardly.
Upstairs.
Chu Moqi lowered his eyes, staring at the hem of the cloak over his knees.
He had read that letter. Spring Breeze House, upstairs.
He had seen the word, yet never truly realized what it meant.
Not until now, when the attendant's troubled, hesitant gaze laid his circumstances bare.
He could not get up there.
Yan Qin bent down and lowered his voice, indignation held tightly in his tone. "That Cui Minghai... is he deliberately making things difficult for you, Young Master?"
Deliberately...
Chu Moqi did not answer at once.
He recalled the address on that letter-"My worthy son-in-law, Moqi." The brushstrokes had been vigorous, their endings crisp, every turn revealing a scholar's rectitude.
He thought of Cui Wan.
When speaking of her father, she had said he was the kindest of men, never putting on official airs, and that all his colleagues at the Ministry of Works liked working with him.
In her heart, he was the finest person of all.
Chu Moqi gathered his thoughts, his face betraying no emotion.
"He is my father-in-law, after all," he said mildly. "Carry me up."
Yan Qin's lips moved, as though words were lodged in his throat. Looking at his young master's profile, calm as still water, he finally swallowed his indignant protests.
He bent down and lifted Chu Moqi securely onto his back.
Chu Moqi was a little lighter than when he had first been injured three years ago. Yan Qin carried him up one step at a time, planting every footfall firmly, afraid of jolting the man on his back.
Resting against Yan Qin's shoulder, Chu Moqi lowered his eyes and watched the steps retreat beneath them one by one.
He suddenly wondered whether Cui Minghai, imprisoned for three years, knew that both his legs were crippled.
Had that letter been written with full knowledge of all this?
Yet Cui Minghai had not changed the venue.
Chu Moqi closed his eyes and stopped thinking.
Yan Qin pushed open the door.
The private room was small: one table, two places, one lamp. A middle-aged man sat by the window, wearing a somewhat worn blue robe, frost threaded through his hair and beard. His face was thin, but his back remained perfectly straight.
He looked up just as Yan Qin gently lowered Chu Moqi from his back and settled him onto a cushion beside the table, then bent down to straighten his cloak and cover his two limply hanging legs.
The man's gaze lingered beneath Chu Moqi for a moment.
Only an instant.
But Chu Moqi saw it clearly-there was no surprise in that gaze, no pity, only a faint trace of something too complicated to name. Before he could grasp it, it had quietly vanished.
Was it mockery?
Or scrutiny?
Chu Moqi lowered his lashes and pressed that moment's discomfort deep into his heart.
Frowning, Yan Qin looked down at the cushion beneath Chu Moqi-an ordinary restaurant cushion laid on the floor. It looked thick, but sitting on it for long would make one's back and legs uncomfortable. In his young master's condition, how could he endure a night's conversation whose purpose they knew nothing about?
Cui Minghai's gaze settled on Yan Qin's face, calm yet carrying a weight impossible to ignore.
Chu Moqi turned his head. "Stand guard outside."
"Young Master..."
"It's all right."
Yan Qin hesitated, but finally bowed and withdrew. The door closed softly.
Only the two men remained in the private room.
Unhurriedly, Cui Minghai lifted the wine pot, filled the white porcelain cup before him, and pushed it toward Chu Moqi. The wine carried a delicate fragrance; it was fine Bamboo Leaf Green.
"My worthy son-in-law," he said with a smile, like any ordinary father-in-law chatting with his daughter's husband, "I spent more than three years behind bars, and Wanwan has been married for nearly half a year. Yet you and I have never shared a drink."
He paused, then raised his eyes to Chu Moqi. "Tonight, shall we drink until we're drunk?"
Chu Moqi lowered his eyes to the cup of wine.
"Wanwan won't let me drink." His voice was level, revealing no emotion. "If I come home smelling of wine, she'll notice and be unhappy."
At this, Cui Minghai did not insist. Smiling, he moved the wine pot aside, took another teacup, filled it with hot tea, and pushed it over.
"Very well. Tea, then."
He lifted his own teacup and took a sip, his tone still casual, as though he truly had come merely to catch up.
"My worthy son-in-law, do you... always have such difficulty getting about?"
He paused, his gaze falling on the cloak covering Chu Moqi's knees so securely. His voice lowered, taking on that tone peculiar to elders, seemingly concerned but actually appraising.
"I was discourteous just now, as your father-in-law. At our first meeting, I was rather... startled."
Chu Moqi did not respond to that.
He raised his eyes and looked straight at Cui Minghai, his gaze clear and cold as a frozen winter lake.
"You keep calling me your 'worthy son-in-law.'"
He paused.
"How can I be certain you are my father-in-law?"
Cui Minghai froze for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed.
Shaking his head with a smile, Cui Minghai said, "So full of calculations. I fear Wanwan will suffer with you!"
Once he had finished laughing, he lowered his hand. His tone remained relaxed, but a hint of seriousness entered his eyes. "Who would undertake the thankless task of impersonating someone just released from prison?"
Chu Moqi remained unmoved. "The general amnesty is tomorrow. How are you here tonight?"
Cui Minghai's smile faded.
He set down his teacup, tucked both hands into his sleeves, and gazed at the night reflected on the window paper, silent for a moment.
"I was wrongfully imprisoned for more than three years."
His voice sank, no longer bearing the easy air of idle family conversation, but a heavy calm that held many things beneath it.
"For three years, I kept to my place and caused no trouble. I was not treated harshly in prison, nor was I sentenced to death." He turned back to Chu Moqi. "Now the new emperor has ascended the throne and granted a general amnesty. Since the imperial edict has already been publicly issued, the charges against me, Cui Minghai, have been erased-what difference does a day sooner or later make?"
He smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes.
"If you don't believe me-" He paused. "Once Wanwan sees me tomorrow, surely you'll believe it then?"
Chu Moqi did not respond immediately.
He studied the man before him who called himself his father-in-law. Thin and refined, he spoke with a scholar's particular composure, yet there was also a faint sense of incongruity that Chu Moqi could not put into words.
But he knew he possessed no evidence with which to question Cui Minghai's release from prison.
He could only suppress that vague unease.
"Father-in-law, you may as well speak plainly." Chu Moqi set down his teacup, his tone mild and distant.
Cui Minghai looked at him and suddenly smiled.
That smile held an understanding that bordered on pity, as though he were looking at someone deceiving himself.
"I intend to take Wanwan home."
Chu Moqi's fingers abruptly tightened around his teacup.
He looked up, the faint distance in his gaze already transformed into a blade's sharpness.
Cui Minghai, however, smiled.
"Wanwan is my daughter." He met Chu Moqi's gaze, his tone even, each word clear. "Marriage is a matter of parents' commands and matchmakers' words. After I was imprisoned, Xiuxiu and Wanwan suffered every kind of mistreatment at home. With no means of supporting themselves, mother and daughter were forced to accept this marriage."
He paused, looking straight at Chu Moqi.
"Does your Chu Family intend to force this bargain upon us?"
Chu Moqi's jaw tightened, his back unconsciously straightening. His rebuttal came almost at once.
"Our families had a marriage agreement long before this. There were three matchmakers and six betrothal rites; she was properly and formally married. How is that a forced bargain?"
He paused, his voice unconsciously lowering, yet growing deeper and weightier.
"Besides... Wanwan and I love each other."
Chu Moqi had always been composed, never letting joy or anger show on his face, yet now his voice held a barely perceptible tremor.
Loved each other...
He had never said such words before an outsider. Yet now, facing Cui Wan's father, he had all but blurted them out.
Cui Minghai did not immediately contradict him. He merely watched Chu Moqi in silence.
"Wanwan is still young, her judgment not yet mature. For these past ten-odd years, she has been raised in the inner chambers. The men outside her family she has met can be counted on one hand."
He looked at Chu Moqi, his gaze calm as water.
"How can you be certain-that she truly loves you?"
Chu Moqi's breath stopped for an instant.
"She is still young. The person she thinks well of today-what about tomorrow? The day after?" Cui Minghai's voice remained gentle, yet it was like a blunt knife, sawing at Chu Moqi's heart again and again. "She shows you some closeness today. Are you certain that is love between a man and a woman? Not gratitude? Not dependence? Not... mistaking your kindness to her for something else? Does she like the second son of the Chu Family who once rode spirited horses in splendid clothes? Or you as you are now..."
Cui Minghai's gaze fell on Chu Moqi's knees.
"...with your impaired legs?"
Chu Moqi did not move.
He lowered his eyes to the deep ink-dark cloak over his knees. That darkness resembled a pool of stagnant water, reflecting the lamplight without a single ripple.
He wanted to say that Wanwan was not that sort of person.
He wanted to say that he knew better than anyone how she treated him.
He wanted to say that she had told him she liked him, told him she did not disdain him, told him so very many things, every word of which he remembered.
But he could not say it.
Because he discovered that he was actually... uncertain.
Wanwan treated him well, very well. But did he truly know what kind of affection that was?
She was grateful that he had given her a place to shelter. Her heart ached for his injuries and suffering. She depended on him, trusted him, held up her little joys before him, and cautiously drew close whenever his expression turned cold.
But was that love?
He thought of the rabbit lantern that had been crushed to pieces. He remembered her smiling eyes as she carried it, remembered her tilting her face up and saying, "Young Master Li won it by solving lantern riddles," remembered her utter lack of awareness that there was anything improper about strolling beside another man.
She did not know he minded. She did not know he would be jealous. She did not even know what had angered him.
Because she had never thought in that direction at all.
She was only fifteen.
How many men had she met?
Could she truly distinguish... dependence from affection, gratitude from love?
The hand Chu Moqi pressed against his knee grew faintly white.
He wanted to say something, to refute something, but it felt as though something had blocked his throat.
Just then, his right leg suddenly jerked.
Without warning, catching him utterly unprepared.
The twitch began at the top of his thigh and spread downward, his muscles spasming uncontrollably, contracting, tightening, twisting brutally.
He clenched his teeth and pressed his hand hard against his thigh, trying to halt that humiliating trembling by force. But the spasms would not obey him. Once, twice-even through the fabric, the outlines of muscles tightening and relaxing were visible.
He dared not look up.
He knew Cui Minghai was watching.
Sure enough, Cui Minghai's voice came from across the table, still so gentle, so calm, as though discussing some trivial matter.
"Do your legs often do this?"
Chu Moqi did not answer. He only pressed harder against his legs, veins faintly standing out.
Cui Minghai did not press him further.
He lifted his teacup and took a sip, his voice indifferent. "Wanwan is my daughter. You think you're good to her-but in your current state, how much longer can you be good to her?"
Chu Moqi abruptly raised his eyes.
Cui Minghai met his gaze without looking away.
"You know your own health. You've managed to hold on these past three years, but what about the years ahead? Can you manage without someone caring for you?" His voice was not loud, and could even be called calm, yet every word was like a nail, hammered into Chu Moqi's heart one blow at a time. "Have you touched her? Are you going to let her keep... wasting away like this?"
Chu Moqi said nothing.
He could not speak.
Because every word Cui Minghai said was a question he had asked himself countless times in the dead of night.
He did not dare consummate their marriage. He was afraid he would not be able to. He was afraid he would hold her back for one year, two years, five years, ten years, only to end up holding her back for a lifetime.
He simply... simply did not dare admit it.
He did not dare speak to Wanwan of an amicable divorce, because he could not bear to let her go. Still less did he dare tell Wanwan, "I like you," because he was unworthy.
He dragged things out day after day, pretending there was still time for everything.
But it turned out that, in other people's eyes, he was merely letting Wanwan "waste away."
"My worthy son-in-law," Cui Minghai said, staring straight at Chu Moqi, "let me ask you as a father-if you had a daughter, innocent and carefree, who knew nothing of sorrow or hardship, would you be willing to marry her to... you, as you are now?"
Chu Moqi did not answer.
He had no answer.
He did not even dare think about it.
His two legs, covered by the cloak, spasmed without cease, yet had no feeling at all. Beneath the heavy fabric, they writhed and jerked furiously, tearing his last shred of dignity to pieces.
He suddenly wondered whether Wanwan had seen him like this.
She had.
She had seen everything.
Yet she had said nothing.
She still called him A-Qi in that soft voice, just as she always had.
But...
But was this what she liked?
Did she like a useless cripple who needed to be carried even to go out, who could not even sit for long?
Or was she merely used to him?
Merely unable to bear hurting him?
Merely... pitying him?
After a long time, Chu Moqi spoke, his voice hoarse.
"She won't agree."
He raised his eyes and looked straight at Cui Minghai. There were no tears in those eyes, no pleading, only a calm that had sunk to the very bottom, almost stubborn.
"If you force her to leave, she won't comply. You can't force her."
Cui Minghai did not deny it. He nodded. "You're right. Force won't work. So I will pay a visit tomorrow. I'll say that I've returned home and miss my daughter, and take Wanwan back to her parents' home for a few days. She's been away for nearly half a year and misses her parents. She has no reason to refuse."
Chu Moqi's hands abruptly clenched.
"You're going to deceive Wanwan?"
His voice was extremely low, yet carried an anger he could not suppress.
"I am her father." Cui Minghai cut him off. His voice was not loud, yet it struck like a heavy hammer, brutally driving Chu Moqi's unfinished words back down.
He raised his eyes and looked straight at Chu Moqi, no shame in his gaze. "I cannot let my daughter muddle through her entire life like this. She's still young. She can't distinguish gratitude from romantic affection, or dependence from liking someone. She thinks that because you're good to each other, that means you like each other." Cui Minghai's voice was very soft, as though he were speaking to himself. "But you and I both know that isn't so."
But how long would Cui Minghai take Wanwan away for? A year? Three years? Forever?
How many people would Wanwan meet?
What kind of adult would she grow into?
Would she still remember that useless cripple in the wheelchair?
Chu Moqi did not know.
He only knew that he had no grounds whatsoever to say "no."
Cui Minghai was her father. He could do far more for her than Chu Moqi could.
He could shelter her from wind and rain, hold up a sky for her. He could give her an upright, honorable future, free of pointing fingers.
And what about him?
Chu Moqi's legs were still spasming.
That pain-or rather, those uncontrollable convulsions, more tormenting than pain-surged over him like the tide, wave after wave. His back had already stiffened to the point of aching, and his waist was beginning to ache and go numb from remaining in the same seated position for so long.
He knew he could not sit much longer.
Cui Minghai did not hurry him, either. He simply drank his tea in silence and waited.
At last, Chu Moqi spoke.
"How long?"
His voice was very hoarse, so low it was almost inaudible.
Cui Minghai raised his eyes to look at him.
"How long will you keep her by your side?" Chu Moqi did not lift his head. He only stared at the deep, inky darkness over his knees, as though staring into a bottomless abyss.
Cui Minghai was silent for a moment.
"I won't make her decisions for her," he said. "But she needs time to think things through. She also needs time to... see the scenery elsewhere."
He gave no specific time limit.
Chu Moqi did not ask again, either. He simply sat there in silence for a long time.
"...All right."
Those words were very soft, as soft as a sigh.
Cui Minghai looked at him.
Chu Moqi did not raise his eyes. He only slowly unclenched his hands and laid his faintly trembling palms over his unfeeling knees.
"Tomorrow... take her home."
His voice was as flat as a pool of stagnant water, without a ripple, without a rise or fall.
"I won't stop you."
Cui Minghai looked at him, that trace of complexity surfacing in his eyes again.
"Tomorrow, I will pay a visit."
He rose, straightened his robes, and walked out.
Chu Moqi did not move. He remained in that position, his back rigid, his hands resting over his knees.
Then that taut string snapped.
With a muffled thud, his whole body toppled sideways, his shoulder striking the floor hard.
He tried to push himself up.
He pressed his palm against the floor and pushed. His elbow trembled. He raised himself an inch, then collapsed again.
His legs were completely beyond his control, convulsing violently and without any rhythm. From his thighs to his ankles, his muscles tightened in waves, relaxed, then tightened again. He lowered his head to look at them. Even through the fabric, he could see those horrifying undulations.
Yet he could feel nothing at all.
There was only that smell, slowly spreading from beneath him.
Chu Moqi could not spare it any attention. He only dug his fingers desperately into his unfeeling thighs, as though, if he pinched hard enough, he could gouge that useless self out of this sack of flesh.
He remembered the look Cui Minghai had given him at the end.
No, it had not been mockery. He would even have preferred mockery.
It was something more terrible, something he could not bear-
Pity.
He had been dragging Wanwan down all along, hadn't he?
He had known long ago. He had simply not dared admit it.
Wanwan was warm sunshine, while he was destined to remain in darkness.
She should go see the lanterns, the flowers, the wider world, and better people.
She should not look back.
The door was suddenly flung open.
"Young master!"
Yan Qin all but crashed into the room. At the sight of Chu Moqi on the floor and his still-convulsing legs, his knees buckled, and he dropped straight to his knees.
"What did he do to you?" Yan Qin's voice shook uncontrollably as he reached out to help him. "Young master, what did he do to you?"
"Nothing. Just spasms..."
After a long time, Chu Moqi moved.
He braced the hand that was no longer trembling against the floor and slowly pushed himself up a little. Yan Qin immediately came forward, supported him beneath his arms, and helped him off the floor, then turned around to let him lean against his back.
"Carry me downstairs." Chu Moqi's voice was very soft.
"Yes..."
With Chu Moqi on his back, Yan Qin descended step by step, the wooden stairs creaking dully beneath his feet.
A few patrons downstairs were still drinking. Hearing the noise, someone glanced up.
Chu Moqi lay against Yan Qin's shoulder, burying his face in the shadows.
"When we go back... be careful. Don't... let Wanwan see me like this..."