5 The Romantic

That was just over a year after she had married into the family. It was winter, and the cold was biting.

After a year of hardship, her personal maid, Qingruo, began to harbor thoughts of leaving. She claimed to have received a marriage proposal from a cousin back home and begged Meng Yunshao to release her indenture so she could return and marry.

Her contract was originally a life-long indenture, but having kept each other company for years, Meng Yunshao saw her sincere tears and knew there was no future for her here, so she agreed. Ignoring the objections of her other maid, Suyue, she took a pair of silver bracelets and a silver hairpin from her own meager dowry and gave them to Qingruo, telling her not to let others look down on her.

Qingruo took her contract and the dowry, bowing repeatedly, and was set to depart the next day.

That night, Meng Yunshao felt the winter air inexplicably warm. She drifted through a haze of nightmares, then suddenly felt as if she had plummeted into an icy abyss. In the distance, she heard a voice calling "Miss," but the sound was muffled and indistinct.

When she finally awoke, her head splitting with pain, she found herself in the freezing, wind-whipped courtyard, with Suyue holding her and sobbing uncontrollably.

It turned out that Qingruo had requested to stand watch that night one last time. Before bed, she had drugged Meng Yunshao’s soup with sleeping powder, then burned several times the usual amount of charcoal in the room, sealing it tight—she had intended to poison her with carbon monoxide and take her life.

Only then did Suyue sob and confess that she had once seen Qingruo talking privately with Meng Yunshao’s elder sister, Meng Yunshu, on the street. She hadn't hidden it, but out of friendship and the fear that she might be misjudging her, Suyue hadn't reported it to Meng Yunshao. That incident had passed half a year ago, and Suyue had gradually felt at ease, assuming it was just a chance encounter and that she had been overthinking.

But that night, Suyue had felt an inexplicable panic and couldn't sleep soundly. Hearing the door of the main chamber creak, she had hesitated for a long time before coming out, only to find that Qingruo had vanished and Meng Yunshao was unconscious.

Following this ordeal, Meng Yunshao fell into a severe illness that lingered for a long time. The Marchioness had sent a doctor once, but after three doses of medicine showed no improvement, Meng Yunshao could not bear to trouble her again.

One day, lying in the bone-chilling room, she coughed violently, wondering who would know or care if she simply withered away.

Since that incident, she was terrified of the black charcoal that caused carbon monoxide poisoning, yet she had no high-quality silver charcoal, so she simply endured in the room that felt like an ice cellar.

The servants, seeing her frail and ill, cared little for her. She didn't know who was stealing her meals daily, and she was too weak to get up and manage it. Even today, they had all used the excuse of helping set up a stage to go watch the southern opera troupe invited by Concubine Shen.

Just as she was sinking into despair, Suyue came running into the courtyard, weeping.

After much questioning, Meng Yunshao learned that because of her illness, Suyue had begged the gatekeeper for permission to fetch a doctor, but the man had taken advantage of the request to harass her.

Meng Yunshao hugged Suyue, tears streaming down her face. This was the first time she had cried since arriving at the He family estate.

She hated her own incompetence—unable to care for herself, unable to protect her maid, and unable to see the true nature of people.

She felt such hatred.

When He Zhiyu walked into Fuyao Pavilion, this was the scene he encountered.

Because Fuyao Pavilion, where Meng Yunshao lived, was originally his own residence, his personal seal was kept in a hidden spot, and he had been forced to come and retrieve it.

Besides, he had nothing to hide. After a year of coldness, perhaps it was time to speak plainly to her and go their separate ways.

Yet he saw her standing in the biting wind, dressed in thin, pale, old clothes, standing under the leafless paulownia tree in the courtyard. She was leaning against the sobbing maid, looking as frail and tragic as paper.

She seemed to have come alive from the submissive state he had occasionally observed when visiting his mother. She looked at him with a hint of resentment, her fresh, striking beauty—which used to make him sigh in secret even when it appeared at inopportune moments—now gone.

And yet, even in her illness, she radiated a unique, stubborn strength.

It was like the day of the wedding, when the red candles flickered in the bridal chamber and she had looked at him directly and honestly, saying: "Returning to the Young Master, I am Meng Yunshao, the adopted daughter of the Meng family."

The words he had intended to say were choked back; he could not utter a sound.

It was not until years later that He Zhiyu realized that was the moment he had fallen hopelessly in love with her.

The gentle, nourishing kindness that followed watered the seed of affection that had taken root in his barren heart, until it grew lush and eventually overshadowed everything else.

And it was also years later that He Zhiyu realized it was also the beginning of Meng Yunshao’s determination to leave.

That day, everyone in the Marquis’s residence knew the Young Master was angry.

He remained as calm as a cold mountain, as he had always been. Yet, the Young Master, who usually never concerned himself with the affairs of the inner courtyard, ordered the sale of several servants from Fuyao Pavilion and punished the manager who had harassed the young mistress’s maid—among them, several veterans who had served for twenty years or more.

The Young Master also sent for Master Bai of the Imperial Academy of Medicine, who treated Meng Yunshao in the warmth of silver charcoal.

Meng Yunshao returned to her gentle and soft demeanor, as if the small fangs she had revealed for a fleeting moment never existed, as if it had been nothing more than He Zhiyu’s illusion.

After recovering, Meng Yunshao resumed her daily morning greetings to her mother-in-law. After this incident, perhaps feeling some guilt that her pilgrimage to Qingtai Mountain had nearly cost Yunshao her life, the mother-in-law removed the jade bracelet from her own wrist to reward her and instructed her to bring a bowl of soup to the Young Master’s study every day. The Young Master knew of this and did not object.

But Yunshao was not earnest in brewing that soup.

Suyue had caught a chill during the spring, and due to the poor quality of their food, she had been feeling unwell on and off.

She liked light sweetness and loved fresh chicken and date soup, so Meng Yunshao used the excuse of delivering soup to the Young Master to have the kitchen make it daily.

Meng Yunshao had the intention to leave, thinking that if their life was to be like this, she might as well grant that person's wish—a divorce would be fine. After all, it was difficult wherever she went, and this way, she wouldn't have to look at his face every day.

But if she wanted to leave, she needed travel money. Although she had that small bag of dowry from before, it was truly not enough.

She had to look out for herself, and she had to look out for Suyue. That girl—even after she had granted her release and given her the contract, she refused to leave.

So, even if she wasn't putting her heart into it, she went through the motions every day.

After all, she was still trying to find a way out, and she didn't know if this cold man might still be of some use.

After delivering the fresh chicken and date soup for over a month, He Zhiyu finally couldn't help but say, "I usually don't like sweets. Let's change it."

Meng Yunshao’s eyes were filled with an overflowing, gentle subservience: "Returning to the Young Master, this dish is mild and perfect for clearing internal heat in the spring. It is most beneficial for a woman's yin... and... and for a man to nourish his yang."

She had been distracted and accidentally spoke the truth, so she had to scramble to fabricate the second half.

To He Zhiyu’s ears, however, it took on a different meaning.

Nourish his yang? Nourish what yang? Why would he need to nourish his yang?

She had been sending this for so long—was she hinting at something?

He began to understand.

He Zhiyu picked up the spoon and took a sip, smiling without even realizing it.

Meng Yunshao saw his sudden good mood and felt somewhat confused.

However, she didn't care why. Grasping this rare opportunity, she said, "Young Master, I have been in the He family for over a year now. Could I be allowed to manage the monthly allowance for Fuyao Pavilion?"

He Zhiyu was taken aback.

The monthly allowance for Fuyao Pavilion had always been sent to her by the accounting office. Even when he had been considering a divorce, he was not short of such gold and silver and did not wish to mistreat anyone. He knew that the head maid he had punished previously had indeed taken advantage of her familiarity with the residence to embezzle quite a bit.

But for the past two or three months, fearing further trouble, he had ordered the accounting office to deliver it to her personally.

What he didn't know was that the Marchioness, seeing she was ill, had simply distributed the servants' pay but kept Meng Yunshao’s portion, fearing she was too weak to manage it and that the new wave of servants might bully her. In any case, there was no lack of anything in the residence, so nothing was said.

He Zhiyu thought to himself that this was something he had already given her; why ask for confirmation?

Did she want to hear him admit it himself? To admit that the allowance should be hers, and thus admit her status as the Young Mistress of Fuyao Pavilion?

His heart stirred, and he asked, "Why?"

Meng Yunshao thought it strange. One wants an allowance to spend it—what other reason could there be? Did he see through her plan to save money to run away and didn't want to waste the money?

Meng Yunshao tried to find a reasonable excuse, one that wouldn't reveal her intention to leave, and emphasized, "Since I have entered the He family, I am a member of the He family, and naturally, I should have an allowance just like everyone else." Yes, every one of the hundreds of maids and matrons in the He residence had an allowance; why couldn't she, Meng Yunshao? Were they that short of it?

He Zhiyu found it somewhat amusing; she was too blunt and impatient—she should have been more subtle.

Saying she was a member of the He family—wasn't she just saying she was his, He Zhiyu’s, person? Did she want to be his person that badly?

Yet, he realized he didn't dislike it; he even felt a sense of pride and happiness that he shouldn't have.

Come to think of it, her status was not high, she had no backing, and she was of little use to his family. But his own status was already high enough—imperial kin, holding military power, the Emperor’s confidant, possessing limitless wealth. Why did he have to demand those things from her? And he felt that those were things men were supposed to fight for anyway.

What she lacked, he happened to have.

For the past two or three months, he had watched her occasionally keeping him company in the study. It turned out she had read many books and had quite a few insights; she could actually carry on a conversation with him. Furthermore, she was beautiful, gentle, intelligent, and resilient. She was certainly many times better than the Meng Yunshu who was originally intended to marry him. The "Musical Fairy of the Capital"? He didn't even like listening to the zither.

He hadn't said anything about Meng Yunshu, so why was he treating a better replacement with such coldness?

Seeing that he didn't answer, Meng Yunshao asked with a guilty heart, "Young Master, what do you think?"

He Zhiyu had not thought it through clearly. He felt he should answer cautiously, as this seemed to represent something.

He should sit down and think it over carefully.

Like a war game on a sand table, he would calculate what she had, what he didn't have, and whether they could match up. He would simulate when to reveal certain intentions to her. As for her saying she wanted to be his person, that should be a gradual process; he couldn't let people think he was frivolous or casual, having thought about divorce just a few months ago and changing his mind in a matter of days.

But she was standing right there, her eyes full of expectation, waiting urgently for his answer.

He pressed his lips together and replied simply and vaguely, "Very well."