Yuan Shaoren flipped through the pages and noticed a Xue Tao letter paper pressed at the very bottom, inscribed with a poem titled "Pure Serene Music":
"Flickers of bygone days,
Orchid petals in dreams ablaze.
Sudden rain beats the window, scattering the night's remains,
Frosty moon hangs between southern skies and northern plains.
Mists of Jinling drift in disarray,
Speak not of old tales that wrench the soul away.
Through ages, the sentimental laugh at my plight,
Still haunted by spring breezes, laden with regret's blight."
The signature read "Recluse of Orchid Fragrance." The calligraphy was elegant and fluid, exuding a delicate grace. Beside the poem was a sketch of a hazy half-moon, with an orchid and a cluster of slender bamboo in the lower corner. Though rendered with minimal strokes, the artistry was profound and refined, each element complementing the others harmoniously.
At first glance, Yuan Shaoren dismissed it as typical boudoir verse. Yet upon closer reflection, he detected something distinctive—the words genuinely encapsulated bittersweet joys and sorrows, far removed from the contrived melancholy of "forcing sorrow for new verses." Rereading it, a sense of worldly weariness and solitude seemed to emanate from the paper.
Just then, Chu Dapeng leaned over and asked, "Brother, what's caught your eye so intently?"
Yuan Shaoren flicked the letter paper with a chuckle, "Interesting. How old is Yingyang's cousin anyway? What 'bygone days' or 'old tales' could she have experienced? But the painting is truly exquisite. Unexpected to find such a talented woman."
Chu Dapeng remarked, "Without some skill, how could our Brother Lou, with his high standards, take a liking to her?" Noticing Yuan Shaoren's amused, knowing look, he burst out laughing and slapped Yuan Shaoren on the shoulder. "Come on, brother, stop playing dumb. You're older than us—there's nothing you don't get. An ordinary 'cousin' wouldn't have made Lin the Tyrant storm to your door in the dead of night or mobilize troops to search for her. You didn't see it—when he found the temple empty, his face turned green, eyes bulging as if he wanted to devour someone. I've never seen him like that before; it was downright eerie."
Yuan Shaoren paused, then laughed again, "So all the uproar in Jinling lately, searching everywhere for a teenage girl, was for her?"
"Exactly! We must have Yingyang bring her out someday so everyone can see if she looks like a celestial maiden descended from the heavens, capable of enchanting Lin the Tyrant like this," Chu Dapeng said.
Yuan Shaoren shook his head with a smile. He had never been interested in Lin Jinlou's romantic escapades. Even though this woman painted exquisitely and composed fine poetry, he felt no particular curiosity. He typically kept his distance from such sentimental, poetry-obsessed women—talented, yes, but their constant melancholic air could be stifling. Moreover, women of this sort often led tragic lives—Li Qingzhao, Zhu Shuzhen, Tang Wan, Ban Jieyu—none of them enjoyed long, fortunate lives.
Yuan Shaoren instructed his men to gather all of Xianglan's belongings into a trunk and carry it back to the Lin residence in Yangzhou. The gatekeeper was unusually attentive, ushering them inside. Only upon entering the courtyard did Yuan Shaoren learn that Lin Jinlou was not home. He intended to leave after setting down the items, but then he spotted a figure standing by the moon gate. With his sharp eyesight, he focused and saw it was a woman. She stood there, head tilted upward, gazing entranced at a flower on the wall. Her demeanor was extraordinary—jet-black hair like cicada wings, eyes that held a captivating gleam, brows elegantly arched, and features of striking beauty. Her figure was slender and graceful, clad in a pale yellow apricot blouse and a vibrant green skirt. Standing beneath a peach tree, she appeared even more delicate and radiant than the blossoms themselves.
Yuan Shaoren froze, staring as if mesmerized, as if seeing someone else. He murmured under his breath, "Lian... Lianniang..."Xianglan bent down to pick up a fallen flower from the ground, brought it to her nose for a scent, and was about to leave when she suddenly noticed a man standing outside the inner gate. He was dressed in luxurious brocade robes, tall and broad-shouldered, with sharp eyebrows and bright eyes, a broad face and straight nose—handsome and dignified, already sporting a mustache beneath his nose. Though young, he carried an air of maturity. Xianglan quickly hid to avoid him, thinking, "Why has a man come so abruptly, peering into the inner courtyard... Judging by his appearance, attire, and imposing presence, he's no ordinary man—likely a high-ranking court official."
Just then, Ling Qing leaned out from the window and called Xianglan inside to drink her tonic soup. Xianglan responded and turned back, unable to resist another glance. The man was still standing outside the inner gate, looking in, so she hurriedly averted her gaze, lifted her skirt, and swiftly entered the room.
Yuan Shaoren only let out a long breath after Xianglan had left, slowly covering his face with his hand. This woman must be Lin Jinlou's so-called "cousin." Her demeanor and aura strongly resembled an old acquaintance of his—Shen Jialian, granddaughter of Shen Wenhan, the former chief grand secretary under the late emperor. After her family fell from grace and was exiled, he had taken her as a concubine ten years ago. Now, she was but a handful of yellow earth atop a green grave.
He stood motionless, gazing at the empty courtyard where a gentle breeze stirred, shaking down a scattering of crimson petals.
Meanwhile, after drinking her soup, Xianglan felt bored and wanted to read a couple of books to pass the time. Ling Qing went to the front study, searched around, and brought back two volumes of poetry and two Buddhist sutras. Xianglan flipped through them absentmindedly while Ling Qing and Ling Su mended clothes nearby, whispering softly to each other.
As noon approached and mealtime neared, a sudden wind arose, darkening the sky as fine, dense rain began to fall. Ling Su hurried to close the window, saying, "It's raining out of nowhere. Madam should wear an extra layer." She then busied herself setting the table.
The kitchen had prepared four dishes and a soup. Since Xianglan had just recovered from illness, there were no particularly greasy or heavy meats—just two or three delicate vegetable dishes, paired with tender white tofu and a plate of exquisite pastries. As Xianglan ate, Lin Jinlou returned, half-drenched, and said to her, "Keep eating." He fetched a towel to wipe his face himself, and the maids hurried to open the chest and fetch dry clothes.
Lin Jinlou had come to Yangzhou in a hurry without bringing any clothes. The Yangzhou residence only had two old sets he’d left there previously. When he bought clothes for Xianglan a few days earlier, he’d added a few items for himself, but only for social engagements.
After washing up and changing, Lin Jinlou sat beside Xianglan, glanced at the dishes on the table, and said, "Add two more dishes. I didn’t eat much solid food at the noon banquet outside."
Fortunately, the kitchen was prepared, and soon two freshly stir-fried dishes were served—bright and appealing, though not extravagant. Though Lin Jinlou was particular about food and drink, his long years in the army had made him less fussy, and he picked up his chopsticks to eat heartily.
Xianglan had already finished her meal but, with Lin Jinlou back, felt it improper to leave him alone. She kept half a bowl of soup and sat beside him in a daze. Though she wasn’t as afraid of Lin Jinlou as before, she still felt somewhat uneasy alone with him—an indescribable awkwardness that left her stiff and uncomfortable.
Lin Jinlou glanced at her twice and placed a soft pastry in her bowl with his chopsticks.
Xianglan looked at him.
Lin Jinlou swallowed his mouthful of rice with effort and said, "Eat a bit more. You’ve been ill these past days, and eating so little will waste all the effort we put into helping you regain your health."Xianglan responded with an "Mm," but couldn't bring herself to eat the pastries on the plate. She idly poked at them with her chopsticks, boringly stabbing a few holes into the top.
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