The other end of the phone line fell silent.
He clutched the receiver tightly, nearly going mad, "Xie Fanshu!"
"Changxuan—" She seemed to let out a soft laugh, calling his name quietly with utmost tenderness, "It's ten o'clock."
As her words faded, the grandfather clock by the wall began to chime "dong... dong... dong..." The pendulum swung back and forth, the deep tolls echoing slowly in his ears, each strike seeming to hammer viciously against his heart, tearing at his nerves, utterly devastating.
His chest heaved violently, a desolate despair gleaming in his eyes.
The grandfather clock finished its ten chimes in silence, and everything returned to a deathly stillness. Meanwhile, the bundle of Four O'Clock Rouge Incense burning in the sandalwood censer had finally burned out.
Extra: Fragrant Grass Year After Year, Resentment Grows Long (Part 1)
The midsummer heat in Golden Mausoleum was sweltering. The cicadas' chirps came in waves, like a scorching tide washing over, making one unbearably irritable. From the hall downstairs came the melodies of flutes and lutes, a woman singing loudly in the Suzhou dialect's Kun Opera, her voice lingering and tender, performing an excerpt from "The Palace of Eternal Life."
Yu Mingxuan frowned, took out a box of matches, struck one with a "scratch," lit the cigarette in his hand, then blew out the match with a puff. He tossed the matchbox aside casually. As he smoked, he reached for a vase with interlocking branches displayed on a nearby shelf and, without a second glance, threw it out the second-floor window. A "crash" followed as the vase shattered to pieces, and the singing woman's voice downstairs immediately ceased.
Both upstairs and downstairs fell into a dead silence, as if in a standoff.
Before long, footsteps were heard—she had come upstairs. He remained frowning but began unbuttoning his iron-gray military jacket with one hand. Just as he undid the first button, a fragrant breeze swept over as she gracefully approached and started undoing the cold buttons for him.
He held the cigarette between his fingers, his gaze icy. "Qingqing, what have I told you? Have you forgotten it all?"
She looked up with a charming smile, revealing a row of small, pearly white teeth. "How could I dare forget the General's orders? No singing opera, no appearing in public, no hosting guests at home." She recited them one by one, ending with another sweet smile, her eyes sparkling, as radiant as a lotus in bloom. Then she nestled tenderly against his chest and said softly, "Did I sing well just now?"
He knew she was provoking him. His brows furrowed tightly in sudden fury, and he pushed her aside, his voice cold. "Look at what you've become!"
He was truly enraged, using such force that she couldn't steady herself and crashed into a nearby shelf, her ribs aching with pain. She winced slightly, inhaling sharply, and all her grievances surged to the surface. Finally, a look of utter disillusionment appeared in her eyes as she turned to him resentfully. "I've always been like this—you knew that all along. I'm just an Actor from under the Heaven Bridge, a lowly girl!"
The corner of Yu Mingxuan's mouth twitched slightly as he replied coldly, "You certainly know your place well!"He left her there and walked straight out the door. Watching him leave, her heart swelled with even greater bitterness. Her eyes swept over the brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones on the table, along with the calligraphy copies she had painstakingly practiced. He had once been so good to her—teaching her to read, guiding her through books—but no longer. Had he ever truly cared for her? Never!
She lunged forward and swept everything off the table, then stomped viciously on the practice sheets she had labored over, grinding them under her feet. Turning abruptly, she marched to the rosewood wardrobe and pulled out an Opera Costume—a gown adorned with a Vermilion Orange Butterfly Pattern, its pristine Water Sleeves trailing to the floor. Clenching her teeth, she hissed, "You forbid me to sing? Well, I will sing anyway—right in front of you!"
Matrons and maids who had been waiting outside rushed in at the sight of her frenzy, pleading, "Miss Lan, please bear with it. If you carry on like this, not only will it pain us to see, but the General will be heartbroken too."
Lan Qingqing, coaxed by these women, let tears stream down her face. "You’re all just humoring me, treating me like a fool! How could he possibly care? Do I even exist in his eyes? What am I to him…" As she spoke, her tears fell onto the pure white Water Sleeves. The maid Yun’er comforted her, "Miss Lan, if you would just yield a little, the General wouldn’t be so stern with you. If he didn’t care, why would he rush over as soon as he heard you were ill? But you insist on defying him—why must you sing precisely when he’s around?"
Hearing this, Lan Qingqing quietly wiped her tears and smiled bitterly through them. "No more singing. I won’t sing a single note. If he prefers my writing, then I’ll write for him. Where is my brush…? Only if I write well will he glance my way…"
Yun’er hurriedly picked up a brush from the floor and spread a fresh sheet of paper on the table, while another maid hastily prepared the ink. Lan Qingqing stood before the desk, brush in hand, lowering her head to write character by character. Yet scalding tears fell one after another, smudging the newly written words into blurred ink stains.
Yun’er whispered softly, "Why must you torment yourself like this, miss?"
She shook her head, another tear falling. "How could I be so foolish."
In three days, he would marry Jun Minru, the daughter of the Vice Minister of Finance. In three days, she would become his mistress hidden away in this small building—forever condemned to shadows!
The promises he had once made to her, he had long forgotten entirely.
On his wedding day, the celebration was grand beyond measure. The marriage of the eldest son of the Military Commission Chairman to the Vice Minister of Finance’s daughter was naturally extravagant and bustling. Without stepping out of her building, she could hear the roaring fireworks. She lay in bed all day, refusing even a drop of water, as still as death itself, and the servants dared not disturb her.
Late that night, he unexpectedly came.
The bedroom was unlit, save for the moonlight filtering through the window. She lay in bed, gazing at the moonlit floor. He walked to her side and sat down in silence. Suddenly, she sat up and glared at him, letting out a cold, derisive snort. "Get out of my house!"
He sneered back, "This is my house!"She immediately got out of bed and rushed toward the door. He didn't stop her, merely stood up and casually switched on the wall lamp, saying indifferently, "What good outcome awaits you if you leave me? Return to singing opera at Tianqiao, letting your heartless master beat and scold you?! Forcing you to go around currying favor with men!"
She froze abruptly, a chill creeping up her spine.
With one sentence, he had pierced her deepest fear!
The lamplight illuminated half the room, casting her shadow on the wall like a helpless, lonely soul. Finally, she turned around, grinding out words filled with hatred through clenched teeth.
"Yu Mingxuan, you've calculated that I have no way to leave you, you've calculated that I... calculated that I..."
Suddenly, she turned and strode to the large dressing table, opening the Ivory Vanity Case. From it, she took out a carved rosewood box. Pressing the mechanism, the lid sprang open automatically, revealing a pair of Jade Mandarin Ducks inside. He had given them to her when they were so deeply in love. He had taken her boating on the Qin River, his aide-de-camp following at a distance. He personally rowed the boat, though not skillfully—with one stroke hitting the water, countless sparkling droplets splashed all over her, rolling down her soft satin cheongsam. She could only giggle helplessly. The setting sun over the Qin River illuminated half the river surface, making it even more brilliant.
When they disembarked, she spotted this pair of Jade Mandarin Ducks at a roadside stall. He could tell at a glance it wasn't high-quality jade, yet she adored it nonetheless. The vendor, eager to make the sale, kept saying, "Young master, it's just a small sum for you. It's rare to see the young madam so fond of it—mandarin ducks, symbolizing a union till white-haired old age."
Mandarin ducks, together till old age.
Under the harsh light, the jade ducks' gleam felt like blades stabbing into her eyes, piercing straight through to her heart. She turned and hurled the Jade Mandarin Ducks violently against the wall. With a "thud," they struck the wall lamp, plunging the room into darkness again. Moonlight streamed in, illuminating the shattered jade pieces on the floor!
She didn't shed a tear; her body felt like a dried-up well, utterly lifeless. Her voice was faint yet dripping with sarcasm. "Yu Mingxuan, I don't want any of this anymore. I'm returning it all to you."
"What do you want then?"
"I want fine clothes and lavish feasts, I want wealth and glory, I want your money!"
After he left that night, she fell seriously ill.
Yet, in the end, he never came to see her.
She thought he must be utterly disappointed in her. Fine clothes, lavish feasts, wealth, and glory—he had given her all of it. Having reached this point, what more could she possibly ask for?
Yun'er, seeing how severely ill she was—with signs that a common cold might turn into pneumonia—and that she now refused even to take medicine, grew truly anxious. Left with no choice, she went to find Jiang Manlin.
When Jiang Manlin came to see her, she was startled by her haggard appearance. "Qingqing, you've grown terribly thin."Manlin was her only friend in the opera troupe, extremely docile in temperament and most favored by their master. Unlike her—though she sang excellently and memorized lines quickly, her stubborn nature had earned her beatings and scoldings from the master since childhood. Each time she was punished, she would return to find no food waiting, but Manlin would secretly bake buckwheat steamed buns on the white stove and hide them for her.
After she left the troupe, Manlin became its lead performer.
The moment she saw Manlin, tears fell.
There was no need to elaborate on Yu Mingxuan’s marriage to Jun Minru—Manlin knew every detail.
Manlin said no more, bringing medicine to feed her. "No matter what, your health is your own, Qingqing. Don’t be foolish." She held the medicine to Qingqing’s lips. Lying in bed, Qingqing shed a large tear that soaked into the pillow. Manlin quickly took a handkerchief to wipe it away, her jade bracelet gently brushing against Qingqing’s fever-flushed cheek, bringing a soothing coolness.
Manlin stayed to care for her for several days, personally preparing herbal decoctions and meals with meticulous attention. Gradually, Qingqing recovered, though her spirits remained low, she was still better than before. Only then did Jiang Manlin leave.
In the evening, Yun’er helped her stroll in the garden outside the small pavilion. It was midsummer, and the garden bloomed with vibrant flowers and lush plants, fragrant grasses swaying as a light floral scent drifted in the air.
She sat in the garden pavilion for a while, but as she tried to stand, darkness suddenly clouded her vision, as if a heavy weight plunged from within her body. She collapsed to the ground. Before losing consciousness, she heard Yun’er scream, "Ah, blood! So much blood!"
The tiny embryo inside her—she hadn’t even been aware of its existence—was gone. She endured pain for a full day and night, breathless and drifting in and out of consciousness, her body feeling shattered and pieced back together. Believing death was near, in her delirium, she heard his voice by her ear. Like a drowning person grasping at straws, she desperately reached out, calling his name, "Mingxuan, Mingxuan..."
But there was no reply from him. Instead, a woman’s voice came through, "Miss, how are you?"
Struggling, she recognized it as Yun’er’s voice. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably from the pain as she trembled, "Where is he?"
"The army commander has left."
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