Love in Red Dust - Chapter 45

Chapter 45

There was no need for such self-deprecating compromise. Her low posture made his heart ache with an indescribable pain; a heartfelt confession had somehow turned into a situation that felt like a thousand swords piercing his heart. He couldn't bear it—that these words had come from her lips was proof of his own incompetence. He pressed his finger against her lips and pulled her into his embrace. "What 'mistress'? If you look down on yourself, you look down on me. I want you to be my Fujin (wife) with dignity. If I cannot welcome you into the Prince’s estate as my bride, then I will never marry for as long as I live. I mean what I say."

His chest was broad and sheltering; for the first time, she felt that it belonged to her alone, a place no one could take away. She stretched out her arms to hold him, her tears falling onto his chest, slowly blooming into two brilliant, damp flowers on his dark stone-blue silk robes. She raised her face, looking at him with sorrowful eyes. "I just never dared to think... that someone as good as you would settle for me. I’ll only ruin your entire life."

Who ruined whom, and who was whose salvation—it didn't matter. As long as they were tethered to one another, she was willing to endure any hardship that came their way. He had thought this through thoroughly. While the Seventh Prince’s provocation had certainly helped him make up his mind, it was also his own unwillingness to give up. She was the person he had waited for for so long; ever since she crashed into his life, everything had finally fallen into its proper place. Having attained what he sought, how could he be anything but joyful and grateful? With estranged parents and distant siblings, finding someone to live and rely on for life—even if things weren't perfectly smooth—was enough to make him feel content.

His fingers gathered and toyed gently with her earlobe. He smiled, though his eyes slowly grew damp. "Missing you is what would truly ruin my life! I am very happy now, even happier than when I received my official titles. I am a dull man; I cannot give you grand triumphs or tragedies, but I will do my utmost to ensure your life remains peaceful and secure."

After twelve years of stumbling through life, she yearned for stability more than anyone. She held his hands between her palms and lowered her eyes. "I don’t want grand triumphs or tragedies, nor do I want to be swept up in the tides of fate. Having a home and living a peaceful life is enough. I used to serve at the Shuntian Prefecture; I’d get up at the crack of dawn and walk through the alleyways, and I loved hearing the sounds coming from the courtyards—the washing of rice, the cleaning of vegetables, the scolding of children… When the gate of a siheyuan (quadrangle courtyard) opened, someone would bring out a stove and light a fire right in front of the door. I’m a strange one—I love the smell of coal balls; I think it has the scent of 'human fireworks,' and it reminds me of the Wen family estate. Later, I always wished that one day I could wear a skirt, pin up my hair, and get married, and have a little courtyard of my own..." She laughed embarrassedly. "I don’t have much ambition; I just want a home of my own. Thinking about it now, whether it’s a big quadrangle courtyard or a small building, none of that is truly important. What’s really missing is that one person. I’m tired, and I want someone to rely on."

"I know," he sighed. "You are, after all, still just a young woman. Carrying so much on your shoulders would crush anyone. From now on, don't worry about anything; you have me."

"I’m just afraid of causing you trouble," she said, stroking his fingertips. "You have your own hardships, too."

He laughed. "I am, after all, a Prince of the First Rank; how could anything I do be more difficult than what you’ve been through? You’ve always been polite with me, yet now that you’re with me, you’ve become so cautious?"

He occasionally showed a touch of playfulness. Dingyi became even more shy and lightly tapped his forearm. "Who is 'with you'! It’s not like that... even a dog knows how to look after its home!"

He flicked the tip of her nose. "Silly girl!"

Only then did Dingyi notice the bandage on his left hand. She hurriedly picked it up to ask what had happened. He dismissed it lightly, saying it was nothing. "I cut it while splitting bamboo. This morning, when I saw the Seventh Prince coming to my room, I was afraid he’d discover me making the lanterns. I panicked and hurried to meet him, and my hand slipped—the knife bit into the flesh."

She laughed at his lack of composure. "Why weren't you more careful? What were you panicked about just because he came?"

"He has the gossiping mouth of a sparrow; if he had laid eyes on them, he would have asked endless questions." Mentioning the Seventh Prince reminded him of that greasy, nonsensical conversation, and he couldn't help but wonder if it were true. To ask her bluntly would make him seem petty, yet not asking left him feeling unsettled... In the end, he couldn't help but mock himself. So much for his magnanimity—when it came to someone he cared about, he was just as insecure as any other man.

Dingyi was the first to ask, "What did the Seventh Prince come to find you for?"

He gave a noncommittal hum, observing her expression, and weighed his words: "He came to say he wants to welcome you as a male concubine."

Her face flushed red instantly. "That man is truly incorrigible; he’ll spout nonsense about anything... He did mention that yesterday, and I didn’t even know how to answer him. The Seventh Prince isn't a bad person, but he’s too playful, and I’m actually a bit afraid of him."

In other words, Old Seven was never within her scope of consideration! He felt greatly comforted, a ripple of a smile spreading across his face. "He came to me with that, and I felt uneasy. He has the advantage over me in every way; if you really had to choose, I worried I wasn't enough to compare. Fortunately, you have feelings for me—this is my good fortune. I don’t know how much of what he said is true, but at the very least, he seems to be in the heat of the moment, and he won’t let go easily for now. The old saying goes: 'The local official is not as effective as the one in charge.' By rushing to secure your heart, I have already won a great victory, and I don't fear him causing trouble on his end." He leaned over her slender shoulders, swaying her gently. "He is like a piece of tough gristle; he’ll likely try to pester you again in the future. Just hold your ground for now. Once we return to the capital, I will find a way. Your entry into the Feather Banner doesn't count; you are already a member of the Han Army Banner. Even if the Wen family case is not cleared, you are still Wen Dingyi. He is not your master, and you are not his servant; your marriage is not for him to decide."

She nodded. "I know. And I can keep my own heart safe. I am a principled person; I don't have the habit of falling for every person I see."

She was clever and clear-headed; speaking to her required only a hint, and she would understand. She was truly a good girl who made one feel at ease. He breathed a sigh of relief, pulled her forward, and brought her to the blue-stone platform in the front. There were still dozens of Kongming lanterns left to be released, their flickering scarlet lights looking particularly enchanting against the backdrop of the white snow. She had the heart of a child; letting go of his hand, she dashed out, sighing and cheering in wonder. He squinted at her—her joy made his day and night of hard work worthwhile.

Ink and brushes lay on a stone table. He turned back to dip the brush in the gold pigment and handed it to her. "If you have anything in your heart, write it on the lantern. The higher the lantern flies, the easier it is for your wishes to come true. Think about it—once they reach the eyes of the Heavens, He cannot pretend not to see them, right?"

Dingyi nodded with a smile. What should she write? She wrote the names of her parents and brothers, hoping they would be reincarnated quickly. In their next life, may they be safe and happy—do not be officials again. The officialdom was treacherous; even running a small business or peddling fruit in a market was better than being an official.

He helped her light the lantern. The oil-tallow candle burned fiercely, and the swelling hot air quickly expanded the lantern's belly. The two of them held it from either side, and slowly, they let go. The lantern soared high, unyielding even in the wind and snow, carrying its light as it flew high and far.

Snowflakes fell into her eyes, and she turned her head to rub them against her shoulder. After she finished writing for her family, it was her turn, but she was too embarrassed to let the brush touch the paper. She wanted to write his name and hers—the 'Hong' character stretching across the page—but at the end, she changed the stroke to write a character for 'longevity' (shou). She laughed wistfully: "We were born on the same day; today is your joyous occasion as well."

He said nothing, took the brush, and leaned over to write on another lantern. The lantern light flickered, making his clear, piercing eyes seem bottomless. Dingyi watched him, mesmerized, for a long moment before hurriedly looking away, afraid he would notice and laugh at her.

He wrote in a masterful cursive script, where the solid and the empty connected, calling out to one another in harmony. People often said that handwriting reveals the person, and there was probably some truth to it. Regular script was too rigid, and wild cursive was too unrestrained; his calligraphy was somewhere in between—flexible, ever-changing, now upright, now slanting—its momentum unstoppable.

Though she had not read many books, she recognized the words. On the side of the lantern, two names were written side-by-side: Yuwen Hongce and Wen Dingyi. Two people who originally had no connection were now placed together, the strokes of their names winding and extending as one—there was even a sense of predestination. She held her breath as she watched him write, "Two families united in marriage, recorded in the scrolls of love," and felt a surge of soreness hit her nose. She knew his intentions, and she would not demand more; she did it to spare him, because she could not bear to see him suffer. In her time on the streets, she had seen too many men with "the good fortune of wives in both the inner and outer chambers." Even a farmer might decide to take a mistress after striking it rich. With her awkward status, and already owing him so much debt of emotion, what face did she have to make demands?

People's marriages are destined by fate. If it is written that you shall be a noblewoman, you will never be treated with the indifference of a village wife. What is yours will not run away, and what is not yours cannot be forced. If one can see through it clearly, it is not necessarily a loss compared to others.

She stood peacefully, watching him stand up with a smile. "I wonder how far it can fly..."

Fine snow dusted her hair. He reached out to brush it off, wrapping her in his arms, and raised his face to watch them go. He murmured, "It will certainly go very far. Perhaps it will drift into the Changchun Garden and land right in front of the Retired Emperor. That would be perfect; it would save me from having to waste my breath."

She shook her head, saying that would be bad. "If he isn't in the capital, the Retired Emperor will surely ask, 'Whose child is this Wen Dingyi?' The eunuchs below will investigate, and once they do, they’ll say, 'Her father’s name is Wen Lu; he committed a crime under your reign and died in prison.' The Retired Emperor will be furious when he hears that and say, 'This will not do. To take the daughter of a disgraced official—isn't this ruining our Old Twelfth? Forget it, let the girl die instead...'"

She described it with such vivid detail that it sounded real. Her easygoing heart was endearing. He laughed heartily. "Dead just for being seen? While the Retired Emperor is formidable, he is not that unreasonable. In fact, this stubborn streak of mine was inherited from him. If he scolds me later, I have my arguments ready."

"Will you argue with him? Don't. It is our fault to begin with. I learned a phrase when I was a child: 'The Seventh is not a match' (Qi da fei ou)..." She smiled. "I didn't understand it at the time; I thought it meant the two parties were both too headstrong, like a wife who was as stubborn as an ox, and the couple fought behind closed doors unable to declare a winner—and so they couldn't be husband and wife. Later, I realized that wasn't the meaning at all."

She always had strange, whimsical thoughts. Watching her, he felt she could make his heart ache at any moment. He said: "Let’s not think so much. If I wanted to please them, I should have suppressed the thoughts in my own heart. You said you’d be a mistress—isn't that exactly what I should be happy about? Why would I be in such a rush? I respect you too much; I would rather wrong myself than wrong you. None of these 'not a match' or 'climbing too high'—none of it is allowed to be mentioned ever again. I only think about coming home from work every day and seeing you standing at the door to welcome me. Then the Prince Chun estate will no longer be an empty shell. No matter how big the house is, no matter how many servants there are, if that one person is missing, it is not a home."

Both of them had the same thought—they had recognized each other, and they wanted to settle down. There was no need for anything overly dramatic; just a simple life under the clear sky, a small table under the great locust tree, a pot of tea, two cups, and sitting opposite each other to talk. Occasionally looking at each other and smiling, with nothing hidden from one another—a look being enough to know what the other was thinking—what a satisfying life that would be!

Hope blossomed on her face, vivid and lovely under the lantern light. Leaning on his shoulder, she said nothing, feeling as if she had finally taken root, no longer a duckweed drifting in the wind.

The wind slipped into her robes; she tightened the grape-shaped button on her collar. Her heart felt warm, and her limbs felt alive. Remembering the tassels she had prepared, she took them from her bosom and held them out for him to see. "Since our birthdays are on the same day, I have nothing good to give you, but I braided these knots to decorate your sword belt. Please don't despise them."

He looked down to see the tasteful colors and the exquisitely crafted "concentric heart" knot. He took off his own fragrance pouch and handed it to her, then took the handkerchief that had wrapped the tassels and tucked it into his sleeve pocket, laughing. "I lost a handkerchief a couple of days ago; this will fill that gap perfectly."

She wasn't annoyed, only letting a shallow dimple appear. "It’s a woman’s item; don’t show it to others, or people will laugh at you."

He gave a hum of agreement, watching her fasten the tassels to the fragrance pouch one by one. The grace of her lowered head was truly moving. In the past, he had held back, keeping his distance because he was unsure if she was willing, afraid of being rash and startling the beauty. But now, with their hearts joined, having her wasn't enough; he wished he could hang her on his body or tuck her into his bosom, never to be separated for even a moment.

As for the wretched things the Seventh Prince did yesterday—if it were true, asking would only embarrass her, so he decided not to mention it again. Young hearts are delicate; a single glance could spark a thousand thoughts. His heart thundered as he leaned in closer. She had finished hanging all the tassels—a row of colorful charms—and smiled broadly. "What is this? It looks a bit feminine and not very good..." She raised her hand to show him, only to have it drawn into his palm. He lowered his head and blew a puff of warm air onto it, asking if she was cold. Whether intentional or accidental, his warm lips brushed the back of her hand. She blushed, dodging and not daring to look at him, but he held her hand against his chest.

He climbed up to her shoulder, step by tiny step. Those who love each other should have a resonance—panicked and trembling, yet yielding to fate. He caressed her pointed chin and lifted it carefully. She lowered her lashes, her lips looking brilliantly and tragically beautiful in the firelight. He paused for a moment, then tentatively covered them with his own…