Chapter 20: From This Moment, No More Foolish Longing

After autumn arrived, the days gradually shortened. Spending the lengthening nights in slumber made time seem to slip by in the blink of an eye.

In what felt like an instant, Han Chu had already served in the Eastern Courtyard for nearly three months.

The longer she stayed, the more reluctant she felt to leave.

She found it hard to part with Danxin’s lively wit and straightforward nature; with Zhuying’s steady honesty and taciturn ways; but most of all, she could not bear to leave that ethereal figure in white, like an immortal banished from heaven.

In these nearly three months, Han Chu asked herself and knew she had learned much from Yun Ci. This man, whose bearing was cool yet gentle, seemed to possess knowledge that spanned the ages. Each day in the study, as she attended to him, she broadened her horizons.

Most notably, her calligraphy had improved by leaps and bounds, a progress inseparable from Yun Ci’s daily, meticulous guidance.

“Not bad. You’ve now mastered six or seven parts of my skill,” Yun Ci remarked as he unrolled a piece Han Chu had just written, examining it closely. He saw spirit in her strokes, a certain strength, and also a delicate grace.

Han Chu, hearing this, covered her face with a smile and wrote on the paper: “You never forget to praise yourself when complimenting others.”

Yun Ci laughed at her writing, his smile as boundless as the autumn moon, filling the room with a gentle radiance. In his calm eyes, a touch of appreciation surfaced. “I never speak idly. I merely speak the truth.”

Han Chu mimicked the mannerisms of a man from an opera, bowing deeply to Yun Ci, her lips parting in a silent, smiling mouthing of: “Student gives respect.”

Yun Ci’s smile deepened as he reminded her, “Though you have a gift for calligraphy, you cannot rest on your laurels or grow proud and complacent. Many people, having grasped a hint of the essence, find it hard to progress further. I’ll be watching to see if you can reach greater heights.”

Han Chu nodded eagerly and wrote in reply, “I will not disappoint my teacher.”

No sooner had she finished the last stroke of the character “hope” than Yun Ci frowned slightly and pointed out, “The hook here is wrong again. Haven’t I told you? ‘The slant is like a dagger, the press like a sharp blade, the vertical hook fine and long, then it will be upright and slender.’”

As he spoke, he naturally took hold of Han Chu’s delicate hand and rewrote the character “hope,” explaining as he wrote, “Chuixiu, look, this ‘moon’ character should…”

Han Chu felt a gentle warmth spread across the back of her hand, the air filled with the scent of ambergris—Yun Ci’s own fragrance, perhaps mixed with a faint trace of medicinal herbs.

As Yun Ci guided her hand through the strokes, Han Chu’s cheeks flushed ever so slightly. It was not the first time he had corrected her calligraphy in such an intimate manner. When had it started?

Ah, yes, it must have been on the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival, exactly two months ago. She remembered how Yun Ci had summoned Danxin, Zhuying, and herself, disregarding social status, to share a small festive meal together.

As the meal drew to a close, Shen Yu hurried in, still reeking of wine. Who knew where he had suffered a setback, for his mood was strange and unsettled. He insisted on composing a poem and demanded that Han Chu write it down for him.

What was the poem called? It seemed to be “A Mirror With A Flaw.” Shen Yu had claimed it was an answer to “A Broken String.” Han Chu, fearing he might let slip her real identity while drunk, quickly fetched brush and paper and dutifully recorded his poem.

But just as she had written two lines, Shen Yu leaned over and remarked, “Hm? This writing resembles Zifeng’s somewhat—but this character doesn’t look like his.” With that, he grabbed her hand and rewrote the lines stroke by stroke.

Han Chu had felt nothing but embarrassment at the time, wanting to pull away yet not daring to. Danxin had let out a timely, low laugh.

When Shen Yu finally let go, Yun Ci had smiled and said, “Even I, as her teacher, have never corrected her like this. Why are you showing off here?” Then, taking her hand himself, he guided her through the strokes once more.

She remembered the table falling silent then, Danxin and Zhuying both stunned. Perhaps, after Shen Yu’s boldness, Han Chu did not feel so anxious or shy when Yun Ci held her hand. She simply quieted her mind and focused on each stroke.

What was the character? It was “moon.”

From that day on, Yun Ci seemed to set aside many reservations. If he saw a character of hers that was truly unsightly and she failed to correct it after repeated instruction, he would simply take her hand and guide her carefully.

At first, Han Chu was not used to it, but seeing how earnest and unaffected Yun Ci was in teaching her, she calmed herself and concentrated on writing.

Counting the times, from the Mid-Autumn Festival to now, there had been seven or eight such occasions. Yet, sharing a brush and writing a character together had indeed greatly improved her calligraphy.

Were it not for this, she could never have achieved so much in less than three months, reaching nearly Yun Ci’s level.

“What are you thinking about? Smiling in a daze,” Yun Ci flicked her forehead with a laugh, bringing her back to the present.

Han Chu’s cheeks flushed again and she shook her head.

“You’re always drifting off,” Yun Ci said, with a hint of helplessness. “I wonder, if you could speak, would you still let your mind wander so much?”

At these words, Han Chu’s eyes dimmed. Each time she recalled how she had lost her voice, sorrow and darkness filled her heart. Though she had learned to accept it, she could never bring back Qin’er’s life.

She remembered clearly: Helian Qi had vanished suddenly on the fourth day of the sixth month; the next day, news of an alliance between two great families reached her ears; today was the fifteenth of the tenth month—just over a hundred days had passed.

Yet in Han Chu’s heart, those hundred days seemed like a millennium.

So long, so long, that she could almost forget the tender feelings of first love, and nearly forget the night Helian Qi claimed her body. Just a little longer, and she would truly be free of these emotions. All that would remain between them were the scars on her arms—a memorial to the humiliation and abuse she had suffered, and to Qin’er’s tragic death.

Han Chu thus admonished herself.

Fortunately, though she had lost a soul mate, she had found a worthy teacher. Though she could no longer pour her feelings into music, she could pour them into ink.

But suddenly, Han Chu realized she did not even know Yun Ci’s full name!

She only knew his surname was Yun, his courtesy name “Wanzhi,” and that his family hailed from Fangzhou. Nothing more.

Since childhood, Han Chu had only left the imperial capital of Beixi once, and that was to teach the qin at an invitation. Other than that, she had never left Jingzhou in Nanxi. But in her three years in the world of entertainment, she had heard many tales. Among them, the surname “Yun” was legendary.

She dared not ask Yun Ci’s name, knowing she had no right. She was only to serve three short months; she must not overstep her bounds.

In other words, their parting was near.

As she thought this, Han Chu felt a bittersweet mix of melancholy and acceptance. Yun Ci, accustomed to her absentmindedness, merely smiled and said nothing more.

When Han Chu returned to herself, she saw Yun Ci watching her with a gentle smile. She bit her lower lip and bowed her head in apology.

“What are you thinking?” Yun Ci asked, curious at the shifting expressions—now smiling, now sorrowful—on her face.

Han Chu pondered, then wrote: “All good things must come to an end.”

Reading these words, Yun Ci too fell silent. After a long pause, he tentatively asked, “Chuixiu, aren’t you curious who I am?”

He paused, then added, “Or have you already guessed?”

Han Chu did not wish to face this question, so she smiled and wrote, “You are Master Yun, my good teacher.”

Yun Ci gazed at the words, silent for a moment before saying, “Actually, I am—”

“Master!” At that moment, Danxin hurried in, cutting him off. She stood at the study door and announced, “The medicinal herbs have arrived. I can’t check them all alone—may I have Chuixiu’s help?”

Yun Ci could not go a day without medicine. Since Qianyun’s departure, Han Chu had taken over the tasks of boiling water and preparing his medicine. Yesterday, seeing that some herbs were running low, Han Chu had asked Danxin to go out and buy more.

Had they arrived so soon? Han Chu was surprised.

She looked to Yun Ci for instructions, only to see his face suddenly pale—not as if stricken by illness, but as if troubled by some inner turmoil.

Han Chu grew concerned and hastily gestured in inquiry. Yun Ci merely stared at the line “All good things must come to an end,” and softly said, “Go on, then.”

Han Chu bowed and left the study, following Danxin to check the herbs.

The deliveryman was a middle-aged man, whom Danxin greeted and directed to carry the herbs into the storeroom. Because Han Chu was so beautiful, Danxin kept her hidden in the shadows, letting her count the bundles out of sight.

As they worked, Han Chu heard Danxin grumble, “Why did they bring so much? Didn’t we say only enough for twenty days? Really trying to make a profit!”

Han Chu started at this—yes, only twenty days’ worth was needed. In twenty days, the honored guest in the Eastern Courtyard would be leaving. She forced herself to shake off her inexplicable emotions and focused on checking the inventory.

After busying themselves for most of the day, they finally finished. As the two stepped out of the pharmacy, they nearly ran into Chacha.

Danxin’s face darkened immediately. “Who let you into the Eastern Courtyard?”

Chacha, too anxious to argue, turned to Han Chu with a worried look. “Someone from the Ming family is here, looking for a missing maid. Leading the search is the second son, the blood brother of Ming Ying.”

“What does someone from the Ming family losing a maid have to do with us? Why come looking in Zhuihong Courtyard?” Danxin frowned in puzzlement.

But Han Chu’s face had gone deathly pale.

Danxin, seeing that Chacha seemed hesitant to speak, glanced at Han Chu and understood in an instant. “Chuixiu, are you a runaway slave?”

Han Chu pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“Then what are you so nervous about? You’re white as a sheet.” There was a note of reproach in Danxin’s voice. She turned to Chacha. “Which Ming family?”

Which Ming family? As if there were more than one in this world! Chacha inwardly mocked Danxin’s naivety. “Naturally, the imperial Ming clan.”

Danxin immediately snorted. “And I thought it was something serious! The imperial clan of Nanxi? I’d like to see what trouble they dare make here!”

Chacha, unaware of the true identity of their guest in the Eastern Courtyard, sneered at Danxin’s bravado. “Aren’t you bold, Miss Danxin.”

Danxin only replied with a cold huff. Then, looking at Han Chu, she saw her gripping her sleeve, as if wanting to say something.

Danxin could not decipher her meaning, and, lacking paper and brush, could only ask again, “Chuixiu, you’re sure you’re not a runaway slave from the Ming family?”

Han Chu shook her head in denial.

“Are they here for you?” Danxin pressed.

Han Chu nodded.

“I should have guessed—a beauty like you must have a story.” Danxin sighed softly, then turned to Chacha. “You go stall them. I’ll report to Master and see what should be done.”

With that, she took Han Chu’s hand and hurried towards the study in the Eastern Courtyard, leaving Chacha behind, still sneering.