Chapter 24: Deeds Speak Louder Than Words—And Sometimes, Silence Speaks Loudest

Once they left the Chasing Rainbow Pavilion and boarded the carriage back to the Ming Residence, Ming Cheng still felt a lingering sense of dread.

“Father, is this matter over now? Did we escape disaster?” Ming Cui still found it hard to believe.

“This whole mess began because of you, and you still have the nerve to ask?” Ming Cheng’s face was like ice as he harshly rebuked his beloved son.

“How could it be because of me... It was clearly little sister’s idea. She resented that Helian Qi already had someone in his heart and didn't treat her well enough...” Ming Cui muttered under his breath.

“Your sister is young and foolish—what’s your excuse for joining her in such recklessness?” Ming Cheng’s anger was barely contained. “Luckily, the Heir of the Marquis of Lixin chose not to hold this against us. Otherwise, our days ahead would be truly difficult.”

Ming Cui dared not utter another word.

“No matter whether that courtesan lives or dies now, this incident is to be buried and never spoken of again! If your sister asks, just find some excuse to satisfy her curiosity. Do not let her dwell on it any longer!” Ming Cheng warned sternly.

“I understand, Father.”

“Xiaoying has truly been spoiled by the distinction between legitimate and concubine-born children,” Ming Cheng finally sighed softly. “I wonder if she and Helian Qi will last in the future...”

The carriage rumbled away, carrying the Right Chancellor’s swirling thoughts—turning endlessly, unfathomable to outsiders...

*****

Meanwhile, as the Ming father and son departed, Han Chu felt even more ill at ease.

She had always known this man’s surname was Yun, always known he came from Fangzhou, but seeing his simple manner, so unadorned and direct, she had never dared guess his true identity. She had even deceived herself, thinking perhaps Young Master Yun was merely a distant branch of the Yun family—after all, just bearing the surname “Yun” was enough to command respect.

It turned out his real name was Yun Ci. Such a gentle and cultivated gentleman, suffering from a leg ailment, was in fact the master of the Marquis of Lixin’s household.

Today, even the Right Chancellor of the state had been cowed by him—this was utterly different from the Young Master Yun she thought she knew. Now, for the first time, she had witnessed the dignity and cold authority that came with his birth.

Yet now, those born of great houses were the ones she most feared and wished to avoid.

Han Chu understood in her heart that the bond between herself and Young Master Yun—this brief relationship of master and servant—had come to its end.

“Chu Xiu?” Yun Ci, seeing her dazed and silent, softly called her, “Were you frightened just now?”

Han Chu came back to herself and wrote, “I did not know you were the heir, Your Highness. I have been disrespectful in the past.”

Yun Ci looked at the four words “heir, Your Highness” written on the paper; they seemed harsh and stung his heart. “You don’t need to be so formal...” He trailed off before finishing.

Yun Ci raised his head to look at Han Chu, standing by the desk. Sunlight poured through the window, making her seem almost translucent. Her skin was pale, tinged with a delicate blush, reminding him of the peony—so tender and lovely, as in the lines “mist like glassy leaves, wind like coral blossoms.”

Truly, she was beautiful. Until he met her, he hadn’t known such a woman could exist—one as radiant and delicate as a flower, and as pure.

But this peony, after all, had bloomed in the wrong place.

The gloom in his heart overshadowed the pain of impending farewell. Yun Ci looked at Han Chu again and gently shifted the topic, “I have a letter to write. Will you grind the ink for me?”

It was as if he had returned to that first day in the East Wing, when he had also asked her to prepare ink, and so began their brief relationship as master and servant, a bond that was part teacher, part lord.

Han Chu dared not slacken. Her slender white hands moved carefully over the inkstone. Yun Ci finished his letter in one go and then looked at her hands.

These hands, in just three months, had mastered the difficult Slender Gold script; these same hands played the zither with great skill.

Yun Ci had longed to hear Han Chu play a piece—this desire had lingered for three months. Today, he finally voiced it: “Chu Xiu, will you play something for me?”

The white hands preparing the ink paused; Han Chu looked at him, her expression unreadable, then softly shook her head and whispered, “No.”

She refused? Yun Ci could not hide his disappointment. He had not expected the always gentle and obedient Chu Xiu to refuse him so directly. But he said no more, regaining his calm as if nothing had happened.

Yun Ci silently sealed the letter and handed it to Han Chu. “Give this to Zhu Ying. He’ll know what to do.”

Han Chu nodded and, as she turned to leave, Yun Ci added, “You were frightened today. Go and rest—you don’t need to serve me for now.”

Han Chu bowed quietly in thanks and stepped out. She knew the weight of the letter in her hands—this was a letter of return. In a few days, someone would surely come to take Master Yun back to Fangzhou.

And it was time for her to compose herself and return to the West Wing as well.

*****

For the next three days, Han Chu continued her duties in the study as usual—waiting, waiting for Yun Ci to tell her to return to the West Wing. But Yun Ci never mentioned it, nor did he show any sign of sorrow at their impending parting.

This routine persisted for three days, until a stranger arrived at the East Wing. Though few spoke, Han Chu could tell from Dan Xin’s reaction that this person was here to assist Yun Ci.

So the letter had not been sent to Fangzhou. There were already people in this capital, awaiting his orders. Of course—the Marquis of Lixin’s household, the greatest merchant family of the realm, would have loyal agents everywhere.

After that, Han Chu no longer found it in herself to chat or smile with Yun Ci. The study grew oppressively quiet.

“Have you been avoiding me these days?” Yun Ci asked suddenly as he sorted his books.

Han Chu quickly shook her head to deny it, but her denial was unconvincing.

Yun Ci gave a self-mocking smile. “Ever since that day at the Ming Residence, you’ve been like this. Is it because I’m leaving? Or because of my identity?”

Han Chu lowered her gaze and stayed silent.

“It seems both are true,” Yun Ci answered for her, sighing. “I never told you who I was for this very reason—I didn’t want you to feel distant from me.”

He paused for a long moment, then asked, “What do you plan to do next?”

Han Chu shook her head.

“Shall I ask Master Zi to let you leave on your own?” Yun Ci probed gently.

Han Chu shook her head again.

Did she not want to leave this place—or not want to leave Shen Yu? Yun Ci frowned slightly, a strange feeling in his chest. “Why?”

“Young Lord Shen has shown me kindness,” Han Chu wrote.

Yun Ci read her words in silence. After a moment, he took out a finely crafted box from the desk drawer. “I had planned to give you this later, but since I remembered today, there’s no need to delay.”

Inside was an exquisite set of scholar’s tools: wolf-hair brushes from Lake Hu, pine soot ink from Huizhou, sandalwood paper, and a purple-gold inkstone from Duanxi.

Even without much discernment, Han Chu could tell this set was made especially for a lady’s use—delicately crafted, intricately carved, with the finest materials and elegant design.

During her time at the Drunken Flower Pavilion, Han Chu had seen countless precious gifts, but never anything as exquisite as these scholar’s tools.

The carvings on the brush and inkstone were peonies—gold-threaded, lifelike. Han Chu had never much cared for that flower, ever since Helian Qi once said, “Peony’s other name is ‘Parting’—not auspicious.”

Unexpectedly, the gift from Yun Ci was also adorned with peonies. “Parting”—how apt, how prophetic.

Thinking this, Han Chu felt a sudden sting in her nose. She managed to hold back tears, bowed in thanks, and accepted the set from Yun Ci.

Their fingertips touched for an instant, the gesture solemn and sincere. Once, the warmth of their hands had mingled—he had held her hand, guiding her brush stroke by stroke. Now, that fleeting contact felt like fire scorching them both, and they quickly drew back.

Han Chu cradled the heavy box, running her fingers over it, and noticed four characters engraved on the lid: “Deeds surpass words.”

The script was Slender Gold, with striking character and elegance—so familiar, so dear. Han Chu did not know if those four words counted as advice, but for her, a woman without a voice, they were the best encouragement, and truly reflected her current spirit in learning calligraphy.

She had not expected such a precious gift to be Yun Ci’s parting present to her. She cherished it, almost unable to let it go, but that fondness was tinged with sadness.

The Yun family, like clouds at the horizon, beautiful but forever out of reach.

At the same time, Yun Ci quietly watched Han Chu, gratified to see she liked the gift. He had no intention of telling her that he had commissioned the set especially for her, gathering the finest materials and spending a full month on it. The design was drawn by his own hand, the craftsmanship personally approved, and those four words carved by himself. In the entire realm, north or south, there was no other set like it.

The memory of that night when she smashed her qin rose again in Yun Ci’s mind. The resolute woman who had once smiled so gently in this very study—now, her face overlapped with that night’s image.

Yun Ci understood that Han Chu was, at heart, stubborn beyond compare. If anything touched the fortress within her, she would not hesitate to close her heart. Now, with his departure imminent, he was powerless.

Just as now.

Yun Ci’s long, pale fingers began tapping the table—a sign he was deep in thought. Han Chu quietly waited for his instructions, but after a long silence, all he said was, “You may go.”

No explanation, just dismissal.

Han Chu pressed her lips together, bowed with the gift in her arms, and turned to leave. As she stepped out, she heard a soft murmur behind her, “Take care.” The words were barely audible, as if he spoke only to himself.

Her nose stung even more, and the scholar’s tools in her hands felt unbearably heavy, almost painful to hold. Han Chu wanted to turn back and thank Yun Ci, but in the end, she only paused briefly before continuing out the door.

Yun Ci watched her graceful figure recede, lost in the sorrow of parting, his thoughts in turmoil. It was as if he were a mute guqin, its strings plucked by someone who knew nothing of music—discordant, grating, and agonizing.

He had never so longed for a pair of hands that understood music, to soothe the chaos in his heart; never so yearned for a woman who truly understood melody, to play again the tune of “High Mountains and Flowing Streams.”

Such hands, such a woman, perhaps, were both far away and right before his eyes.

“Chu Xiu,” he called out as the girl stepped from the study—the words finally bursting forth, “If you are willing, I can take you back to Fangzhou with me.”