Chapter 65: A Silent Heart Longs for Farewell

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“Pingyan!” Seeing Xia Yanran suddenly collapse to the ground, Yun Ci, disregarding his lame leg, hurriedly reached out to support her.

At the same time, Chuxiu stepped past the dagger at her feet and reached out, but managed only to catch a corner of Xia Yanran’s sleeve.

“I’m fine.” Cradled in Yun Ci’s arms, Xia Yanran forced a smile. “I just… suddenly felt a bit dizzy, that’s all.”

Yun Ci pressed his lips together, a trace of concern leaking onto his features as his slender fingers sought her pulse. Seeing this, Chuxiu quickly rose and said, “I’ll go call someone.”

But as soon as her words fell, Yun Ci’s voice followed, “Pingyan, you are with child.” His tone was neither sad nor happy, as if he were simply stating a fact.

Chuxiu’s steps faltered for an instant. She looked down at Yun Ci, who was half-kneeling on the ground, holding Xia Yanran in his arms.

At that moment, Yun Ci’s gaze happened to meet hers. First, there was a flash of joy, but then a searching look, as if he were waiting for her reaction.

A surge of bitter sorrow welled up uncontrollably in Chuxiu’s heart. She heard Xia Yanran’s delighted exclamation by her ear, “Really? How long has it been? I didn’t even know!”

Yun Ci’s eyes remained fixed on Chuxiu, unwilling to miss the slightest change in her expression. Yet the words that left his lips were addressed to Xia Yanran, “Perhaps… two or three months already.”

“My lord…” Xia Yanran was nearly moved to tears with joy. Forgetting she was still half-lying on the ground, she buried her face in Yun Ci’s chest, sobbing, “I… I’m so happy.”

Only then did Yun Ci slowly withdraw his gaze from Chuxiu, lowering his eyes to look at his wife in his arms, and softly reply, “I… am happy too.”

Happy? He ought to be happy. Chuxiu felt her steps falter, and she unconsciously reached for the corner of the table to steady herself.

Once, it was this very man who had spoken to her of happiness—“I am confident I can bring you more joy than others ever could. Just as you once could not speak, and yet still brought me joy.”

But now, this happiness belonged to someone else. Or perhaps, it had never belonged to her at all. Chuxiu wanted to smile, knowing she ought to. She should be glad for him. At last, he had a legitimate heir, noble in birth, untainted by the poison of passion.

“Congratulations, my lord. Congratulations, madam.” At this moment, it was the only phrase Chuxiu could think to say; no other pleasant words would come. Her hands, battered and swollen, unconsciously pressed to her lower abdomen—the place that had once nurtured a life, a life that had, only now, slipped away mercilessly.

Lost from his heart, with no place left for her. From this day forth, all his affection and all his love would belong to his wife and legitimate son.

In the haze, it seemed Yun Ci’s gaze once again drifted her way, deep and unfathomable as a shadowed pool. Mist veiled Chuxiu’s eyes; she forced a smile once more, repeating, “Congratulations… my lord.”

A hint of disappointment flickered in Yun Ci’s eyes. He merely murmured “Mm,” then said, “Call Zhuying in. You may go.”

Hearing this, Chuxiu fled the room as if escaping, summoned Zhuying, then hurried back to the laundry house, locking herself in the washroom to cry in silence. She wept for the child she had lost…

For three days thereafter, the entire Yun household was plunged in joy. Every servant in the inner quarters received three months’ extra pay; those in the outer court received one month’s. As for Chuxiu, she was no longer considered one of the inner court.

The first month of the year passed in jubilance, the household eagerly anticipating the arrival of the marquis’s legitimate heir. It was widely known: should this child be a boy, he would rightfully become the young master. For the sake of this much-anticipated child, the Dowager Lady even invited Xia Yanran’s family to stay, that she might be comforted by their presence.

During this time, Shen Yu visited the laundry house twice, bringing ointments for her wounded hands and, with heartfelt concern, promised her she need only endure a little longer—soon, he would take her away.

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Suddenly, many bolts of fabric appeared in the laundry house, all of fine, smooth texture, said to have been specially sent from Yun Brocade Hall for the little heir’s clothing. However, due to the frequent rains that winter, the goods had gotten damp on the road and were brought to the laundry courtyard to be aired.

The day the carts of fabric arrived happened to be Chuxiu’s shift. After carefully checking the inventory against the list, she heard a call, “Miss Chuxiu.”

She looked up at the voice, searching her memory before greeting him with a smile, “Manager Yun?”

The visitor was Yun Zhong’s nephew, Yun Feng, who had once proposed marriage to Chuxiu but was refused. Now, he no longer managed the rice business but had been transferred to Yun Brocade Hall, the largest silk house under the Yun family’s name, as its head steward.

On the surface, it seemed a promotion: from a regional manager to overseeing all Yun Brocade Halls in both the Southern and Northern kingdoms—a significant leap. Yet, as the saying goes, food is the foundation of the people. The rice business was vital to livelihoods, while Yun Brocade Hall’s luxurious silks catered only to nobility.

Thus, although Yun Feng’s title and status had risen, his actual authority was less than before, and his duties lighter. He appeared to be in charge, but real decisions remained with the Yun family elders. In dealings with the nobility, his words held little weight; at best, he was a messenger, dutifully carrying out orders from above.

Both Yun Feng and his uncle Yun Zhong knew well why his post had been changed within a single year. This time, Yun Feng insisted on personally escorting the fabrics, hoping his uncle might pave the way back for him—perhaps Yun Ci would allow him to return to the rice business.

Clearly surprised to find Chuxiu in the laundry house, Yun Feng asked, “Miss, why are you here?”

Why indeed? Chuxiu smiled faintly. “It’s a long story. If you wish to know, you might ask Steward Yun.” Who she once was, what she did—these might be hidden from ordinary servants, but not from the head steward.

“You can speak now?” Yun Feng’s eyes lit with surprise, stepping forward as if to draw closer, then hesitated, remembering something, and stopped abruptly.

“Yes, by a twist of fate, I can speak again.” Chuxiu lowered her eyes with a smile. “It’s damp here in the laundry house; you’d best step outside.”

Yun Feng hesitated a moment, then said, “Very well, I’ll just check the fabric and leave.” He seemed to want to say more, perhaps to ask how Chuxiu had ended up here, but decided to inquire privately of his uncle instead.

He recalled how, when he had sought Chuxiu’s hand, the marquis had been so jealous—at the time, he hadn’t understood, but after returning to Huainan and receiving his transfer, all became clear. Who would have thought that, just a year on, the marquis’s favored maid would have fallen so low?

She was still stunning, still captivating. The feelings he had tried to suppress were kindled anew by this unexpected encounter. Hastily, Yun Feng checked the inventory and hurried to Yun Zhong’s quarters, eager to learn what fate had befallen this fairy-like woman in the past year.

*****

“You what? You want to ask for Chuxiu’s hand again?” Steward Yun Zhong looked at his nephew in disbelief.

Yun Feng’s expression was resolute. “I was refused last year, thinking the marquis cherished her. But… after a year, look at her now—so wan and haggard! Why let her remain in the Yun household?”

“Think carefully—you only just married last year!” Yun Zhong warned coldly.

Yun Feng fell silent for a moment, then said, “The reason I married in haste was to reassure the marquis, to show I had no interest in Miss Chuxiu… but seeing her now, I…”

“So you’re moved again? Nonsense!” Yun Zhong snapped. “Before, we didn’t know her origins. Now you know she’s of humble birth and has lost a child, yet you persist!”

“Persist in what…” Yun Feng narrowed his eyes as if recalling something, then sighed, “Just one look, and I could not forget her.”

Yun Zhong was so furious he could hardly speak. “You would risk your future for this!”

Yun Feng only remained silent, his resolve unshaken.

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Though angry, Yun Zhong could not help but care for his nephew. “If you wish to take her as a concubine, speak to the marquis yourself! I will not risk my reputation for this again!”

Yun Feng was overjoyed, bowing deeply to his uncle. “Thank you for your support, uncle. I do not wish to take her as a concubine, but to marry her as my equal wife!”

*****

As expected, Yun Feng’s proposal was once again flatly refused by Yun Ci. Yet Yun Feng was undeterred, appearing at Qingxin Study each day to seek an audience. After four or five days of persistence, Yun Ci realized that Yun Feng’s resolve was unwavering—he was willing to stake his future on this bet.

Thus, after nearly a hundred days since sending Chuxiu to the laundry house, Yun Ci went there himself.

In the gathering dusk, the sound of washing echoed softly. The few women left were seated by the well, seizing the last light of day to scrub garments.

Chuxiu was, without doubt, the most striking among them. Yun Ci, pushed by Zhuying into the doorway, spotted her at once—half-squatting on a small stool, head bowed and scrubbing laundry.

A sharp, piercing ache seized him. Though he had steeled himself, Yun Ci still could hardly bear the sight. He lingered at the threshold for a long time before finally entering, face grim.

“You may all leave; Chuxiu will stay,” Zhuying ordered. The women filed out, leaving Chuxiu to straighten her aching back and bow to Yun Ci. Now no longer a favored maid, she also bowed to Zhuying.

The sight made Zhuying avert her gaze in discomfort before retreating outside to stand guard.

In the vast, empty courtyard, only Yun Ci and Chuxiu remained, along with the garments hanging from the racks. The air was laced with the scent of starch—fresh, yet tinged with helplessness and sorrow.

“Yun Feng has called on you daily these past days, wishing to ask for your hand once more,” Yun Ci said coldly, his voice even.

Chuxiu was slightly surprised, taking a moment to recall. “You mean Steward Yun’s nephew?”

“Yes.” Yun Ci snorted.

Chuxiu bit her lower lip, glancing at the unfinished laundry at her feet. “Does my lord mean to grant me the freedom to choose?”

This time, Yun Ci did not correct her use of the word “servant.” He only asked, “And what do you want?”

What did she want? Chuxiu looked at the garments fluttering in the breeze, lost in thought. She wanted to leave—especially after learning that Xia Yanran carried his child, that desire burned all the stronger.

Yun Ci had no need of her any longer. A courtesan, a substitute—he had surely tired of her by now.

So Chuxiu smiled faintly. “If my lord is willing, I beg you to grant me this favor and let me go.”