Only I, among the entire table, felt a jolt of alarm. Sure enough, Duan Qimo’s expression shifted the moment she heard those words. Her already sinister and ethereal features flared with a sudden, fierce rage, lending her an even more ruthless air. She stared fixedly at Wen Jiang beside her, the veins in her neck bulging as she gritted her teeth, refraining from an immediate outburst only for the sake of the others present.
Wen Jiang, however, offered a charming smile and sighed languidly. "Indeed. To reclaim the zither skills I’ve neglected for years, I’ve been practicing every day until my fingers ache." As she spoke, she delicately extended her slender, tapering fingers before Duan Qimo’s eyes, intentionally goading her. "Miss Duan, why don't you feel them? Are there any calluses?"
Before she could utter another word, Duan Qimo seized both her hands in a crushing grip. Her posture suggested she might actually snap those lily-white hands in two, drawing a sharp cry of pain and indignation from Wen Jiang. Duan Qimo suppressed her temper for a moment before replying in a chillingly dark tone, "Truly, you have spared no effort. I expect that once the auspicious date passes, the news of your betrothal will follow shortly."
The guests were startled, their gazes darting between the two. Wen Jiang was a woman accustomed to being pampered and protected; she could not endure such treatment. She retorted sharply, "If I wished to marry, I could do so at any time. Am I truly to drift through life like this forever? My family will not allow it, and neither will I!"
Duan Qimo had already released her hands. She downed a cup of wine, her anger subsiding into a cold sneer. "In that case, I shall ensure the event is organized with even greater care, to lend the Eighth Miss Wen a helping hand."
As the hostess, I had to step in to smooth things over. "Parental commands are indeed difficult to defy," I said. "Besides, how much sincerity can truly be found in a few days of forced social interaction?" Wen Wan, being the eldest present, quickly chimed in. "Exactly. Just treat it as a pleasure trip; nothing else matters!" We exchanged a look, and in that moment, we both understood—we were both privy to the truth of their situation.
In truth, after such a scene, Duan Qimo’s masculine attire and the unusual intimacy between the two were too obvious to ignore; most of the guests had already guessed seventy or eighty percent of the truth. Hua Moli, not wanting her careless remark to cause a rift between them, said decisively, "It’s just a formality; going doesn't mean anything. I’ve been in the capital every year and have never escaped it, yet I still live as freely as I please. Sister Jiang, don't be temperamental, and Qimo, don't take it too much to heart. It’s not worth ruining a relationship over this."
On the surface, the two called a truce, but the rest of the meal was awkward, the atmosphere around them frozen solid. Yet, in the next breath, Wen Jiang’s desire for conversation surged. She smiled like a blooming flower, her charm and nobility radiating with an even more intense beauty. I had specially prepared the yellow wine, Luofu Spring, for the delicate ladies; though it was as light as honeyed water, she drank cup after cup. Eventually, she was bound to get drunk. It took the combined coaxing and persuasion of He Rao and Wen Wan to finally wrestle the cup from her hand.
"You... Duan..." Wen Jiang slumped against the table, laughing and shouting. "I hate you! I hate you! You ruined me... it was you... who ruined me..."
She did not cry, but the despair and sorrow in her voice were such that it would have been better if she had.
Duan Qimo looked at her with cold eyes. The hand holding her cup remained motionless in mid-air; she did not drink, nor did she allow any of her hidden tenderness to fall upon the woman.
As the gathering dispersed, Wen Jiang ended up retching violently, emptying her stomach of all food and wine until she was endlessly bringing up clear bile. The sobriety pills we gave her only triggered more nausea the moment they touched her tongue, making her vomit even more piteously. I understood then—over the years of her social wandering, she had taken such medicines too often. Not only were they now ineffective, but they also exacerbated her condition. Amidst my pity, I couldn't help but wonder: why did she torture herself so, showing no care for her own body?
Wen Wan and He Rao made the decision for her to stay the night at my home, simply telling others she was staying with the Xiao family.
"Since Sister Wen Jiang is currently indisposed, it is only right that I look after her," I said. "However..."
Wen Wan shook her head with a bitter smile. "It would be far more improper for anyone to see her in this state. If she were to say something... *Sigh*, my eldest aunt is already quite dissatisfied with her. By comparison, not returning for one night is no great matter."
As she spoke, she and He Rao each took one of my hands, speaking with earnest helplessness. "We must trouble you to look after her, little sister."
The moon reached its zenith. As the women departed one by one, Duan Qimo, who had been sitting at the table like an ice sculpture, finally turned her head slightly. She raised a hand and, with the back of two fingers, gently brushed the cheek of the unconscious Wen Jiang. Was the sorrow in her eyes any less than the other's?
Mu Yu was directing the temporary servants to clear the remains of the feast. I walked to the two of them and said softly, "Master Duan, please carry her."
The moment Duan Qimo’s arms touched Wen Jiang’s body, the latter gave a sharp flinch before turning and collapsing into her embrace. With a giggle, Wen Jiang pouted her lips, as lush as flower petals, stubbornly demanding a kiss. Duan Qimo showed no trace of distaste for the mess Wen Jiang had just made; she kissed her lips with her usual tenderness, then her cheeks and forehead, before silently lifting her in a horizontal carry.
Holding a lamp, I personally led the way, choosing a warm chamber in the west wing for them. Mu Yu had already prepared everything. The three of us busied ourselves settling the laughing, fussing Wen Jiang—who acted spoiled toward anyone she saw—before Mu Yu and I tactfully withdrew and closed the door.
Having promised Hua Moli, I had to stay up late to write a piece of calligraphy for her. I went straight to the study, spread the paper, and ground the ink. I began by casually writing a few short lyrics to settle my mind, then carefully selected several sheets of fine paper and a stick of fragrant ink to begin practicing in earnest. After a few pages, my thoughts drifted to the one traveling far away in the south. I reflexively pulled out the copy of Yu Shinan’s *Confucius Temple Stele* that always sat on my desk and began to emulate it. Both she and Old Man Feng were students of the contemporary master Fu Yannian, and the Fu style generally followed the tradition of the Two Wangs, as did Yu Shinan. Her handwriting, however, could be traced even further back; its elegant, profound beauty—like a gentleman concealing his strength—possessed the grace of flowing robes combined with a disciplined, unassailable dignity. It lacked any trace of artificiality or harshness, bearing the closest resemblance to Yu’s style.
I had only written a dozen or so characters when Duan Qimo’s voice came from the courtyard. I had Mu Yu open the door and lead her into the study.
"Wait a moment, just a moment," I said with a smile. "Let me finish this line."
Duan Qimo glanced at the phrase "the grace of ruling by doing nothing, the achievement of overthrowing the Xia and Shang," and immediately knew which stele I was copying. She picked up a brush, pulled over a scrap of paper, and wrote a line from Yu Shinan’s *Song of Resentment*: "Favor shifts, grace thins; affection fades, resentment deepens."
Though I felt deep sympathy for their plight, seeing her write such a poem of palace grievance felt a bit overly sentimental. I moved my brush and also plucked a line from Yu Shinan: "Both prize the heart of a promise, yet each bears a different ambition," writing it upon my practice sheet.
She stared at it in silence for a long while, a trace of bitterness touching the corners of her mouth. "The promise was never shared, yet our ambitions have always been as distant as the stars."
In truth, how could I not understand her feelings? As a fellow member of the demon race, I too had many moments of self-deprecation, which had almost become a mental block that led to six years of separation. But they were humans from the highest echelons of society.
In the war that nearly ended the world, the Ancestor of All Demons, Ming Yu, had seen his soul extinguished, and the most powerful demon cultivation families were decimated. Their descendants lingered on, scattered like clouds. The total enslavement of the demon race by humans had occurred only within the two hundred years since the founding of the dynasty. Even holding the position of the capital's foremost demon merchant guild, the families under the Duan family numbered only a dozen or so. Their scale barely exceeded that of the "Dream-In" from three years ago, and they all dealt in "low-born" trades. In the eyes of the nobility, the Duan family was merely wealthy pariahs, not much different from nouveau riche who had only just made their fortune.
The nobles in the capital treated us with courtesy, appearing respectful, but in reality, they were only respecting their own sense of decorum. No matter how wealthy a demon was, they were nothing more than playthings among playthings—granted a hollow dream of vanity in exchange for being trampled upon at will, and expected to foot the bill for the nobles' pleasures.
Compared to me back then, Duan Qimo had more empty fame and wealth, but she lacked the most crucial thing—she could not be certain of Wen Jiang’s heart. Furthermore, Wei Qingming was a solitary individual with no clan or family, able to make his own decisions. Wen Jiang, however, was a sheltered daughter of a massive and illustrious clan. How could she cross all those barriers to be with her? In truth, I was exceptionally lucky.
I knew Duan Qimo was full of grievances and desperate to vent, and I sympathized deeply, yet I did not wish to delve too deeply into the specifics of their conflict. After all, our acquaintance had not yet reached that level of intimacy. Duan Qimo likewise did not know how to begin; she simply sat quietly, holding a cup of tea, watching me practice my calligraphy.
I practiced the draft once or twice before formally writing a three-foot-long scroll. It was the passage "Heaven and earth possess great beauty but do not speak of it" from the *Zhuangzi* chapter "Knowledge Wandered North." In truth, I preferred the later sections, but for a display of talent, this conventional philosophical discourse was more appropriate.
Duan Qimo’s thoughts evidently mirrored mine, as she murmured, "Man's life between heaven and earth is like a white colt passing a crevice, a mere flash..."
The tea had grown cold in her hands. Mu Yu replaced it with a fresh cup, and only then did she take a sip. Regaining some of her usual composure, she said flatly, "Madam Su has remarkable focus. I hope I did not disturb the spirit of your brush."
"Why not see for yourself?" I smiled and handed her the scroll, the ink still wet. She took it and offered a few compliments. Knowing her mind was elsewhere, I took the initiative to ask, "Is Sister Jiang feeling better?"
"She tossed and turned for half an hour, but she’s sound asleep now," Duan Qimo said. "I shouldn't have lost my temper and ruined your feast, Madam Su."
I shook my head. "There’s no need for such politeness. We all feel for the two of you."
"Feel for us..." she smiled bitterly. "The one who suffers is her."
I remained silent for a moment before deciding to offer some advice. "Given our status as demons, how can we hope for permanence? We must cherish each day we have, and at the very least, not waste them in quarrels. It isn't today's incident that worries me... I see that Sister Jiang has a sickness of the heart. If this continues, it will ruin her health."
"A sickness of the heart. Heh." Duan Qimo sneered. "Marriage—that is her sickness of the heart."
Seeing her anger rising again, I could only offer a few vague words to smooth things over. Duan Qimo did not pursue the topic further, her expression cold as she toyed with her teacup, lost in some resentful thought.
After a long while, she said almost jokingly, "I have heard that in the southern Kingdom of Leitian, demons are the masters and humans are enslaved. Ten Great Demon Kings control the nation's wealth and power. One day, I truly wish to see what such a topsy-turvy world feels like."
I replied with a smile, "I happen to have some acquaintance with the daughter of the Wang family in Anchid. If you ever go there for a visit, President Duan, remember to carry a letter for me to greet my friend."
The two of us chatted idly about anecdotes from the southern lands. Duan Qimo gave a faint smile. "The Third Young Master Wei is truly a man of great ambition; to have such an exquisite and loving wife by his side and yet be willing to travel so far. Thank you for your counsel, Madam Su. I shall not disturb you further." With that, she returned to Wen Jiang’s room and kept a quiet, disciplined watch over her all night.
By the time Wen Jiang woke the next morning, Duan Qimo had long since departed.
Wen Jiang let out a lazy yawn and gave a soft groan as she massaged her aching neck. She realized something had fallen from her palm. It was the sapphire pendant she had lost in the snow at Luming Park, which I had tucked into her hand while she slept.
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 熙熙楼 | Xixi Tower | A venue for matchmaking events for the nobility. |
| 罗浮春 | Luofu Spring | A brand/type of yellow wine (Huangjiu). |
| 《孔子庙堂碑》 | Confucius Temple Stele | A famous calligraphy work by Yu Shinan. |
| 虞世南 | Yu Shinan | A famous Tang Dynasty calligrapher and poet. |
| 傅延年 | Fu Yannian | A fictional calligraphy master in the story. |
| 二王 | Two Wangs | Refers to Wang Xizhi and Wang Xianzhi, the "Sages of Calligraphy." |
| 贱籍 | Low-born / Pariah status | A social class in imperial China considered inferior. |
| 雷阗国 | Leitian Kingdom | A southern nation where demons (Yao) rule over humans. |
| 安迟 | Anchid | A place name (likely a city or region in the south). |
| 珙桐 | Dove tree | *Davidia involucrata*, a rare tree mentioned in the context. |
| 珙庐 / 桐庐 | Gonglu / Tonglu | Names of the two adjacent gardens. |
