“I remember when this person first appeared in the martial world…” Ah Rong recollected, “he took over a business deal from me. My impression was that he was quite young back then.”
Zhu Zi’an gave a slight nod. “As you know, those who work as brokers in our world typically conceal their identities. The more Elder Gong throws his weight around, the likelier he’s trying to hide the true mastermind behind the scenes.”
“There have been subtle stirrings at court lately…” he said softly, “they’re plotting something.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than irresistible exhaustion overcame him. Turning aside, he slumped onto the couch and drifted off. Jiang Kui bent over him, carefully stripping away layers of his regal robes until only a simple white undergarment remained. Then she supported him over to the secluded side chamber’s sunken medicinal bath.
Wisps of herbal steam drifted about the room. A ray of daylight fell upon the sandalwood desk. She gathered up a pile of documents and settled down to review them with brush in hand. Behind her the person she cared for slept deeply while the air filled with the scent of simmering herbs and sandalwood.
Xie Wuyan sank into long unconsciousness for many days more. His brief waking moments were occupied entirely by political affairs. Every night Jiang Kui would hold him in the side chamber, using her healing techniques on his battered body while Doctor Shen came by frequently to administer increasingly intense herbal decoctions. Over and over he would jerk awake in agony before slipping back into oblivion in the girl’s embrace, suspended betwixt fits of pain and drugged stupor.
Finally one day Doctor Shen’s perpetually grim countenance eased somewhat as he pronounced: “Though the treatment process remains excruciating, with the current medicinal methods there is hope of recovery.”
“Hope is enough,” the girl at his side murmured softly.
After Doctor Shen took his leave, only the two of them remained in the secluded chamber once more. Jiang Kui sat at the desk perusing documents, pausing now and then to dip her brush into the carved inkstone well on one corner, adding notes here and there.
Before long she set the brush down and dozed off atop the messy pile of papers. Unbound hair cascaded wildly across the floorboards. Dampened strand tips left dark little swirls on the polished ebony wood where they curled elegantly.
The slumbering figure behind her awakened slowly, blinking long lashes against the sunlight.
Vision still blurry, he raised his head and saw the napping girl amidst scattered scrolls. Bathed under spring rays, her hair took on a faint golden shimmer – a peaceful, tranquil scene of warmth.
Beneath the streaming sunshine he rose unsteadily to his feet and waded through the steaming medicinal bath. Tendrils of mist swathed his loose robes while beads of moisture rolled down dark strands, trailing over sharp collarbones to slip tantalizingly lower.
Roused by soft splashing sounds, she groggily sensed someone gather her up from behind – dripping hair brushing her cheek, redolent with herbal fragrance and warm dampness, underlain by a pleasantly familiar scent of wintry plum blossoms…
Still caught halfway in dreams, she blinked blearily as an unexpected kiss landed on her bare shoulder, unhurried and gentle yet simmering with restrained intensity. Like a lingering heated breeze it seemed to twine all through her.
His chuckle resonated affectionately by her ear. “Come, let’s not sleep here. I’ll carry you back.”
She tilted her head up obediently and his mouth found her nape, arms curling firmly around her waist as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling that delicate fragrance unique to her which never failed to make him smile in sheer delight.
“Happy about something?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Mm-hmm.” His eyes shone with humor and joy.
“What exactly has you so happy then?” She peered at him curiously.
“You feel so warm,” he murmured, still nuzzling her throat.
She jerked back abruptly to face him. “You – !”
“Yes.” He laughed softly against her ear, the sound intermingled with stray wisps of steam wending past. “I can feel it now… your temperature.”
Impulsively she grabbed his hands and gently pressed both palms over her heated earlobes before shutting her eyes with a blissful sigh.
“What’s this about?” He blinked again, nonplussed.
“I missed it so much…” she whispered, leaning into his touch. “The way you used to cover my ears with both hands like this…that wonderful mix of hot and cold.”
Voice small, she asked hesitantly: “Do you think…the sensations will fully return?”
“They will,” he promised, enveloping her small form. “Everything will recover, just wait and see.”
His reassurances murmured warmly into her ears. “The general will lead troops back triumphantly soon… Once Eldest Brother Chengming’s plans come to fruition, spring will have returned to us again.”
“By then, perhaps my affliction will also heal completely.” He brushed kisses over her hair. “I still owe you so very, very much… I intend to repay every last bit of it, alright?”
The girl nestled securely in his embrace as strains of exhaustion seemed to seep slowly from her frame. At long last she drifted into peaceful slumber.
Bathed in sunshine he cradled her tightly to himself as though she were all the hope and promise of tomorrows he’d never dared dream of before.
Willow frondescence hazed the riverbanks three days later when mellow warmth finally suffused the spring air. The Crown Prince and Princess emerged from behind palace walls seated in an ornate carriage heading west through Chang’an bound for Bashang Ferry, where they would send off the departing General on campaign.
At riverside the esteemed commander Jiang Chengyi stood tall and stern in light battle armor, his lieutenant Jiang Feng gripping a naked blade at his side. Alighting gracefully from her conveyance, Jiang Kui glimpsed a girl in green and immediately raced over.
“My lady! Are those lychees from Lingnan as sweet as rumored?” Laughing brightly, she grasped Jiang Kui’s hands. “We’ll bring you back some tasty ones once we triumph!”
“Little Qing, no need for such formality between us,” Jiang Kui admonished gently, patting her hair. “After enduring exile together we’re practically sisters. Just call me Little Man from now on, won’t you?”
On that long harsh journey trailing the disgraced General’s household nearly three thousand miles into remote Lingnan, Jiang Kui’s handmaiden Xiaoqing had accompanied them every arduous step. Thereafter she was taken in by the General as an adopted daughter, granted his surname – yet she was likely the sole person left still addressing her mistress so familiarly.
Xiaoqing just grinned and winked playfully. “Let me keep calling you ‘My Lady’! No one else is allowed that privilege anymore.”
Sneaking a quick peek over at Xie Wuyan conversing nearby with the General, she suddenly pressed close and whispered sotto voce into Jiang Kui’s ear, “My lady! Weren’t you always rather averse to your sickly scholar husband in the past? Why do you seem so much closer now?”
She couldn’t resist a regretful sigh. “Such a pity, such a pity! All these years I assumed Brother Willow held your fancy. Don’t think I’ve forgotten those secret liaisons you used to sneak off for – how I’d cover for you when Lord Father came asking!”
Jiang Kui flushed and gave the impudent girl’s earlobe a sharp pinch even as she bowed her head to hide a quiet smile. “It was always him.”
Blinking rapidly, it took a spell before the meaning dawned on Xiaoqing and her eyes blew wide open.
Whirling about she hollered brightly toward Xie Wuyan, “Sir! Please take good care of My Lady!”
Before she could utter another word Jiang Kui clapped a hand over her motormouth, hissing anxiously for her to lower her voice. “Father doesn’t know yet, don’t let him overhear!”
All along Bashang’s banks, willow fronds dipped gently amidst mist-wreathed smoke trees cutting blurred silhouettes against the sprawling sunset. Jiang Kui plucked a tender new branch and shyly presented it to her sire. Dewdrops trembled brightly along leaf edges, kindling under rosy rays of the dying light.
Standing under skies of infinite splendor, she bowed deeply with solemn oath: “May your martial fortunes thrive, and victory await your armies.”
His scarlet robes billowed wide around Xie Wuyan seated atop the pavilion, long fingers dancing nimbly over taut strings as he played a fiery battle anthem. Resonant notes thundered from the catalpa wood, seeming to unleash wave after wave of indomitable chargers – the very heavens reflecting back their valiant ardor and cascading defiance.
Just then hauntingly pure notes from a flute rose in harmony with the bold music.
“Eldest brother!” Jiang Kui turned sharply toward the sound.
There beneath the boughs stood a tall youth in plain robes. Raising a slender bone whistle carved of jade to his lips, he continued his soulful melody. Dying embers of sunset swathed his silhouette, limning it in almost transcendental radiance.
As the carriage rattled off into the distance, the lonely figure slowly lowered his flute amidst empty and wordless farewells…
Hurried footsteps pattered up behind and the young girl skidded to a halt before him, gazing beseechingly upwards. “Brother! You’re willing to see us again?”
He gave a wan smile tinged by self-mockery. “I’m less than useless now, nothing but a cripple. Even if I can still hold a pen, I shall lift a sword no more.”
The little sister at his feet immediately scowled in displeasure. He sighed regretfully and reached out to stroke her hair in appeasement. “Actually, I have something to entrust you for delivery to our Snowdrop.”
“Why won’t you see her yourself?” she grumbled sullenly, snatching the small package from his hands before flouncing back to the carriage without waiting for his response.
Holding the door open for her to enter first, Xie Wuyan paused in momentary bemusement before moving round to stand before the carriage front and offering the now-solitary young man a formal bow in return. The answering smile seemed tinged by traces of old sorrow yet gratitude shone through his deep genuflection.
Rolling wheels scattered a rain of wilting petals in their wake, gradually winding back toward the capital.
Curled up sulkily inside, the girl hugged both knees and complained: “Why must my brother refuse to meet her?”
Lost in contemplation, it took a spell before Xie Wuyan carefully tried framing a response – only to have her interject peevishly once more: “You wouldn’t see me either back then!”
“My deepest apologies, wife.” He bowed at once.
She gave a disdainful huff which he accepted with due meekness, allowing her to rap smartly atop his bowed head. Still glowering, she ruminated aloud slowly: “Speaking with Little Qing earlier reminded me of something from that past…”
“Oh?” He glanced over inquiringly. “And what might that be about?”
“In those years before I was wed…” She fiddled with her skirt, seeming oddly awkward. “During all those matches arranged by my lord father…often some strange occurrences would take place afterwards…”
His expression froze subtly.
“Say, Young Master Luo nearly drowned when we met,” she recounted thoughtfully. “The very next day Young Master Zhao apparently went quite mad. I also heard Young Master Cheng lost his footing the following month and fell badly off his mount. And then there was Young Master Li who publicly declared he’d never again seek a Jiang clan daughter’s hand…”
At this he shut both eyes wearily and leaned back against the carriage wall. “Wife, I’m feeling rather tired…”
“Admittedly I orchestrated some of those incidents, while others had naught to do with me.” She eyed him sharply across the cabin space. “Don’t tell me you were behind the rest?”
In the wake of her ringing accusation only subdued silence answered within the enclosed compartment. He turned his face aside, appearing to have dozed off with shuttered eyes and measured breaths lengthening steadily. Amber rays of dusk stole through the window slats, caressing his features in a luminous glow. Even the delicate fan of dark lashes lay perfectly still, untouched by shadow or light.
“Xie Kang,” she stated evenly. “I know you’re only pretending to sleep.”
Another weighted pause ensued before he gave a resigned sigh without opening his eyes, admitting candidly: “Indeed I was responsible for those other…events.”
Unable to restrain her mirth, she laughed out loud. “So against having me marry anyone else?”
Arching both brows mockingly, she mimicked his lofty proclamation from their wedding night avowing she was free to remarry whomever she pleased in future…
Her tirade abruptly fractured into an undignified squeak as a pair of arms yanked her back flush against a firm chest. Warm breath tickled the delicate shell of her ear, framed by ragged exhalations of her name… “Little Man of the River…”
His chuckle emerged low yet playful, without true contrition. “Can’t claim to regret any of it though…”
Each heated word seemed to fan over her ear, stirring unbidden tremors that set her pulse racing erratically. A thousand retorts fled from mind, overwhelmed by the sole ardent longing to kiss him senseless.
Craning upward she began lavishing his throat, trailing heated open-mouthed kisses along the strong column damply glistening down until her gentle nibble above his Adam’s apple drew a shuddering gasp. “Your punishment,” she purred smugly.
He shuddered, eyes falling shut briefly before flipping open as another soft amused sound escaped him.
“There’s still one thing I don’t understand…” His words coasted warmly by her ear again. “How is it you always realize when I’m playing opossum?”
Meeting his gaze, she caught the telltale touch of redness spreading up his ears.
“That’s a secret,” she sang out impishly.
In retaliation he claimed her mouth at long last.
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