Chapter 228 — One by One (Double Update, Begging for Pink Tickets)

Ji Yong's release from his study was owed to his participation in the compilation of the *Grand Lessons of Wenhua*—he could hardly have gone on refusing to report for duty at the office, after all.

Yet his heart remained hollow, and nothing he did could rouse his spirits.

How had he and Dou Yan come to such a pass?

Where exactly had it all gone wrong?

Was he too obstinate? Or was Dou Yan too unbending?

Ji Yong sat in the spacious, brightly lit beamless hall of the Imperial Archive, idly leafing through the daily records of Emperor Taizong, while the bits and pieces of his acquaintance with Dou Yan flipped through his mind like pictures, one after another.

There was the time she had teased him, "Go on, be careful and bring home nothing better than a tong jinshi"; the time she had said in disappointment, "I don't want you to turn out like Dou Ming"; the time she had lashed out in fury, "We are done—not a word between us ever again."... Yet whenever he recalled them, they were warm, joyful, brimming with life and endless delight. Not like his great-grandfather's study, where every emotion carried a calculation that could be turned this way or that, where every calculation had a predictable outcome, and life seemed fixed in its mold, each day repeating the one before.

In that moment, Ji Yong wanted to see Dou Yan as he had never wanted anything before.

He wanted to know whether she would erupt in thunderous rage, or whether she would blink those cold-star eyes of hers and take the measure of Dou Huaiying with an icy stare...

Ji Yong closed the daily records and smiled at the eunuch attending nearby: "I suddenly feel dreadfully dizzy. Might the eunuch-father find me a place to lie down, and then bring me a cup of malt-sugar water..."

A eunuch of the imperial palace—was he for a mere seventh-rank compiler to order about!

The eunuch rolled his eyes and said in a sour, mocking tone: "Since the compiler is unwell, perhaps he should come back another time to borrow Emperor Taizong's daily records?"

Ji Yong signed the lending register, left the Imperial Archive, and went straight to the Yunqi Temple alley.

※※※※※

Dou Yan sat on the large kang by the window, a kesi headband she was making for her grandmother in her hands, not having set a single stitch for the longest while.

Suxin came in carrying autumn pears and sweet melons, and at the sight of her, could not help sighing long and deep in her heart.

When Dou Yan had spoken with Song Yan, she had stood by the floor pillar under the side gallery.

The young lady did not wish to marry. But the heir had been utterly sincere with her, and the young lady surely understood that in her heart. She must be afraid that after she married, the heir would change his mind midway, just as the master had done with the late Lady Zhao in those years—and that was why she wavered so, torn between gain and loss.

Though the heir was younger than the young lady, he had always conducted himself with steadiness; several times he had come to Zhending to visit her, each time by some clever ruse, without letting anyone catch on. If the young lady married him, she could not say what else might come of it, but with a husband's house like the Ying Duke's Estate at her back, the dowry in her name could certainly be recovered. And afterward, even if she and the heir could not get on together, she could find a quiet country estate to settle in—still better than days like these, paying off this one and then having to placate that one. By then the heir would be the young lady's husband, and she would need only to manage him well.

She sighed in her heart, then smiled and took the needlework from Dou Zhiwei's hands, saying: "You have been at your needlework for days on end. Mind your eyes—better to rest a while. There is no hurry; you can have some fruit and take it up again. It is still early yet before the New Year!"

Dou Yan gave a vague "oh," came back to herself, and could not help feeling a little abashed.

She had said she would make a headband for her grandmother for the New Year, yet in these days she had sewn only a few stitches, spending most of her time staring into space.

But gazing at the fruit before her, she began to wander again.

That night. Song Yan's words—"At least Chen Yanzhou and Duan Bing can openly follow at your side"—had struck straight at her heart.

In her last life. Those women who had been given to him as gifts could still follow him if they wished and marry another if they wished; with the bond between herself and him, what was there to fear in living as she pleased!

Marrying Song Yan, at least, would spare her the need to bow and scrape before a husband as she would with any other man.

The mere thought of it set her heart racing!

But if she truly did marry Song Yan, then Song Cen's inexplicable attempts on Song Yan's life, the hidden secrets of the Ying Duke's Estate, the palace coup four years hence—all of them stood before her like impassable chasms.

Could she cross them?

Did she have the strength to help Song Yan cross them?

And even if she did at last surmount the trials, what price would she have to pay?

If she did not marry Song Yan, and the match with the Ji family fell through, the Dou family would have broken its word and would surely have to pay a heavy price in compensation. The Eastern Dou could not simply let the matter rest; they would suppress her, hem her in, scheme against her.

She was not afraid, but to think of living such days for a long while to come could not but weary her.

Now Song Yan had given her a chance to escape it all. Should she take this step?

Dou Yan was caught in a dilemma.

Thinking back to her last life, wolves before her and tigers behind, she had shut her eyes and married Wei Fan—and yet she had not hesitated so then.

In this life, with choices before her, she found she knew even less how to decide.

Is it that the more choices one has, the more easily one loses one's way?

Or is it that her ability still falls short of reading the times and seeing the whole from the height of a rooftop?

Dou Yan asked Suxin: "Has Old Chen not come looking for me?"

"No!" Suxin set before Dou Yan a cup of Cloud-Mist tea, its fragrance curling upward.

She wished Dou Yan would consult Uncle Chen, so that the young lady need not sit here alone, racking her brains without ever finding an answer.

But for some reason, Old Chen had never come to see the young lady.

Dou Yan said: "Go and ask Old Chen to come to the house."

Suxin nodded happily.

A young maid came in to announce: "Fourth Miss, His Honor Ji requests an audience!"

Dou Yan was rather surprised. "Which His Honor Ji is asking for me?"

Since her marriage had been settled, her father's health had recovered quickly. Every day he went off to his post at the yamen in high spirits, and once he was off duty he would happily pay calls in person, delivering invitations to those friends with whom he was on close terms and to his superiors, and would not return until late.

The little maid smiled. "Why, the young master from the Ji family, of course!" Then, cleverly drawing her own conclusions, she added, "The Yuqiao Lane household must have received the master's invitation. The young master knows you're to be married and has come specially to congratulate you."

Dou Chiyou nodded to himself.

Ji Yong knew she was about to be married—and rather than brooding over how to make Song Yan look a fool and wipe away his old shame, he had come to see her. Whatever his reason, it was at least far more sensible than before.

She instructed the maid: "Ask Cousin Ji to wait in the flower hall and serve him tea."

The maid answered and went off.

Suxin said worriedly, "Miss, shouldn't we tell the Sixth Madam?"