Chapter 115 — Things Past (Bonus Update for 1110 Pink Votes)
Purple Streets of Chang'an · Page 1 of 4
Dou Yan knew Song Yan.
At this moment Song Yan was still young, his build and features still unformed, yet she recognized him at a single glance.
Back then Song Yan's name already filled the capital. Tuoniang had passed away, and Dou Yan had long since established herself firmly within the Jining Marquis's household, yet for some inexplicable reason she did not want anyone to know, and quietly took only her five-year-old daughter with her to Zhending to attend the funeral. On the road back to the capital they ran into heavy rain; the carriage sank into the mud and a wheel hub snapped, so they had no choice but to take shelter at a country gentleman's house in a village.
She was utterly exhausted at the time, some part of her seeming to have vanished along with Tuoniang's death, so that even a little wind and rain left her powerless to resist. She leaned back on the heated kang by the window in the inner room the host had cleared out for her, resting with her eyes closed; but when she opened them, Yinjie was gone.
Beside herself with worry, too spent even to scold anyone, she threw on a cloak and went out, searching all the way to the winding covered walkway of the front courtyard, where she happened upon Song Yan, who had likewise been driven in by the rain to seek lodging.
He was crouched beneath the veranda of the front courtyard, listening earnestly as Yinjie spoke: "...it's called a foxtail grass. Look, doesn't it wag back and forth just like a dog's tail?"
The rain came down in torrents, falling in sheet after sheet, dividing the veranda and the covered walkway into two separate worlds.
He wore a dark coarse-cloth robe with deep sleeves, its edges trimmed in white raw hemp, not a single ornament anywhere on his person—archaic and refined. His delicate, fair face was like glazed white porcelain, giving off a calm, elegant luster in the dim light; his ink-black eyes were like bright jewels, glittering.
Armored guards stood in ranks throughout the courtyard, motionless as statues, silently letting the rain wash over their armor.
Yinjie's childish voice, like a chattering little sparrow, echoed clearly through the courtyard.
He listened with his head tilted to her childish prattle, as though nothing in the world could matter more.
Nor was that all—from time to time he would nod along: "Is that so?" "I never knew that." "There's such a thing?"
She was stunned on the spot. Without thinking she made a gesture to silence the maids and serving women, then stood quietly where she was. Looking at her daughter's face flushed with excitement and her eyes shining with delight, she could not bear to make the slightest sound, as though it would shatter the beautiful scene before her and leave her full of regret.
"My mother and I came to attend Auntie Tuo's funeral. Why are you here too?" her daughter asked, blinking her big eyes at him.
He smiled and flicked with his fingers the foxtail grass the child held aloft; it swayed from side to side like a drunkard.
"I came to pay my respects to my sister."
"Why didn't you bring your daughter? My mother takes me everywhere she goes!"
"I have no children."
"Why do you have no children?"
"I simply have none." He stroked Yinjie's hair, so gently, as though she were a fragile porcelain doll, yet deep in his eyes flashed a profound grief. "Not everyone deserves to be a parent..." he said, then suddenly broke into a smile, a smile as brilliant as summer, brightening the whole courtyard, and rose to his feet. Patting Yinjie on the shoulder, he said tenderly, "There now, hurry back to your mother. Mind she doesn't worry herself sick looking for you."
Yinjie nodded vigorously and went pattering down the veranda toward the rear courtyard.