Chapter 129 — Speaking
Purple Streets of Chang'an · Page 1 of 4
Song Yan's exquisite face still carried a trace of boyishness; Dou Yan could even make out the fine down on his lips. The person before her was nothing like the tall, vigorous, dignified figure in her memory.
In her mind's eye arose the image of him holding a spoon and drinking soup.
First a small sip, then down it went in one gulp.
No matter how much he disliked it, he never complained.
He was, at this moment, still only a youth.
A thirteen-year-old youth.
Was she being too hard on him?
Then let her set aside the grudge in her heart and treat him as she would any ordinary youth. She should not make him answer for things he had never done. That, too, would be unfair to him!
Her mind thus unburdened, Dou Xin spoke openly: "I forgive you!" Yet she would not, on that account, forget what manner of man he was. "Then can you bring Old Chen back first? He is advanced in years and cannot withstand too much jolting about, and I need him at my side to help manage matters!"
"You need someone who once served as aide to a third-rank frontier governor to help manage matters?" Her smile was placid and forbearing, faintly touched with tenderness, and Song Yan's heart warmed in answer. He liked this atmosphere of talk, and so he said with a smile, "This sounds like a troublesome business. Why not tell me about it? I am rather good at helping people come up with ideas!"
That would hardly be necessary!
"I have opened a shop selling writing brushes and ink," Dou Yan said, half truthfully and half not. "Thanks to Old Chen's help. Now that Old Chen has gone to the capital, everything on my side has fallen into disarray."
"Do you mean to save for a dowry?" Song Dan said. "Shall I introduce you to a bit of business? If it goes well, it can become a long-term arrangement, and the terms of payment are very good."
Dou Yan's eyes went wide.
Song Yan did not seem the warmhearted sort.
Why had he suddenly thought to introduce her to business?
They did not have that kind of friendship, did they?
But clearly Song Ke thought otherwise.
His smile deepened. "The Shuntian Prefectural School and the Imperial College print great quantities of examination essays and model papers every year. My family happens to have a fellow whose name was struck from the register now working as a menial at the Shuntian Prefectural School. When the time comes, have the manager of your shop go find him."
She meant to go her way and let him go his, like bridge and road, never to cross paths again. Not to remain entangled with him.
Dou Yan was caught between laughter and tears, and refused him outright: "I think we had better not. This business is too troublesome. My shop only sells ready-made brushes and ink."
"Since you have taken it up, you must do it as well as it can be done." Song Yan's tone was that of a tutor, brooking no argument, and he walked straight to the writing desk. "I will write you a letter. When the time comes, take my letter and go find him." Then he told her the man's name and what he looked like.
Dou Yan had no choice but to thank him, and called Ganlu in to grind the ink for him, but Song Yan refused: "No need. I can do it myself."
Then do it yourself.
She was not in the habit of exerting herself for strangers.
Dou Yan sat to one side drinking tea.
The sound of ink being ground rose in the room.
Neither light nor heavy, neither hurried nor slow, like a stone mill turning, unhurried and at ease, with no trace of sluggishness at all.
How much strength must that take!
Dou Chi let out a soft "oh?" and looked over.
Song Yan stood easily before the desk, the hand pinching the ink stick fair and fine. His finger joints were long, and his wrist turned in slow circles. The clear water dripping into the inkstone gradually took on color.
Dou Yan thought of the way he walked.
It too carried a touch of casualness, and yet was so natural.