Chapter 137 — Before Departure (Bonus Update, Asking for Pink Votes)
Purple Streets of Chang'an · Page 3 of 4
Chen He asked him in alarm, "Does the Young Master mean to return to the capital, or lodge at the post station ahead?"
He still remembered his own reply: "We lodge at the post station. Tomorrow we return to the capital."
Yet at dawn the next morning, with his mind perfectly clear, he chose to keep going south.
Perhaps in his heart he had already decided: she was not merely brilliantly perceptive and worthy of trust, but possessed a heart both forbearing and unyielding. No matter how outrageous his conduct, no matter how appalling his words, she would neither be swayed by him nor frightened off by him; she would understand in her own way, and deal with it in her own way.
Just as now, standing before her, she asked him neither why he had come, nor where he had come from, nor where he was going. He was like a white cloud drifting across the sky, like a stream flowing through the hills—coming when it was time to come, leaving when it was time to leave. There was no need to ask anything at all, and she—she trusted that he had his reasons.
Song Yan looked toward Dou Yan.
She was directing the old women as they arranged the flowers and plants.
The evening glow at the horizon gilded her figure with a layer of gold leaf, lending her a radiance like something out of a vision.
Only then did he notice that she had a pair of perfect almond eyes, like the Persian cat his mother kept, the corners tilting faintly upward. When she opened them wide, the fine lashes curled upward and set off her eyes as extraordinarily bright, extraordinarily limpid—and yet always touched with a cool, alluring charm.
Song Yan's heart was more serene, more peaceful, more grounded than ever before.
To have someone before whom one could speak one's mind freely—how wonderful that was!
He lifted his head, gazed at the sky washed clean as a sheet of blue, and drew a deep breath.
The air of mid-autumn, still carrying a trace of warmth, curled about the tip of his nose and warmed his heart along with it.
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It was not yet light when Song Yan rose from bed.
An afternoon of hard labor had not only given him a tremendous appetite—he had eaten two large bowls of noodles—but sent him straight to sleep, and he had slept soundly all night without turning over once.
Like a parched seedling refreshed by sweet dew, he was clear-headed and glowing, his mood more composed than it had ever been.
He instructed Chen He: "Leave ten taels of silver. We set out for the capital."
Chen He was startled. "But you haven't had your morning meal yet!"
"We'll buy some dry provisions on the road," Song Yan said mildly. "Liaodong can wait no longer."
Chen He answered "Yes" with reverence, gave the order to the guards who attended them, handed ten taels of silver to the old woman at the gate, and the party slipped quietly away from the farmstead.
By the time they left, Dou Yan was already awake.
In the stillness of the morning, the slightest sound seemed unnaturally distinct.
She listened to them opening the gate, listened to them leading out the horses, listened to them speaking in low voices with the old woman, listened to the hoofbeats fading farther and farther away… and gradually all around her fell quiet again.
Dou Yan pulled the quilt over her head, hid herself in the darkness, and went back to sleep.
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Grandmother had stayed three days at Cui Family Manor, and when she returned she brought back a cartload of things—among them several handkerchiefs and a few sweat towels that Tuo Niang had embroidered for Dou Yan.
Hong Gu said, "She told me that these past few years she's done nothing but look after the children, and her hands have grown rusty. She dared not make anything else. If you find these handkerchiefs and towels serviceable, use them; if not, give them away as rewards."
Dou Yan nodded.
Grandmother asked her, "While I was away, was there anything to report?"