Chapter 25: Frost Fills the Courtyard (Part 6)
The sun shone brightly on Yong’an Lake, the water shimmering.
A floating bridge led to a red-lacquered pavilion in the center of the lake. A plaque above the entrance read “Xie Chun.” Willow branches swayed in the breeze along the western shore, and green trees clustered around stone steps leading to the water’s edge. Ni Su had wet her shoes there while gathering willow branches for Xu He Xue.
Inside the Xie Chun Pavilion, Ni Su placed the pastries and fruit drinks on the stone table. Standing beside Xu He Xue at the railing, she asked, “Is this place still the same as you remember?”
If it weren’t a significant memory, he wouldn’t have mentioned it.
“It’s the same,” Xu He Xue replied, holding a pastry Ni Su had given him. He hadn’t taken a bite yet.
The shimmering lake, the willow branches swaying in the breeze, and the pavilion were exactly as he had seen them in his dream. Only now, he was more presentable, no longer a formless, bloody mist, but dressed in clean clothes, his hair neatly combed.
And all this was thanks to the person standing beside him.
“Do you know what I’m thinking?” Ni Su suddenly asked.
“What?”
“I’m thinking I should gather more willow branches,” she said, leaning against the railing. “If it rains again, you can use the willow water to bathe.”
Her tone was teasing.
Xu He Xue looked at her. The breeze brushed the strands of hair around her face. He had seen her in many states: disheveled, composed, injured, her eyes often red and swollen.
The deaths of her loved ones weighed heavily on her, but today, her usually tense shoulders seemed slightly more relaxed.
“Although Miao Yi Yang is a dead end, among the officials involved in the winter examination that Director Han has detained, there must be someone connected to the case,” he said.
The Yin Ye Si’s interrogation methods were far more effective than the Guangning Prefecture Yamen’s. Han Qing had been cunning since his youth. He wasn’t truly concerned about Ni Qinglan’s death, but rather using it as a pawn in his and Meng Yun Xian’s schemes. This was why Xu He Xue had insisted on having Ni Su transferred to the Yin Ye Si.
Those in power might not care about a scholar’s death, but if that death could be used to their advantage, Ni Su might have a chance at justice.
“You really do know what I’m thinking,” Ni Su said, looking at him, then turning away. “What kind of official were you? How can you read people so well?”
Xu He Xue paused, his gaze shifting to the approaching boats on the lake. The wind rustled the willow branches. “I was an official, but… not really,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Ni Su didn’t understand.
“The position I held wasn’t what my teacher and brother had hoped for.” Perhaps it was the clean, though ill-fitting, robe he wore, or perhaps it was because she had combed his hair this morning, or perhaps Cai Chun Xu’s words had reminded him of his transgression. He suddenly wanted to share something with her. “It was here, years ago, that my teacher and I parted ways.”
Ni Su had assumed that the Xie Chun Pavilion, a place he seemed to cherish, held happy memories.
But it was another place of broken dreams.
She tightened her grip on the bamboo cup and looked at him.
Despite his thin frame, he had a noble bearing. Dressed in the dark blue robe with silver embroidery, he looked more like a scholar than a ghost.
“Then let me ask you,” Ni Su said, “did you ever commit corruption or harm innocent people?”
“Never,” Xu He Xue met her gaze. “But I’ve wronged many people. I’m even guilty of some things.”
“If not those crimes, then what?” He remained silent, so she continued, “Some people are good at blaming others, while others blame themselves. Xu Zi Ling, is your guilt self-imposed?”
Xu He Xue didn’t answer.
He carried heavier burdens, but what truly haunted him after nearly a century in Youdu was the guilt he had placed upon himself.
“I’m not like you. I never blame myself,” Ni Su said, then smiled. “And I never blame others. I don’t think you do either. Someone like you would only reflect on your own actions, not blame others.”
Like the bite mark on her neck, which he clearly still felt guilty about.
“Just because your teacher disagreed with you doesn’t mean he was right. The disagreement wasn’t your fault. My father disapproved of me studying medicine because he valued our family rules. I can’t say he was wrong, but I don’t think I was wrong to learn from my brother. People are different. There isn’t always a right or wrong.”
Ni Su was used to his silence and accepted it now as he lowered his gaze. “Do you want to see your teacher?”
Xu He Xue’s eyes snapped up.
A flicker of something shone in his clear eyes, then vanished, replaced by a familiar desolation. The wind rustled the willow branches. He shook his head slightly. “I can’t see my teacher again.”
If you dare go to the border, don’t ever come back to see me again.
His teacher had spoken those words years ago, standing in this very spot.
He could come to the Xie Chun Pavilion, he could remember his teacher here, but he couldn’t see him again.
Ni Su understood his stubbornness, his adherence to his principles. If he said he couldn’t, then he truly couldn’t. She wouldn’t force him to accept her help. That wouldn’t be true repayment.
Seeing a boatman approaching the pavilion, she said, “Then let’s go for a boat ride.”
The boatman, unable to see Xu He Xue, saw the young woman beckoning him and smiled, rowing towards the pavilion. “Miss, are you looking for a boat ride? I have painting supplies, fresh fruit, and if you like, I can catch some fish and cook it for you right here on the boat.”
“Then please catch a fish for us,” Ni Su said, holding the uneaten pastries and drinks.
The boatman helped her onto the boat, but the wet deck was slippery, and she almost fell. The boatman steadied her, and at the same time, Xu He Xue grasped her wrist.
Ni Su turned. The sunlight was bright, and his face, though pale, was refined and elegant.
“Thank you,” she said.
Xu He Xue’s eyelashes fluttered. He remained silent, but the boatman, helping her onto the boat, said, “Don’t mention it, Miss. There must be some moss on the deck. I apologize.”
“You can’t always see what’s at the edges,” Ni Su said, sitting down.
As the boatman had said, there were painting supplies and fresh fruit inside the covered boat. Ni Su saw a painting of the lake left behind by a previous passenger.
Feeling inspired, she picked up a brush, dipped it in the water container, and began to paint.
Ni Su wasn’t a skilled painter. Her brother had tried to teach her, but she had been too focused on her medical studies.
Her private tutor hadn’t taught painting either, only reading and writing. Even the Four Books and Five Classics she had learned from her brother.
She struggled to capture the distant mountains and the nearby scenery. She then focused on the Xie Chun Pavilion.
The pavilion was starting to take shape. She turned to Xu He Xue. “Is my painting of the Xie Chun Pavilion good?”
Xu He Xue looked at the red-lacquered pavilion on the paper. In life, despite his carefree nature, he had been rigorously trained by his strict teacher, Zhang Jing, demanding perfection in both calligraphy and painting.
Her painting wasn’t technically good, lacking both form and structure, but meeting her eager gaze, he nodded slightly. “Mmm.”
Ni Su’s eyes brightened at his praise. “Can you paint?” she asked, forgetting to lower her voice.
The boatman, who was fishing at the front of the boat, turned around. “Did you say something, Miss?”
“Ah,” Ni Su met his puzzled gaze. “I was just talking to myself.”
The boatman nodded and turned back to his fishing.
“Quick, he’s not looking. You paint,” Ni Su whispered, placing the brush in Xu He Xue’s hand.
Holding a brush felt like a lifetime ago.
Xu He Xue examined the brush, so different from the ones he remembered, a simple bamboo stick with uneven goat hairs that kept falling out.
He hesitated, then, urged by the young woman beside him, dipped the brush in ink and began to paint.
Somehow, it wasn’t as unfamiliar as he had expected.
Ni Su knew he was educated, but she hadn’t expected him to capture the essence of the Xie Chun Pavilion with just a few strokes. She watched in amazement as he painted, then corrected her clumsy lines and washes.
Playful egrets, willow branches swaying in the wind.
Every detail was beautiful.
Ni Su realized that every stroke she had made had become an essential part of his painting.
Xu He Xue was almost lost in the act of painting. Holding the brush, he felt, for a moment, like he wasn’t a ghost, but a living person, just like the young woman beside him.
“Can you paint yourself and your teacher here?” she asked, pointing at the pavilion.
Xu He Xue’s hand froze. Seeing the boatman catch a fish, he placed the brush back in her hand.
Their fingers brushed, cold as ice.
The breeze blew, and a strand of her hair brushed against his cheek as he turned to look at her.
Their eyes met, both reflecting the shimmering lake.
The boatman’s call startled Ni Su, and she quickly turned to discuss the fish dish with him, then looked back at the painting and whispered, “If you don’t want to paint your teacher, you can paint yourself and me, as we were in the pavilion just now.”
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