Chapter 115 — Things Past (Bonus Update for 1110 Pink Votes)

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.

He stood there quietly, watching her figure vanish around the corner of the veranda before he turned, facing the courtyard full of guards with his hands clasped behind his back. A killing aura at once filled the whole courtyard, sending a chill through Dou Yan.

A man in the crimson embroidered-uniform of a third-rank Embroidered Uniform Guard officer hurried past the ranks of armored guards with reverence in his bearing, dropped to one knee before him in the humblest of postures, and reported in a low voice, head bowed and eyes lowered. Only then did she realize she had seen something she should not have, and she hastily retreated on tiptoe toward the rear courtyard.

She felt a gaze fall upon her, pricking at her back like needles, yet she dared not turn her head, only quickened her step and fled in panic toward the inner courtyard.

It was not until the next morning, when the country gentleman's wife tremblingly told her that Commander Song of the Divine Machine Battalion had made a brief stop at their house the night before, that she realized the handsome man of such striking appearance was none other than the famous Song Yan.

From that day on, she never saw him again.

But the earnest expression on his face as he listened to her daughter was carved deep into her heart.

Sometimes she would think: no wonder so many women were willing to follow him even knowing his reputation—he had a side that was kind to others.

Sometimes she would wonder: had he noticed her that day or not?

And she would wonder who this "sister" was that he had come to pay respects to—the Duke of Yingguo had only two sons, no daughter.

She had never imagined that after all these years she would meet him again.

Dou Yan rubbed her face, stiff from a night without sleep, and asked Suxin, "What hour is it now?"

First she had been frightened and uneasy, then panicked and at a loss, and then she had lain awake all night. Watching her, Suxin felt as though a cat were clawing at her heart, so restless she could not sit still, and she too had not slept a wink. Hearing the question, Suxin rose at once and checked the water clock. "It's only the hour of Yin, Miss. Do sleep a little longer!"

Dou Yan sat up. "I can't sleep anyway, so I may as well get up." Then she asked about the guests who had taken lodging: "Have they gone?"

"How could they go anywhere!" Suxin said, drawing back half the bed curtain for Dou Yan and hooking it with a silver-gilt hook wrought with a phoenix facing the sun. "The rain's coming down harder and harder—you could float ducks in the courtyard."

Dou Yan pricked up her ears to listen.

The rain still pattered against the roof tiles like scattered beans.

She thought of a time she had passed the Duke of Yingguo's estate: ancient trees thick as a man's embrace, their canopies like umbrellas, spreading lush and green over the mottled wall. Though the house had fallen into decline, it still brimmed with an air of antiquity, dense shade covering the ground, still as eternity.

She instructed Suxin: "Go tell Duan Bing and Chen Lanxu that whatever those people want to do, let them do it. Be as courteous as can be, don't come to any conflict with them, and see them off respectfully."

Suxin was taken aback.

The Dou family was a great and powerful house, and the Fourth Miss was no timid soul—yet the Fourth Miss's tone now carried a fear that shrank back three steps from the very sight of them.

She thought of Dou Yan's ashen face the night before.

Had the Fourth Miss seen something?

Was there a reason even the Fourth Miss dared not offend these people?

Dou Yan of course saw Suxin's bewilderment, but she could not say.