Chapter 19: Undercurrent

 

Lan Yunjin’s cheeks flushed crimson, like the tide rushing in. The wine in her belly surged restlessly, choking her throat until she coughed again and again.

It was as if sudden rain had washed rouge across her body.

She had thought of using seduction to cloud his judgment. Thinking of it and doing it was another matter. She was clumsy and awkward, like dropping a stone on her own foot.

Of matters of men and women, she had heard more than she had ever seen.

Biting her lip in shame, Lan Yunjin asked herself, what now?

When a husband undressed his wife, should she resist yet yield, hesitate and demur? Or should she fall into his arms without reservation? Which was better?

For once, she could not decide.

Lowering her lashes, avoiding Wei Xiao’s gaze, she murmured, “Then… I shall fetch another robe.”

Though her long hair shielded her, she still felt unbearably exposed.

Seduction, she realized, was a strategy that harmed both sides; eight hundred to the enemy, a thousand to herself.

A dull weariness settled in her chest.

Before her death, she had despised deception more than anything.

Yet now she was the liar, building cover upon cover, stringing together endless half-truths, forcing herself to act against her nature. How could she not feel exhausted?

Wei Xiao, watching her distant look, thought he had frightened her.

He strangled the desire that had flared up moments earlier, and stepped toward her.

“If you need rest then don’t trouble yourself to change.”

He snuffed out the last lamp burning in the inner room.

Outside, the stray cat’s cries softened to a low, plaintive whimper.

Lan Yunjin could not reply. Her eyesight was poor; once the light was gone, she was blind. Even when she grew old, she would keep a lamp lit in her room, so as not to stumble in the dark at night.

But Wei Xiao moved like a creature of the night, knowing at once where his wife stood.

His shadow fell over her. Hands circling her waist, he lifted her easily.

A nudge of his knee parted her legs just enough that she had no choice but to cling to his arm.

Neither spoke as they settled into bed.

Lan Yunjin could not sleep.

She had overestimated herself, underestimated Wei Xiao’s restraint.

Closing her eyes, she could hardly believe she would one day be troubled by a man not yet past his youth.

At her side, his breathing was steady.

She recalled the day she had first entered the General’s Manor. She had dismissed him then as a brash boy, reckless in manner.

Now she saw she had been prejudiced. Striping away that biasness, his roughness seemed precisely measured like not careless, but grounded.

Testing the waters, she asked softly, “Husband, when will you return to the camp?”

In two days they would attend the palace banquet.

By her reckoning, his leave was nearly spent. Once gone, he would not return to Chang’an for at least a year, perhaps longer.

Wei Xiao had not closed his eyes. He was fighting off the desires that would not die.

Her words worked on him; clearly, she was eager for him to leave Chang’an.

Irritation prickled, but he answered truthfully, “The second day of next month.”

Lan Yunjin’s wakefulness only sharpened. Soon, this chamber and this bed would be hers alone. She could sleep when she wished, bathe when she wished and do everything else by her choice.

The thought delighted her, and the knot of fear in her chest loosened.

With Wei Xiao at the camp, one less threat remained.

She and her elder sister need to only be wary of Pei Ye. So long as they were careful, their exchanged identities would not be exposed.

Wei Xiao sensed her hidden joy. He could almost picture it: if she did not restrain herself, that serene, goddess-like face of hers would be lit with unguarded delight.

If he were not in the manor, would she even think of him as her husband?

“Shall I prepare anything for your journey?” Lan Yunjin was not foolish enough to ignore his coming departure. “My sister-in-law said the northern climate is harsh, that spring arrives late. Let me sew two thick garments for you.”

A ringing filled Wei Xiao’s ears. This Lan woman was, indeed thoughtful.

Her soft voice brushed his ear. But in the next instant, he remembered Pei Ye’s humble tone.

After a long silence, he said only, “It’s late. We’ll speak tomorrow.”

----

At dawn, pale light drove away the last sliver of moon.

A young maid swept the courtyard with her broom.

Before the sky had fully brightened, Steward Wu hurried in with word: the young master’s close friend, Deputy General Luo, had urgent business and summoned him at once.

At that hour, Momo Zhou was still deep in sleep, impossible to wake. It was Yuchan who opened the door.

Lan Yunjin herself had only managed to fall asleep in the latter half of the night. When Momo Zhou entered with the morning meal, she was still curled beneath the quilt.

Momo Zhou whispered with Yuchan, “Did our lady tire herself last night?”

Yuchan shook her head, bewildered. “I followed your instructions and didn’t attend her bath. I’ve no idea what hour the master and Madam finally rested.”

Momo Zhou gripped her chopsticks thoughtfully. “How many days has it been now that they’ve shared a chamber?”

Yuchan, counting the days of her Madam’s monthly cycle, replied, “At least half a month?”

Lan Yunjin twisted restlessly on the bed, her dreams unbroken and endless.

All of them were of faces from the past yet the events were distorted beyond recognition.

She dreamt of Wei Xiao alone, swallowed by the enemy ranks. Arrows pierced his chest, bristling from him like quills from a hedgehog.

Behind him lay only black fog, thick and suffocating, until even his face blurred into the mist.

He treated the arrows as trifles, raised his silver spear, spurred his horse, and charged toward the enemy.

Blood spilled from his mouth, his scaled armor and iron helm clattering to the ground.

Was this Wei Xiao’s past life?

The sharpness of the arrows seemed to pierce Lan Yunjin’s own heart.

Someone was calling her.

She forced herself awake.

“Madam!” Yuchan bent over the bedside. “The Young Lord is here.”

The sun was already high, burning bright.

Pei Ye had come abruptly, claiming he must apologize for neglecting his brother-in-law yesterday.

He waited in the courtyard.

Maids bustled in and out, carrying basins and towels.

In the flower garden, a circle of jasmine pots bloomed.

Pei Ye’s steps carried him closer.

Yunying had loved jasmine. Every June, she would write poems and paint at the Hibiscus Pavilion when the flowers bloomed.

Her handwriting, her brushstrokes, Pei Ye was hopelessly fascinated.

Each poem she left him only sharpened his hunger for the next. Waiting for her hand to move again was torture beyond bearing.

He had imagined, more than once, if only Yunying were locked away in his study, his bedchamber then what was waiting few more, compared to that?

Momo Zhou remembered how, last time, the Young Lord had been turned away. Since Wei Xiao was not home, it was only proper to invite her Madam’s brother-in-law inside for tea.

Yuchan brought Pei Ye into the side chamber.

Lan Yunjin washed quickly and dusted her face with a thin layer of pearl powder.

She smiled at the man who was at once familiar and strange. “My husband is not one to quibble over trifles. Brother-in-law, you mustn’t trouble yourself with guilt.”

Pei Ye accepted the celadon teacup from Momo Zhou. “Elder Sister, what happened yesterday was no trifle.”

Lan Yunjin asked evenly, “And what was that?”

Pei Ye sipped slowly, his wide sleeves hiding his face.

“I was drunk, and I spoke nonsense,” he said at last. “I do not wish for Brother-in-law to misunderstand me and bear resentment against me.”

Lan Yunjin’s smile froze.

In her previous life, Pei Ye had always been poor with drink. Yet even when drunk, it was Wenbo who accompanied him back to his study to rest.

To get drunk and speak nonsense, Pei Ye had never done such a thing.

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