The banquet was halfway through when someone came hurrying in from outside.

He apparently had no idea there were guests inside. He pushed the door open and immediately began complaining, “It’s freezing out there — nearly froze me half to death. This is the place to be, brother-in-law.”

The one who had pushed the door open was a slick-haired young man, somewhere around twenty, of unremarkable appearance, with a mole just above the corner of his mouth that stood out conspicuously.

Wen Xu’s expression darkened when he saw him.

The young man hadn’t expected to find the room full of company. He froze for a moment.

“Xiang Rong, you must learn to knock before entering. Come — let me introduce you. This is your brother-in-law’s niece and her fiancé, who have come all the way from Shun Cheng today.” Mo Yunhua quickly rose and made the introduction with warm enthusiasm.

The young man’s name was Mo Xiangrong. He was Mo Yunhua’s younger brother, and ever since Mo Yunhua had married Wen Xu, this Mo Xiangrong had been coming and going from the Wen household as though it were his own home.

Mo Xiangrong immediately clasped his hands toward the two of them. “Good day, niece.”

Yan Qing and Shi Ting promptly returned the greeting.

Mo Xiangrong planted himself in a nearby seat with a complete lack of ceremony. “As the saying goes, arriving at the right moment is better than arriving early. Just look at this spread — you must be honored guests indeed. Brother-in-law has really outdone himself.”

Yan Qing and Shi Ting exchanged a glance. Neither said anything.

Mo Yunhua’s brother had a rather excessive ease with strangers.

“Come on, eat, eat.” Seeing that Wen Xu’s face had already darkened, Mo Yunhua quickly piled a piece of meat onto Mo Xiangrong’s plate to stop his mouth.

After dinner, Wen Xu took Shi Ting to his collection room. Wen Xu had a passion for tobacco and had accumulated many varieties from home and abroad — limited editions and rare vintage specimens among them, of considerable value.

Shi Ting did not smoke, but he found the collection genuinely interesting. For him, this was an excellent opportunity to expand his store of knowledge.

“Look at this — this dark reddish-brown tobacco is made specifically for cigars. This box was acquired at an auction house. Only thirty boxes of it exist in the entire world, and this is the only one in the country.” Wen Xu launched into a flowing account of his collection.

This appeared to be Wen Xu’s prized pride — displayed under an exquisitely carved glass dome in the most prominent position in the room.

“These tobaccos are antiques. Over a hundred years old.” Wen Xu introduced each item to Shi Ting in turn.

Meanwhile, in Wen Yan’s room, the two young women sat together in conversation.

“Last time I could already tell that you and my future brother-in-law were more than ordinary friends — and you wouldn’t admit a thing.” Wen Yan said.

Yan Qing replied, “At that time, we truly were only ordinary friends.”

Wen Yan ticked off on her fingers. “And how many months ago was that? The two of you have certainly moved quickly.”

“My path to marriage has been rather winding — I’ll tell you all about it properly when we have time.” Yan Qing sighed, then suddenly thought of Mo Xiangrong. “Does that Mo Xiangrong come here often to eat and drink at your family’s expense?”

Wen Yan couldn’t help spitting in contempt at the mention of the man. “That shameless creature — relying on his sister’s position here, he drops by every few days to cadge meals and drinks. He does nothing all day, won’t hold down the job my father arranged for him, and when he runs out of money he comes running over and flatters my father by calling him ‘dear brother-in-law’ this and ‘dear brother-in-law’ that. Just the sight of him irritates me.”

A man like that was certainly infuriating, but after all he was the wife’s younger brother, and Wen Xu, however exasperated, could not afford to fall out openly with him — especially since Mo Yunhua was fiercely protective of her brother. The moment Wen Xu showed even the mildest disapproval, she would start crying, and the sound of weeping was the one thing Wen Xu could not bear. And so Mo Xiangrong could cause trouble and still have it smoothed over every time.

“Father always indulges him for the sake of Aunt Mo. If this goes on much longer, I’m afraid he’ll start trying to carve off a share of our Wen Family’s estate.” Wen Yan curled her lip.

“How does your aunt treat you?”

“How many stepmothers are ever truly good to you? It’s civil enough on the surface, which is all one can ask. It’s only because Father still dotes on me that I manage all right in this household.”

Yan Qing thought of Yan Xu. Her own father cherished her and held her in the palm of his hand — yet even he sometimes found himself helpless against circumstances beyond his control.

“It’s getting late, and you’ve been on the train nearly half a day — you must be worn out. Tomorrow they’ll be slaughtering the New Year pig, which means plenty more to look forward to.” Wen Yan said with concern. “Let me walk you back.”

When Wen Yan left, not wanting Yan Qing to be shorthanded, she left behind one of her own little maids — a girl called Xiang’er — to attend to Yan Qing.

This was the same room Yan Qing had stayed in during her last visit to the Wen household. It had been swept spotlessly clean, and the radiant-floor heater had been stoked to a fine, even warmth.

Yan Qing washed up and changed into a set of cotton sleep clothes. The soft pink shade made her fair skin look even more like snow.

Jing Zhi and Xiang’er had both retired to rest. The room was left to Yan Qing alone. She noticed a writing set ready on the table, and so she rolled up her sleeves and decided to practice a few characters to pass the time.

After grinding the ink, Yan Qing spread out a sheet of rice paper. She touched the tip of the brush to the tip of her nose and thought about what to write.

After a moment’s thought, her hand had already begun to move.

When she had finished two characters, she admired her work for a moment, then set the brush down and sat there with her chin in her hand, in a sort of gentle reverie.

A reverie, of course, means she had drifted to thoughts of a certain person. She had seen him only at dinner, not so long ago — and yet she already found herself missing him.

Winter nights in the north were full of wind and snow. Outside the window, gusts came and went in long howls, rattling the shutters in their frames.

Yan Qing moved to the window to check that it was properly latched. She felt a draft immediately — sure enough, a large gap had opened up along the sill. A gust swept through, blowing the shutter back with a sharp crack.

Yan Qing was just about to close the window when a hand appeared out of the darkness, closing around hers.

She startled — but then recognized the face that had been wandering through her thoughts just moments before. Her expression brightened at once. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d had a bit to drink with Uncle and was finding my way back to my room, but I took a wrong turn.” Shi Ting stood outside the window, the winter wind lifting the hair at his forehead.

She didn’t believe for a moment that he had taken a wrong turn. And to top it off, he had taken the wrong turn directly into her courtyard.

“Come in quickly — it’s cold out there.” Yan Qing stepped back to make space for him.

Shi Ting swung himself through the window in one clean motion. Seeing that he had come out wearing only his outer jacket, without coat or padded garment, Yan Qing’s heart clenched with worry. “How could you come out dressed like this?”

She quickly closed the window and pressed her own warming pouch into his hands. When her fingers brushed his — ice cold — she couldn’t help wrapping her small hands around them and blowing a soft breath of warm air.

Shi Ting’s palms grew warm. And so did something in his chest.

He couldn’t help leaning close to her side, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek.

“Shall I help you stand?” Shi Ting extended his hand.

“Yes.” Yan Qing took his hand and rose. Guided by the backward movement of his step, she moved slowly forward.

“Your walking has grown more natural. Two months more and you should be close to fully recovered.”

“I still need to practice regularly.” Yan Qing walked several laps around the room with him at her side.

Afraid she would tire herself, Shi Ting guided her to a nearby chair and helped her sit.

“Practicing calligraphy at this hour?” He turned and noticed the rice paper spread out across the table.

Yan Qing was horrified. She shot up from the wheelchair, took two quick steps, and threw herself over the table to cover the two characters with her body.

Shi Ting watched this seamless sequence of movements and couldn’t help smiling. “No immediate threat to life this time — and yet Miss Yan is suddenly running.”

Yan Qing paid no attention to any of that; she pressed herself over those two characters as though her life depended on it, desperate to keep them hidden.

Shi Ting appeared entirely uninterested. Instead he looked toward the doorway. “Jing Zhi — when did you come in?”

At the sound of Jing Zhi’s name, Yan Qing snapped her head around — and in that moment of inattention, the sheet of rice paper she had been guarding with everything she had slipped into Shi Ting’s hands.

On the paper, two characters — nothing more, nothing less: Shi Ting.

She had been writing his name.

Shi Ting curved his lips in an open, delighted smile.

Her little secret had been discovered. Yan Qing decided to brazen it out. “Give it back.”

“Miss Yan has been secretly writing my name, and yet she is the indignant one?”

“How do you know it’s your name? The world is full of people named Shi Ting.”

Yan Qing was absolutely not going to admit it.

Shi Ting studied the characters carefully. “The writing flows quite freely, but it still lacks a little refinement — especially this character Ting. The brushwork there is somewhat less assured.”

He set the paper back on the table, spread out a fresh sheet, and said, “If Miss Yan doesn’t mind, I would be happy to offer a few pointers.”

“Truly?” Yan Qing’s delight made her forget all about her embarrassment a moment before. “I’ve been modeling my calligraphy on yours.”

Shi Ting ground more ink for her. “When tracing a master’s work, one absorbs the spirit of the brush. When copying a model, one takes in the structural framework. After much practice of both, the path forward lies in observation, reflection, exchange, and adaptation.”

Yan Qing had no expectation of ever reaching Shi Ting’s level of refinement, but being able to write a handsome hand in ink brush was a fine thing in itself.

She regularly sent him pages of practice, and he, without exception, always offered his comments in return.

She straightened her posture and took up the brush.

“The character Shi is not bad — but this dot lacks force.” Shi Ting closed his hand over hers. His broad chest wrapped around her from behind. “The stroke should start from this position — it allows you to put weight behind it, and the spacing comes out exactly right.”

With his hand guiding hers, each stroke fell with precision.

Yan Qing compared the result to what she had written before. The difference was immediately apparent.

After finishing the two characters Shi Ting, he guided her hand to write Yan Qing below them.

The two names placed side by side — bold strength next to delicate elegance, sweeping confidence next to quiet, flowing grace — made for a strikingly beautiful pairing.

Shi Ting continued guiding Yan Qing through a few more characters. And between strokes, he would steal a small kiss against her cheek, unhurried and content.

Yan Qing was absorbed in the writing, and paid his small transgressions no particular mind — which meant he rather thoroughly got the better of the exchange.

The two of them nestled close in that easy warmth, and time passed as it always does in such moments — faster than it should. When Yan Qing at last set the brush down, the clock on the wall already showed eleven.

“It’s this late already?” Yan Qing exclaimed. Then she looked at Shi Ting, and the meaning of the look was clear: it was time for him to go.

Shi Ting, however, produced a look of great reluctance. “With this wind out there — perhaps I should just stay?”

Yan Qing was fairly certain he had deliberately come without his coat precisely with this in mind.

“We have to be up early tomorrow to see everything that’s happening, and it’s not just Jing Zhi — there’s Xiang’er as well. If anyone were to see, that would be very difficult to explain.”

“I’ll leave before dawn.” Shi Ting assumed the most pitiable expression he could manage. “It’s so cold out there — can you really bear to send me out into the wind?”