Ji Yingying and Ling’er didn’t climb up the hill to leave the grove, instead wandering through the entire small valley. Early spring plants had begun sprouting new buds, and she discovered many plants and minerals suitable for making dyes. To pass the time, she kept herself busy extracting juices from leaves and mixing dyes, thoroughly enjoying herself.
Finally, Ling’er reminded her: “Miss, today is Master Yang’s seventh seventh-day funeral procession.”
Ji Yingying had come to the mountain on the day after Yang Senior Master’s first seventh-day memorial, and without realizing it, she had already lived in the mountains for a month. On the first seventh day, Yang Jingyuan hadn’t been at the Yang residence. Would he appear today for his father’s funeral procession?
However, while Daoist Huaqing usually delivered letters and provisions from the Ji family every few days, today the old priest hadn’t brought any news. Ji Yingying couldn’t quite understand it, but she was certain something was happening in the Yang household.
From dusk, rain began falling in the mountains. After the servant and mistress finished their meal, they lit an oil lamp to sew clothes. Then came a gentle knock at the wooden door.
The sound of tapping wood was almost drowned out by the rain. Ji Yingying froze for a moment, then heard Yang Jingyuan’s voice from outside: “Master.”
She threw down the clothing and rushed to open the door.
Yang Jingyuan stood at the entrance wearing a black brocade hooded cloak, carrying a bundle in his hand. He had lost considerable weight, making his facial features even more pronounced. Seeing Ji Yingying opening the door, he stepped back in surprise.
The rain fell from the eaves onto his brocade cloak, rolling off like pearls. As he stepped back, his cloak opened, revealing the plain white mourning clothes underneath. The black and white colors painted a desolate air about him.
“Why are you here?” Yang Jingyuan composed himself.
After the Yang family members had left, he and Master Shu had gone to pay respects to his father together. Before leaving Yizhou, instead of going to see Ji Yingying first, he had come to the mountain to bid farewell to his master. In his original plan, he would go down the mountain tomorrow and visit her at the Ji residence. Master Shu had given him two days, and he wanted to stay until the very last moment. He feared he wouldn’t have the heart to leave.
Ji Yingying’s lips trembled, her eyes reddening as she ran toward him.
Before Yang Jingyuan could react, Ji Yingying had already thrown herself into his arms, holding him tight: “Third Young Master, where have you been?”
During the days, he studied with Master Shu, and at night, he perched on walls and trees watching over his two elder brothers, sleeping only two short hours each day. Yang Jingyuan didn’t answer, instead drawing his cloak closed to shield her from the falling rain.
How could he tell her? His master had anticipated that when he left home, he would come to say goodbye, and had deliberately kept her here. If she were at the Ji residence, he would probably have had to climb walls and knock on windows. Remembering how he used to climb walls and windows to find her before, a rain-like melancholy filled Yang Jingyuan’s eyes. The Yang Third Young Master of those days seemed like someone from a previous life, someone he could never be again.
“You never came to find me at my home,” Ji Yingying said, hearing something in his tone and feeling hurt.
“I was planning to find you tomorrow night.”
“Oh.”
Ji Yingying responded softly, then remembered he was in mourning and her face grew warm. She loosened her grip, but her waist tightened as Yang Jingyuan held her close. She compliantly rested against his chest.
Heaven’s will have let him see her here. Let that final farewell come a little later; he could still have one more day of happiness.
The rain fell heavily, the cloak blocking out both light and rain, sheltering them from the cold wind. Ji Yingying felt an unprecedented sense of security. The sachet she had given him remained in his chest pocket. She caught the familiar scent of peach blossoms from his chest and couldn’t help but smile.
“The rain is heavy outside. Miss, Young Master Yang, please come inside to talk,” Ling’er called out with a smile, gathering up the sewing materials and turning to retire to the cleared-out west wing.
Her voice awakened them both. Yang Jingyuan looked down at Ji Yingying, then led her into the room with his arm around her.
He put down his bundle on the table and removed his rain cloak. Seeing Ji Yingying still standing there staring at him foolishly, his heart warmed, and he said softly, “I’m hungry.”
“Oh!” Ji Yingying suddenly came to her senses, called out loudly for Ling’er, and ran out again.
He stood in the doorway, watching intently as Ji Yingying and Ling’er busied themselves in the makeshift kitchen to the side.
The flames from the stove made the falling rain look like crystalline curtains. She wore a simple jade-colored jacket and white skirt, her hair fastened in a bun with a silver hairpin. In his memory, Ji Yingying had always preferred bright-colored clothing. He had seen her wear peach blossom red, pomegranate red, pink, apricot yellow, and goose yellow. That she would wear such plain-colored clothes while waiting for him here was because he was in mourning.
Ji Yingying occasionally looked up, her smile making even the rainy night seem bright. Yang Jingyuan’s heart twinged slightly. She didn’t know that tomorrow night he would be leaving Yizhou Prefecture with Master Shu. In three years, she would be an unmarried woman of nineteen. Was it fair to her to make her wait for him?
“Third Young Master, we have leftover rice, so I made some vegetable soup rice. Come inside quickly.” Ji Yingying carried the tray herself as she walked toward him.
The leftover rice had softened in the vegetable soup, covered densely with a layer of aged cured meat. The cured meat was sliced thin, its fat translucent, and the lean meat bright red. When he stirred it with his chopsticks, steam rose, revealing two fried eggs nestled underneath. The side dish was salt-pickled radish, tinted rouge-red, and drizzled with sesame oil. He took a bite, and the steam seemed to rush into his eyes.
He lowered his head further, wolfing down the food.
Ji Yingying grew anxious: “Eat slower, don’t burn yourself.”
He had been burned. His heart was warmed by her care. His father’s passing, his concubine mother’s suicide, his legal mother trying to beat him to death… Yang Jingyuan suddenly reached out and grabbed her hand.
Ji Yingying froze, watching him eat silently in large mouthfuls, and placed her other hand over his.
In an instant, he had cleaned out the entire bowl of vegetable soup rice. She tried to stand up to pour him some water, but Yang Jingyuan wouldn’t let go. His lips moved, then pressed tightly together again.
He must have some difficulty he couldn’t speak of, she thought. Ji Yingying deliberately smiled and said, “Let go, I won’t run away. I’ll get you some hot water to wash your face.”
Yang Jingyuan stood up, holding her hand as he took an oil-paper umbrella from the wall: “I’ll wash in the kitchen.”
Stealing a glance at the hand she held, Ji Yingying pressed her lips together and smiled secretly.
She was immensely grateful to Daoist Huaqing. If they were still at home, he could at most sneak into her bedroom and talk with her while avoiding others. Though she knew he was in mourning, she still loved this. This moment of intimacy instantly dissolved the estrangement and cold war between them. Only an indescribable tenderness remained.
Yang Jingyuan easily found the wooden basin, scooped water from the water vat and pot, and directly plunged his face in.
“There’s a towel. It’s in the room, I’ll ask Ling’er to get it.”
Yang Jingyuan lifted his face, carelessly wiping it with his sleeve: “No need.”
Ji Yingying gave him a reproachful look, carefully wiping the water dripping from his chin with her sleeve: “Your collar is all wet.”
She was as careful as if handling a treasure. The more she acted this way, the more distressed Yang Jingyuan felt. He looked up and asked, “You’ve eaten all the cured meat. Will there be meat to eat tomorrow?”
Ji Yingying calculated the time: “Every three days, a young Daoist brings vegetables to the edge of the grove. He won’t come until the day after tomorrow. I guess these meat and eggs were from Daoist Huaqing’s private store. He doesn’t abstain from meat. Strange.”
“I’ll go get some tomorrow,” Yang Jingyuan said, holding the umbrella and her hand as they walked toward the main hall, then suddenly added, “I’ll take you with me.”
“Great! I’ve been so bored. Though later I started looking for dyes everywhere, which helped pass the time.”