The mountains on both banks of Liao He rose in layered ridges, the hillsides ablaze with crimson leaves.

A stone path wound its way up the slope, flanked on either side by maple trees whose branches spread in great overlapping sweeps — like clusters of red clouds drifting down from above.

Yan Qing couldn’t help but sigh: “No wonder the ancients wrote, ‘I stop the carriage to admire the maple forest at dusk — the frost-touched leaves are redder than the blooms of February.'”

Shi Ting looked down at her. “Miss Yan has quite the poetic gift, quoting immortal verses so effortlessly.”

“I didn’t write it,” Yan Qing said at once, a little embarrassed. “I borrowed the line.”

“There’s no need for modesty, Miss Yan. Your two poems, ‘Farewell Again to Cambridge’ and ‘The World of April,’ are widely celebrated — known to everyone.”

“Shi Ting!!!” Yan Qing realized he was teasing her and let out an indignant huff.

Shi Ting smiled. “Come — let’s go look over there.”

Among the trees stood several maples with broad, sprawling trunks and thick, lush canopies. Beneath them, the ground was blanketed in fallen leaves of red and gold, like a thick and plush carpet.

Shi Ting wheeled Yan Qing under the maple trees. She tilted her face upward instinctively. The light filtering down through the branches fell across her pale, delicate face, and the shadows of the leaves danced faintly before her eyes.

He stood behind her, looking down — close enough to see her lips slightly parted, as though she was about to murmur how beautiful it all was. But then the light was suddenly swallowed by shadow, and a strikingly handsome face drew gradually closer. Before she could say a word, his lips — faintly cool — pressed down softly against hers.

She was tilting her face upward, and for a moment she panicked — but she did not pull away. Instead, she instinctively closed her eyes.

She was trembling with nerves. Her long lashes fluttered without cease, and two faint blooms of color rose across her cheeks.

He moved his lips gently against hers, and felt her hands — uncertain, a little lost — reach out and grasp his sleeve. It struck him as endearing. He flicked her cheek lightly with one finger and lifted his lips away.

The sudden return of breath left Yan Qing briefly disoriented. After a moment, she lowered her head in quiet embarrassment, not daring to meet Shi Ting’s gaze, and instead nudged absently at the maple leaves before her with the toe of her small leather shoe.

“Would you like to come down and walk for a bit?” Shi Ting suggested.

“I’m not sure I can manage it,” Yan Qing said quickly, with a shake of her head.

“I’m here.” Shi Ting came around to face her and stretched out both hands, encouraging her: “How will you know unless you try?”

“Well — all right.” Yan Qing rested her hands in his and, using his strength, pushed herself up out of the wheelchair. She moved her right foot forward first, testing the ground, and set it down carefully among the fallen leaves.

The leaves rustled and crackled beneath her foot — not too soft, not too firm — the sensation was wonderfully comfortable.

Shi Ting held both her hands and became her moving support. Each time he took one step back, she took one step forward. She moved slowly, a little awkwardly, yet every step she took was steady.

She looked up at him with a smile. “It makes me think of learning to walk as a child, holding a grown-up’s hands.”

“You remember being one or two years old?”

“It’s a figure of speech!” Yan Qing shot him a look of mock reproach.

They had walked some distance when Yan Qing grew tired. The strength in her legs gradually faded, and she suddenly stumbled on something underfoot and lurched forward.

Shi Ting moved in an instant, catching her before she could fall, pulling her securely into his arms.

His chest was broad and warm. Whenever she needed it, it was always there to receive all her sorrow and helplessness.

The thought came over her quietly, and without thinking, she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek gently against his chest.

That small, trusting gesture sent a tremor through Shi Ting’s chest. He could not stop himself — his arms drew inward, holding her closer.

A gentle breeze drifted through. The maple leaves above them fell in a slow, soft cascade, and one bright red leaf came to rest on Shi Ting’s shoulder.

“Yan Qing.” His voice beside her ear was a low, contented exhale. “I have wanted to hold you like this for a very long time.”

The corners of Yan Qing’s lips curved upward. A smile warmed her eyes to their depths. She said nothing, but pressed her cheek softly against his chest with a gentle nuzzle, perfectly at ease — like a little cat perfectly content to be held.

“I have one regret,” Shi Ting said suddenly, blinking.

“A regret about what?”

Shi Ting pressed a light kiss to the top of her head. “I regret not finding a way to influence Grandmother when she was consulting the fortune-teller for an auspicious date.”

“What?” Yan Qing looked up in surprise.

“Thinking about it now, I really do regret it. Until next May — that’s still over half a year before I can bring you home.”

Yan Qing laughed. “Patience is a virtue, and half a year isn’t so bad — it gives me plenty of time to get a better measure of you.”

She gave him a light poke on the chest.

“What exactly would you like to measure?” he murmured, a teasing note in his voice. “There’s no one around — I could take off my coat and let you have a proper look.”

A deep flush swept across Yan Qing’s face, and she poked him harder: “Shi Ting, have you no shame at all?”

He laughed, bright and open. “Thank you for the compliment.”

Only he could take a comment like that as a compliment.

On the way back down the hill, Murong and the others were in the open space at the foot of the mountain, playing shuttlecock.

“Jin Shan, why does it keep falling on your side again?” Jing Zhi complained, crossing her arms.

Jin Shan laughed. “I’m going easy on you.”

Jing Zhi planted her hands on her hips. “Who are you fooling? Come on — show me what you’ve really got.”

Jin Shan bent to pick up the shuttlecock, and just as he was about to kick it, he spotted Shi Ting coming down. He ran over at once. “Young Master, are we leaving?”

“Keep playing.” It was a rare opportunity to be out, and Shi Ting had no intention of rushing back.

“Yes, sir.” Jin Shan turned to go, then looked back. “Young Master, do you want to join us?”

Before Shi Ting could answer, Yan Qing gave him a gentle push forward. “Go on — I’ll watch.”

“All right.” Shi Ting followed Jin Shan and joined the group.

Yan Qing sat a little way off, watching that tall figure with a soft smile. He moved with easy, flowing grace — lifting, striking, hooking, kicking, one deft footwork technique after another. With him there, Jin Shan — who had been taking the most losses before — suddenly had a pillar to lean on, and it was Jing Zhi who began to fumble.

Jing Zhi stamped her foot in frustration and called over to Yan Qing: “Miss, tell Director Shi to go easy on us!”

Yan Qing replied: “I’m just an ordinary spectator. You’re all on your own.”

“Miss, you’re already taking his side, and you haven’t even married into the family yet. Hmph.”

Murong stifled a laugh. “Miss is right. Everyone fends for themselves.”

“Murong, even you’ve turned traitor?”

Across the group, Jin Shan grinned. “Jing Zhi, how about you and I team up? I’ll take it easy on you.”

Listening to their cheerful banter, Shi Ting turned to look at Yan Qing, and their eyes met — hers clear and bright as water. In that moment, a sense of contentment unlike anything he had known before rose quietly through him. Perhaps this peacefulness, this laughter — this was what he had spent his entire life in pursuit of. Even if it passed like a firework blazing for a single moment, he would have no regrets.

~

Yan Qing had barely returned from viewing the maple leaves when Er Yitai Guo Yanrong arrived at her courtyard with her maid.

Madam Yan was currently serving a three-month penalty of sutra-recitation in the Citang, and during her absence, Er Yitai Guo Yanrong had temporarily taken charge of the inner household.

“Sixth Miss, you’ve finally returned.” Guo Yanrong said with a smile. “I spent all day today reviewing over a dozen seamstresses and finally found one I’m satisfied with.”

Yan Qing asked: “What does Second Concubine Mother need a seamstress for?”

“My dear child — you’re getting married into the Shi Family next May. Naturally, she’s here to embroider your wedding gown.”

Yan Qing said, a little shyly: “There are still several months left — is there really such a hurry?”

“How can there not be? The finest seamstress in Shun Cheng takes two to three months to complete a wedding gown. If we don’t start now, there won’t be enough time.” Guo Yanrong took a small booklet from her maid’s hands. “The most fashionable wedding gown styles of the season are all in here. Sixth Miss, pick two designs, and I’ll have the seamstress begin right away.”

Yan Qing took it and leafed through the pages. Every gown was magnificent and beautifully elaborate — she found herself drawn to all of them.

Weddings at this time also took Western forms — with bridal gowns and Western suits — but traditional families, especially prominent households, still valued the old rites. The wedding gown was an essential part of a woman’s marriage, and its quality was seen as a reflection of her standing.

“They all look wonderful to me. Why doesn’t Second Concubine Mother choose on my behalf?”

Guo Yanrong laughed when she heard this. “A woman’s wedding gown ought to be chosen by herself.”

“I trust Second Concubine Mother completely.” Yan Qing gave a sweet smile.

Guo Yanrong’s eyes curved into happy crescents. “Very well then — I’ll select the newest and most expensive styles. Master has given strict instructions that Sixth Miss’s wedding must spare no expense. What’s the saying — there’s no ‘best,’ only ‘better’?”

Guo Yanrong and Yan Qing discussed a few more details before she departed with her maid.

“Thank goodness it’s Second Concubine Mother managing things this time.” Jing Zhi watched her retreating figure and let out a quiet remark. “If it were the First Madam, she wouldn’t be willing to use the best of everything for Miss. She’d be worried about being outshone by Fifth Miss and losing face.”

Yan Qing cared little for such formalities. In her heart, simply being able to marry Shi Ting was the great fortune of her life. Even without a magnificent wedding gown and all the pageantry, a modest cottage and plain clothing would make her just as happy.

Yan Qin had been given a grand wedding — and yet her days in the Shi household had been full of suffering and strife. Happiness could not be found through outward form alone. In the end, it had to be earned through one’s own effort and determination.

A few days later, Yan Qing received a gift.

It arrived in a delicately crafted wooden box, and when she opened it, a fine glimmer of light flickered past.

“It’s a pearl necklace!” Jing Zhi exclaimed in delight.

Yan Qing was equally surprised. She lifted the necklace from the box. It was a strand of entirely natural pearls, each one individually polished to a smooth, flawless finish. The color was warm and silky, the shapes elegantly natural, and a soft iridescent glow moved faintly across their surfaces.

“Miss, do you see this one — isn’t it the pearl we found in the clam that day on the river?”

“I think it is.” Yan Qing touched the pearl at the center of the strand. Unlike the others, it had kept its original, unaltered shape — yet rather than looking out of place, it had become the most distinctive and striking pearl among them all.

She remembered saying when she received it that a single pearl wasn’t much use on its own. She hadn’t realized he had taken those words to heart. He had gone and gathered a great many pearls of similar size and, with his own hands, made them into this necklace.

“Miss, put it on quickly — let’s see how it looks!” Jing Zhi was even more eager than she was.

Yan Qing faced the mirror while Jing Zhi helped fasten the necklace around her neck. She was wearing a cream-colored, stand-collar blouse that day — paired with the lustrous white strand of pearls, the combination was beautifully complementary.

“Jing Zhi, do you know how to knit a scarf?” Yan Qing asked, still admiring her reflection.

—