It was hard to say who exactly appeared in the dream; the setting felt somewhat modern. When he woke, he found himself spent.

The night of the Wu dynasty, the mosquito netting, an indescribable sensation — his lower body felt as though wrapped in something soft and warm. In the haze between sleep and waking, he heard a faint cough, and it took him a long moment to realize what was happening — in the darkness, the faintly raised outline of the blanket, Xiao Chan’s body beneath it, and then Xiao Chan half sitting up, lifting the blanket aside. In the dim light, her cheeks were puffed out with some mix of distress and awkwardness, something in her mouth, and she glanced down again with a troubled look, as though about to cry. She looked up at Ning Yi’s face once more, her throat working with difficulty, then bent back down again.

Back into that warm, enveloping sensation…

Ning Yi closed his eyes. Beneath him, she continued her careful, gentle movements.

After a while, Xiao Chan finally slipped quietly out from beneath the thin blanket, glanced once at Ning Yi, pulled the blanket up, and got out of bed.

The little maid was clearly still nervous, though her expression wasn’t overly complicated — she simply threw on her clothes at the foot of the bed, buttoned them up, and slipped quietly out the door. Soon after, faint sounds of water came from outside — washing her face, hands, rinsing her mouth, most likely. In the quiet night, crickets chirped in the grass. Xiao Chan quietly pushed the door open, came in, closed it softly, took off her shoes, undressed, and climbed back into bed, settling into Ning Yi’s arms, carrying a fresh, clean scent of water.

“This sort of thing… isn’t quite right…” Ning Yi said softly.

“Young… young master…” Xiao Chan shrank her neck in a little, her body tensing. Ning Yi smiled. “There’s no need for that, really…”

“But… but… this was something Xiao Chan was supposed to do anyway, and… young master was uncomfortable…”

Xiao Chan said this quietly. Ning Yi ran a hand through her hair. “Where did you learn all this from?”

“Before, before the wedding, a few of the aunties brought some pictures over, and said… said…”

She’d perhaps summoned her courage while doing it, but now caught in the act, she couldn’t finish the sentence, turning over in Ning Yi’s arms to face him, her forehead resting against his chest. After a long while, she finally said, “Young master… do you think Xiao Chan is thoughtless, unfilial? About Father’s passing…”

Ning Yi laughed. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s just… Mother and my brother and sister-in-law already assume Xiao Chan has… has been with young master… and, well, when Mother and Brother and Sister-in-law said Xiao Chan was sharing a room with young master, deep down Xiao Chan actually felt… happy about it. Father passed away, and Xiao Chan doesn’t really feel… that sad about it…”

Her voice trailed off toward the end. Ning Yi wrapped his arms around her shoulders and neck, staying silent for a long while.

“I can’t really say whether that’s right or wrong, but I’m glad.”

“Hm?” Xiao Chan blinked.

“Xiao Chan, you entered the Su household at four, didn’t you?”

“Mm.” She nodded.

“Xiao Chan thinks of the Su household as more important, thinks of herself as a maid of the Su family, thinks… thinks I’m uncomfortable… Even though I’m glad, it might not be entirely fair to you…”

The little girl in his arms didn’t quite follow this, lifting her head to look at him, then blinking with a troubled expression. “But… it’s, it’s just how things are, Xiao Chan was always meant to do these things anyway, and…” She pressed closer, lowering her voice a little. “Xiao Chan likes young master…”

“As long as you’re happy, that’s what matters.”

“Then what young master said just now…”

“Ha, never mind that.” Ning Yi patted her shoulder, and after a moment, “Still, no harm in being a bit more careful about things — these next few days… let’s not do this again…”

“Mm.” Xiao Chan nodded obediently, then after a moment, “But if… if young master is uncomfortable…”

“It’s fine to bear with it a bit. Your young master is quite capable, has plenty of willpower — why else would he be named Ning Yi (Perseverance)?”

“But Xiao Chan doesn’t like young master having to bear with it…”

“I said it’s fine, so it’s fine — no more talk about it!”

“Oh.”

Silence… then Xiao Chan’s small voice came through again.

“…Is young master bearing with it right now?”

“…” Ning Yi opened his eyes and let out a wordless sigh.

“Fine, I’ll go take a cold bath.”

“I’ll take young master there.”

“Lie down! Don’t move!”

“Er…”

“…I know where it is.”

“But…”

“Lie down! Go to sleep!”

Having sternly rebuffed the well-meaning Xiao Chan, Ning Yi put on his clothes and went out, and once he’d closed the door, muttered under the eaves, “A little trial, that’s all.” He walked a few steps, then shrugged and said to himself, “I’ve weathered far worse than this — who do I have to fear…” before striding off boldly toward the room at the end.

Not long after, he sighed and walked back rather wordlessly, pushing open the bedroom door. Xiao Chan lay properly on the inner side of the bed, hands folded neatly over her belly atop her undergarment, eyes closed, sleeping as quietly as a mummy. Ning Yi sighed. “Xiao Chan, where’s the well? I’m out of water — I need to go draw some.”

Xiao Chan kept her eyes closed, still feigning sleep, and after a moment, a sweet little voice rang out: “Xi-ao! Chan! Is! A-sleep!”

“…”

Ning Yi stood there stunned for a good while, then spread his hands helplessly — how on earth could a single night combine sorrow, romance, and comedy all at once…

…

That night, still led by Xiao Chan, they went out and found a small stream fed by a well upstream, where he took a cold bath. Though calling it “led by Xiao Chan” was generous — the two of them snuck out together without alerting Guard Geng or Dongzhu next door, then went hunting for the well based on Xiao Chan’s memory, and promptly came up empty.

Xiao Chan hadn’t spent much time back in Nanting Village and couldn’t quite recall where the well was in the dark; the two of them fumbled around slowly until they found the stream instead, where Ning Yi finally got his bath. With Xiao Chan keeping watch nearby, there was no chance for a second release, and the next morning she woke up feeling she’d probably developed dark circles under her eyes.

Simply managing to make it back to the room afterward already felt like a stroke of luck.

For Xiao Chan, perhaps two conflicting feelings coexisted within her at this point.

Peace, and sorrow. Sold into the Su household at age four, she had long since settled her heart there. As for this family in Nanting Village, others called it her family, her blood relatives, and so every year she sent money home, brought things back to visit, looked after her family, called them Father, Mother, Brother, Sister-in-law — but exactly how deep that sense of connection ran was hard to say.

Across nearly twelve years, their actual time together added up to little more than ten-odd days. For a girl not yet sixteen, whether she’d ever return to this family, whether she harbored any thoughts of “falling leaves returning to their roots,” was hard to say with any certainty. At least for now, there probably weren’t many such thoughts. She already lived in the Su household, was a maid of the Su family, had countless duties to attend to there, serving the young mistress and young master — these were simply her natural obligations. As for going home, when she truly had free time, she might request leave and come back once. How much did she actually look forward to it? Probably something like a minor task one is obligated to handle eventually, but with no real urgency.

If her heart could be divided into two layers, the more important layer undoubtedly belonged to the Su household, while Nanting Village was perhaps just a footnote. Her father’s death had genuinely saddened her, but that sadness didn’t belong to the more important layer. It was rather like hearing a small, moving story while in the middle of something important — feeling a pang of emotion or amusement, then hurrying off again.

This was the reason Ning Yi felt it wasn’t entirely fair to her — though in this era, many people, Xiao Chan included, likely took it as simply the natural order of things. Only he understood just how precious it was for someone to be able to think of herself, wholeheartedly, with her whole heart.

Someday, if Xiao Chan grew old and felt her life wasn’t going well, she might think of “falling leaves returning to their roots,” might wonder what it would have been like to stay with that family. But as far as Ning Yi was concerned, he had no intention of giving her that kind of opportunity — a lifetime, in the end, would render such phrases mere clouds drifting by; better, for now, to make things work while they still easily could.

And then, the fourth day of the funeral…

Chanting in the memorial hall, daily vigils, simple social obligations — in truth, all rather tedious. With a gift list already prepared, Ning Yi spent the daytime visiting neighboring households along with Guard Geng and Dongzhu, delivering gifts one household at a time, thanking them for looking after Xiao Chan’s family, chatting a while with each. His manner was easygoing, his etiquette impeccable, yet carrying just enough distance and bearing that after each visit the praise flowed freely. Ning Yi privately mused that if he ever wanted to seduce some village girl, it would probably be a sure thing — a thought that gave him a bit of a wry chuckle.

“…Sister-in-law told Brother today that the gift we sent to Auntie Mu’s house was too extravagant, said there was no need to send something so nice, and that if some of it could be taken back, it’d be better used to help with household expenses… but she didn’t want to say this to me directly. Brother’s too proud to bring it up straight, kept hemming and hawing, so I just pretended not to understand…”

That night, still sharing a room with Xiao Chan, she lay on the bed, swinging her bare legs and slender feet, telling him about the day’s happenings.

The whole village now assumed Xiao Chan and Ning Yi were already involved, and Ning Yi had no intention of clarifying otherwise. Still, it really was just sleeping together, nothing more — as for any discomfort, there was nothing for it but to endure it, or take a solitary bath alone in the room. Talking together like this felt pleasant enough. That night, Ning Yi divided up the bed.

“You sleep on the inside, I’ll sleep on the outside.” He then rolled the blanket into a long rope and laid it down the middle. “Let me tell you a story.”

“Mm.” Xiao Chan shifted a little further inward from where she lay.

“Deep in the mountains, far away, there was a girl whose family received a visitor one day — a young man who looked refined and upright, a true gentleman. It happened to be raining that day, and he asked to stay the night. Since the girl’s family had only the one bed, out of necessity, they decided to share it — after all, a true gentleman is open and honest, and this young man seemed proper enough. They laid a rope down the middle to divide it, and the girl said: if the rope’s out of place by morning, you’re no gentleman at all, just a beast. The girl was very beautiful, so that night, the upright young gentleman endured, and endured, and endured — and the next morning, sure enough, the rope hadn’t moved at all. He looked up rather smugly, and — smack — the girl slapped him across the face…”

“That boy was sly — he must have moved the rope in the night, then straightened it back out again.”

“No, the girl scolded him, saying: ‘You’re worse than a beast!'”

Ning Yi shrugged, and Xiao Chan laughed beside him.

The next morning, when he woke at dawn, he found Xiao Chan clinging to his back like an octopus. Ning Yi turned onto his side, worried he might be crushing the girl flat, but Xiao Chan, soft as cotton candy, wriggled and squirmed her way out from behind him, then crawled drowsily up onto his chest, drifting back to sleep there.

The blanket-rope had long since vanished.

By the afternoon of the fifth day, they’d more or less finished visiting everyone who needed visiting; all that remained was to wait out two more days until the burial, scheduled for the hour of the dragon the day after next. That same afternoon, back in Jiangning, by the willow-green riverbend, Nie Yunzhu, walking back from the shop, paused briefly upon spotting the old man with his chess stall not far off — they’d exchanged greetings a few times before and were at least acquainted. This time, the old man looked up, smiled, and waved her over.

She bowed respectfully, smoothed down her perhaps slightly mussed hair, and trotted over to the chess stall, standing beside it, smiling as she spoke with the old man.

The old man rose with a smile too, and after a few words, gestured toward the seat across from him, then called over to the tea stall next door for a pot of tea. The two of them sat down, and there in the willow shade, they began talking about the man named Ning Liheng, currently off in some remote mountain region. It was a good topic — for an old man and a young woman who might soon become father and daughter, it was, in a way, a true first meeting.

The chess piece came down, the first move…

Meanwhile, Ning Yi was standing outside the grimy, cluttered kitchen of the main house, catching the fishy smell wafting from the great cauldrons of food, feeling his teeth ache a little at the odor. This was meant to be the best dish of the evening, since it had meat in it — though, honestly, it really wasn’t to his taste.

He was the sort who could endure hardship and even chat and laugh through it without changing expression, but that didn’t mean he actually enjoyed the food. Catching another whiff of it now, he smiled and nodded, then turned to leave — someone approaching from the other direction assumed his expression meant he found the dish quite satisfying.

“He’s the best cook in our whole village, that one…”

“Ha ha ha ha…”

Ah well. Just two more days to go.