Chapter 149 — Running Away

"A few days ago, didn't a maid dash her head against a pillar and die?" Father said in a low voice. "She was my lady's personal maid. I had thought she was simply loyal to her mistress, and meant to have my lady adopt her as a goddaughter. Then we would bury her together in the Song family's ancestral graves. But who would have known—that maid had been with child for four months..."

"What?" His fourth uncle, Song Tongchun, cried in alarm. "Two lives lost in one—that is a dire omen! We must never let her be buried in our Song ancestral graves..."

"Old Four, let Second Brother finish!" His third uncle, who had spent years overawing the merchants and traders who came into the city, had a faint official authority in his voice. "Since Second Brother has found out, he surely will not let her be buried in our ancestral graves. Stop opening your mouth before others have finished speaking."

His fourth uncle muttered under his breath. He was too far away for Song Yan to make out the words, but he could well imagine the man's expression—aggrieved and helpless both at once.

He could not help smiling again.

His uncles depended on Father for their livelihood; if Father wished to open the ancestral hall, would they dare object?

Song Ke wanted to hear.

But the voices outside had a will of their own, drifting to his ears in fits and starts.

"Isn't she just a maid? If Tianci took a fancy to her, that was her good fortune! She's dead, and that's that—surely there's no need to open the ancestral hall over it?"

"Hasn't the Emperor already reached a final verdict on the Jiang family affair? And at the autumn hunt the Emperor even summoned Tianci specifically to give him a dressing-down. You have no idea how the men in our treasury tax office envy me!"

"Truly—Tianci has the Duke Dingguo's people in his hands? That's a fine thing! We can simply pick up what they left behind! The Duke Dingguo's household is gone anyway. Better it should fall to us than to outsiders—Tianci is, after all, the Duke's own nephew."

"Even a censor's impeachment must be grounded in evidence—he can't just impeach at random! That maid dashed her head against a pillar and died, didn't she? Then let that maid Xing-something also dash her head against a pillar and die! Just so—then Second Sister-in-law can adopt her as a goddaughter and let her go down to keep serving her mistress below!"

...

Three men, yet it seemed they had seven or eight mouths among them. The clamor set Song Yan's ears ringing and his head splitting with pain.

He smiled faintly.

The scene before his eyes grew blurrier and blurrier; his eyelids drooped beyond his control.

No!

He could not die yet!

Song Yan bit hard on the tip of his tongue.

His vision cleared somewhat.

But the clarity was brief. Before his eyes it blurred again.

Six days and five nights of hard riding, and then a beating with the rod... His body had reached its limit.

Even so—what of it?

Song Yan gave a cold snort and opened his eyes once more.

The white hibiscus was blooming full in front of him.

He noticed that the stamens were a pale yellow; at first glance, the whole flower seemed pure white.

Why had white hibiscus been arranged here?

This was also the season for camellias.

Crimson camellias, gorgeous as fire yet elegant and refined beyond the common.

A face suddenly rose in his mind.

A face like white jade, long brows sweeping to the temples, bright almond eyes, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth—wise and valiant.

Like a camellia.

So elegant, and yet she made one think of splendor.

She ought to have been proud, and yet she was mild and forthright.

He wondered whether the flowers she had planted were in bloom yet.

Song Yan murmured the name "Dou Yan," and thought to himself: I also know your childhood name was Shouyuan...

He smiled.

His handsome features were like the newly risen sun, warm and mild.

And yet before his eyes, all was pitch-black.

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Song Cen looked at his three cousins with a face like iron, saying not a word.

Song Maochun hurriedly tugged at Song Fengchun, who sat below him.

Song Fengchun said no more.

Song Tongchun fell silent as well.

The three of them stared fixedly at Song Cen, their faces full of deference.

Only then did Song Cen's expression ease somewhat.

He gave a dry cough and said sternly, "I intend to open the ancestral hall and expel Song Yan from the Song family. What do you say?"

"Second Brother, you are the clan head—naturally it is yours to decide," Song Maochun said hastily.

Song Fengchun, too, could scarcely wait to speak: "Tianci is indeed far too disappointing!"

"Whatever decision Second Brother makes, I agree!" said Song Tongchun.

Song Cen said, "Since that is so, we shall open the ancestral hall tomorrow at the hour of chen. Eldest Brother, Third Brother, Fourth Brother, do not be late."

"We will be there on time, most certainly not late."

The three of them rushed to declare.

Song Cen rose. "Then we shall meet again tomorrow."

"Good, good, good!"

The three filed out of the hall, then halted in the corridor as though by common accord.

The light of the white lanterns fell upon their faces. They could not help but eye one another, then averted their gazes; one said he still had matters to attend to and they should go on ahead, another said he would return together with his son, and each went his separate way out of the Yingzhèn Garrison Manor.

Song Cen entered the inner chamber with a dark expression.

Light from the white lantern beneath the eaves shone through the glass windowpanes, casting a dark brown mark upon the floor—but of Song Zhi there was no trace.

Song Cen's eyes went wide.

On the tea table the white hibiscus bloomed soundlessly; the blue bed curtains hung still, and the benzoin in the room was sweet and lingering.

The room was silent and still.

Song Yan was gone.

"Attendants!" Song Cen burst from the inner chamber, stumbling, and bellowed at the guards outside, "Come quickly!"

In the second lane beside the Yingzhèn Garrison Manor, two burly men carried an official sedan chair draped in dark blue coarse cloth; from the sedan curtain hung embroidered ribbons bearing the gold-and-silver chi-dragon pattern permitted only to officials of the second rank, and they made their way toward Anding Gate Street.

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The heart-wringing plot is finally over.

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It hurts even to write it!

ps: Making up for the update of March 31.

As for tonight's update, everyone had best read it tomorrow.

I need to rest a while and settle my mood before writing more.

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