31 Bite Marks

In the west wing of Ruian Residence, a night lamp remained lit. The flame, thin as a bean, flickered and danced as gusts of wind caught it whenever the door opened or closed.

Within the light gauze curtains, a silk quilt was mounded high, as if someone were sleeping beneath it. Xia Chan, keeping watch by the bed, rose immediately as she heard the movement.

"Miss, you have finally returned."

"Has anyone been here?" Shen Qinglü walked to the charcoal brazier, her brows knitted as she warmed the dampness from her clothes. The firelight reflected in her dark eyes, momentarily igniting like a prairie fire, as if she meant to burn away all obstacles.

Xia Chan removed her outer cloak and draped another garment over her. "Qiulu came by, but I sent her away."

At the mention of Qiulu’s name, the corners of her mouth curled into a cold, mocking expression.

Inside the mounded quilt lay two pillows and several folded garments. After Xia Chan returned these items to their proper places, she smoothed out the bedding.

*Knock, knock.*

A tapping sound came from outside the window, startling both mistress and maid.

Shen Qinglü quickly shed her outer robe, loosened her hair, pulled back the quilt, and climbed into bed. She shot a glance at Xia Chan, who deftly cleared away the evidence before moving to the outer room.

Shortly after, Xia Chan feigned being woken from sleep, her tone loose and laced with hesitation. "Who is it?"

"It is I."

It was Yu Jingliang!

Yu Jingliang was still dressed in his Shenwu Guard uniform, looking sharp and imposing. He had evidently come straight here without even changing after returning to the estate.

Shen Qinglü appeared to have been roused from sleep, rubbing her eyes with a look of bewilderment.

"Second Brother?"

"Forgive my impatience. I saw the light still on in your room and thought you were a late sleeper like me." He tapped his forehead and pulled a package of pastries from his robe, handing it to her. "Plum blossom cakes from Tongfulai. I knew you would love them, A-Li."

Shen Qinglü sat up, leaning against the headboard. Her loose hair framed her petite face, making her appear all the more exquisite. She tore open the paper wrapping and popped a piece into her mouth.

Watching her stuff her cheeks and eat without pretense, Yu Jingliang’s eyes filled with unconcealed amusement. But before the smile could fully spread, a look of hesitation clouded his face. "Did something happen when you went to the Marquis’s estate today?"

She shook her head, then nodded, maintaining an air of naivety. With fragmented sentences, she recounted most of what had transpired at the Mu family residence.

"That is strange. It sounds like nothing happened at all," Yu Jingliang said, brow furrowed. He looked like a youth just beginning to understand the weight of worry, his dark brows knitting together. "What is A-Lin playing at?"

"Second Brother, what is wrong with him?" Shen Qinglü asked, seemingly focused entirely on her pastries like a happy little squirrel, her question appearing purely accidental.

He scratched his head, puzzled. "I don’t know why, but A-Lin seemed quite despondent tonight. He even asked me if he were no longer the heir to the Marquis’s estate, would I still recognize him as a friend?"

Shen Qinglü’s chewing slowed.

"Did he say anything else?"

"He said quite a bit. I didn't pay much attention at first, but he spoke of not wanting to implicate his family, not wanting the Marquis’s estate to be gossiped about, and said he had failed the Yu family. He also claimed he simply couldn't let go, and that he might have to give up his position as heir. It was all so bizarre. I thought perhaps something had happened today."

After speaking, Yu Jingliang saw her silence and assumed she didn't understand. He laughed dismissively, "Why am I telling you this? You are still a child; what would you know of the affairs of adults?"

She laughed along with him, her eyes curving into crescents, feigning total ignorance. Yet, as she lowered her head to reach for another pastry, her lowered lashes hid all traces of deep contemplation.

*

Dark clouds swept across the night sky, illuminated by occasional flashes of lightning. The wind carried a fine, cold drizzle, swirling like a frigid mist through the bamboo grove.

The bamboo swayed in the wind as if welcoming a guest. Someone bypassed the grove and rapped softly on the door. After a long wait, the door opened from within.

"Uncle Yang, is Uncle Nine asleep?" Mu Lin asked.

The steward’s name was Yang Zhen.

"Young Master, the Ninth Master is—" Yang Zhen began, intending to say his master was out, but Mu Hanzhi’s voice drifted from inside: "Let him in."

Mu Lin entered respectfully, immediately noticing that the man before him was, like himself, damp from the rain. "Uncle Nine, were you out?"

Mu Hanzhi offered no confirmation, gesturing for him to warm himself by the brazier.

The high-grade frost charcoal burned a deep, glowing red, odorless and smokeless. They sat on opposite sides of the gilded bronze brazier shaped like a mythical beast. Though they were uncle and nephew, the age gap was little more than four years. Despite this small difference—small enough that they could have passed for brothers—Mu Lin dared not show any casualness or insolence.

He deliberated for a moment before saying, "Uncle Nine, I have thought about it for a long time. You were right; as the heir to the Marquis’s estate, my wife bears heavy responsibilities. I... if I were to give up this position as heir, could I then marry the girl I truly love?"

Yang Zhen, who had been about to add charcoal to the brazier, looked up in astonishment.

The young man’s handsome face looked particularly spirited in the firelight, and his words were filled with the reckless, daring courage of his age—something truly worthy of admiration. He lowered his head to warm his hands, not daring to meet Mu Hanzhi’s gaze.

Mu Hanzhi rested his hands on his knees, partially hidden by his sleeves. At these words, the hands beneath the fabric seemed to twitch, yet he did not rebuke him. Instead, he looked up at a painting of a bamboo grove, his gaze rippling like the endless drizzle outside.

After a long while, he asked, "For her sake, do you think it is worth it?"

"I... I do not know. I have thought it over carefully. Between the position of heir and her, I believe I would rather choose her." His voice dropped, and finding a sudden surge of courage, he asked, "Uncle Nine, have you ever had someone you truly cared for?"

Yang Zhen was startled, nearly scolding him for his "insolence."

As the words left his lips, Mu Lin suddenly realized how little he knew of this Ninth Uncle. Whether it was his grandmother or his father, both rarely spoke of him, and whenever they did, it was with extreme restraint and reverence.

By all accounts, with his looks and capabilities, it was unlikely that Ninth Uncle would have such a thin fate in romance. At his age, he should have long since married and had children. Why had his grandmother never spoken of it, and why did his father never inquire?

The burning charcoal continued to spread, one piece igniting the next, as if the fire would never die.

A long while passed, and when he received no answer from Mu Hanzhi, he regretted his boldness. "Uncle Nine, I... I have overstepped."

"Do not ever mention giving up the position of heir again. As for your marriage, there is no need to rush. Think more, observe more. If, in the future, you still hold this conviction after truly understanding the woman's character, then we shall discuss it. But remember: you are not to harm Miss Yu!"

Mu Hanzhi’s tone carried a distinct edge with that final sentence.

"I understand. Thank you, Uncle Nine."

Mu Lin’s voice was light, a stark contrast to the heavy heart he had arrived with. He did not know why, but he knew that in this house, Ninth Uncle’s word carried more weight than anyone else’s—even that of his father, the Marquis.

Watching his clearly straightened back as he departed, Yang Zhen sighed once more at his master’s tolerance and regard for the youth. "Master, you truly treat the Young Master as if he were your own son."

Mu Hanzhi lowered his eyes and pulled back his sleeve, revealing a bite mark on the fleshy part of his hand. The teeth marks were deep, crusted with dried blood.

"Master, what is this..." Yang Zhen quickly fetched medicine, applying it with utmost care. "Who bit you? Who could be so bold?"

He looked down at the mark, a ripple of emotion stirring in his calm eyes.