Unyielding Spring Mountains - Chapter 104: The New Home

Chapter 104: The New Home

With the arrival of summer, the grass and trees grew ever lusher. Wei Zhen and Qi Yan remained in Wei to accompany the Wei King for some time, but at last, it was time to depart. In recent days, the Wei King’s health had markedly improved under Zuo Ying’s care—even if the illness had not been eradicated, the visible signs of recovery were enough to bring Wei Zhen joy.

The capital of Jin awaited them, many matters left unresolved. Wei Zhen and Qi Yan could linger no longer and thus set out for home.

Over a dozen days later, their entourage returned to the capital.

The guards unloaded their baggage from the carriages. Inside the palace hall, attendants bustled everywhere, busy cleaning and arranging.

Wei Zhen stepped across the palace threshold to find Qi Yan standing within, gazing up at the plaque inscribed in the former Jin King’s own hand.

She walked over to his side: “Still thinking of your grandfather?”

Qi Yan replied, “Yes. I was wondering, after all that’s happened, now that we’ve returned to the Jin Palace—what would he have felt, had he lived to see this?”

Wei Zhen smiled. “When you first came to Jin, you vowed to help your grandfather ascend as ruler of all under heaven. Now the civil strife is over; Qi and Chu have both come under Jin’s rule. If he could see this, he would surely be gratified.”

Qi Yan smiled, taking her hand. “Let’s look inside. Grandfather’s old possessions have been moved to another hall—we’ll be living here from now on.”

How time changed one’s feelings. What had once been a place of sovereign authority was now to become their home.

An eunuch led the way, narrating, “Your Majesty, Your Highness, here is the council chamber—after morning court, you may summon ministers here.”

The couple walked onward.

“This, on the left, is the study. Daily, clerks will bring memorials for Your Majesty’s review. Ahead is the bedchamber. All the old furnishings have been cleared out—the arrangement of these inner rooms is at Your Majesties’ discretion.”

The rooms gleamed with clean windows; censers, jade altars, and pearl curtains, all resplendent.

The eunuch brought over a porcelain vase with peonies. “Your Highness, would you like this vase placed by the window?”

Wei Zhen nodded, brushing her hand over the jade landscape screen.

He then called for servants to move over a purple sandalwood dressing table. “Where should Her Highness’s vanity be placed? Beside the bed perhaps?”

The eunuch watched Qi Yan’s expression closely. The king’s quarters had always been a solemn domain, reserved for the sovereign alone—but today, by all signals, the Prince intended to share them with his queen.

Thus he asked again, cautiously, “Should the vanity be placed here, Your Majesty?”

Wei Zhen was about to answer, but Qi Yan spoke first: “Place it by the window. When my queen sits to groom herself, the natural light will be brighter.”

The eunuch answered eagerly, “At once!”

Qi Yan set his hands on Wei Zhen’s shoulders, lowering his voice gently: “Think—what else is missing from our rooms? Tell the attendants to bring it in.”

Wei Zhen followed him around the screen. “We’ll need a zither stand by the window. When playing the qin, one could look out at the distant mountains.”

Qi Yan nodded. “As you wish.”

Hand in hand, they continued inward to the large bed carved with dragons and phoenixes. Gently, Wei Zhen caressed the sheer golden canopy, then paused, lowering her head to unfasten the string of luminous pearls from her waist.

Qi Yan watched as she removed that night-lustrous pearl strand—the one he had given her—and hung it from the bed’s canopy.

She turned. “My eyes have healed; I no longer need to wear this every day. I thought to hang it above our bed as a decoration—does that please you?”

As she spoke, the pearls swung in the breeze, chiming together in soft, clear notes that rang through the chamber like the drip of spring water.

Looking into her eyes, Qi Yan saw how the presence of a woman transformed the room. It was no longer a chill and static private chamber, but full of vibrant warmth.

“Come,” he said. “Let’s see the courtyard behind the palace.”

Lifting her skirt, Wei Zhen followed him into the garden.

“When my grandfather was here,” Qi Yan reminisced, “he almost never visited the back yard, and so it lay neglected. But this space is sizeable—it can be put to good use. Ah Zhen, what would you like here?”

The breeze played over her cheeks; she watched as he delightedly planned their home together—talking about replanting wisteria by the window, planting a peach tree in the garden.

They discussed only the smallest matters, and yet, for Wei Zhen, these trivialities brimmed with happiness.

This would be their home, gradually filled with things belonging only to her and him. Just the thought made the very air taste sweet.

“Oh, and our puppy must have a little house too.”

They both crouched by the garden path, tracing with their hands the size of the doghouse. Leaning against his shoulder, Wei Zhen mused, “Besides the kennel, we could add a swing in the yard.”

Qi Yan turned to her. “Ah Zhen, I’ll make one for you.”

She blinked in surprise, then burst out laughing. “You—the busy King of Jin—will find time for something like that, with all the affairs of state?”

Sunlight shone on his face; Qi Yan grinned lazily. “Of course. Now that you help share my burdens, how could I not find time? Just a little swing—hardly an ordeal.”

As the heat of the afternoon beat down, Wei Zhen watched sweat bead on his brow, and she took out a handkerchief to wipe it. “Let’s go inside and rest.”

They returned to the inner hall hand in hand. There, Wei Zhen noticed a small casket on the table and stepped closer: “What’s this?”

Qi Yan, noticing, was about to stop her when she had already opened the box with a click.

Inside were neatly arranged bamboo slips. Wei Zhen took one out and unfolded it. The brushstrokes gradually appeared before her eyes, and she paused.

It was a letter from Qi Yan, written to her.

“To my wife, Ah Zhen,

On a snowy winter night, I write this letter, days since we parted, missing you terribly. As the saying goes, ‘A day apart feels like three autumns’—but for us, three autumns and more have gone by; I see you only in dreams. At this year’s New Year’s Eve, I wait for your return, that we might spend it together, conversing by our west window.”

Wei Zhen’s eyes shimmered with light; she finished one letter and reached for the next.

“Early spring; rain falls ceaseless, the river wide and endless. The troops rest for days at the front. How are you? Lying sleepless, I long for you, counting the days until war’s end and our reunion.”

Her fingers traced the characters on the slips—it was as if his heart, at the time of writing, flowed through her touch.

She looked up into Qi Yan’s downcast gaze. “Are these all your letters to me?”

Her eyes were fervent as she met his. Qi Yan looked away, intending to put the letters back. “Yes. During every day we were apart, I wrote you dozens of letters.”

Wei Zhen raised her head. “Yet there was a time when you didn’t send anything for a whole month. I wondered if war had stalled you, or if you’d forgotten me.”

Qi Yan explained quickly, “No. I didn’t send many of them, because I often scribbled a letter every few days; to keep dispatching messengers would have been too much, and I didn’t want to make you worry. But every day apart, I thought of you. At night, I’d gaze at the moon and wonder if you were doing the same—thinking of me as I of you.”

Wei Zhen felt her heart swell, overflowing with tender affection. “That New Year’s Eve, I kept vigil with my brother and father, looking at the moon and wishing you could have been with me.”

She embraced him, savoring the warmth of his robe. “But this New Year, and every New Year after, we’ll be together.”

She reached for more letters, but Qi Yan moved to stop her. “Ah Zhen…”

She pressed, “These are mine, aren’t they? Why shouldn’t I read them?”

“And there are love poems here, aren’t there?”

She teased as she read, studying his expression—Qi Yan turned his face aside, his ears tinged pink, and after a few pages, his cheeks grew so hot it was noticeably flushed.

He grabbed her hand. “Enough, don’t read anymore.”

She teased, “You missed me with such passion?”

Seeing she refused to let go, Qi Yan conceded: “If you insist, shall I read them to you instead?”

He embraced her from behind, opening the bamboo slip, resting his hands at her waist.

Wei Zhen, at first, only wanted to see his awkwardness—but now, embarrassed herself, she covered her ears to escape.

Qi Yan’s deep voice swept across her earlobe.

Their bodies tangled, intimate. A rush of heat flooded Wei Zhen from crown to toes. Outside the bedchamber, she heard the servants moving baggage back and forth—silent as they tried to be, surely someone would overhear.

His breath traced the shell of her ear, stirring a delicious shiver. “More?”

Wei Zhen snatched the slip and shoved it back into its box. “No more.” Yet in the bottom of the casket, she discovered the sachet containing locks of their hair, tied together as husband and wife.

She stroked it gently, lips curling in a secret smile. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “I don’t want to hear anything more now. When night falls and the palace is quiet, I’ll let you recite them to me in person. For now, let’s go see the garden and the hills to the back—see what needs improving.”

Hand in hand, they left the grand hall. Sunlight poured through the branches with summer heat.

The grass grew dense, the pool shimmered, golden light dappled every surface.

Wei Zhen took a deep breath.

This—was their new home.

And that night, red candles burned to melted wax, attendants discreetly kept their distance. Well into the latter half of the night did the palace’s sounds abate.

Beneath the lotus silk canopy, the girl’s black hair fanned across the bedding, falling into sleep as soft and saturated as a dewdrenched begonia blossom.

: The “dewdrenched begonia” (海棠) is a classical Chinese image often associated with feminine beauty and vulnerability, especially after intimacy.

notes:

• • “King’s handwritten plaque”/”the plaque inscribed in the former Jin King’s own hand”: In many Chinese palaces, calligraphic plaques inscribed by past rulers or dignitaries are hung to convey honor and continuity.

• • “Our hair bound together”: In traditional Chinese wedding ceremonies, the couple often intertwined and tied locks of hair to symbolize unity and an eternal bond.

• • “Saving up the night-lustrous pearl string”: Night-lustrous pearls (夜明珠) were believed to give off their own light at night and were objects of great value and symbolism in classical Chinese literature.