Volume One, Chapter Two: Cousin, Do Not Humiliate Me

The next morning, Song Xianwan was suddenly struck with a fever, her mind clouded and disoriented.

When Fuling felt her forehead, she was so frightened that she hurried to fetch the physician.

Soon enough, the doctor arrived, felt her pulse, and left her with a medicinal patch. She took the medicine and then sank into a deep sleep for most of the day.

This body truly could not withstand much hardship.

"She still has the nerve to go weep before the old madam? If it hadn’t been for Fifth Madam scheming against our young lady, she’d never have ended up in the water like that."

"Enough, say no more. You know the young lady’s temper as well as I do."

"Song Mama, we both know why our young lady came to this den of wolves—no one else but you and I. I simply cannot swallow this resentment; it’s stifling!"

Fuling’s indignant voice drifted in, followed by Song Mama’s sigh.

"What’s stifling you so much? Shall I give you a few needles to relieve it?"

Song Xianwan’s voice came from beside the window, falling into Fuling’s ears. She turned, meeting the gaze of Song Xianwan, who was leaning against the window.

Fuling frowned and hurried forward to shield her from the cold wind. "It’s so chilly outside, miss. If you catch a chill, you’ll be bedridden for a month or more."

Such words, if overheard by outsiders, would only earn Fuling a rebuke for her lack of decorum.

But Song Xianwan merely smiled and said nothing more.

"Who did you just say was crying before the old madam?"

Hearing her question, Song Mama stepped forward and said, "Miss, close the window quickly. Let’s speak inside."

Song Xianwan gave a soft "oh," and moved away from the window.

Once Fuling came in, she reported to Song Xianwan that early that morning, Fifth Miss Qin Siyu had gone to the Jinghe Court where the old madam resided.

"She claimed it was to pay her morning respects, but in truth, she went to complain about you."

Fuling snorted and didn’t care to go on.

Qin Siyu, born of a concubine in the fifth house, had always been Qin Siyao’s lackey, her little shadow.

Her visit to Jinghe Court was to voice grievances on Qin Siyao’s behalf.

What she said was truly infuriating: that Song Xianwan, knowing Qin Siyao was also by the riverside, deliberately pulled her into the water as well.

She went on about how, as people, it was understandable, but Qin Siyao had been running a high fever since falling into the water yesterday, and truly looked pitiable.

"Is that all?"

Song Xianwan took the hot tea Song Mama poured, smiling as she looked at Fuling.

"Fuling is young and can’t hold her temper," Song Mama added.

Fuling’s cheeks flushed at once; she’d call it a sense of justice.

"As it happens, I should pay a visit to Jinghe Court myself."

A glint of cold light flickered in Song Xianwan’s eyes as she placed the tea down and signaled for Fuling to fetch her cloak.

"Miss, you’ve only just recovered from your fever. It’s not wise to go out in the wind," Song Mama said with concern.

But Song Xianwan shook her head gently, her tone laced with mockery. "The villain has already lodged her complaint. If I don’t go, who knows what else might happen?"

"Besides, I haven’t seen my grandmother in some time. There’s nothing wrong with paying her a visit."

Seeing Song Xianwan was determined, the two exchanged a glance and did not press further—one went to fetch her outerwear, the other began to fix her hair.

Before leaving, Fuling draped a heavy cloak over Song Xianwan’s shoulders—the white fox fur was a special gift from the old madam herself.

In these early days of spring, perhaps only a frail invalid like Song Xianwan would be dressed so warmly.

The snow outside had long been cleared by the servants, yet she huddled within the cloak, looking rather cumbersome.

As the three walked past a covered corridor, the cry of birds rang out twice.

Song Xianwan pulled up the hood of her cloak and looked up.

Snowmelt dripped from the eaves, running down the glazed purple tiles, casting shimmering reflections that were quite beautiful.

A man leaned beneath the corridor, dressed in a blue-green robe, with a mutton-fat jade pendant and an official’s token at his waist, a curved saber hanging at his side.

Curved blades were rare in the capital; it was said they were favored by the Rongdi tribes.

The cord of an ivory-bone whistle was looped twice around his wrist, and silver-plated armor glinted coldly in the sunlight.

Only half his face was visible, but his sculpted jawline hinted at striking features.

His long fingers slipped into the cage, teasing a jet-black bird. As the bird fluttered its wings in a frantic attempt to escape, a faint smile played on his lips.

It was Song Xianwan’s first time seeing Qin Songting, yet she recognized his identity from the official’s token at his waist.

Such a handsome face, yet on the outside he was known as the smiling Yama, whose very presence was said to quiet the cries of frightened children—what a waste.

Sensing footsteps behind him, he turned.

His face was as if carved from fine jade, sharp and defined, sword-like brows slanting toward his temples, and a beauty mark at the corner of his eye adding a hint of allure.

"Who goes there?"

His cold voice, clear as water dripping on porcelain, made Song Xianwan pause and feign ignorance of him.

Qin Songting’s gaze swept over her from head to toe, his eyes burning, as if trying to see right through her with a bold and insolent air.

After a moment, he raised an eyebrow and withdrew his gaze. "Song, cousin?"

He spoke with a trace of hesitation, his tone curling at the end, oddly suggestive.

"By rights, you should address me as your elder cousin."

Song Xianwan said nothing, but her eyes flickered at his self-introduction.

She was just about to reply when she saw Qin Songting’s finger hook the birdcage.

The jet-black yang bird flapped its wings twice, and before Song Xianwan could react, it flew straight toward her.

In an instant, the bird snatched the jeweled hairpin from her temple; her dark hair tumbled loose. Fuling gasped and hurried to shield her.

"Miss!"

"So mischievous," Qin Songting chuckled, raising his hand to catch the bird as it swooped back.

A few black feathers drifted down as his gaze landed on the jeweled hairpin.

"Beast with no eyes—my hand slipped for a moment. I hope my cousin will forgive the offense."

He was uncharacteristically polite, and Song Xianwan lowered her eyes, not daring to respond.

Qin Songting would never let his hand slip by accident; she had seen it clearly—the birdcage door had been opened on purpose.

That deliberate scrutiny of his seemed to confirm something.

"I must trouble cousin to return my hairpin, so that I may restore myself."

She held out her hand, slender and fair, though the bones of her fingers seemed a little different—not the hands of one long-ill and bedridden.

Qin Songting’s gaze was brazen and unrestrained, lingering on Song Xianwan for a long moment.

He took the jeweled hairpin from the bird’s beak, turning it between his fingers as if toying with it.

Then Song Xianwan heard footsteps draw near.

The cool surface of the hairpin landed in her palm, and just as her fingers closed around it, he seized her wrist and pulled her close.

Her hood fell back, and her flowing black hair arched through the air. He raised his brows, fixing her with an intense stare.

"Why do I feel as though I’ve seen you somewhere before, cousin?"

Qin Songting’s words made Song Xianwan’s heart, already pounding wildly, seem to stop altogether.

Their eyes met—his dark gaze deep as water, as if he might throw her into boiling oil and watch her perish.

Song Xianwan swallowed, her eyes reddening. "I have not set foot outside Liuzhou—cousin, you must not slander my reputation."

Qin Songting’s lips curved in a smile; he said nothing more. Raising his hand, he flung the jade hairpin into the frozen lake.

He released Song Xianwan, watching her stumble and fall to the ground, his smile arching coldly with undisguised malice.

"Then let’s say I was mistaken."