TSLSILMH Ch 18

Chapter 18

 

When their gazes met, the phoenix eyes of Yu Chuxi—naturally brimming with the brilliance of autumn waters—seemed to flicker all the more because of his long lashes, stirring up a ripple of spring warmth.

Xie Shu paused in his steps for a moment, then continued walking towards him.

Drawing near to the other, Xie Shu softly said, “My lord.”

He had originally intended to hand the peach branch to Yu Chuxi, but as he looked at those jade-white hands and the fine garments, he hesitated.

When he picked the peach branch earlier, it hadn’t crossed his mind. Now, however, he wondered if its texture would be too rough, whether a trace of dust or mud might have sullied it—might it dirty his lord’s hands?

Just as this uncertainty crossed Xie Shu’s mind, Yu Chuxi reached out his hand.

Looking at him, Yu Chuxi’s smile grew even brighter than before, and in that instant, it was as though the whole tree of buds behind him suddenly bloomed at once—he shone with a vibrance too dazzling to face directly.

In the end, Xie Shu couldn’t help but turn his head slightly aside, evading his gaze.

And in the next moment, when Yu Chuxi took the branch from his hand, their fingers happened to brush lightly, as if by accident.

That instant seemed warm and fragrant, like living jade.

Xie Shu had held his lord’s hand before. Back then, he’d even gripped it firmly, but although he’d felt a bit ill at ease, he’d known it was just a matter of expediency, so he hadn’t thought much of it.

Now, however, it felt different.

This… was much too close—

So close that it should not be, and ought not to be allowed.

Almost reflexively, Xie Shu drew his hand abruptly back.

Yu Chuxi had not expected Xie Shu to withdraw from him so quickly, and so was left standing there in a daze. At the same time, the peach branch in his hand slipped a little lower, but he soon recovered himself and gripped it tighter.

Yet his expression had changed; those eyes, earlier so bright, now seemed dimmed, shadowed as if a stray cloud had drifted across the sun.

Xie Shu, turning his head away, did not notice.

When he looked back, Yu Chuxi had already composed himself. The smile on his face had faded to faintness, no longer as vivid as before—like glimpsing a flower through mist, something always slightly obscured.

Xie Shu could not clearly describe what he felt; he sensed that his lord was now somewhat sorrowful.

If he could, he would never wish to see Yu Chuxi wear such an expression. To be looked at thus made Xie Shu’s own heart tighten with pain…

And yet, if that sorrow was because of himself…

Sensing Xie Shu’s gaze, Yu Chuxi quickly withdrew this time, eyelashes lowered as his eyes fell upon the peach blossom in his hand. His tone held a note of distance: “Thank you.”

Xie Shu’s throat felt parched. After a moment’s silence, he replied, “I promised you I would, so… there’s no need for thanks.”

Upon hearing the other man’s still-calm voice in his ear, Yu Chuxi suddenly wanted to ask him: You said before that you would treat me with sincerity.

So, was that earlier avoidance an act of sincerity, too?

Yet Yu Chuxi thought back on the nervous tenderness in Xie Shu’s eyes moments ago, and a bitterness beyond words spread within him; in the end, he did not press the issue further.

These days, ever since Xie Shu had moved in, Yu Chuxi realized that even an ordinarily dull and unchanging life had become something to look forward to.

In the morning, as Yu Chuxi washed and dressed, he would see Xie Shu downstairs practicing boxing, the maids gossiping nearby about where their master had learned those strange, foreign moves.

But Yu Chuxi would think: his earnestness made him truly handsome.

During the day, both of them would read in their separate studies; sometimes Yu Chuxi would seize the excuse to ask about a passage he didn’t understand. Though he had celebrated tutors since childhood, as a “shuang’er”¹, his masters had never taught him much.

Xie Shu, however, was always meticulous and patient, explaining every detail. His interpretations were fresh and clear, never perfunctory.

In the afternoon, after Yu Chuxi had checked on the family’s businesses, the two would dine together in the evening. Having Xie Shu there always put Yu Chuxi in a better mood, improving even his appetite.

At night, they would sit beneath the moon and play chess—a life of tranquil leisure.

Yu Chuxi thought having things as they were was already the best possible outcome—that their relationship as it stood was all he could wish for.

But today, when Xie Shu was absent, Yu Chuxi stayed in his study and found his thoughts drifting.

Only then did he realize that, at some point, he had become… a little greedy.

All day, he had waited in his room, waiting for Xie Shu to bring him that branch of peach blossom.

Perhaps—just perhaps—Xie Shu harbored some feelings for him, too…

But only at that moment did Yu Chuxi realize: all along, there had always been a clear boundary between them.

Rigidly drawn, never to be crossed.

Yu Chuxi suddenly recalled how, some days ago, he had ordered an investigation into Xie Shu’s past.

Back then, after Xie Shu had promised to treat him sincerely, he had dropped the matter; now, he found himself wavering again.

Is this just human nature—to always want more, once you have a little?

But clearly, things are already very good as they are.

Yu Chuxi forced himself to smile and changed the subject as if nothing had happened: “How was the poetry gathering today? Was it nice there?”

Seeing his lord smile again, even so, Xie Shu felt it was not quite the same as before.

Yet whatever subtle difference lay deep in those radiant eyes, Xie Shu dared not look too closely. He could only reply, “It was excellent.”

He had written a poem about the peach blossoms of the Western Garden today, but none of them, he thought, matched the beauty held in his lord’s arms now.

When Yu Chuxi turned back to his own rooms, he murmured softly, “Then I’m relieved.”

At that moment, Xie Shu was unaware that, because of him, further disturbances were soon to be set in motion.

After Xie Shu left, the poetry gathering seemed to lose its vigor—no longer as lively as before.

After all, the best poems had already been recited; who else could measure up?

Still, Gu Yuanke’s wide circle of friends and easy eloquence kept the event from growing dull, and the gathering ended with guests and host both well pleased.

When the poetry meet had concluded and the guests dispersed, the smile faded from Shao Zhen’s face.

He had, after all, navigated the event with skill, drawing interest from many of Jinling’s young scholars keen to form a connection.

Yet, in his own eyes, most of them were not worthy; only Wang Jing seemed a promising prospect.

To him, in a guarded hint, Shao Zhen spoke of governmental affairs. Wang Jing would likely guess the truth of his identity—but Wang Jing’s response remained ambiguous, and Shao Zhen could easily perceive that hesitation.

Though he enjoyed his father’s favor and some measure of power, he still lacked the leverage to negotiate with those who mattered.

After all, even a mere merchant’s son-in-law had dared to disregard him just now…

Of course, Shao Zhen knew he was only venting; it was he who had misjudged Xie Shu. But how many people admit their own mistakes?

When Gu Yuanke returned, he saw Shao Zhen’s dark mood and guessed the cause.

Shao Zhen’s mother was Gu’s own father’s sister—his aunt. Though the Gu family was old and extensive, not all its members supported Shao Zhen, and ties with the capital’s Gu clan were no longer strong.

Besides, compared to the Crown Prince, both Shao Zhen’s influence at court and his clan’s power were much lesser. Yet the more firmly the Crown Prince stood, the more he would be suppressed by the emperor, who was always suspicious of those in strong positions…

Gu Yuanke made a point of not mentioning what had just happened, but simply advised Shao Zhen to be patient; there would be more opportunities in the future.

Shao Zhen exhaled deeply, then suddenly smiled: “Cousin, with the upcoming Southern Tour for the Emperor, I’ll need to draft some lists of officials and merchants…”

Elsewhere, after the gathering dispersed, Wan Tianyun and a few of the wealthy young rakes lingered for drinks at a city tavern.

Wan Tianyun had not much enjoyed the day—his custom-written poem had gone unused, and he had to watch others claim fame and renown.

Yet what surprised him most was discovering that the man at the center of it all was his former classmate, Xie Shu.

Now Xie Shu had truly risen high—not only the Yu family’s son-in-law, but also favored by the third son of the Gu family.

As Wan Tianyun mulled this over, one of his companions spoke up: “Say, is Xie Shu’s husband really so good-looking? Do you think he’s actually so devoted?”

This question piqued the curiosity of the whole clique—for even during the poetry meet, they had wondered. If the rumors and verses were true, perhaps they, too, should try for a son-in-law’s life instead of sweating away at their studies.

Then another, hesitant, remarked: “How can that be? Besides, I think I’ve seen Xie Shu before, and there were other people with him. They didn’t look like the Yu family’s heir.”

At last, after a struggle to remember, he recalled: during the recent Qianqiu Festival², while boating on the Qinhuai River³, he had collided with another boat and accidentally knocked someone into the water. Fearing his father’s anger, he’d left as soon as that person was saved, only remembering a glimpse of a beautiful young “shuang’er” — but by their clothing, they surely were not the Yu family’s young master.

He hadn’t recognized Xie Shu at the time, since his appearance then was so very different from today’s.

Hearing all this, Wan Tianyun’s eyes flashed. He made a mental note of it.

Back at home, Ximo noticed that Xie Shu was quieter than usual and grew worried.

Before he left tonight, everything had been well—young master’s poem was for his lord, as was the blossom; even Ximo himself was not allowed to touch it.

So why couldn’t the two of them get along now?

And with the master locked alone in his room, how long would it be before they reconciled?

Unable to bear it, Ximo said, “Master, won’t you go play chess with your lord?”

Xie Shu came to himself, but did not answer at once.

Chess had become their regular habit lately; though a brief slice of time, it was something he’d come to cherish.

When asked, he longed to go to his lord’s door, to knock and apologize directly.

Yet the awkward memory of earlier still lingered. He knew he had been at fault, that he’d hurt his lord’s feelings.

He had promised, once, to do better—but he had failed.

Suddenly, Xie Shu rose, pulled on an outer robe, and walked to Yu Chuxi’s door. He knocked softly, and without waiting for an answer, called in apology from outside: “My lord, today I was wrong…”

Leaning behind the door, Yu Chuxi let those soft and enduring words wash over him, and suddenly thought—maybe, just maybe, he could allow himself to forgive a little.

FOOTNOTES

1. Shuang’er (雙兒) – Traditionally refers to an effeminate or intersex male or sometimes a third-gender individual in historical Chinese contexts, often describing an exceptionally beautiful and delicate young man, distinct from the family’s main male heir.

2. Qianqiu Festival (千秋節) – An ancient traditional festival, sometimes referring to imperial birthdays or festivals of great longevity.

3. Qinhuai River (秦淮河) – The famous scenic river in Nanjing, historically known for its pleasure boats, poetry, and romantic encounters.