TSLSILMH Ch 7

 

Chapter 7

Yu Chuxi could never have anticipated such a reason.

Especially as the man before him spoke with sincerity and unwavering focus, as if he truly meant every word.

Yet Yu Chuxi still found it hard to comprehend—Xie Shu defending his reputation?

Yu Chuxi regarded Xie Shu with complex emotions. In these three years, they had rarely met; the day of their wedding was the time they had interacted the most.

He still remembered that day: as soon as Xie Shu entered the bridal chamber, he hurriedly distanced himself in front of the attending maids, saying, “Yu Langjun, I know your marriage was arranged by your father and isn’t of your own will, and I too already have someone in my heart. I’ve heard you’re someone straightforward and unconstrained; perhaps it’s best for us to pretend…”

Xie Shu had hesitated at that, likely aware that even though Yu Chuxi was the son of a merchant, as a shuang’er¹, his reputation was subject to different standards. Even if they later dissolved the marriage, Xie Shu could still wed whom he wished, but Yu Chuxi might find future prospects much more difficult.

At that moment, Yu Chuxi had simply unveiled his wedding veil himself and given Xie Shu a cold look. He’d only thought it laughable—if it were any other langjun, they would likely have felt deeply insulted.

But Yu Chuxi had never been like other people. He had thought, mockingly, that having a nominal husband wasn’t so bad after all.

He had then said, “Very well. Let’s use three years as our term, Xie Gongzi. You may go for now.”

In the three years since, Yu Chuxi rarely revisited that memory, nor had he ever wondered who held Xie Shu’s heart.

So why now, out of nowhere, did Xie Shu remind him of this?

For a moment, a thousand sarcastic questions welled up within Yu Chuxi. He had never pretended to be particularly forgiving.

But as he met Xie Shu’s unwavering gaze, those eyes filled with clear, gentle light, as luminous as polished jade, unexpectedly tender—he found himself unable to say anything hurtful.

In the end, Yu Chuxi could only manage a wry smile, his voice rougher than usual: “Do you really care about such things?”

Xie Shu had no idea how he’d managed to upset the young lord. His long lashes fluttered down, dejection obvious in his motions.

At first, Xie Shu thought his own earlier worries had come true—that Yu Chuxi trusted others over him. But it seemed that, instead, Yu Chuxi’s anger was directed… at himself.

Xie Shu became anxious, unsure how to make amends.

He didn’t even know why his mind leapt to the idea of “comforting” him. He had few friends and most of his social interactions were academic, but he’d heard that when a girlfriend is upset, you should coax her out of it.

The langjun before him, though strikingly beautiful, exuded no femininity whatsoever—clearly a proud and upright young man. Yet Xie Shu, for reasons he couldn’t explain, wanted to make him feel better.

So Xie Shu tried to offer reassurances: “Of course I care. Langjun is truly outstanding in my eyes, so I can’t bear to hear anyone speak ill of you, whoever that person might be.”

When he finished, Yu Chuxi’s smile twisted even more strangely, his gaze unreadable and lingering silently on Xie Shu.

Xie Shu grew even more nervous under that scrutiny.

Suddenly, Yu Chuxi asked, “And what if the person who speaks ill of me is you?”

With that question, Xie Shu finally realized why Yu Chuxi had been upset—it was related to the original “him.”

He didn’t know exactly what the original Xie Shu had done, but it was unlikely to be anything good. Fortunately, Yu Chuxi wasn’t one to brood or hide things; he spoke his mind, which saved Xie Shu from fumbling.

Since it was the original’s fault, Xie Shu saw nothing wrong in admitting it. He replied without pause, “I was a fool before—please forgive me, Langjun. From here on, I’ll only ever speak well of you.”

Hearing that, Yu Chuxi couldn’t help but laugh—soft and unrestrained, like the moon behind clouds or snow among the flowers.

Then Yu Chuxi’s voice, low and a little plaintive, murmured: “Silver-tongued flatterer.”

Xie Shu, being close, caught the words clearly. “Silver-tongued flatterer” refers to someone who uses clever and pretty words. Xie Shu didn’t really see how what he’d said qualified, but seeing Langjun so pleased, he offered no rebuttal and simply smiled back.

Yu Chuxi, gazing at the man before him, suddenly realized he’d never cared so much about those four words Xie Shu had once said—“I have someone else in my heart.”

Slowly, Yu Chuxi’s smile faded. What was Xie Shu really doing now?

In that instant, a dozen suspicions flashed through Yu Chuxi’s mind. He’d always suspected Xie Shu’s flattery served some deeper motive—just as in years past, when it was always about money.

But in truth, Xie Shu didn’t have to go to such great lengths; Yu Chuxi had already given him plenty before.

Moreover, this transformation in Xie Shu had occurred after his near-drowning. Could there be something unusual about that event?

Or perhaps the “someone in his heart” was no longer the same person…

Yu Chuxi determined to investigate this. Yet suddenly, an incredulous thought came to him:

Could Xie Shu… regret his earlier choices?

Once this idea took hold, Yu Chuxi couldn’t suppress it. It was entirely plausible, after all—Xie Shu’s studies and exams required funds, which was part of why he’d married into the Yu family in the first place.

And as for emotions…

The three-year agreement was almost up; Yu Chuxi had planned for them to separate, surely Xie Shu knew that too. But when he came to see him the other day, he hadn’t mentioned it at all.

Perhaps… he…

Yu Chuxi couldn’t speak to his feelings. He’d grown up in the intrigue of the Yu household and understood pragmatic interests well, but the idea that all this warmth was just another form of calculation left him oddly frustrated.

Yu Chuxi dropped his gaze, forcibly pushing away these thoughts. For now, what mattered most was managing the troubles still ahead.

As for Xie Shu—so long as he posed no threat, his other intentions could be handled as they came.

Besides, Yu Wanchun’s early return had already complicated matters. As for the question of severing their marriage, that could wait… for later…

Yu Chuxi didn’t know what form “later” might take, but once he’d reasoned through things, his mood improved and he felt more at ease than before.

At that moment, he seemed to be lost in thought—his eyes bright, lips curved in a faint smile—and Xie Shu couldn’t help but smile too.

Yu Chuxi, slightly embarrassed, had to avert his gaze.

Noticing that Yu Chuxi was distracted, Xie Shu guessed he must have business to attend to. Since Yu Chuxi had already delivered the medicine personally—a rare gesture of kindness—it wouldn’t be right to delay him further.

So Xie Shu took the initiative to escort him out.

Yu Chuxi didn’t object, but he didn’t allow Xie Shu to do so, telling him instead to take care and rest. Before leaving, he added that if anything came up, Xie Shu should seek him out.

Xie Shu, feeling it impolite to trouble him again, tried to demur—but Yu Chuxi seemed to catch this, narrowing his eyes in amusement and saying, “If you don’t come to me, who else would you go to?”

Xie Shu sensed this was a tricky question, especially since the langjun’s phoenix eyes held a mischievous glimmer that made one want to comfort him even more than before.

And Xie Shu was well aware of his situation—if he wanted to continue staying in the Yu household, getting along with Yu Chuxi was undoubtedly the best path forward.

After Yu Chuxi left, Xi Mo entered, clearly delighted. He’d just sent the medicine off to be brewed, and the usually lazy servants this time were all fighting to help, giving Xi Mo the chance to supervise them as he saw fit.

Seeing that Yu Langjun had gone, Xi Mo hurried over to check on Xie Shu and found his master looking more relaxed than ever, which pleased him greatly. Surely, he thought, things had gone very smoothly between the two.

In fact, Xi Mo even dared to think: when would his master move to Yu Langjun’s quarters—when would the two finally live together?

With these ambitions in mind, Xi Mo set himself to helping diligently, and as he cooled the tonic for Xie Shu, he remarked, “Master, medicine brought personally by Yu Langjun really is different. I took a look—the ginseng is at least three hundred years old…”

Xi Mo chattered happily for some time, and though Xie Shu only reclined on the bed reading, Xi Mo wasn’t discouraged. On the contrary—since the langjun, though a bit cold, had become less temperamental, things could only be looking up.

Just then, Xie Shu suddenly asked, “How much would a three-hundred-year-old ginseng cost if sold?”

Xi Mo, who’d purchased medicine for Old Master Xie before, knew something of the market. Quick to calculate, he answered, “Ginseng over a hundred years old is a rarity—shopkeepers won’t even display it openly, never mind such an old specimen. A few years ago, something like this would go for at least two hundred taels, but of course, it depends on the quality.”

Xi Mo didn’t say that most pharmacies outside would short their customers and swap in inferior goods—even if you had the money, it was near impossible to buy a piece as fine as what Yu Langjun had just given him.

Nor did Xi Mo elaborate, worried that if he did, Xie Shu—who’d always been ignorant of finances, but who’d given away many good things to the Wei family before—would only get upset.

Upon hearing this, Xie Shu felt a heaviness settle over him.

From what he’d read, an ordinary household’s annual expenses rarely exceeded ten taels of silver—on what grounds did he deserve to spend so freely in the Yu family?

Of course, he knew that all of this was possible only because of his status as a “married-in” son-in-law.

Though he had no real interest in being someone’s husband, he also realized that to abandon everything now would be irresponsible, and that without a full understanding of this world, he could hardly survive on his own.

So, until he had everything figured out, Xie Shu decided to bide his time and maintain the status quo.

His only real comfort was that his “wife,” whom he had never met, seemed to have no feelings for him, sparing everyone further trouble. He’d often heard it said: of all debts, those of the heart are the hardest to repay.

Still, the longer he stayed here, the more indebted he felt. And in the future, how could he ever hope to repay what he owed?