Chapter 29:
Layers of Sorrow
IT WAS EARLY MORNING. The rooster crowed three times; the sky was just beginning to lighten, still tinged with blue. The moon had set, and Mingyue had finished packing her father’s medicine box and basket. Keeping track of the time, she stepped out the front door.
Across the street, a thick layer of fallen leaves covered the already low steps.
Lord Situ still hadn’t returned home.
Mingyue sighed, then walked toward the alley’s entrance with her head down. A vendor selling steamed buns called out to her, and she responded with a smile but said nothing.
As she was about to turn the corner, she heard the creak of a door opening behind her, followed by the clinking of chains. Mingyue turned her head instinctively and saw Situ Jin step out of his house. Instead of his usual imposing uniform, he wore simple, coarse clothing today. There was a small bundle on his back and shackles around his ankles, the attached chains rattling with every step.
Two guards followed him out. Situ Jin’s expression remained calm, as if he weren’t a prisoner under escort.
Shocked, Mingyue lifted her skirt and hurried over. “Lord Situ! You—”
“He’s no longer a lord, miss,” one guard said.
The nightingale song of her voice made Situ Jin stiffen. He instinctively surveyed his current appearance; the glaringly obvious shackles on his feet stirred a rare frustration in his usually unflappable heart. Reluctantly, he turned around and politely greeted her. “Miss Zhu.”
“Could you gentlemen give us a moment?” Mingyue asked. “I just need a brief word with Lord—I mean, Mister Situ!” She fished some silver from her purse. “This is for your trouble.”
“No need, no need. Go ahead.” The guards quickly waved off the silver. “Prisoners entering exile are usually permitted to say goodbye to family and friends before leaving the capital. This guy said he had no one, though, so we just had him pack his things.”
Mingyue thanked them, then immediately turned to Situ Jin. “Tell me, what happened? How can I help you? Do you know anyone in the palace who could intervene? How may I contact them?” Tears welled in her eyes, and she steadied her voice only with great effort.
Situ Jin froze in surprise, then replied awkwardly, “No need to trouble yourself. This is my fault, and there’s no help for it.” Only now, as he and Mingyue were about to part, did he dare look directly at her face. Her eyes were already red, the thin skin around them flushed like an actress’s rouged cheeks.
“Really? There’s really no way…? Don’t give up hope. I have some savings... Maybe we can try!”
Her words were rational yet naive. Mingyue’s meager savings would be less than a drop in the bucket to the men currently in power. Besides, how could Situ Jin bear to see her run around begging for help on his behalf? He shook his head and remained silent.
Mingyue’s heart grew cold. A man like Situ Jin never minced words. If he said there was no way to help him, then there truly wasn’t. Her tears finally spilled over, and she stood before Situ Jin, crying uncontrollably.
Situ Jin was at a loss. He had no experience comforting women. He wished to wipe her tears but hesitated, bound by propriety. Although he wanted to tell her to stop crying, that seemed useless.
A guard handed him a handkerchief. Situ Jin gratefully took it and offered it to Mingyue.
“Lord Situ,” Mingyue said suddenly.
“Yes?”
“My name is Zhu Mingyue. My father is Zhu Qinglan. I can embroider and identify medicinal herbs. My family’s medical skills are passed down only to the men, but I learned some in secret. I’ve been accompanying my father on house calls since I was young, so I’m used to being out in public and speaking my mind. Many people say I lack propriety. Aunt Zheng next door says that no one would dare marry a girl like me, and I’ll end up an old maid. But...”
But she liked him. Every morning, she woke early to dress up and peek through the crack in the door to see when he’d leave. The moment his door opened, she would sling her medicine basket over her shoulder, step out, and pretend to bump into him. Just one glance from him made her heart race all day, as if a restless rabbit were trapped inside.
After he was transferred to the military camp at Shili Slope, where he had room and board, he rarely returned home. Mingyue’s heart had felt empty, and she’d wandered through her days in a daze. A few days earlier, she’d even mixed up a patient’s herbs, earning her a scolding from her father. When she went out to gather herbs, she sometimes detoured to Shili Slope, standing at its highest point to glimpse the training grounds. Each time, she wondered whether one of the men wielding swords was Situ Jin.
Now he was leaving—going to a place far away from her. He might marry and have children there. They might never see one another again.
Mingyue cried bitterly. Each flutter of her long eyelashes sent large teardrops rolling down her cheeks.
“She lied,” Situ Jin said.
Mingyue looked up in confusion.
“Aunt Zheng lied,” Situ Jin continued. His eyes were like a gentle breeze breaking through thin ice. They rippled with emotion. “You’re wonderful, truly. You’re the most amazing maiden I’ve ever met.”
Joy slowly filled Mingyue’s heart, and her eyes brightened. Did his words mean she had a place in his heart? “Where are you going, Lord Situ?” she asked. “Will you come back?”
“To a border city in the north. Don’t worry, the north is my home, and my swordsmanship is passable; the Tatars won’t defeat me. As for whether I’ll return, I guess that depends on luck.”
Mingyue wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’m sixteen this year, Lord Situ. I’ll wait five years for you.”
Situ Jin was stunned. His cheeks slowly flushed red. What did she mean, she would “wait” for him? Could it mean what he thought?
Suddenly, he wanted to flee. If not for the guards behind him and the chains on his feet, he’d have dashed away right that second.
He hesitated for a moment before stammering, “Five years is too long, Miss Mingyue. You—”
“What?” Mingyue sniffled and raised her chin. “You have that saying—‘Even four horses couldn’t break a gentleman’s word.’20 Well, my word can’t be broken by ten of them!”
Mingyue was a delicate girl—her shoulders were so narrow that they could be grasped in one hand, fragile as a riverbank willow—but her statement was firm and unyielding. Her stubborn expression indicated that she wouldn’t change her mind even if the heavens collapsed.
Situ Jin sighed. “Fine,” he said hoarsely. “If I haven’t returned in five years, Miss Mingyue, please find someone else. Don’t wait for me.”
Mingyue shook her head. “No. If you haven’t returned in five years, I’ll go north to find you. I’ll wait for you, and you must wait for me.”
“Miss!”
Mingyue slipped a bracelet from her wrist. “This was my mother’s. Take it—it’s very important to me. You must return it to me someday.”
“I can’t.”
“I want you to owe me,” Mingyue insisted, holding back her tears. “If you do, you’ll remember me.”
Situ Jin hesitated.
One of the guards stepped forward. “You’re a grown man. Stop pussyfooting around. A wife just fell from the sky, and you don’t want her? I don’t understand you at all. We’re in a hurry—just take it.” With that, he grasped the bracelet Mingyue held and shoved it into Situ Jin’s hand.
The jade bracelet was still warm with the heat of Mingyue’s skin. It burned in Situ Jin’s hand, and his face flushed red.
Mingyue took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Until we meet again, Lord Situ.”
The girl’s figure gradually disappeared into the distance, her tea-colored dress blending into the early morning light like a faint ink stroke.
Until we meet again, Situ Jin silently repeated in his heart.