Chapter Two: Pure Joy, Difficult to Attain Peace

“What you’re saying makes no sense. We’re nothing more than fleeting acquaintances—this is only the second or third time we’ve met. Whether you live or die is your own choice; you don’t need to involve me in your declarations of intent.” Xu You did not spare her a glance. He gazed at the bright moon reflected in the water, feeling the cold wind seep through his nostrils and into his lungs, as if intent on freezing his very heart and soul.

Lü Shuang choked back her tears, head bowed in silence for a long while. Then, with a graceful movement, she rose to her feet. Under the moonlight, her lovely face took on an ethereal beauty that tugged at the heart. Memories of her brief and troubled life flickered through her mind, leaving her despondent and numb. Her expression grew calm as she spoke: “Since that is your wish, I can only say I am sorry for what I owe you that night. May I repay it in the next life.” With that, she leapt into the frigid, bone-chilling waters of the river.

“What happened?”

“Is something wrong?”

A commotion broke out in the cabin. Zuo Wen was the first to rush out, and when he saw Lü Shuang’s head disappearing beneath the water, he was startled and immediately moved to dive in after her, only to be restrained by Xu You.

“My lord?”

“Let her be.”

Xu You shook his head, his gaze icy and unyielding, so cold and merciless that it inspired fear in the hearts of those who beheld him. No one could guess what thoughts lay behind those eyes.

Zuo Wen was bewildered but dared not disobey. He stepped back obediently. At that moment, Qiu Fen, hastily dressed, ran out, her face pale with fright at the sight before her. She was about to beg Xu You to save Lü Shuang, but Zuo Wen signaled to her and whispered a few words. Qiu Fen nodded blankly. She didn’t know what her young master intended, but if he insisted on this course, he must have his reasons.

Still, what about Lü Shuang…

The boatman and his daughter also appeared. The boatman’s surname was Ding, and as the youngest in his family, he was named Ji. He had not fathered a child until nearly forty, and so named his daughter Ku’er. The two lived on the river year-round, having seen countless strange things, so they remained calm and did not intervene.

This was the wisdom of surviving in the world—and the way to stay alive. Who could fault them?

Time ticked by. Lü Shuang struggled a few times in the water, but soon her strength gave out and her body sank. Xu You frowned, waiting a little longer. Seeing nothing unusual, he finally said, “Fenghu, pull her out.”

“Yes, sir!” Zuo Wen was about to jump in, but a small, wiry figure beat him to it, plunging into the water with a splash. Moving as swiftly as a fish, she darted toward Lü Shuang.

“Ku’er, be careful…” Ding Ji shouted, though he didn’t seem too worried. On this river, few could match Ku’er’s skill in the water.

…

Lü Shuang felt as if she were trapped in a cold and terrifying dream. She was back on that wild, desolate night. A few withered trees stood lonely by the roadside, and a crow—who knew whence it came—perched on a nearly broken branch, its blood-red eyes fixed on the carnage below.

There were cries, shouts, pleas for mercy, cruel laughter, curses. Her father, sprawled in a pool of blood, reached out a trembling hand to the sky. Her mother lay on the muddy ground, her clothes torn to shreds, while several filthy, ugly men scrambled over her…

Lü Shuang gasped awake, a wave of nausea rising in her throat. She turned aside and retched, and the tightness in her chest eased somewhat.

“There, now that you’ve coughed up that water, you should be fine. Just stay warm tonight and you’ll be completely recovered by morning,” Ding Ji assured her, his tone that of a man who knew his trade. If he said she would be all right, then it must be so.

Qiu Fen, though, was still anxious. She looked to Ding Ku’er, the twelve-year-old girl, dark-skinned and thin, with lively eyes despite her quiet manner. “As long as she keeps warm, she’ll be fine,” Ku’er said.

Relieved, Qiu Fen helped Lü Shuang lie down and covered her with a blanket. Ding Ji, after all, was a man, and it wasn’t convenient for him to stay, so he left with Ku’er.

Qiu Fen murmured, “It’s all right now. You should rest. I’ll go boil some water and come back to help you wash, so you don’t catch cold.”

Surviving by a hair’s breadth, Lü Shuang looked up at Qiu Fen’s sincere, caring face, her gratitude plain to see. “I… I don’t know how to thank you…”

“There’s no need to say anything. Don’t let your thoughts wander. Just sleep—Uncle Ding said you’re fine, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Even so, Qiu Fen couldn’t help glancing out of the cabin, troubled. She had no idea what had passed between Lü Shuang and her young master to bring matters to the brink of death. But she knew some things she could not ask, nor should she. The young master had his reasons, and she would follow his lead.

Lü Shuang sensed Qiu Fen’s unease and patted her hand gently. “Is the young master outside?”

“Yes, he’s been outside ever since you were brought back. Lü Shuang, please don’t blame him—he wouldn’t really—” Her words were cut off as Lü Shuang pressed a finger to her lips, the snow-white fingertip against her rose-red lips a captivating sight.

“I know. It’s all right. Sister, could you ask the young master to come in?”

Qiu Fen hesitated, but nodded and slipped out.

The curtain at the door was drawn aside from outside. Xu You entered and looked down at Lü Shuang. Suddenly, he smiled. “I hadn’t thought you so ruthless—jumping in without a second thought. You really don’t value your own life at all.”

Lü Shuang replied softly, “That’s because I know you’re a kind man. You would never let me die before your eyes.”

“A kind horse is ridden, a good man is bullied—so you think you’ve got me figured out?”

“I wouldn’t dare! You misunderstand my meaning…” Lü Shuang tried to sit up, but Xu You waved her down.

“Stay where you are. Since I couldn’t resist saving you, I’ll keep my word—you can follow us to Qiantang.”

Lü Shuang was overjoyed. Ignoring his gesture, she knelt and said, “Thank you, my lord!”

“All this crying, threatening, and making scenes—thousands of years, and still the same old tricks,” Xu You sighed. “Don’t be too pleased yet. Once we reach Qiantang, you’ll have to find your own way. But don’t worry about money—since we’ve met, I’ll give you a hundred thousand in silver, enough for your needs until you’re settled.”

Lü Shuang was silent for a while, then raised her head. “Is it because of what happened that night that you dislike me so much?”

“That’s not it.” Xu You was honest. “I haven’t even gone after that Shuiyi by Yuan Sanniang’s side—why make things hard for someone who only follows orders? I don’t exactly dislike you, but I always keep my distance from people I don’t know well.”

His meaning was clear. He wasn’t repulsed by Lü Shuang, but he was wary. Who would want a stranger of unknown origin by their side, especially when the whole affair reeked of intrigue? Why had Yuan Qingqi given her to him? Was it really just to make up for the distress he suffered that night?

Xu You would never underestimate Yuan Qingqi’s cunning—which was all the more reason he could not let Lü Shuang remain with him.

Lü Shuang was quick-witted and nodded. “I understand. There’s no need to wait until Qiantang—once we reach Wu County tomorrow, let me disembark.”

“As you wish,” Xu You replied calmly. “But I only have a little over a hundred thousand silver on me—at most, I can give you thirty thousand now, and send you the rest once we reach Qiantang.”

“No need. I have a little money of my own. It’s not much, but it should keep me for a while in the city. Besides, Wu County isn’t unfamiliar to me—I’ll find a place to stay.”

There was nothing more to say. Xu You cupped his hands and was about to leave when Lü Shuang called out behind him, “Since there’s only half the night left, could you stay and talk with me for a while?”

Xu You paused, then let out a long breath and sat down at the side. “What do you want to talk about?”

“What would you like to talk about, my lord?”

He thought for a while, then suddenly asked, “What’s your family name?”

Lü Shuang was taken aback. “I… I don’t have one…”

“Everyone’s from somewhere. If you have roots, you must have a family name. You didn’t just spring from the rocks like some monkey, did you?”

She didn’t understand the reference to monkeys born from stone, but she caught his meaning and her eyes dimmed. “I lost my family in the chaos as a child; both my parents were killed by bandits. I was not yet three when I was abandoned by the roadside. If Mother Qi hadn’t found me, I would have been devoured by wolves. I have only the faintest memories—my family name and given name are both lost to me.”

“You’re a pitiful soul…” Xu You sighed. “And after that? How did you end up in the Yuan household?”

“Mother Qi took me to Qingle Pavilion in Wu County. She cared for me and taught me poetry, song, calligraphy, and music. When I was thirteen, before my hair was even pinned up, I was chosen by the scribe and purchased for two hundred thousand coins to become a song-girl in the Yuan household…”

Qingle Pavilion—by its name, a brothel. Though originally, “green tower” was not synonymous with brothels; in ancient poetry, it described beautiful women living in tall towers. Emperor Qi Wu’s Anxing Guang Tower, painted green, was called the “Green Tower”—a palace. But by the Wei and Jin dynasties, the fashion for keeping household entertainers spread among the nobility, who built tall towers and kept courtesans for music and pleasure. Over time, the image of these courtesans merged with the poetic ideal, and the green tower became synonymous with a place of entertainment. The earliest clear link between the term and courtesans comes from a poem by Liu Miao of the Southern Dynasties, and later writers like Yuan Mei confirmed its meaning as a brothel.

So Lü Shuang had grown up in Wu County—no wonder the place was not unfamiliar to her.

“The scribe?” Xu You couldn’t recall who in the Yuan household held that title. “Which scribe?”

Lü Shuang’s face paled; it took all her courage to speak the name. “It was Yuan Erlang. He was appointed scribe early this year—you might not have known.”

Now Xu You understood. She meant Yuan Qingqi’s second brother, Yuan Zheng, courtesy name Pinggao. Last year he was an academician; now, after just a year, he’d risen to the sixth-rank scribe—a remarkable ascent. Scribal positions were prestigious, and for someone barely in his twenties to hold one spoke of immense promise.

“With Yuan Pinggao and the Yuan family’s standing, you would never want for food or shelter. You could share poetry and music, live in comfort—a lonely life finally given a place to belong… Why, then…”

He didn’t finish. Lü Shuang continued, “Why would I then harm you? Is that what you want to ask, my lord?”