Chapter 12: Meeting You, Life’s Greatest Fortune
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Ling Zhao was momentarily stunned, his hand clutching the teacup tightened silently. He no longer remembered when he had left the dark room, when he had mounted the horse, or when he had galloped past the deserted streets.
Arriving at the mansion’s gate, Ling Zhao flicked the reins toward the gatekeeper’s servant and strode inside. Jin Sheng appeared from the side, noting that the young master’s expression remained clouded and unclear, so she cautiously followed his swift footsteps like a gust of wind.
“How is she?”
Jin Sheng was momentarily taken aback, then realized that “she” referred to Miss Ming. She immediately replied, “Miss Ming went to Shou’an Hall before the hour of Chen to pay respects to the old madam, then served her medicinal cuisine. Afterwards, on the way back to Lanyue Pavilion, she spoke briefly with Miss Meng, then stayed at Lanyue Pavilion reading and writing. She took lunch at noon, napped afterward, and resumed reading and writing upon waking. At You hour, she had dinner, then went to the waterside pavilion to feed the fish. She should be back at Lanyue Pavilion now.”
“Nonsense!”
Jin Sheng wiped the sweat from her forehead and restated, “She ate, slept, read, and fed the fish.”
Ling Zhao’s brow twitched. He often rose early and returned late, struggling to eat and sleep well—how about her? It was truly extraordinary!
“Go find the night clothes.”
“Huh? Master, are we still going?”
Ling Zhao shot a cold glare. Jin Sheng immediately fell silent, not daring a word.
They changed into their night clothes, slipped through a side gate in the backyard of Qingyun Pavilion, and after ensuring no one was around, slipped out and headed straight for Lanyue Pavilion in the Western Garden.
With light, nimble steps, Ling Zhao leapt over the courtyard wall effortlessly. Seeing the extinguished candlelight inside, his face darkened.
How could she still be able to sleep after a whole day?
Jin Sheng cautiously asked beside him, “Master, it seems Miss Ming has already rested. You’ve been exhausted all day—perhaps you should also...”
“Since we’re here.”
“...then I’ll wait outside.”
Ling Zhao went straight to a small window, pried it open with his knife and quietly slipped inside, deftly catching the wooden latch he had just dislodged without making a sound.
He pulled aside the bed curtains and stared, stunned.
Where was she?
A short, light whistle sounded, and Jin Sheng appeared at the window frame of the bedroom. “Master, any orders?”
“Go check the waterside pavilion for Ming’er. Quickly.”
“Yes.”
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By now, his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He went around and sat in the armchair behind the desk, waiting.
Glancing casually, he spotted a letter made of rich brocade fabric resting on the desk. He picked it up, examining it. “What’s this?”
His eyes flicked downward further—“Sincerely, Xiao Ming,” signed: Mo Yunyin.
His brow furrowed as he disdainfully tossed the letter back, thinking: It’s probably an invitation to the birthday banquet the day after tomorrow.
Though he knew he shouldn’t care, his eyes kept darting toward the letter, his knuckles tapping the desk with growing agitation.
Why would a grown man’s banquet invitation be made so delicate and elaborate?
He picked it up again, turning it over in his hands, hesitating in thought, before his hand unconsciously opened the letter.
An invitation slipped out.
Ling Zhao exhaled in relief, shaking his head with a smile.
But when he unfolded the invitation, a thin slip of paper fell out, along with a fifty tael silver note.
The note contained only a few words:
“Knowing you is life’s greatest fortune. Thinking of you endlessly, words fail to express. Awaiting you at the third quarter of Hai hour, at Qing Shui Pavilion in the Western Garden. Don’t miss it.”
A sudden shock exploded in Ling Zhao’s mind, like thunder and lightning, blood surging uncontrollably to his head.
So it was true!
This reckless woman was secretly meeting her lover right inside the General’s mansion!
What about next time? Would she come to this very bedchamber?
At that moment, faint knocks came at the window frame of the bedroom, snapping Ling Zhao back to clarity.
It was Jin Sheng’s trembling voice: “Master, Miss Ming is not at the waterside pavilion.”
His fists clenched tightly.
Tonight Qingzhu was on watch. The night was deep, but she dared not slack off.
Suddenly, the door was flung open with a “swish,” startling her. She jolted awake, looking up into Ling Zhao’s dark, grim face.
“Young master...” Qingzhu’s legs weakened with guilt, and with a thud, she knelt on the ground.
Ling Zhao didn’t even glance at her, frowning as he strode out of the bedchamber, radiating murderous intent wherever he passed.
“Master, you...”
In an instant, he leapt up, bounding onto a tall, sturdy tree, running like the wind until he vanished into the darkness.
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Jin Sheng was left dumbfounded, muttering, “This task is getting harder and harder.”
——
Qing Shui Pavilion
Secluded and silent, the only sound was the rustling of bamboo leaves stirred by the night breeze.
Ling Zhao arrived at Qing Shui Pavilion, hearing movement near the winding stream pavilion in the courtyard. He quietly approached and stood hidden in the shadows.
Two figures were there in the pavilion.
“Miss Ming has come early today,” a voice said.
“Mr. Mo is early as well,” came Xiao Ming’s voice, softer and more delicate than usual.
“Impatient to see you, so I came early.”
“The General’s mansion is heavily guarded. How did you get in, Mr. Mo?”
“Guess.”
Xiao Ming chuckled softly, glimpsing his outstretched hand by moonlight. After a brief hesitation, she placed her hand in his. Mo Shichang grasped it and gently pulled her close, enveloping her in his embrace.
His teasing expression faded, replaced with sincerity. “For you, I would brave the ends of the earth, cut through thorns and brambles. Even Cloud Yin would not hesitate—let alone a mere General’s mansion.”
Xiao Ming’s head rested against Mo Shichang’s neck. His breath brushed her skin, making her feel both ticklish and electrified, a feather lightly teasing her heart.
“Mr. Mo, aren’t we moving too fast...”
Mo Shichang said nothing, only held her tighter.
She felt the strong yet erratic heartbeat beneath his clothes, and a low voice murmured from his chest, “Call me Yun Yin.”
Xiao Ming was startled; though in darkness, her face flushed deeply as she whispered, “Brother Yun Yin.”
Somehow, she suddenly thought of Ling Zhao—how he had held her tightly behind dense bushes that day, covering her ears. She had also rested her head against his chest, but that chest was broader and firmer, like a fortress wall.
Mo Shichang broke her reverie.
“That day, while everyone else was lively at the banquet, I saw you alone by the lake, crying. Each tear fell into my heart. It stirred a sudden urge to protect your fragility.”
Her head nuzzled against his chest.
His hand rested atop her hair, gently stroking it. “Ming’er, rest assured, once you enter my Mo household, I will never let a single tear fall from your eyes again.”
“Brother Yun Yin, what nonsense are you talking about?”