“I told you I went through a wedding ceremony with another man! I am not pure anymore!” Qian Jiaoniang didn’t even know what came over her. Her sharp voice was all the more grating in the quiet room.
For a moment, the room was silent except for her furious breathing—but she could hear Xing Muzheng’s suppressed, heavy breaths.
After a long while, Xing Muzheng slowly sat up. In the dark, he found her eyes, unusually bright with fire. Hoarsely, he said: “…You are very pure. No one is more faithful than you.” He groped in the dark, grasping her hand like a branding iron, holding it fast. “This matter—no one else will ever know. Rest easy. Let the past stay in the past.”
Qian Jiaoniang knew she had spoken ambiguously on purpose, trying to provoke him. But what did he say? That she should rest easy? That the past could be left behind? Did he mean he would swallow it down—and still let her remain the Marchioness of the Marquis household?! She tried to pull back her hand, but his iron grip was like tongs—she could not break free.
“Let me go!” She struggled. For the first time she didn’t even know why she was angry, but truly, she was furious.
Xing Muzheng thought she was in pain from having old wounds torn open. Ah Da had said—even a woman as strong and free-spirited as her would find it hard to let go. Seeing her lose composure pained him more. Afraid of hurting her, he quickly released her hand, but gathered her into his arms again. Wanting to comfort her, he couldn’t find the words. He was tongue-tied, so he only held her tightly, coaxing her like a three-year-old—sometimes “shh,” sometimes “be good.”
The more he soothed, the angrier Qian Jiaoniang became. She couldn’t break free from his iron arms. In sudden rage, she bit down on his forearm. Xing Muzheng held her tightly but carefully, sweating all over, then felt the sharp sting of her bite. He knew she was biting him. He did not move. Instead his frown relaxed. Let her bite. If she vented her anger, if she didn’t bottle it up inside, that was good.
Xing Muzheng even wished she would bite harder, vent out all her stifled fury. A pity—she soon let go. He silently lamented that she hadn’t even drawn blood.
Qian Jiaoniang slowly sat up, knees pulled in, and asked into the dark: “Xing Muzheng, you really don’t care that I lost my purity?”
“I don’t care.” Xing Muzheng’s answer was as crisp and firm as always.
“Why are you so good to me?”
“Not good enough…” Xing Muzheng blurted out. Then after a pause: “Far from enough.”
Xing Muzheng was never one for honeyed words. These two sentences might have sounded like coaxing, but just like his earlier “shh” and “be good,” they were words from the bottom of his heart. Right now, he desperately wanted to be good to Qian Jiaoniang, to give her the very best in this world. But he always felt it was not enough, and he didn’t know how it could ever be enough. What’s more, he had already bungled things, which only made his heart ache all the more.
“You…” In the dark, her expression was unclear. Only her lowered voice came, but after that single “You,” she said no more. Xing Muzheng waited a long time, but Qian Jiaoniang only shifted, lying down again.
Hesitating, he lay down beside her, his long arm habitually circling her waist, drawing her close.
After a while, just when Xing Muzheng thought she had fallen asleep, he heard her low murmur: “I only went through the ceremony with Fang Xiong. Inside the room I struck him with something and escaped. I…did not…”
Xing Muzheng understood. The boulder on his heart at last fell away.
Fortunately—fortunately—Jiaoniang had suffered less than he feared.
***
That night passed. The next morning, neither of them mentioned it again.
Yet Xing Muzheng did not immediately set out back to Yuzhou. Not only did he need to remain to settle the matter of Jiangzi officials colluding with bandits, but also because he had received a letter from Xing Pingchun. The boy had finally managed, after three visits, to invite a teacher, and was now happily hurrying back.
Xing Muzheng and Qian Jiaoniang stayed two more days in Jiangzi. Escorted by Wang Yong and others, Xing Pingchun reunited with his parents. After nearly a month apart, Qian Jiaoniang, as a mother, was beyond words. She looked at her son, taller and thinner, yet full of spirit—her heart ached, and she rejoiced.
Teacher Cao and the newly-invited Teacher Lu had been playing chess in the carriage. When they stepped down, Xing Muzheng and Qian Jiaoniang personally came to greet them, performing the deepest courtesies. Though a general, Xing Muzheng had always greatly respected teachers. Qian Jiaoniang admired learned men all the more. Teacher Cao had long been treated with respect by the Marquis couple. Teacher Lu, however, had come reluctantly, regretting giving up his carefree mountain life to teach a child. So when he alighted, his face was still stiff. Yet even that little cloud of resentment dissipated in the face of the Marquis couple’s courtesy.
On the road back to Yunzhou, Mr. Cao spoke to Xing Muzheng about a matter. His disciples were spread across the land, from the imperial capital Yongan to the provinces; many high-ranking officials and nobles of the present day had once been under his instruction. Now, many people wished for him to teach the youths of their clans. When they learned he was teaching at the Marquis’ residence, they were even willing to travel all the way to Yuzhou to study. As a great Confucian master, Mr. Cao was glad to pass on the Dao and his learning, but since he had originally been invited to Yuzhou by the Dingxi Marquis, he naturally had to ask him first.
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