Chapter Four: Yu Yan, the Younger Sister

The light from the lotus-shaped wall lamp cast shifting patterns on the floor, as if lotus blossoms were blooming everywhere. Yu Shiyu's gaze lingered on those glowing lotus petals, thoughtful and silent. By instinct, he sensed that his cousin’s refusal to return to the Yu family was not out of affectation, but a genuine indifference to their wealth and influence. Was she naive, or did she have something to rely on?

“Yu Shiyu always keeps his word—what I say, I do.” He looked at Yu Youwei with keen interest, convinced once more that her reluctance was sincere, not a pretense.

With a cold snort, Yu Youwei pressed on, “What’s the story with the Ning family marriage?”

Yu Shiyu, disinterested in responding, let the guard beside him explain.

The Ning family, like the Yu family, was a magnate among clans—though the Yus were newly risen, the Nings boasted an ancient lineage. Lord Ning Guodong, the seventh master of his house, was a close friend of Yu Tianming, the fourth master of the Yu family. Once, in drunken merriment, they’d jested about joining their families through marriage. But after Yu Tianming was murdered by enemies, neither family spoke of the betrothal again. Of Ning’s four sons, the eldest two were already wed. Yet now, the Ning family had suddenly come to discuss an engagement—not for the third son, but for the fourth.

“So the illustrious fourth master of the Yu family died without leaving a daughter? Is the Ning family so powerful that the Yus can’t bear to lose this alliance?” Yu Youwei’s words dripped with malice.

Yu Shiyu replied with unruffled composure, “You have an elder legitimate sister, Yu Ruoshuang. Your fourth aunt can’t bear for her daughter to marry far away, so you’re to be entered in her stead. Once you marry, you’ll be the fourth young mistress of the Ning family’s seventh branch. Compared to your current life, it’s a leap to the heavens—hardly a loss for you.”

Yu Youwei’s fists clenched as she spoke with a half-smile, “So my mother raised a daughter for fourteen years, only for the Yu family to reap the benefits? I’m to marry in place of a Yu daughter? You Yus are quite the schemers.”

“No one is forcing you. You have a choice,” Yu Shiyu replied shamelessly, then added, “Besides, it’s not a substitution. When your fourth uncle and Lord Ning discussed the marriage, they never specified which daughter would wed.”

Yu Youwei sensed there was more to this than met the eye, but she had no choice.

A breeze slipped through the window lattice, lifting the soft pink gauze and revealing Mu Yuyan, unconscious upon the bed. A bruise marred her sharp chin, her forehead wrapped in thick white cloth stained with blood, her delicate face pale as porcelain. She lay there, a fragile doll, beautiful but lifeless.

Had it not been for her presence in the Mu household, Yu Shiyu would never have come to this remote village. Yuyan might have remained as before, nestled in her mother’s arms, feeding fish, tending flowers, sometimes embroidering or painting when the mood struck. Seeing Mu Yuyan weep in her sleep, Yu Youwei was seized with guilt.

As if sensing something, Mu Yuyan’s long lashes fluttered, and she opened her eyes. Upon seeing Yu Youwei, tears streamed silently down her cheeks.

“Get well soon. Even if you must go to the Yu family, I’ll be with you,” Yu Youwei said, dabbing away her tears with a handkerchief in her usual calm tone.

“You’ll go with me to the Yu house?” Mu Yuyan’s bloodless face brightened with joy. She was easily content, or as her second brother Mu Qinglin would say, simple-minded.

“Have I ever broken a promise to you?” Yu Youwei enjoyed her innocent, cheerful smile. If she hadn’t been famed for her poetry in her previous life, she wondered, might she have lived as happily as any ordinary girl? Protecting pure-hearted Mu Yuyan felt like guarding her own past self.

“Never,” Mu Yuyan replied, beaming.

“Don’t ever do something foolish again.” Yu Youwei poked her gently with a slender finger, then left to find Yu Shiyu, saying coldly, “We’ll leave when Yuyan’s wounds are healed.”

None of the legitimate daughters in the family dared behave so boldly in his presence—was Yu Youwei simply a country girl ignorant of decorum, or did she possess some hidden confidence? Yu Shiyu found the situation intriguing and tacitly agreed to her plans.

Leaving the Pavilion of Resting Clouds, Yu Youwei did not return home but walked to the osmanthus grove beyond the estate.

Mu Yuqi, usually cheerful as a beam of sunlight, now trailed after her like a shadow, his mood somber. A late bird flew overhead; he watched its silhouette vanish, then lowered his voice, “I’ve accepted a mission to Mount Helan. Disguised as guards, we’ll cross the border there and escape to Beizhao or Yan.”

Yu Youwei said nothing. With a flick, the soft sword coiled on her wrist snapped straight, casting a blue gleam as her figure was enveloped in sword light. The blade’s radiance flickered like mist, flower scents drifting on the wind as it stirred the branches, scattering tiny osmanthus blossoms in its wake.

Mu Yuqi stood by, silent, waiting in vain for a response. His expression darkened further. Turning away, he walked off, his shadow stretching among the trees.

“We’ll go when my mother returns,” Yu Youwei sighed softly. The spinning sword light vanished; the flexible sword slid back into a bracelet on her wrist. Her dark hair and skirts floated gently down, her bearing ethereal and serene.

Suddenly, Mu Yuqi stopped and ran back, his face alight with hope. “You’re willing to come with me?”

“If you hadn’t said it, I would have taken Yuyan and fled myself,” Yu Youwei rose gracefully, her eyes bright with wit and cunning, utterly free of girlish affection. “To avoid implicating the Mu family, we must wait until Yu Shiyu and the others take us from the estate. Then we’ll seize our chance to escape. You’ll be in charge of bringing Yuyan to safety.”

Though she was close enough to touch, Mu Yuqi felt the distance between them growing ever wider. Perhaps, he thought, he’d never truly been close to her. Gazing at her peerlessly beautiful face, his heart harbored no disrespect, only a tide of humble reverence.

In her previous life, Yu Youwei had encountered every kind of man. How could she be unaware of Mu Yuqi’s feelings for her? But her heart was now still, untouched by ripples, and she pretended not to know. She walked away, carrying the scent of osmanthus with her. Before leaving the grove, she glanced back at his motionless figure among the trees, a faint melancholy in her gaze.

At dusk, as the meal was set on the table, Mu Qingxi floated in like a crimson cloud, lively and sweet, snatching a piece of dried bamboo shoot with her fingers still stained with balsam dye.

“Can’t you wait to wash your hands before eating?” Yu Youwei scolded helplessly. Her mother, though named Qing—Green—much preferred wearing red, and despite a life of constant traveling for their livelihood, insisted her daughter be raised as a lady, with a nurse and four maidservants to attend her.

“Other people’s daughters are close as soft cotton jackets, but you’re an ill-fitting leather vest,” Mu Qingxi grumbled.

“You’ve the nerve to complain about me?” Yu Youwei shook her head, amused. With her mother, who remained candid and unrestrained even past thirty, Yu Youwei often felt more like the older sister.

A maid brought in a basin of warm water. After washing her hands, Mu Qingxi tapped her daughter’s forehead with a playful scold, “I’ve raised you for nothing—you don’t even greet your mother.”

Even her mother’s complaints were tinged with warmth. Yu Youwei smiled gently, saying, “Mother, you must have heard the Yu family has come. I plan to take Yuyan and escape. What are your thoughts?”