Chapter Seventy-Two: Farewell

After sending Pingyin on her way, Lu Ying did not hurry home. She wandered through the marketplace, intending to buy a few vegetables to take back. As she bent over, picking and choosing, she heard the voice of Aunt Yang behind her, “Ying?”

Lu Ying quickly turned around. Seeing Aunt Yang alone, with no sign of her son, she relaxed and smiled, “Aunt, are you here to buy vegetables as well?”

“Where would I get as much money as you, Ying? My vegetables are all homegrown. When I run low, I go out and gather wild greens,” Aunt Yang said, her eyes lingering on Lu Ying, whose health had visibly improved. She stepped closer and remarked, “You know, Ying, your life with your brother is so much better than before. Just look at you—there’s no comparison to how you used to be. You truly have a talent for living.”

Lu Ying smiled quietly.

Aunt Yang eyed her, moving even closer. “Ying, have you found a husband yet?”

When Lu Ying merely smiled and said nothing, Aunt Yang lowered her voice, “Well, I have a cousin. Her son is studying at the academy, just like my Lu Yun. He noticed you the other day and asked me to inquire. Honestly, Ying, you know I’m not good with words, but the lad is decent, hardworking, and his family owns ten acres of fertile land—”

Lu Ying interrupted her with a gentle smile, “Aunt, I don’t wish to discuss this right now.”

Aunt Yang turned back to look at her, sighing softly, “Ying, with your looks, it would be easy to marry into a good family, but surely you know about your past…”

Lu Ying interrupted again, smiling, “Aunt, truly, I don’t want to talk about it.”

What girl of marriageable age wouldn’t want to wed? Clearly, she simply didn’t fancy marrying a farmer. Aunt Yang sighed, saying no more, though inwardly she wondered if Lu Ying’s standards were too high.

After bidding farewell to Aunt Yang, Lu Ying carried her basket and continued on her way home. As she entered the alley, she immediately spotted the tall, slender youth, Wang Ke, whom she had seen yesterday.

When Wang Ke saw Lu Ying approach, his eyes lit up, but he quickly dropped his head in dejection.

Lu Ying stopped before him.

Wang Ke finally raised his head, hesitating for a moment before speaking, “Ying, my mother yesterday—she didn’t mean what she said. She actually likes you, really, believe me, she’s very fond of you.” Wang Ke stammered, but his sincerity was evident. Anxiety flickered across his face as he spoke, wiping sweat from his brow, visibly nervous.

Lu Ying nodded, “I understand.” With that, she walked past Wang Ke and continued forward.

Wang Ke hurried after her, voice urgent, “Ying, you’re not angry with her, right? I’ll have the matchmaker visit again tomorrow, all right?”

“No,” Lu Ying stopped, expressionless as she stared at Wang Ke. Her voice was cool, “Young master Wang, let us put this marriage proposal to rest.”

“Why?” Wang Ke’s face turned pale. He stared at Lu Ying, his voice hoarse, “You—you haven’t anyone else, so how—” He faltered, realizing his words were inappropriate, and quickly fell silent.

Lu Ying frowned, glancing at Wang Ke with a gaze so cold and detached it seemed to look down upon him.

The force of that look was overwhelming. Wang Ke’s face lost all color, and he could only stand there, watching as Lu Ying walked away.

Lu Ying entered the alley, and as she reached her own door, she heard the creak of a side gate nearby and saw several people emerge.

She paid them no mind, bending to unlock her door. Behind her, voices drifted faintly, “Is that Lu Shi’s Ying?” “Yes, that’s her.” “Why are you so concerned about her?” “Don’t you know, my nephew sought me out the other day, asking about the beautiful girl in red at the marketplace—whose family she belonged to. When he heard she’s no longer betrothed, he’s been pestering my sister to make a proposal.” “Is that so?” “Looks like she won’t be easy to deal with.”

Hearing this, Lu Ying paused, recalling Aunt Yang’s proposal earlier and Wang Ke’s attempt to intercept her. Unbeknownst to herself, she had attracted more than a few admirers.

She smiled faintly at the thought, pushed open the door, and entered the house. Just as she stepped inside, a faint voice drifted to her ears, “She’s even trying to seduce our young master… but since Master Yan has left, her efforts are in vain.”

What?

Lu Ying froze, turning slowly to stare at the swaying little gate of the Yin residence. Suddenly, she felt utterly hollow.

This emptiness, like the restless spring day, was inexplicably suffocating. Though everything seemed well, her heart was heavy, and she found herself unable to suppress the aching loneliness.

After a long daze, Lu Ying haphazardly prepared a meal, then walked over to the boundary wall. She gazed up for a while, then brought over a small stool, standing on it to reach the top of the wall.

On the other side, peach blossoms and willow trees painted a vibrant spring scene, yet a certain desolation lingered.

After a while, Lu Ying turned to the left. She removed two bricks, revealing a golden brocade pouch wrapped in oilcloth.

The pouch was exquisite, made of fabric she had never seen before, soft as water in her hand. Inside were a jade pendant, a bamboo slip, and a handkerchief.

The jade pendant was familiar—she thought she had seen it on Yin Che. The bamboo slip bore only a few hurried lines, the handwriting somewhat messy: “My heart loves you, how could I not say so? Hidden within, how could I ever forget?”

The handkerchief was damp, with scrawled characters: “Since parting from you, the bright moon is bleak, the sound of the flute bitter.” The last few words were smeared with ink, clearly written as the writer wept.

So he truly had gone!

Lu Ying clutched the handkerchief tightly, her mind reeling.

In the past, she had feelings for Master Zeng, knowing he was her intended. She had expectations, believing she ought to love him. But once she woke from that illusion, the attachment broke easily. Perhaps, that affection was forced upon herself all along?

If she counted carefully, the one who truly stirred her heart was only the youth who always pursed his lips, whose deep, water-black eyes were fixed unwaveringly upon her. That boy had sat atop this wall, beneath these trees, played the flute in the moonlight, and gazed at her through tears.

She could not deny the flutter in her heart. She had even imagined, perhaps, if fortune smiled, his family might accept her…

The dream ended, he was gone, and so this was how it felt!

Unconsciously, Lu Ying covered her face with her hands.

…So, she had yearned after all!

It turned out, all those times she glanced toward the wall, she had been waiting, hoping.

That clear, elegant figure had only ever been the briefest dream!

This, then, was the pain of living separation: alive, yet forced apart, each to their own destiny, perhaps never meeting again for the rest of life.

When Lu Yun returned home, he found his sister curled motionless on the couch. Alarmed, he hurried close and asked, “Sister, are you all right?”

Lu Ying shook her head and whispered, “I’m fine.” Lu Yun was not convinced, watching her for a while before gently lifting the sleeve covering her face.

Beneath the sleeve, Lu Ying’s delicate face was serene and calm.

Lu Yun breathed a sigh of relief, cheerfully entering the room. Seeing the meal was prepared, he set out the dishes and said to his sister, “Sister, the teacher praised me again today. He said I am exceptionally clever.” Leaning in, Lu Yun added mysteriously, “He said he might recommend me to an elder.” Hearing Lu Ying’s subdued reply, Lu Yun asked quietly, “Sister, are you really all right?” “I’m fine.”

That night, Lu Ying tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The cool breeze drifted through the window, and she gazed at the stars beyond the gauzy screen. For some reason, her eyes stung, and a profound, indescribable loneliness weighed on her.

It was strange—when he was here, she hadn’t felt so moved; why now, after he had gone, did she feel so miserable?

The next day, after sending Lu Yun off, Lu Ying still felt tight-chested. When the feeling became unbearable, she opened those bamboo slips and read them aloud, again and again, without pondering their meaning—just reciting them repeatedly, as if this could vent some nameless restlessness.

Unceasingly, she read on, not realizing her voice had grown hoarse.

Only when her throat was so raw she could hardly speak did Lu Ying finally stop.

When she did, she felt an immense emptiness.

She wandered the courtyard for a while, then drew water from the well to clean the house. She scrubbed all the doors and windows, washed every quilt and garment, and only when her back ached did she realize it was dusk.

She turned her head, watching the pale moon hanging in the sky, and suddenly a thought struck her: from now on, she would never again hear that flute.

The feeling was utterly helpless. Lu Ying disliked it; she patted her cheeks and went into the study, picking up a book to read intently.

Nowadays, when she read, it often felt as though she advanced by leaps and bounds. Not only had her speed in interpreting texts increased, she felt certain that if she were to compose an essay, she would surpass even Lu Yun, who had studied for years—perhaps even rival their teacher.

Of course, her reading now was entirely distracted.

In a haze, several days passed.

One day, the sky suddenly broke into rain. The gentle spring drizzle tapped on leaves and rooftops, producing crisp sounds like a lonely string ensemble.

Lu Ying sat by the window, unable to suppress the urge to play the flute. Yet she had no flute, nor did she know how to play.

Aside from this longing, her hand could not help but reach toward the bed, wishing to take out the jade pendant and look at it again.

Suppressing this impulse, Lu Ying suddenly heard the door being knocked loudly—bang, bang, bang.

Today there is only one chapter; the owed update will be delivered later. (To be continued.)