Chapter 50: The Suzhou Villa

Xie Mingyu had guessed correctly—Shen Qianmo did not accompany Meng Yuanheng to his princely residence. It wasn’t because she was being difficult, but rather because she felt that upon returning to Suzhou, her first duty was to pay her respects to Master Piaomiao.

Still, she promised she would visit the princely residence to accompany him the very next day. Only then, albeit reluctantly, did Meng Yuanheng let her go.

Master Piaomiao, along with the entire Xie family household, had been waiting outside the Xie residence. As Shen Qianmo alighted from the carriage, she was greeted by the full assembly of the Xie family at the entrance, a warmth blooming in her heart.

She hurried forward and, with respectful composure, addressed Master Piaomiao at the forefront, “Grandfather,” and made to kneel in greeting.

Master Piaomiao caught her in time. “Mo’er, there’s no need for such formality. You have suffered greatly this time.”

Xie Chun and Madam Yu, along with Xie Mingfeng and Xie Yao, also came up to express their concern and affection.

At the birthday banquet, the entire Xie family had been poisoned by Wuxia’s toxin. It was Shen Qianmo who, risking herself, coerced Wuxia into providing the antidote, thus saving the entire household. For this, every member of the Xie family held deep gratitude for her. The servants, in particular, were profoundly respectful toward this cousin, who had remained calm in crisis and proved both wise and brave.

News of the Princess Xuan—renowned for her beauty and valor, said to be as exceptional as any man—returning to Suzhou spread like wildfire throughout the city. Soon, the Xie family’s threshold was nearly worn away by a constant stream of visitors: some arriving to offer thanks, others simply to catch a glimpse of her legendary presence.

Yet, upon seeing Shen Qianmo in person, all could not help but feel a pang of regret. Such a woman—radiant as a flower, of exceptional beauty and peerless intelligence—was wedded to a crippled Prince Xuan. Worse still, rumors claimed the prince was incapable of consummating a marriage! What a waste—like a fresh blossom planted in a dung heap.

Meanwhile, the so-called “dung heap” of rumor—the supposedly disabled and impotent Prince Xuan—was sitting in his study at the princely residence, his face dark with frustration.

When they parted, Mo’er had clearly promised to visit him the very next day. Yet now it was already the third day, and she had still not appeared. How could he not be angry?

“Go invite her again,” he ordered Changdong sternly.

“Yes, sir.” Changdong, expressionless, bowed and withdrew. Once outside, he looked up at the sky in silent despair. He had already gone to the Xie residence yesterday, but the princess had been surrounded by guests and unable to leave, assuring him she would come today. Why couldn’t the prince be a bit more patient?

He trudged toward the gates, only to see a plain carriage approaching, coming to a halt at the entrance.

The curtain lifted, and out jumped a lively young girl in green. Changdong’s eyes lit up—it was the princess’s personal maid, though her name escaped him at the moment.

Still, if the maid was here, then the princess must be inside the carriage. He watched intently, and sure enough, she soon emerged, graceful and beautiful, nimbly alighting from the carriage. Seeing Changdong waiting at the gate, she paused in mild surprise, then smiled. “Changdong, you’re quite impressive—to know exactly when I’d arrive and be here to greet me.”

At this, a faint blush colored Changdong’s usually impassive face. Could he admit it was only because his master was desperate to see the princess and had sent him out again? He hesitated, then decided to keep the truth to himself, preserving the prince’s dignity.

“Please, Your Highness,” he said, resuming his stoic manner and bowing formally.

What a humorless boy, Shen Qianmo thought silently with a shake of her head as she followed him into the residence.

Behind her, the maid Green Bamboo shot Changdong a fierce glare and hurried in after Shen Qianmo.

Changdong scratched his head in confusion—why was that girl always so unfriendly to him?

It was said, “Among gardens, those of Jiangnan are the finest; among Jiangnan’s, Suzhou’s are supreme.” Shen Qianmo had long heard of the famed Suzhou gardens, but soon after arriving in Suzhou, she’d been abducted by the Wujiao cult to the distant Nanhai Wujiao Island, missing any chance to savor the city’s beauty. Now, entering Prince Xuan’s residence, she finally had the opportunity to admire Suzhou’s unique style.

Shielded from the city’s bustle, the residence was a secluded haven in the heart of Suzhou—peaceful and elegant. Deep within, the grounds opened up: wide ponds and lush trees, natural scenery, pavilions and terraces artfully arranged by the water, winding galleries, rippling reflections—charming in every detail.

After crossing a stone bridge, she came to a covered walkway, winding and intricate, its windows of varied designs offering views in both directions. The corridor encircled the pavilion, adorned with flowers, stones, and peaks, each window framing a scene as lovely as a painting. To the north, an artificial mountain with caves and crests echoed the trees and distant pavilions.

Passing through this walkway, Shen Qianmo arrived at the study in the western garden. Before the study, a moon terrace lent light and space; behind, a small, elegant courtyard—truly a perfect place for quiet reading and contemplation.

Changdong announced from outside, “Master, the princess has arrived.”

Even as he spoke, the door swung open, revealing Meng Yuanheng in his wheelchair, gazing at her with a look of wounded reproach.

“Mo’er, you lied to me.”

At this, Changdong’s lips twitched as he quickly lowered his head, hiding his twisted expression from his master. Was this petulant, aggrieved man really the same decisive, formidable prince he served?

Shen Qianmo rolled her eyes in exasperation. This man was growing ever more shameless in his displays of affection, so different from the aloof pride she’d first encountered.

She pointed to the food box Green Bamboo carried and asked, not without a hint of annoyance, “Where would you like to dine, Your Highness?”

Accompanying Meng Yuanheng to a quiet pavilion beside the study, she glanced up at the three bold characters above the entrance: “Longing Pavilion.”

“Longing Pavilion,” she read softly. “Does the name have a special meaning?”

“My father built it in memory of my mother,” Meng Yuanheng replied coolly from behind.

So that was the story. Entering the pavilion, she saw a couplet carved on each of the pillars, the calligraphy as vigorous as the sign, clearly the work of the former Prince Xuan himself:

Blossoms bloom on the country road as evening rain falls,
Within the Longing Pavilion, I await your return.

Shen Qianmo recalled a story she’d once read: King Qian Liu of Wuyue, yearning for his princess Dai, who had returned to her parents’ home, sent her a letter with the line, “When the flowers bloom by the roadside, you may return at your leisure.” Just a few words, yet so heartfelt and tender, it moved the princess to tears and became a tale retold through the ages.

She pushed Meng Yuanheng into the pavilion and had Green Bamboo set out the meal on the stone table, then sat across from him.

“Your father and mother must have loved each other very much,” she remarked. For a general who spent his life in battle to possess such tenderness for his wife spoke volumes of his devotion.

Meng Yuanheng nodded. “After my father fell in battle, my mother soon succumbed to grief.”

At that time, his cold poison was at its most severe. Each night brought agony, and yet in the vast Prince Xuan’s residence, he had not a single relative to rely upon. In those lonely, painful days, he learned to shut himself off—against pain, against emotion.

Looking at his pale, refined face, Shen Qianmo felt a pang of compassion. For seven years, he had borne his sickness alone and upheld the family legacy—how isolated and arduous that must have been.

She reached for his cold hand and said gently, “A’heng, you are not alone anymore.”

“Mo’er,” Meng Yuanheng clasped her hand in return, warmth flooding his heart as he gazed at her, momentarily lost for words.

She smiled at him with gentle warmth. “If you don’t eat soon, the food will grow cold. These are all dishes you told me you wanted on the boat.”

Ever since he’d learned she’d cooked for Old Man Duan at the Herb Hall, he had pestered her to cook for him as well. But conditions on the boat had been poor, so she had waited for this opportunity to prepare a few dishes and bring them to the residence.

“How is the taste?” she asked with a smile as Meng Yuanheng, beaming, took a bite.

“As long as it’s made by you, Mo’er, it’s perfect,” he replied, utterly content.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Who would have thought—Meng Yuanheng, you actually know how to flatter a woman!” came a teasing voice from outside the pavilion.

Shen Qianmo looked up to see a young man in white, elegant and striking—it was Yun Yi, master of Woyun Manor.

With a flourish of his folding fan, Yun Yi entered the pavilion with easy grace. Spotting the sumptuous spread on the table, he couldn’t help swallowing in envy. Turning to Shen Qianmo, he said, “Qianmo, you may not know, but ever since this fellow was poisoned by cold venom, he’s lost his sense of taste. So when he says it’s delicious, he’s only trying to please you.”