Chapter 2
Chapter 2: The Bath
The sun was setting.
The old locust tree in the courtyard was gilded with a layer of gold by the dusk light, its sparse leaves swaying gently in the breeze, casting long, drawn-out shadows across the blue-grey brick ground.
Xia Ling crouched beneath the covered walkway, pinching a small wildflower she had plucked from somewhere.
The flower was a pale pink, five-petalled, and she was spinning it round and round between her fingertips.
She propped her cheek in her hand, eyes fixed on the moving silhouette in the courtyard, her voice low and sulky:
"I think Qi Chuyao is honestly not worthy of Young Master. What do you think?"
No one in the courtyard answered.
Only the sharp hiss of a sword cleaving through air.
Xia Shuang was practicing her swordsmanship.
She wore a pale blue skirt that bloomed open like a flower as she spun in the fading light, the hem fanning out with each turn of her body. The longsword in her hand shimmered with a cold, glinting light, her swordwork fierce and precise—every thrust, every flick carrying an unmistakable killing intent.
The dusk light draped itself over her form, flowing along the curves of her movements, and when she whipped around, the sweat-dampened wisps of hair at her temples were tossed up by the wind, tracing delicate arcs through the air.
Xia Ling watched for a moment, then bowed her head again to pluck at the flower petals.
"I feel like if we follow Young Master and marry into their household, we might end up suffering." She let out a sigh. "Waiting on Young Master is fine, but the thought of having to wait on someone else too makes me sick."
The swordwork did not stop.
Xia Ling was unbothered. She kept on talking to herself. "You don't think Qi Chuyao would swap us out, do you? I never trusted that woman!"
Saying that, she thought of that face.
She had seen it—caught a few glimpses on the occasions when Qi Chuyao came to the estate.
That face was born noble, but the space between her brows always carried a trace of cold distance, as though she were keeping the world at arm's length.
Xia Ling disliked that look. Like everything she glanced at wasn't worth a second thought.
The longer she dwelt on it, the more irritated she grew. She flung the flower in her hand down onto the ground.
"Say something!" She stood up, hands on her hips, and yelled toward the courtyard.
"You're not mute anymore, Xia Shuang!"
The flash of the sword vanished in an instant.
Xia Shuang tapped the tip of her foot lightly against the ground and launched herself into the air in a spinning arc, her pale blue skirt sweeping out in a clean, fluid curve above her. Using the momentum of the spin, she guided the longsword smoothly back into its scabbard.
CLANG.
A soft ring—sword sealed in sheath—and she landed steady on the ground.
She did not look at Xia Ling. Instead, she turned her head toward the room inside.
"Be quiet," she said, her voice a little stiff.
"He is reading."
"I—don't want to... talk."
Xia Ling followed her gaze.
Inside the room, Song Ning was seated at a writing desk, reading. The dusk light slanted in through the window and pooled over him in a layer of warm orange-red. He wore that plain white robe of his, sitting very straight, head slightly bowed, a book held in his hands.
Or rather—what could be called a book was more like a thick sheaf of paper pricked all over with tiny raised dots.
It was a Braille board he had made himself.
When he had once taught Xia Ling and Xia Shuang to read, he had also shown them a method of breaking characters down into a strange set of symbols. He would sandwich thick paper between a specially made board and use an awl to prick the dots right to left in mirrored code, page by page, then bind them into a volume.
The first time Xia Ling had laid eyes on those pages dense with raised bumps, her eyes had gone wide. This was a book? This was plainly an ant migration.
Yet Song Ning had read his way through volume after volume using exactly those "ants."
Now the dusk was at its peak. No lamp had been lit in the room—but it made no difference to him whatsoever. His slender fingers drifted lightly across the paper, pausing and moving over each tiny raised dot with focused, unhurried calm.
Xia Ling watched that silhouette, and something soft stirred in her chest. All of a sudden she didn't feel like talking anymore.
She quietly pulled her gaze away and crouched back down, picking up the flower she had thrown to the ground, and spoke in a muffled voice:
"Don't you have an opinion about all this?"
Xia Shuang cradled her sword, standing beneath the walkway eave. The setting sun stretched her shadow long across the ground. Her cool, expressionless little face was drawn tight, lips pressed into a firm line:
"I do."
Xia Ling's interest flagged. She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a water bladder, unscrewed the cap, and took a long swig.
She knew Xia Shuang all too well. This person barely spoke. What could she possibly have to say?
"What opinion?" she asked offhandedly.
Xia Shuang's grip snapped to her sword hilt.
"Kill her."
Pfft.
Xia Ling spat out a mouthful of water and broke into a coughing fit.
She coughed and wiped the corner of her mouth with her sleeve, then raised her head and shot Xia Shuang an exasperated look.
This person, really...
Willing or not, it was impossible for them to lay hands on Qi Chuyao.
She was the legitimate daughter of the Qi Family, the treasured pearl of a long-allied household. Her martial skill might not have been anything extraordinary, but she was still a ranked expert. Touching Qi Chuyao would shatter decades of friendship between the Song Family and the Qi Family.
What would become of Song Ning? What would become of all 50-some members of the Song household?
Xia Ling stuffed the water bladder away and was about to say more when a voice suddenly called out from inside:
"Xiao Ling, Xiao Shuang."
Xia Ling came to life all at once.
She stood up, and the sulky cloud that had been hanging over her face vanished without a trace. Her eyes and brows curved with warmth, and her voice came out bright and crisp:
"Young Master, I'm coming!"
She gathered up her skirt and ran toward the room, then after 2 steps turned back and waved her hand at Xia Shuang:
"Hurry up!"
Xia Shuang slung her sword behind her back and followed in long strides.
The door was pushed open.
Song Ning was seated at the writing desk, a thick sheaf of papers spread before him.
Hearing the door, he pushed the papers to one side and let his fingers feel along the edge of the desk as he raised his head.
His face, in the dusk light, was strikingly refined.
His brows and eyes were at ease, a faint, quiet smile resting at the corners of his mouth. Those white irises were turned toward the direction of the door.
He could see nothing at all—yet somehow it felt like he was looking right at them.
"I want to bathe today," he said, his voice gentle.
"Help me."
Xia Ling's eyes lit up in an instant.
"Right away!" She answered quick and sharp, then turned and hauled Xia Shuang out the door.
"Let me go get everything ready!"
Song Ning heard the sound of running footsteps fade away, smiled, and didn't move.
He sat in the chair, fingers resting on the desk, fingertips still grazing the edge of that sheaf of papers.
The book he had just been reading was compiled by a great Confucian scholar of this era, full of this age's moral code—the Three Bonds, the Five Constants, Male Virtue, Male Restraint, the distinctions of hierarchy.
He wasn't reading these things to sit for the examinations—not that this body or this gender would allow it anyway.
He just wanted to understand this world a little better.
Being a young master of a great household, he couldn't very well be seen as someone who hadn't read anything—that would embarrass the Song Family.
Only, as he read on, his thoughts began to drift.
What was he going to do in a few days?
The wedding was drawing closer and closer.
He lowered his gaze, fingers unconsciously tracing the edge of the desk.
"Maybe I'll just go through with the marriage and turn a blind eye to it all. No—I might as well say I'm already blind."
The dusk faded slowly in the west.
Steam rose and swirled inside the bathing chamber.
Xia Ling and Xia Shuang had been busy for quite some time, and at last had everything ready.
The wooden bathing tub was filled to the brim with hot water. A layer of dried osmanthus blossoms floated across the surface, their faint fragrance rising gently with the steam.
Bath powder, towels, a change of clothes—every article was laid out in neat, orderly arrangement.
Xia Ling lightly took hold of Song Ning's arm and guided him forward.
"Young Master, there's a door step—lift your foot... good, now walk forward, 3 steps... that's it, the tub is to your left."
She narrated softly as they walked, her voice gentle—nothing at all like the chattering bustle she usually carried herself with.
The head of the Song household had only this one son, and naturally he was treated very well.
This bathing chamber had been built specifically for him. The floor was laid with fine non-slip tiles, every corner and edge had been smoothed to a rounded finish, and even the door step was lower than elsewhere in the house.
Xia Ling knew all of this, and something warm bloomed in her chest. The master genuinely cherished Young Master. The head of the Qi Family also held deep admiration for Young Master.
Only one particular woman with no eye for quality disliked him—and somehow that very woman was set to marry him.
Once inside the bathing chamber, Xia Ling and Xia Shuang helped him undress together.
Xia Shuang stood to one side, her small face drawn into its usual serious expression—focused and unhurried. She worked the way she always did, carefully: loosening the waist ties, drawing off the outer robe, each motion precise and proper, her eyes only settling where they should.
Xia Ling was a different matter entirely.
She stood on the other side. Her hands kept moving well enough, but her eyes were not quite as disciplined.
The outer robe slipped away from Song Ning, revealing the moon-white inner robe beneath, the collar slightly open, showing a small stretch of collarbone.
Xia Ling's gaze sneaked upward and then carefully swept downward, catching just the suggestion of a shape, and her heart gave an unruly flutter.
Though they were his personal attendants, certain things were entirely off limits for them to attend to—and Song Ning would never have permitted it.
She didn't dare be too obvious about it, terrified that Song Ning might sense her attention.
What if Young Master got upset and stopped letting her attend to him? That would never do—she couldn't end up like the previous attendants who'd been dismissed.
But she just couldn't help herself.
Her face had grown a little warm, yet her hands still had to go through the motions of looking perfectly proper.
She stole a sidelong glance at Xia Shuang and found her paying no attention at all. Only then did she breathe a quiet sigh of relief.
The inner robe came off, leaving only the close-fitting white sleeping garment.
Xia Ling's hands paused.
She and Xia Shuang withdrew their hands at the same moment.
Young Master was close with them, but in these matters, certain lines still had to be kept.
"Young Master, Sister and I will wait outside the door," Xia Ling said, as she always did.
"You must call for us if you need anything!"
She held Song Ning's hand and guided him one last time through the placement of every item—the edge of the tub, the box of bath powder, where the towels were draped, where the change of clothes had been set. Every single position confirmed before she was satisfied.
"Alright." Song Ning nodded.
"Go."
Xia Ling and Xia Shuang withdrew from the bathing chamber and pulled the door quietly to.
Outside the door, the 2 of them took up their posts, one to the left, one to the right.
From the bathing chamber came the soft sound of water.
Through the door, nothing could be seen.
Xia Ling leaned against the wall and gazed at the sky slowly darkening overhead. She spoke in a small voice, as if to no one in particular:
"Do you think Young Master will really be happy, in the future?"
Xia Shuang did not answer.
She cradled her sword, eyes on the last faint streak of twilight at the horizon, her face still wearing that same cool expression.
Inside the bathing chamber, the water sounded softly on.
The scent of osmanthus drifted out through the crack in the door, faint and elusive.
Xia Ling lowered her head, her gaze drifting toward the window where a thin wash of light still lingered, barely there.