Chapter 12
Chapter 12: Let's Walk Together
The old Scholar Tree in the courtyard cast dappled shadows that swayed gently with the breeze. Occasionally, a few leaves spiraled down, landing soundlessly on the bluestone ground.
The atmosphere was a little awkward.
Xia Shuang stood at Song Ning's side, one hand firmly supporting his arm, the other clenched tight.
Her gaze fell coldly on Qi Chuyao's face, carrying a chill.
Qi Chuyao stood across from them, her eyes wandering—deliberately avoiding Song Ning.
Though Song Ning could not see, he could still sense that coldness.
His expression remained unchanged, the gentle smile still resting on his face. He tilted his head slightly forward.
"Is that Qi Chuyao?" he said, his voice soft and unhurried. "It's been a long time."
As he spoke, he extended one hand.
That hand was fair and slender, the knuckles well-defined, faintly luminous in the sunlight. His fingers reached forward slightly, waiting for someone to take hold.
After all, they were soon to be married—and had known each other since childhood. Although Qi Chuyao had always been cold toward him, Song Ning didn't particularly mind.
He chalked it up to a young girl's temperament. They would sort things out slowly after the wedding.
Qi Chuyao's gaze landed on that outstretched hand.
She followed the hand upward—wrist, arm, shoulder—until finally, his face.
Sunlight fell across Song Ning's features, bathing his entire person in a soft, warm glow.
Clean, refined brow bones. A sharp, high nose bridge. Lips curved ever so slightly, carrying a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
His eyes were white, cast gently downward, his lashes throwing faint shadows over his eyelids.
Qi Chuyao had to admit—this face was genuinely beautiful.
Beautiful enough to deserve her, even if he was just an ordinary man.
And yet, that irritation in her chest surged back up.
What use was a beautiful face? He was blind.
Was she truly supposed to marry a blind man over a face? To let a blind man become the official husband of her—Qi Chuyao—the future Head Husband of the Qi Family, the great Qi Family of the Great Qian Dynasty?
She thought about the days ahead—coming home every day to someone who could see nothing.
Going out for social engagements with a husband who needed to be guided everywhere.
And in the quiet of the night, no matter how beautiful that face was, it would never be able to see her. What was the point?
Was her future—her entire first half of life, perhaps even longer—truly to be bound to this man?
And there was her mother—a Second Rank Martial Artist, with a lifespan far exceeding that of an ordinary person.
As long as her mother lived, she would have no hope of divorcing Song Ning, let alone taking anyone else.
Qi Chuyao's brow furrowed deeper and deeper as she sank into thought.
Song Ning's hand hung in the air, and still no one took it.
Behind him, Song Youyi's expression had turned utterly ugly.
She stood in the shadow of the covered walkway, her gaze like ice fixed on Qi Chuyao, fingers clenched tight around her sleeve hem, mentally composing a remark cutting enough to humiliate the other party without openly souring relations between the two families.
Xia Ling stood beside her, unsurprised.
She had expected this.
She had heard enough about Qi Chuyao's nature.
Looking at that cold, indifferent face, a flicker of contempt crossed her eyes, and she let out a quiet scoff.
Song Ning's hand was still suspended in midair.
He was not offended in the slightest. The corner of his mouth even lifted slightly—half-smiling—and he spoke:
"You don't plan to take my hand? My future wife?"
His voice carried a thread of teasing, as though he were entirely unbothered by her coldness.
"I'm here to deliver the Auspicious Letter to my future mother-in-law. Wouldn't it be nicer to go in together?"
He had long since grown immune to Qi Chuyao's attitude.
He had, in a manner of speaking, "watched" her grow up. He knew what kind of person she was.
A young girl's nature—her ambitions sky-high. He could afford to be patient.
Besides, the current situation demanded it. The Emperor had long ceased holding court. The Northern Rong were stirring restlessly in the northeast. Undercurrents ran through the entire imperial court, and the succession of a new ruler had yet to be decided.
Song Ning could not afford to let a moment's indignation damage the greater affairs between the Qi Family and the Song Family. He would do his best to keep things civil.
At his words, the tension in Qi Chuyao's expression softened slightly.
Looking at that smiling face, the irritation in her chest inexplicably eased a little.
She hesitated, then stepped forward, just about to reach out her hand.
A sharp gust of wind swept past from behind.
A figure moved swiftly past her and steadied Song Ning's arm with a firm, sure grip.
"Young Master Song, it's been a long time." The voice was clear and bright, laced with a smile.
Song Ning paused, then a smile broke across his face.
"Qin Junyue?" he said with a laugh. "It really has been a while. How are things at the Capital Garrison?"
Qin Junyue stood at his side, one hand firmly supporting his arm.
Today she wore a dark outfit that accentuated her tall, powerful frame.
Her jet-black hair was swept high into a ponytail, with a few loose strands falling at her temples.
That face was inherently striking—sharp and capable. Deep-set eyes. A high, straight nose bridge. Thin lips pressed lightly together. A clean, strong jawline. Her figure was full and well-shaped, curves in all the right places. Standing in the sunlight, she radiated a vigorous, overflowing vitality.
That was the bearing of a high-ranked Martial Artist.
Supporting Song Ning's arm, she glanced sideways and exchanged a look with Qi Chuyao.
That look said:
It's alright, Qi sis. We're all good sisters.
The things you don't want to do—I'll take care of them.
We're sisters. No need to stand on ceremony!
Then she turned back to Song Ning, smiling warmly.
"Not bad," she said softly, her voice gentler than before. "Thank you for your concern, Young Master Song."
She paused, then added: "Last time Young Master Song explained classical studies and military strategy to me—your insights were so fresh and remarkable, I benefited greatly. I've been turning it over in my mind ever since, day and night."
Her eyes filled with unguarded admiration as she extended an invitation:
"If the opportunity arises, I do hope Young Master Song will teach me again and share more of your wisdom."
Song Ning smiled and waved his hand dismissively.
"If the chance comes, I'll write it down for you," he said. "Don't worry."
Without a word of fuss, he deflected the suggestion—these days, he was temporarily unable to receive outside guests in private.
The 2 of them talked as they walked toward the house.
Qin Junyue supported him, her steps neither hurried nor slow, perfectly matching his pace—thoughtful and attentive.
Sunlight fell across both of them, stretching their shadows long across the ground, intertwined where they lay.
1 in white, 1 in black.
1 light, 1 dark.
Song Ning was refined and otherworldly. Qin Junyue was bold and dashing.
Walking shoulder to shoulder, both in looks and bearing they were a remarkably well-matched pair—as though it were the 2 of them who were the betrothed couple, a pair of perfectly complementary souls on the eve of marriage.
Qi Chuyao stood rooted to the spot. The hand she had reached out hung stiffly in midair, then slowly withdrew.
She watched those 2 retreating figures and pressed her lips together.
An odd discomfort stirred in her chest.
She couldn't name the feeling—like something she had discarded, only to watch someone else pick it up and treat it as a treasure, and then realize that perhaps it hadn't been so worthless after all.
She furrowed her brow and pressed that discomfort down.
Probably just an illusion.
Ahead, Song Ning suddenly stopped.
He tilted his head slightly back and called out:
"Qi Chuyao, where are you? Come walk with me."
The smile on Qin Junyue's face stiffened almost imperceptibly. Something dimmed in her eyes.
That brief moment of distraction had nearly made her forget where she stood.
Supporting this person, walking at his side, listening to him speak, watching him smile—for that single instant, she had truly slipped into a role.
The role of someone who wanted to bring Song Ning home.
If it had been her standing in this position today. If it had been her coming to receive him today. If after today, this person belonged to her…
How wonderful that would be.
But it wasn't her.
The rightful one was right beside them.
Qin Junyue lowered her eyes, concealing the brief flicker of longing at their depths.
When she raised her head again, that bright, easy smile had returned to her face.
Qi Chuyao let out a soft, dismissive huff and stepped forward.
She walked to Song Ning's other side, hesitated for a moment, then reached out and took hold of his arm.
The instant her fingertips made contact, something stirred faintly in her chest—that arm was not as slight as she had imagined.
"Let's go. My mother is waiting for you inside."