Chapter 17
Chapter 17: The Lovesick Little Sister
She buried her face into it, breathing deeply—greedily, desperately—as though she could draw that scent into her lungs, dissolve it into her blood, and keep it inside her body forever.
"Don't leave me…"
Her voice was muffled against the fabric, low and soft, carrying the faintest tremor.
"Don't leave me…"
She said it again, clutching it tighter.
She had arranged all of this from the very beginning.
Xia Ling and Xia Shuang were responsible for accompanying Song Ning, and on ordinary days they each washed their own clothes.
But Song Ning's were a different matter. This was what she had told Xia Ling:
"Young Master's garments are too precious. I don't trust you two to wash them. Send everything to my courtyard—I'll have someone take care of the laundering."
Xia Ling had paused at the time, but she dared not say much. When Second Miss spoke, you obeyed if you could. She had no wish to appear overly diligent either.
Song Ning, naturally, said nothing on the matter.
He had never liked burdening the Xia sisters with rough chores. With someone else taking over, he was more than happy to let it be.
And so every piece of Song Ning's clothing, every item he used, everything that passed through his hands—it all flowed to her.
Those that truly needed laundering, she would have washed clean.
But the ones she wished to keep—she would quietly set aside and tuck into this chest.
One piece, then another.
One day, then the next.
Without realising it, she had filled an entire chest to the brim.
Song Youyi held that Inner Robe against her chest and slowly curled up on the bed.
She drew herself into a small, tight ball, clutching the garment to her, face buried within it, her entire body wedged into the corner of the bed—like a wounded young beast.
"Don't leave me…"
Her voice grew softer and softer, fainter and fainter, like the murmur of a dream.
"Don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me…"
She repeated it over and over, like the recitation of some incantation.
Outside the window, the light faded gradually.
She lay curled there, holding those garments—then began frantically pulling out more. Especially the undergarments, more and more undergarments, the ones she had kept back on purpose.
Song Youyi pressed everything down over herself, breathing them in with ravenous hunger.
The scent that belonged to him—faint, barely there—crept into her nostrils, seeped into the depths of her lungs.
That scent steadied her. It enchanted her. It made her want more.
More.
More.
She closed her eyes and began to imagine.
She imagined a day when her brother would have nowhere else to go.
Not the Qi Family Residence, not anywhere else—only here. Only this courtyard. Only this room. Only this bed.
She imagined herself locking the door from the outside, the key tucked into her chest, pressed against her heart, where no one could ever take it.
The windows sealed shut too, without a single crack.
No one from outside could enter. No one from inside could leave.
Only her, and only him.
Day after day, year after year.
He could not see—how wonderful that was.
Precisely because he could not see, she could make everything appear just as it always had been.
She could tell him: Brother, it's chaos outside—you mustn't go out.
Brother, something happened with the Qi Family. The engagement has been cancelled.
Brother, Elder Sister was promoted. She can't come home for a while.
She could tell him anything.
After all, he could not see.
After all, he had no choice but to trust her.
She could prepare everything for him—food, clothing, every daily necessity, all by her own hand.
She would care for him better than anyone ever had.
So well that he would be unable to leave her.
So well that he would have no choice but to rely on her for the rest of his life.
She imagined herself sitting at the bedside, watching him eat.
When he asked about the outside world, she would speak of it lightly, in passing, then steer the conversation away.
When he asked about Xia Ling and Xia Shuang, she would say they had left the Song Family Estate.
When he asked about their mother, she would say she was well—only busy managing things outside and had no time to visit.
One lie woven upon another.
After all, he could not see her expression. He could not see the smile hidden in the depths of her eyes.
She imagined herself helping him dress—her fingers drifting lightly across his shoulders, his arms, his waist.
He could not see her gaze. He could not see the greedy, obsessive light burning in her eyes.
He would only tilt his head ever so slightly and say in his gentle way: "Thank you for your trouble, Youyi."
Trouble?
How could this ever be trouble?
This was her greatest happiness.
She imagined the deep stillness of the night—lying beside him, listening to his breathing: steady, long and slow, like a song that would never end.
Sometimes she would quietly rise, lean down, and in the thin light filtering in through the window, watch his sleeping face.
She could watch like that for an entire night, from dusk until dawn, and never have enough.
She imagined that one day, he would grow accustomed to her presence.
Accustomed to her voice, her touch, her scent.
Accustomed to the fact that every morning the first thing he heard upon waking would be her greeting—and every night the last thing he heard before sleep would be her good night.
Accustomed to every single thing she did for him—every bite of food, every piece of clothing.
By then, even if he were to learn the truth, he would not be able to leave her.
Because he would already be accustomed to it.
Habit is something even more fearsome than love.
Love can vanish. Habit cannot.
She imagined herself finally unable to hold back—while he slept, pressing her lips lightly against his.
Once. Twice. 3 times.
Gentle, so as not to wake him.
But she did not stop.
She imagined kissing his brow, his eyes, his nose, his chin.
Kissing his neck, his collarbone, the faint trace of skin that just barely showed above the collar of his robe.
She imagined his arms finally encircling her waist, returning her kiss—his unseeing eyes "seeing" her, calling her name in a soft voice.
"Youyi."
Not the way one calls a little sister.
Something else entirely.
The way one calls a wife.
At that thought, Song Youyi shuddered all over, the tip of her tongue tracing across her lips, her fingers……
She clutched that Inner Robe tighter than ever, as if she were trying to bury her entire self inside it.
"Let us marry, let us marry."
Her voice was muffled against the fabric—low, trembling.
Again and again.
Outside the window, the last of the light finally faded to nothing.
****
The wedding day arrived as promised. It was ultimately held at the Song Family Estate—after all, Song Ning could not easily travel elsewhere.
Before dawn had even broken, the Song Family Estate stirred to life.
Red lanterns hung along every covered walkway. Red silk wound from the main gate all the way to the inner courtyard. Every window lattice was covered in Double-happiness Characters, and red cords were tied around even the trees in the yard.
The servants moved in and out ceaselessly—some carrying things, some arranging the grounds, some receiving guests—their feet barely touching the floor.
In the kitchen, steam rose thick and constant; the fire on the stove had not gone out once.
Dish after dish was carried out, placed into red lacquered food boxes, waiting to be sent to the banquet hall.
Outside the main gate, carriages and horses had already formed a long procession.
Guests arriving to offer their congratulations came in an unending stream—some in official robes, some in brocade gowns, some arriving by carriage, some by horse.
The estate manager at the gate had been smiling so long his face had gone stiff, yet still he kept smiling, kept welcoming, kept ushering people inside.
Song Ning sat in his own room, listening to the faint commotion drifting in from outside, his face without expression.
Xia Ling was helping him into his wedding robes.
It was a long gown of deep crimson—the fabric exquisite, embroidered with Dragon-phoenix patterns in gold thread, shimmering in the candlelight with a soft and gentle radiance.
She fastened his sash, straightened the folds of his collar, then crouched down to smooth out the hem of his robe.
"Young Master." She spoke suddenly, her voice a little subdued. "You look truly beautiful today."