After Yuan Qian left, Miss Duan didn’t even bother to check whether she had gone far or whether her room needed tidying up; instead, she blurted out to Qiu Huan, “I don’t like this person.”

Although Qiu Huan wasn’t one to read people’s minds, he was keenly attuned to basic feelings of affection and aversion between people. He had already noticed that she seemed to have some reservations about Yuan Qian, but he hadn’t expected her to say it so directly. It seemed true enough that she must have thought him rather arrogant when they first met—though he hadn’t shown it around her.

Still, a matter is a matter: in Qiu Huan’s eyes, a girl’s bit of pride, as long as it wasn’t excessive, was simply a sign of genuine charm and loveliness. So he reached over and pinched her cheek: “What did she do to make you so displeased, Miss?”

“Hmph.” Duan Yunhe pouted, half out of genuine feeling and half playfully teasing Qiu Huan: “Didn’t Fengze see how she was dressed—the red gown and red flowers? Dressing up so prettily—what sordid scheme could she possibly be hatching? There are only four people in this house: Fengze is her master, so that goes without saying; as for me, I only want you, and she won’t be trying to curry favor with me. As for Young Master Fengju, he’s Fengze’s older brother, and he’ll never treat anyone better than you. And though I haven’t known Yuan Mo for long, I know exactly what his feelings for you are. Why on earth would she change her clothes just because she’s walked two steps? Back home, we could never stand to see a servant looking like that. If my mother were still here…” At this point, she suddenly stopped, her expression growing sorrowful—as if she’d touched a sore spot.

Hearing this, Qiu Huan’s mind raced with all sorts of thoughts. For instance, this was the first time Duan Yunhe had ever spoken about her family, and her tone made him worry that something might have happened at home—though of course it could also just be an act. Then there was the implication in her words: either she wasn’t from Gaoyang, or her family was extremely well-off, since her mother was so wary of servants. After all, women in Liangqiu enjoyed a very high social status; ordinary families, let alone even common aristocratic households, rarely took concubines, and even members of the imperial family often remained faithful to one wife for life. By contrast, life for women in Gaoyang wasn’t nearly so happy: far fewer nobles kept mistresses, and there were many more restrictions on women serving as officials, doctors, merchants, and so on—just to name a few. And then there was the fact that, thanks to her little tantrum, Qiu Huan found himself drifting into somewhat improper thoughts, imagining that everyone in the room was like a partner to him—and recalling that in Liangqiu there were indeed a few cases of women taking multiple husbands as their masters. His face flushed a bit at the thought.

But seeing that Duan Yunhe looked upset, Qiu Huan couldn’t just lose himself in his own world and ignore her. After a moment’s reflection, he put those thoughts aside, pretended not to notice her sadness, and changed the subject: “Actually, it’s not really her fault. I personally don’t like things that are too flashy, but when they dress up, they look quite lovely. Sometimes I buy them nice silks and jewelry, and before you know it, they end up looking like that. After all, I’m on my own—I don’t have to be so particular.”

Duan Yunhe curled her lip. “Who knows?” Then she went on to comfort Qiu Huan: “What do you mean ‘on your own’? Shang Rong and I are both here with you, aren’t we?”

Qiu Huan hadn’t meant to sound self-pitying when she said that—it was just something she blurted out. She only ever complained when there were too many people around; she’d never minded having quiet company. But Duan Yunhe loved being lively and always liked to compare the two of them. In fact, although Duan Yunhe was cheerful by nature, she wasn’t the kind who ignored other people’s feelings; she cared deeply about Qiu Huan, and as soon as Qiu Huan showed even the slightest sign of impatience or fatigue, Duan Yunhe would immediately step back. Qiu Huan appreciated this straightforward, caring attitude and was much more tolerant of her than most people would be; he didn’t even try to explain himself, and went right on talking: “Yes, Shang Rong owes me his life, so he has no choice but to stick around. Yunhe, though…”

“I owe you my life… because I like Fengze?” Duan Yunhe’s eyes widened in surprise, and they were still a bit red from earlier.

“Huh?” Qiu Huan exclaimed. “Didn’t Shang Rong tell you how he met me? Come on, let me fill you in…” And with that, the two of them began whispering to each other.

Ming Zhen and Yuan Mo had been ignored by them all this time. Yuan Mo didn’t mind; only Ming Zhen managed a wry smile. In the past, Huan’er couldn’t bear to be apart from him for even a moment—unless it was that person…

During this time, people came to shop. The first two times, Yuan Qian handled everything by herself; later, Duan Yunhe felt embarrassed and joined in, leaving Qiu Huan and the other two in the bedroom. When Qiu Huan saw Duan Yunhe leave, she looked over at Ming Zhen and let slip something she shouldn’t have said, staring blankly as if lost in thought.

Ming Zhen sighed softly: “Why did Huan’er sneak away from Xinggu back then? Was it because she didn’t want to see me?”

He was strikingly handsome, and from a young age he’d caught everyone’s eye; as he grew older, countless girls secretly fell for him—even Qiu Huan, who had grown up with him, often found herself mesmerized by his looks. With that sigh, a trace of melancholy rippled through Ming Zhen’s peach-like eyes, making one wish they could pluck the moon from the sky just to win a smile from such a beauty—how could she possibly harden her heart?

“It wasn’t like that… That person raised me for sixteen years, and when he wasn’t ill, he was always good to me. No matter how many mistakes he made, once someone dies, you just don’t want to think about it anymore. You, me, I’m just…” She felt so troubled that her fingers gripped the carpet’s pile, twisting it round and round. “Brother, I just don’t know how to face you anymore.”

“You know perfectly well that he’s becoming increasingly confused and his mental state is getting crazier and crazier. I can’t just let him keep going like this and allow him to destroy you,” Ming Zhen said. Hearing this, Qiu Huan laughed in confusion: “Maybe I do owe him a bit, but I don’t regret what I did that day, and I certainly don’t blame you—why bring this up?”

Ming Zhen raised an eyebrow: “True, I suppose my sister has always been decisive and ruthless since she was little, so she wouldn’t waste time on sentimental moping. But then I have to ask: why did you leave without saying goodbye?”

Those words were really just a way of throwing out a question to spark a conversation.

Qiu Huan avoided his gaze, but knew she couldn’t dodge the answer today, and her expression turned a bit uncertain. Ming Zhen had been watching her facial expressions closely, and seeing how she reacted, he reached a conclusion: “If it was something that happened when you were thirteen, all I can say is that if I had the chance, even if it meant climbing mountains of knives and plunging into seas of fire, I still wouldn’t hurt you—but you’d still hold a grudge against me?”

His expression was calm, showing neither joy nor anger.

Qiu Huan shook her head: “You’ve got it all wrong. Even back then, I never thought of it that way, so how could I possibly hold a grudge against you now? The truth is, I just don’t know how to view our relationship—not anything else.” She turned to look for Yuan Mo, only to find that he had already slipped away sometime earlier. Ming Zhen hadn’t noticed her little move, so he stood up and sat down beside her, reaching out to take her hand. Qiu Huan tried to pull her hand away, but couldn’t, and could only sigh helplessly: “Are you telling me to forget? But how could I forget? Even if it goes against our wishes, the event has already happened, and we can’t go back to the past.”

“No,” Ming Zhen said with a smile, making even the flowers envious. “It’s okay if we can’t forget—there’s plenty of time ahead, and there’s no need to go back to the past. Huan’er, I’m not letting you leave my side again.”

“Don’t frown,” Yuan Mo said unexpectedly, watching Qiu Huan from the side.

Qiu Huan smiled in response, her hands never stopping as she swept a plate of dried small fish into the pot and covered it with a lid. “A-Mo, you’re the one who’s always frowning—today you’re lecturing me instead!”

He couldn’t help but want to frown, but forced himself to hold back: “We’re different.”

“How are we different?” She leaned in close to him, their faces almost touching, and he was just about to shy away when she pulled back: “Let me see—aren’t we both just two eyes, a nose, and a mouth? If you want to lecture me, why don’t you fix your own problems first? Otherwise, I won’t accept it.”

Yuan Mo thought she was full of crooked arguments, but he couldn’t refute them, so he tried to change the subject: “I’m not lecturing you—I’m just—”

End of Chapter 6: Bringing Up the Past