Chapter 412 — Wei He

Jiang Yan recalled the look on Song Yan's face the day he beat Li Liang, and knew that Dou Yan had not spoken idly; she went white with fright, and never again dared breathe Li Liang's name — not before Song Yan, and not even before Dou Yan.

Dou Yan rather regretted it.

These past days with the girl had taught her that Jiang Yan was gentle and thin-skinned; that she did not speak of Li Liang did not mean she had truly put him from her mind. The more carefully a thing was hidden away, the more easily the heart went astray over it.

Dou Yan took counsel with Song Yan. "As for Li Tiaoniang — say she was of loose conduct, and out of some private grievance took a despairing turn and hanged herself. That keeps her clear of the family's shabbier secrets. As for Li Liang, he has a wife and children; to dispose of him out of hand might start talk that would reach Sister Yan, and that would be worse than leaving him be. Better to send him far off and keep him under guard until the thing has blown over."

At that Song Yan bristled like a cat.

Dou Yan's face darkened. "In this you must listen to me. Sister Yan is a living soul, not a piece of furniture to be shifted about as you please! Hate him as you like — Sister Yan lived at his side for more than ten years, and without Li Liang's protection she would likely have been dead long since. If she gave no thought to Li Liang at all, if she turned on him without a shred of feeling, then however much she is your own sister, I would keep my distance from such a heart of stone. It is just because she thinks only of others and never counts up the wrongs done her that I dare open my heart to her. Do not look only at what she lacks; think on what she has."

Song Yan went off to his study in a huff.

Dou Yan paid him no mind, and after the evening meal went to the Bishui Pavilion.

Jiang Yan sat under the lamp doing needlework.

The soft lamplight fell across her slender figure, graceful as quiet blossoms mirrored in water.

Dou Yan sighed inwardly.

Why must it be the gentler and purer a girl, the less happiness she finds?

Seeing Dou Yan come in, Jiang Yan hurried to help her sit down on the kang.

Dou Yan asked her, "What are you at? There are five or six women in this house for sewing — anything you need done in a hurry, hand it to them. Do not ruin your eyes."

Jiang Yan smiled faintly, brows and eyes all meekness. "It is only something to fill an idle hour. I shall not do so anymore."

Dou Yan told her of Li Tiaoniang. "...The magistrate's office will close the case in a few days. When it is done I will have Su Xin go with you to make offerings, which will count as fulfilling your duty of piety. Your brother has hurt Li Liang's hand; he will need at least half a year, maybe a year, to mend, and he will likely lose his post at the goods firm. But for your sake your brother means to put him away on the estate at Tianjin Garrison to recover. When he goes, you may see him off and exchange a few words. Who knows when the two of you will meet again!"

Jiang Yan's eyes lit up.

She longed to thank Dou Yan, yet feared to displease her. Her lips moved for a long while, and she could not find the words.

Dou Yan patted her hand, sighing to herself: not a shred of guile in her — whatever she was told, she believed. How was it she was so unlike Song Yan? Had Song Yan gathered up all of Jiang Yan's shrewdness into himself? Nothing, however twisted and turned, could hide from his eyes.

She talked with Jiang Yan a while; then, seeing the hour grow late, went back to the main house.

Song Yan lay on the kang with a book. When Dou Yan came in, he turned over and put his back to her.

Dou Yan found it merely funny, and asked Wu Yi, "Has the heir had his evening meal?"

After Chen He married Su Lan, Dou Yan had bought Su Lan a house of her own beside Su Xin's; but Chen He found it inconvenient, and moved into the eastern servants' quarters instead, coming over each day at the hour of the tiger and going back at the first watch, serving as Song Yan's attendant. Wu Yi had taken over his duties, attending Song Yan in person.

Wu Yi said meekly, "The heir ate only a bowl of cold noodles and half a bowl of chicken broth."

Dou Yan said, "The kitchen made lotus-leaf rice cakes, rose lotus root, and lotus-seed soup for the night meal. Have them brought up."

Ever since Dou Yan had conceived, Song Yan, fearing she might go hungry at night, had ordered that someone be in the kitchen at every hour of the day and night.

Wu Yi slipped quietly out of the main house.

Dou Yan sat alone on the kang eating her night meal.

The room was full of the fresh scent of lotus leaves.

Song Yan flung down his book in annoyance and glared at Dou Yan.

Dou Yan could not help laughing aloud. She took the half-spoonful of lotus-seed soup left in her own bowl and held it to his lips. "Try it — made from fresh lotus seeds, sweet and clear, nothing like the usual lotus-seed soup."

Looking at Dou Yan's smiling face, Song Yan ate the soup as though to spite her, and caught the spoon between his teeth.

Dou Yan wanted to laugh, but feared to shame him and make him more contrary still; so she turned her head away and laughed silently a moment, then told Ruo Zhu, "Go and fill a bowl for the heir as well."

Song Yan was ever courteous to those about him, and Ruo Zhu and Wu Yi had long since been staring open-mouthed. After a moment Ruo Zhu answered and hurried out of the sitting room.

"It is all your doing!" Song Yan complained to Dou Yan, his face somewhat sour.

Dou Yan coaxed him as one coaxes a child. "All my fault, all my fault."

Song Yan picked at her as at a fault in an egg. "You have not the least sincerity."

Dou Yan looked at him without blinking. "Then tell me — what would count as sincerity?"

Song Yan was still not appeased. "You are only humoring me, that is all."

"No, no," Dou Yan of course would not admit it.

Luckily the lotus-seed soup arrived, and the matter was set aside.

But Song Yan had found something new to find fault with: "This lotus-seed soup is no good at all. Why is it salted?"

Only a pinch of salt had been added, to make the lotus seeds taste sweeter.

"I like it!" said Dou Yan.

"I do not like it!" said Song Yan, and ate it as he spoke.

"Then shall I have someone make you a bowl of something sweet?"

"It doesn't even taste good. Why make anything sweet!"

In short, she was contrary about everything.

Once the two of them had settled in for the night, he lay down pressed close against Dou Yan again.

The weather was so hot that even with ice set in the corner of the room, Dou Yan was soon drenched in sweat.

She shifted a little toward the inside of the bed.

Song Yan followed after her and took her into his arms, stubbornly holding her waist, which had long since lost its curve.

"It's too hot!" Dou Yan tried to struggle free of his embrace.

"Why don't I feel hot?" Song Yan said dryly.

That much was true.

Song Yan's skin was not only fair as jade, but even in the height of summer he scarcely sweated; his body was always clean and fresh, without the slightest odor.

Dou Yan was just about to tease him a little when he suddenly sat up. From somewhere he produced a fan and began to fan her.

"No need!" Dou Yan said, distressed that he had to go into the palace early the next morning for duty. "Just have a couple more blocks of ice brought in."

"No," Song Yan said. "You're carrying a child. If the room gets too cold, you might catch a chill." He insisted on fanning her.

Dou Yan truly had no strength left to wrangle with him, and thought that once he tired himself out, he would naturally stop. In the gentle breeze she soon fell asleep.

When she woke the next morning, Song Yan had already gone to the palace, and the fan lay discarded beside her pillow.

She asked Ruotong, who was on duty: "When did the heir go to bed?"