Volume One: Wandering Amid Indistinguishable Paper Leaves Chapter Sixty-Four: Misunderstanding

In the courtyard of the Marquis of Wuxiang’s residence, dappled shadows from ancient trees danced across the lawn. Several massive trees stood, so large that it would take several people joining hands to encircle their trunks. Winding stone paths meandered through the gardens, leading into tranquil, secluded corners. Though the estate was noticeably smaller than the Marquis of Brocade’s, its layout was no less luxurious; indeed, the arrangements within the main hall were both resplendent and refined. Even the chairs were selected with the utmost care, crafted from exquisite huanghuali wood. Everything within the hall was placed with deliberate artistry, revealing the great thought invested in both the grand and minute details of the residence.

Yet, curiously, few servants or maids were to be seen in or around the main hall—an oddity for such a fastidious and ostentatious household.

Yang Ning was seated in the main hall, with Yuan Rong beside him. Since their arrival, apart from the servant who led them in and the maid who served tea, they had seen no one else.

“Why are they still not here?” Yuan Rong, having sat for some time, was growing impatient and furrowed his brow. “What on earth is Su Zicheng playing at? He’s just left us here, ignoring us?”

Yang Ning, however, was composed and unruffled. Since they were already here, he chose to make himself comfortable. Lifting his teacup, he blew gently across the surface, took a small sip, and immediately frowned, a cold smile curling at his lips.

Earlier, when the Marquis of Wuxiang had visited the Marquis of Brocade’s residence, he had nitpicked the tea served to him. Now, Yang Ning tasted the tea offered here. Though not a connoisseur, he could tell it was inferior—the leaves were coarse, the flavor crude. He set the cup down. Glancing at Yuan Rong’s open teacup, he noted the difference; no wonder Yuan Rong had drunk several sips without complaint—the color alone set it apart.

Yang Ning understood the message. The Wuxiang household was being deliberately petty. To serve two different teas to their guests was the act of a parsimonious country squire, utterly lacking in the dignity befitting a marquis.

Seeing Yuan Rong’s agitation, Yang Ning remarked coolly, “I fear we won’t see Su Zicheng today.”

He already knew that Su Zicheng was the legitimate heir of Marquis Su Zhen, and a close companion of Yuan Rong. Both were notorious for their love of revelry, kindred spirits in such pursuits.

“What?” Yuan Rong blinked. “We won’t see him? Why not?”

“If we were meant to see him, he’d already be here. His absence means the Marquis forbids him from appearing.”

“How strange,” Yuan Rong muttered, frowning, “Why would the Marquis keep Su Zicheng away? He knows we’re close friends, and has never stopped us meeting before.” He glanced at his tea. “If he didn’t want us to see Su Zicheng, why have us wait here at all?”

Yang Ning smiled faintly. “Don’t worry. If Su Zicheng won’t appear, the Marquis himself surely will.”

“The Marquis?” Yuan Rong stood up. “Forget it. We didn’t come to pay our respects to the Marquis. If we can’t see Su Zicheng, why stay any longer?”

Yang Ning replied blandly, “Sit down and be patient.”

“I won’t wait,” Yuan Rong grumbled, his patience exhausted. “Yang Ning, let’s come back another day. This whole day has been a waste.”

“Oh?” Yang Ning said, smiling. “Do you achieve something every day? Remember, you agreed to come with me—it was one of my conditions. If you don’t wish to wait, you may leave now, but as for Steward Wu...”

Yuan Rong shot Yang Ning a glare, but finally sat back down, fidgeting restlessly.

Just then, a pointed cough sounded from outside—a clear signal of someone’s approach. Soon, Marquis Su Zhen entered, resplendent in embroidered robes and a jade belt.

Yuan Rong, seeing the Marquis, immediately rose and bowed respectfully. Yang Ning also stood, withholding his disdain for Su Zhen’s character and saluting as decorum required.

The Marquis acknowledged Yuan Rong with a nod and a faint smile, but as his gaze landed on Yang Ning, the smile vanished, replaced by cold indifference. He swept into the hall and took the main seat. A maid entered to serve him tea. On either side of the hall stood decorative screens: one depicting a splendid landscape, the other a vibrant assembly of birds—both adding luster to the room.

“How is your esteemed grandfather these days?” the Marquis asked, stirring his tea with the lid as he glanced at Yuan Rong.

“Thank you for your concern, Marquis. My grandfather is well,” Yuan Rong replied politely.

“A family of scholars possesses a different bearing,” Su Zhen said with a faint smile. “Yuan Rong, you often keep company with my wayward son. Teach him some poetry and proper conduct, help him understand the rules. After all, the Su family holds a marquisate, and one day the title will pass to him. A future marquis must not be ignorant of etiquette, lest he become a laughingstock.” As he spoke, he sipped his tea, stealing a glance at Yang Ning.

Yang Ning remained serene and composed, unaffected by the implied slight. Su Zhen’s lips curled with derision.

“You are too modest, Marquis,” Yuan Rong replied carefully. “Under your guidance, the young heir is accomplished in both letters and arms—there are few who can compare with him in the capital.”

Su Zhen smiled, making no effort at humility, and set down his cup. “Was it your grandfather who sent you, or your father?”

Yuan Rong thought to himself that neither had anything to do with this visit; it was Yang Ning who had dragged him along. But he could only reply, “I came to discuss poetry with the young heir.”

“There’s no need to hide,” Su Zhen said blandly. “Other matters, I’ll show your family due respect. But today, it’s best you don’t get involved.”

Yuan Rong was bewildered. What matter was he being warned away from? He shot a sidelong glance at Yang Ning, who stood quietly, a sense of unease creeping over him. He suspected he’d been drawn into something by Yang Ning, and that the day would bring no good.

Yang Ning remained silent, but noted movement behind the two screens—at least a dozen figures lurked in concealment.

Yuan Rong could only force a smile, at a loss for words.

“Zicheng is not at home today,” Su Zhen said suddenly. “Early this morning, the heir of Prince Shu paid a visit. Acting on his father’s instructions, he came to call on us. The young prince is a hero among men and became fast friends with Zicheng at first meeting. He even gifted him a fine steed—one of the nine treasured horses of Prince Shu’s household, rare throughout the realm. Overjoyed, Zicheng couldn’t wait and has gone out riding.”

He spoke unhurriedly, his tone calm but unable to conceal his pride.

Yuan Rong started, glancing at Yang Ning, who remained unmoved as ever. He wondered if perhaps Yang Ning was intimidated by the Marquis, his future father-in-law. But then, the brocade heir had always been prone to absent-mindedness—his sudden seriousness took some adjusting to. This blank-faced Yang Ning was, in truth, the one Yuan Rong knew best.

Only now did he realize that the Prince Shu’s heir had departed from this very residence after causing a stir at the flower market.

Suddenly, another thought struck him. The Marquis of Wuxiang and the Marquis of Brocade were in-laws—while not common knowledge, it was well known among the nobility. During the Western Sichuan campaign, the Marquis of Brocade and Prince Shu had been bitter enemies. Even after Prince Shu surrendered to the Great Chu, their families’ old grievances remained unresolved.

By rights, as in-laws, the Marquis of Wuxiang should avoid growing too close to Prince Shu, out of deference to his kin. Yet here he was, openly discussing his dealings with Prince Shu. Though Yuan Rong was not especially astute in such matters, even he sensed something was amiss.

He felt trouble was brewing. Sure enough, Su Zhen lifted his cup again and asked, “Did the Dowager send you to deliver a message? What does she intend?”

Yang Ning realized the conversation had finally turned to its true purpose. He looked up to reply, but Su Zhen raised a hand to silence him, his expression growing colder. “I will not agree to this marriage. Even if your esteemed Dowager objects to my proposal, it is immaterial.”

Yuan Rong was stunned. For a moment, he thought he’d misheard.

“When our fathers arranged this betrothal years ago, it seemed a promising match. But they were not clairvoyant—they couldn’t foresee what would come,” Su Zhen said slowly. “In truth, from the day both our fathers passed, this engagement no longer existed.”

Yang Ning only smiled faintly, with an air of mild embarrassment.

“Yuan Rong, the Marquis of Brocade sought your family’s help as mediators, but sending only you shows they know my character well and understand that nothing will change.” Su Zhen sipped his tea and set the cup down. “I, Su Zhen, never go back on my decisions. Tell your grandfather that this matter is not about showing or withholding respect to your family—he will understand.”

Yuan Rong now realized he had not misheard. His mouth hung open in disbelief. This was even more astonishing than when Yang Ning had recited his poem about lotus flowers.

“My lord, I… you…” he stammered, at a loss for words, cursing Yang Ning inwardly for dragging him into this. The outcome of this engagement was a matter for the Qi and Su families—what did it have to do with the Yuans? Now, unwittingly, he’d embroiled his family in this mess.

Though he’d said nothing of substance, Su Zhen clearly believed the Yuan family was acting as the Qi family’s envoy.

He felt a surge of irritation—entanglements between noble houses were the most troublesome, and the wise always kept their distance. Yet here he was, caught up through no fault of his own, and he dreaded the consequences when his family learned of his involvement.

“Qi Ning, it’s not that I look down on you,” Su Zhen said, brushing his sleeve and refusing to meet Yang Ning’s eyes. “Your reputation precedes you—you’re like mud that can’t be shaped. You are frivolous and without virtue, while my daughter Zixuan is learned and proper. You are neither scholarly nor martial, and she excels in every art. You are unremarkable, dull, and coarse; she is clever and quick-witted… Enough—I have made myself clear. Even you, with your limited wits, ought to understand you are not worthy of Zixuan. There is nothing more to say.” He stood, folding his hands behind his back. “Someone, show these guests out!”

Yang Ning gazed at Su Zhen and sighed. “Marquis, have you misunderstood?”

“There is nothing to misunderstand,” Su Zhen replied coldly. “I have matters to attend to and will not keep you.”

A faint smile played on Yang Ning’s lips. “Marquis, you are mistaken. Do you think I came here with Yuan Rong to beg you not to annul the engagement?”

Su Zhen paused, frowning. “Is that not so?”

“Of course not,” Yang Ning said, suddenly sitting back and leaning into his chair, lifting his cup of poor-quality tea. “I have never entertained the thought of marrying your daughter. The annulment is a necessity. I came today precisely to break off the engagement, to make it clear: your daughter will not enter the Qi family.” He drained his cup in one gulp, then spat the tea onto the floor, cursing, “What is this swill? Is this fit for human consumption? Marquis, is this what you serve in your household? Even our dogs at home wouldn’t touch this stuff!”