Chapter Seven: Each Year, Tonight

Ruohua Pavilion. Yuewu stood at the doorway, gazing into the distance.

Yunxi was in front of the kitchen, idly twirling a rag in her hand. Misjudging her strength, she sent it flying, and it landed right at Yuewu's feet.

Yuewu glanced at it indifferently, his gaze soon drifting far away.

Yunxi stared absently at Yuewu’s back. He was always so quiet, a calm that carried something inexplicable—an air of noble detachment, a serenity that seemed beyond desire or care, as though he looked down upon the world with gentle indifference.

In truth, she could not put it into words.

“What are you staring at, Yuewu?” Yunxi’s broad face suddenly loomed before his eyes.

“Yunxi, do you always have to stand so close when you talk?” Yuewu frowned and took a step back.

Yunxi burst out laughing and poked her own cheek. “Have you noticed this tiny dimple on my right cheek? You have to be up close to see it.”

Yuewu shot her a glance. “Honestly, Yunxi, a dimple that small has no business being on such a broad face.”

“Oh, come on, are you discriminating against big faces? Even the young lady has a large face!”

“The young lady’s face is round. Yours is just big. There’s no arguing with that.”

Yunxi, indignant, tried to retort, but then noticed Yuewu’s gaze softening a little as he looked ahead, the corners of his lips faintly curved. “Strange, what’s he looking at?”

She turned her head in confusion and saw Mingchu approaching at a leisurely pace, twirling a willow branch.

Yuewu, seeing Mingchu’s less than cheerful expression, said nothing and followed her into the courtyard. Yunxi grumbled behind them, “That Yuewu, really—he only has eyes and heart for the young lady.”

That night, the moon hung in the sky like a silver platter. Countless stars sparkled in her eyes, carrying a distant loneliness, an endless longing.

A chill wind rose suddenly, cold blossomed on jade steps, and autumn leaves rustled, piling up into little hills.

Mingchu sat alone in the study, reclining in her chair. Though a book rested in her hands, its words escaped her eyes and did not stay in her mind.

Upon her desk lay a jade bracelet gifted by the mistress of the house that day, and a well-worn copy of “Selected Poems of Su Zizhan,” her mother’s favorite.

It was six years to the day since her mother had died. Mingchu remembered clearly how her mother, smiling, had said she could finally see her own parents again, how much she missed them. She said she was happy, though she couldn’t bear to leave Mingchu.

And as she spoke, she began to cry. Mingchu had stayed by her side, her mother watching her as if she could never look enough. Mingchu had been too young to understand what death was.

It was only later she realized that death meant her mother was gone forever, that she would never see her again.

“Young mistress,” the old nurse called her gently.

With eyes full of sympathy, the nurse opened her wrinkled hands. “Miss, I made you this peace knot. May it bring you safety year after year.”

Mingchu’s nose stung as she accepted it, and she hung it around her neck at once. “Thank you, Nanny.”

The nurse urged her to rest early, then quietly withdrew. Her heart ached for Mingchu—what child’s birthday should not be spent in happiness? Yet fate was unkind; today was also the anniversary of her mother’s death.

Poor Fifth Miss.

Duofu leapt in through the window and curled up on her lap. Mingchu buried her face in its soft fur, her eyes growing damp. She murmured, “Mother, where are you now? Are you happy? Do you miss me? I miss you so much. I think of you every night.”

Moon shadows danced, leaves of the parasol tree rustled, and the airy sound of a bamboo flute drifted on the wind, circling her ears—soft as a night’s sigh, gentle as the moon’s song.

Suddenly, the flute fell silent. Mingchu pushed open the window. Beneath the moon, someone stood with a bamboo flute in hand, smiling.

He said, “The moon is beautiful tonight. Would you join me to admire it?”

Mingchu stared, dumbstruck.

The Milky Way stretched across the heavens, the moon luminous and clear. From the zenith down to the horizon, the river of stars shone like a thousand lamps. Yuewu and Mingchu sat atop the roof. Mingchu propped her chin in her hands, silent.

Yuewu played the flute softly, its notes drifting on the breeze.

“Yuewu, do you think the immortals in the sky can hear the flute?”

“Yes.”

“Then can my mother hear it too?”

Yuewu pondered a moment, then said seriously, “She certainly can.”

Mingchu’s eyes brightened. “Truly?” She caressed the flute with care.

“I made this flute for you, Miss. When you miss your mother, play it, and she’ll hear you.” Yuewu turned the flute—the character “Chu” was carved into its side.

“It’s beautiful! Is it really mine now?”

“Yes.”

“Then I must give it a name. I’ll call it… the First Moon Flute. Do you like it?”

“First Moon…” Yuewu considered, then smiled at her. “First Moon Flute—what a lovely name. You truly have a heart as gentle as orchids.”

Looking at Yuewu’s smile, Mingchu’s eyes suddenly reddened. Leaning on his shoulder, she whispered, “Yuewu, do you think my mother is happy in heaven?”

“Yes. She’s watching over you, wishing you joy with every year.” Yuewu’s voice was clear and gentle. That was his own wish as well.

Mingchu looked closely at the falcon tattoo on Yuewu’s wrist. “What about your mother, Yuewu? Where is she? You’ve never spoken of your family or your past. Why did you become my father’s shadow guard? Will you tell me?”

Moonlight poured down, casting Yuewu’s face in gentle, hazy silver.

A faint, elusive smile touched his lips. “My family was killed by enemies. I was lucky to escape, wandered for a year, and was taken in by the Prince of Jiang’s household. From then on, I trained to become a proper shadow guard.”

He lowered his eyes. “In truth… I am someone who should have died long ago.”

A sudden wind arose. Yuewu’s white robes fluttered, his figure as lonely as the moon.

Mingchu, startled, covered his mouth. “Yuewu, don’t say such things. You mustn’t die. How could you?”

Her tears fell unceasingly.

Through blurred eyes, she said, “Yuewu, was your life before this so hard? Were you unhappy? I promise, I will treat you very, very well. I won’t let you suffer again.”

“I’m sorry, Miss. I shouldn’t have made you sad.” Yuewu panicked at the sight of her tear-streaked face.

Mingchu gripped his hand tightly. “Yuewu, you’ll live well from now on, won’t you? We’ll always be together, right?”

Yuewu smiled gently, replying with utmost seriousness, “Yes, I will. I’ll always stay by your side.”

I am so afraid of loneliness.

I know.

What is past cannot be mended. But the days yet to come are ours to seize. Year after year, all I wish is to remain by your side.