Chapter 15: The Tears He Could Not Name

His strides lengthened, almost imperceptibly so.

Si Yan and the young maids dipped into a formal bow, greeting Yan Chiyun’s arrival with hushed voices.

 

He suppressed the strange flutter that beat against his ribs, willed his expression into practiced stillness.

“Has the young madam returned?”

 

“Yes.”

Si Yan inclined her head.

“She retired to bed some while ago.”

 

“Mm.”

 

He recognized, with a quiet start, that her homecoming had loosened something taut within his chest.

 

Tonight, Yan Chiyun bypassed his study entirely.

He bathed and went directly to the bedchamber.

 

She must have already fallen asleep.

When he parted the bed curtains, she was not waiting for him as she often did, those limpid eyes fixed directly upon his.

 

Instead, she lay curled toward the inner wall, her face hidden from view.

He could see only the delicate shell of an ear, the soft curve of her head, and the dark river of her unbound hair spilling across the pillow.

 

It was not the scene he had anticipated.

Yet the corners of his lips tilted upward, a faint, almost invisible arc.

Perhaps even he did not notice it.

 

He settled himself beside her and turned his gaze upon her slender back.

He did not know that she, sensing the weight of his attention, had already opened her eyes.

 

Yan Chiyun watched her for a long, quiet moment.

Then he withdrew his gaze, closed his eyes, and prepared himself for sleep.

 

But before long, he heard the soft rustle of her turning.

He thought she was merely shifting in her dreams—these past days, he had observed that she preferred to sleep facing outward.

He had not expected her to move toward him.

 

The faint, clean fragrance of her skin drifted across the space between them, and Yan Chiyun felt his heart stir.

 

Yet she did not burrow directly into his embrace.

She halted at his side, hovering at the threshold of his warmth.

Was she looking at him?

He could feel the weight of her gaze.

 

Yan Chiyun opened his eyes.

In the dim, amber darkness, he met the young woman’s beautiful pupils.

Her eyes were still hazy with sleep, yet they fixed upon him with unwavering directness.

His drowsiness scattered like mist before dawn.

 

“…”

 

***

 

Lips and tongues entwined, and the quiet chamber filled with the soft, wet sounds of their kiss.

 

The delicate young woman lay prone upon the man’s chest, her palms pressed against the solid breadth of his shoulders and the hard planes of his pectorals.

She kissed him in small, lingering touches.

She answered each movement of his with one of her own.

 

His arms, traced with faint, raised veins, encircled her waist—so slender it seemed a single hand might span it completely.

 

Pu Jinyu’s long hair cascaded down, veiling her small, oval face.

His other hand slid into the dark silk of her tresses, swept the heavy locks away from her cheeks, cradled the nape of her neck, and drew her closer still.

 

Her lips pressed more firmly against his thin, elegant mouth.

The tip of her tongue grazed his teeth, and the slight friction sent a small pang through her.

Instinctively, she retreated.

But his tongue followed, pursued, entangled itself with hers.

He drew her into a slow, rolling dance, kissing her deeply.

 

Time slipped away from her, unmoored.

When at last he released her, Pu Jinyu was breathless, her chest heaving softly against his.

 

She paused, heedless now of grace or composure.

The tip of her nose brushed against his.

Her cheek pressed directly against his handsome face.

She nestled beside his ear and breathed—small, delicate, panting breaths—as she sought to steady herself.

 

Yan Chiyun listened to those soft, hurried exhalations.

His own breathing grew warmer, heavier.

 

Did she not understand how deeply she stirred him, lying thus upon his chest and breathing so sweetly against his skin?

 

The memory of their recent intimacies flooded his mind in vivid, fragmentary waves.

He could no longer hold himself in check.

 

His large hand tightened its hold upon her waist, drawing her flush against him.

He deepened their embrace, pressing her into the solid warmth of his body.

 

Pu Jinyu’s lashes fluttered.

Though she could not see his movements, she felt them with every inch of her being.

He was holding her, clinging to her, claiming her.

 

She thought of Yan Chiyun’s unexpected visit to the Pu household.

Her lashes stirred once more.

She extended her tongue and, with deliberate slowness, traced the line of his cheek.

Then the delicate whorl of his ear.

 

The man, already strung taut, grew rigid beneath her touch.

His gaze darkened, deepened.

 

She felt his breath quicken, grow hotter against her skin.

At the corners of her lips, still glistening, a faint, mocking smile flickered.

Yet her movements remained soft, seeking, full of feigned tenderness.

She pressed her brow against the side of his neck, nuzzling into the hollow of his throat.

She was a cat, winding herself about her keeper.

 

Yan Chiyun slid his hand along the graceful arch of her nape.

He pressed her head closer, deeper into the curve of his neck.

His other hand gripped her waist, and with a single, fluid motion, he shifted their positions.

 

He enclosed her beneath him, a canopy of warmth and shadow.

Her face was hidden from him now, her long hair veiling her features like dark water.

He reached to brush the strands away.

She turned her face aside, refusing his touch.

Her demeanor was shy, almost bashful.

But her words were bold, brazen.

 

Her voice was muffled against his chest, very small.

“I want to be on top.”

 

Yan Chiyun stilled.

The curve of his thin lips deepened, widened.

She dared not even look at him, yet she demanded the superior position?

 

A low, involuntary laugh escaped him.

He yielded.

“…Very well.”

 

He shifted them again, restoring her to her place above him.

Pu Jinyu draped herself across his chest, her arms looped loosely about his neck.

She nestled into the hollow of his collarbone and lay still.

 

Yan Chiyun waited, the ache within him growing.

He asked softly, “What is it?”

 

She did not answer.

 

A moment passed.

She neither moved nor spoke.

Yet she held him.

Her soft, unbound hair spread across his chest like waterweed, dark and drifting.

 

The heat within him had not subsided.

Yet she made no move to continue.

He did not understand what she wanted.

Still, he did not take the lead.

 

Instead, he asked with gentle solicitude.

Was she tired?

Had he hurt her when he grasped her waist and turned her beneath him?

 

Pu Jinyu listened to his low, concerned voice.

She raised herself and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

Then she lay back down and resumed her embrace.

 

Yan Chiyun understood.

She wished to hold the superior position, yet she would not guide him.

She wanted him to do the work while she reigned above.

 

He laughed quietly, softly.

He recalled the paths she had shown him before, the secret ways she had taught him.

He began to search, to explore, slowly, carefully.

 

Even though he knew the way, Yan Chiyun was nervous.

It was not as though he had never taken the initiative before.

Yet now, his heart would not obey him as it once had.

 

“Is this right?”

Even after he had found the place, he still sought her confirmation.

 

The young woman in his arms nodded slightly, burrowing closer.

 

His cheek brushed against hers.

He spoke to her softly, warning her before each movement.

He did not take her by surprise.

 

Yet despite his care, Pu Jinyu could not help but dig her fingers into his arm.

 

He heard her catch her breath, her lips pressed tightly together.

Yan Chiyun slowed.

He coaxed her, little by little.

He took his time.

 

He did not realize that this restraint was its own kind of torment.

 

Pu Jinyu felt she was the one suffering now.

She wished only for it to end, and she began to urge him onward.

 

Yan Chiyun had not expected that his solicitude would earn him her impatient prodding.

“Like that?” he asked, testing whether she could bear it.

 

Pu Jinyu was vexed.

She did not understand why he was so hesitant tonight, nor did she wish to speak with him.

She answered by sinking her teeth into his shoulder.

 

Sensing her “vehement” dissatisfaction, Yan Chiyun abandoned his restraint.

 

He cast aside his slow, gentle rhythm.

Pu Jinyu could not suppress the sound that escaped her.

She started as though shocked, her entire body drawing taut as a bowstring.

 

Yan Chiyun caught his breath.

He asked if she could relax, even a little.

 

Pu Jinyu did not heed him.

She had no thought for his comfort.

She surrendered only to her own instinctive resistance, her body’s stubborn refusal to yield.

 

There was nothing to be done.

Yan Chiyun could not linger thus, suspended between her pleasure and his own…

 

Before long, the young woman’s faint, stifled sobs rose in the stillness of the night.

 

In truth, tonight had been gentler than their previous unions.

She had exerted almost no effort.

And he had maintained careful control throughout.

Yet still she wept, violently, helplessly.

 

Her tears fell like beads from a broken string.

They soaked her cheeks, her hair.

Even his collarbone was wet with her weeping, the salt moisture pooling in the hollow of his throat.

 

Yan Chiyun sensed that her tears sprang from something deeper than mere physical distress.

He did not know how to ask, where to begin.

He kissed her crown in silent comfort.

His large hand stroked her hair, again and again, smoothing the tangled strands.

He held her and let her weep.

 

***

 

When it was over, Pu Jinyu went to bathe.

Yan Chiyun summoned Si Yan and questioned her.

He learned that Pu Jinyu had fallen and injured herself while at her family home.

His brow furrowed.

“Why was I not informed?”

 

Si Yan explained hastily that the young madam had forbidden it.

Moreover, her injuries were now nearly healed.

 

Yan Chiyun’s brow remained knit.

Si Yan kept her head lowered, not daring to speak.

 

After a long moment, he glanced toward the bath chamber where Pu Jinyu had gone.

Then he, too, rose to bathe.

 

***

 

When Pu Jinyu emerged from the bath, her rouge freshly applied, several candles had been lit within the inner chamber.

The man sat upon the edge of the bed, waiting for her.

Hearing her footsteps approach, he lifted his gaze.

 

She walked toward him.

“What is it, husband?”

 

He looked at her face, so meticulously powdered and painted.

“Are your injuries completely healed?”

 

If medicine must be applied to her wounds, why did she insist upon covering them with cosmetics?

 

She had overheard the murmurs from beyond the chamber door and had already guessed what Si Yan had told him.

Now, in his inquiry, her suspicion was confirmed.

He had asked after her days in the Pu household.

 

Pu Jinyu did not answer.

She simply looked at him.

She stared directly into his eyes, searching for the true intent behind this unaccustomed concern.

For Yan Chiyun had never troubled himself with such matters before.

 

Yan Chiyun, too, studied her.

He gazed at the face before him.

The young woman’s makeup was immaculate, her bearing dignified and correct.

Yet, inexplicably, she stirred in him a sense of strange unfamiliarity.

 

This unfamiliarity was disquieting, dissonant.

Why did this Madam Pu before him feel so fractured, so disjointed?

As though the woman who lived in daylight and the woman who came to him at night were not the same person.

 

This inexplicable fracture, this dissonance, made her inscrutable to him.

He could not fathom her thoughts.

Yet he could not cease being drawn to her.

He had already begun to act beyond his accustomed bounds—visiting the Pu household before reporting to his office, for instance.

And now, this muted anger that she had hidden her injuries from him.

 

The young maidservant said her fall had been severe.

Her knees were black with bruises.

Half her face had swollen.

Even the corner of her mouth had been split.

 

He had asked, and she would not speak.

What, exactly, was she thinking?

 

They regarded each other for a long, suspended moment.

Pu Jinyu remained silent.

It was Yan Chiyun who sighed first.

He extended his hand toward her.

“Come here.”

 

Pu Jinyu lowered her gaze to his outstretched palm—long-fingered, fair, elegant.

She looked at his hand.

Her expression grew distant, dazed.

She did not move.

 

Yan Chiyun rose.

His figure was too tall, too imposing.

As he stepped toward her, he was like a small mountain descending, his shadow engulfing her completely.

The faint, clean scent of his recent bath drifted over her, enveloping her.

 

Pu Jinyu lifted her eyes to his face.

The hand he had extended to take hers now rose to rest upon her cheek.

He looked at her face and asked why, when she was injured, she still applied her powders and paints.

 

She was his wife.

After this year passed, they would have been married four years.

Yet still she refused to face him as she truly was.

That night, when her tears and sweat had smeared her rouge and powder,

when her face was in such disarray,

she had still pressed her cheek into his palm.

She had let him touch her, stroke her, gaze upon her uncovered countenance.

 

Now her face was injured.

Yet still she painted it with cosmetics.

Did she not understand that this would delay her healing?

 

He had suspected, before, that it was the doing of the personal maidservant her mother had sent.

That maidservant was now replaced.

Yet why did she continue thus?

Was it her own preference?

 

Si Yan said she had been the same at the Pu household.

She applied medicine, then immediately applied her makeup.

That was her own family home, and still she would not show her true face.

 

For a moment, he did not know how to give voice to his thoughts.

Perhaps it was his years in the official world, in the shadowed corridors of the Imperial Prison—

he sensed that something was wrong.

Yet what, exactly, was wrong, he could not yet articulate.

He could not unravel it.

 

“Does it still hurt?” he asked.

 

The skin beneath his fingertips was fair, soft, pleasing to the touch.

Only, the powder and rouge clung to his fingers, pale residue of her artifice.

He studied her face closely, searching for any trace of injury.

For now, he could discern none.

 

Her lip, too, showed no wound.

It was merely somewhat swollen.

That was from their earlier intimacy.

He had kissed her, too long, too deeply.

He was the culprit.

 

At this thought, the motion of his hand upon her cheek slowed, gentled.

 

At such close distance, how could Pu Jinyu not perceive the shift in him?

Subtle as it was—after years of living on the edge of a blade, her skill at reading faces had been honed to perfection.

 

So this was the source of his solicitude.

It sprang from his stirred desires.

His sudden journey to the Pu household, no doubt, had the same wellspring.

 

In the depths of her heart, she laughed coldly.

Yet her gaze, fixed upon his face, betrayed nothing.

She tilted her head slightly.

She closed her eyes, veiling the revulsion that rose within her.

She pressed her cheek into his palm, a small, seeking motion.

 

“It does not hurt.”

At last, she spoke.

 

Her dependence, her closeness, stirred Yan Chiyun’s heart.

He reached out and drew her waist into his embrace.

He gathered her wholly into his arms.

 

“…”

 

***

 

The next morning, Yan Chiyun appeared at the Yan family table for the morning meal—a rare occurrence indeed.

 

Word had spread that the young couple had requested bathwater the previous night.

Now they sat side by side.

And then Madam Yan witnessed her eldest son actually place food into Pu Jinyu’s bowl with his own chopsticks.

Her heart swelled with satisfaction.

Surely, before long, she would hold a grandchild in her arms.

 

This daughter of the Pu household was truly a daughter-in-law without flaw, beyond reproach in every particular.

Madam Yan gazed at her and smiled, well pleased.

 

Cheng Wenque, as a guest, could not be slighted and naturally partook of the meal alongside the family.

He, too, observed Yan Chiyun’s gesture.

He saw Pu Jinyu smile at her husband in return.

 

How was it that a single visit to her family home had inspired such marked solicitude from Yan Chiyun?

Had she returned to the Pu household so suddenly because some discord had arisen between them?

 

The Yan servants murmured that the day after the young madam departed, the master of the household had followed her to the Pus, bearing numerous gifts.

Officially, he had gone to inquire after Madam Pu’s illness.

But who could say what truly transpired behind closed doors?

 

If her heart had turned back toward her husband, what then of his contingency?

Yan Huaixiao’s noble bride had already been selected by Madam Yan.

His days as a guest in this household were numbered.

He must seize whatever opportunity remained.

 

Yet at the dining table, Cheng Wenque made no untoward move.

Not with Yan Mingxi’s gaze fixed so attentively upon him.

 

***

 

After the meal, Yan Chiyun was due at his official post.

Madam Yan bade Pu Jinyu see him to the gate; she need not remain to attend her.

Pu Jinyu obeyed.

 

At the Yan household’s main entrance, the man accepted the riding crop his subordinate proffered.

Before mounting his horse, he turned to her and said, his voice gentle, “Return inside.”

 

Pu Jinyu nodded obediently.

“I shall await my husband’s return.”

 

He looked down at her from horseback—at the slender, graceful young woman who tilted her face up toward him.

His brows stirred, faintly.

“Mm.”

 

Then, as an afterthought, he added, “I will return early today.”

 

Pu Jinyu smiled at him.

 

***

 

When the man had ridden away, Pu Jinyu returned to her chambers.

 

She had been absent from the household for several days.

The matrons and stewards came to present their accounts for her review.

 

Beyond this, Madam Yan had finalized her selection for Yan Huaixiao’s bride—the granddaughter of the Hanlin Academy Chancellor.

The betrothal gifts must be drafted into an inventory for Madam Yan’s approval, and Pu Jinyu was to oversee the preliminary list.

 

She busied herself for a time.

Then Si Yan departed with the elder matrons to select items from the storehouse.

Pu Jinyu sat alone with her tea, her eyelids drifting closed in feigned repose.

 

A young maidservant came over, quietly awaiting instructions.

She reported that Master Cheng had sent someone.

He wished to speak with the young madam on some matter.

 

Pu Jinyu opened her eyes, just slightly.

In her limpid, water-bright gaze, a glimmer of interest slowly kindled.

 

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