Chapter Thirty-Three: Melancholy Thoughts

The Moon Palace is too cold, and sometimes she feels as though he is a bit cold, too. It is not his manner of conduct; in truth, he has always been gentle with her, as warm as the breeze in March.

Yet, she always senses a loneliness about him. Many people claim to love the refined and the elegant, but few can truly appreciate it—and his solitude is of that very kind.

In his presence, Jing Hu is always cheerful. She pushes these thoughts aside and picks up the sprig of osmanthus he had plucked for her, holding it to her nose to inhale its scent. Even though she has long been enveloped by this fragrance, she detects a different note within this particular branch.

"I will cherish this sprig of mortal osmanthus dearly," she says, lifting her face to look at Ke Mingxu, who stands before her.

He asks, "What brings the Little County Princess to seek me out today?"

She had expected this question. Jing Hu retrieves a sheet of pale-cloud-colored Xie Gong stationery from her pouch. As she holds the paper, she realizes that she is wearing a garment of the exact same shade. Looking at Ke Mingxu, she is surprised to see that he, too, is wearing a straight-collared robe of that very color.

It is truly a coincidence. Although she had seen him just moments ago, she had been nervous, as it had been such a long time since they last met, and she had not noticed his attire. She wonders if he has noticed hers. If he had, she would surely feel a bit shy, yet a faint, irrepressible joy bubbles up within her.

Her tone becomes even brighter. "Could Young Master Ke read the text on this Xie Gong paper for me?"

Ke Mingxu takes the paper—it is the one he had gifted her for her birthday. "Does the Little County Princess not understand the Chele script? Why ask me to read it to you?"

His writing of this letter had been an accident. He is but a mortal, and there are times when he feels stifled; yet to speak certain things aloud, or to record them in characters familiar to all, feels burdensome. And so, he had written in the Chele script to ease his mind, and in a moment of unthinking impulse, he had tucked it into the gift box and sent it away. He had assumed she would not understand, as few in the Yanliang realm knew the Chele script. He had figured that if she ever wished to know what it said, she would have to come and ask him, at which point he could interpret it loosely according to his mood at the time.

Who could have known she would understand it? Now, it is he who feels somewhat awkward.

Jing Hu smiles and gently nudges the hand holding the paper, her voice unconsciously turning coaxing. "Reading it myself and hearing you read it are not the same. I simply want to hear you read it."

Reading the text is not difficult; the difficulty lies in its meaning. He agrees to read it for her, thinking that if she asks him to translate it, he will turn the tables and test her instead.

He focuses his gaze on the stationery and reads the words aloud. Ke Mingxu reads with great care, and Jing Hu listens with equal focus. She had previously asked Master Zhou to translate these words for her; even though she is young, she could discern the melancholy hidden within the lines. It spoke of the endless sorrows of the world, of the lack of a kindred spirit, and the loneliness of one whose high standards find no echo.

As Master Zhou translated, she had taken notes, but by the end, she only felt a deep sadness. She had not understood why he would write such a letter to her—aside from the opening line wishing her a happy birthday, the rest were merely his own reflections at the time. Yet, she quickly realized: high standards find few echoes, and the refined is often misunderstood. Just like this Chele script—how many in Yanliang could understand it, or would even wish to learn it? Perhaps he felt that because so few in Yanliang could read these characters, he could allow himself this small indulgence.

The letter is not long. His voice is clear, like a spring bubbling under the moonlight, and he finishes quickly. Jing Hu continues to stare at him.

Ke Mingxu smiles and asks, "Do you understand what these words mean?"

She has been waiting for this. "I would not dare to boast in front of Young Master Ke that I understand everything. The Chele script is obscure and difficult, no easier to grasp than the ancient texts of Yanliang." She pauses. "How about I translate the letter for you, and you can offer me your guidance?"

Seeing him nod, she takes the stationery from his hands, studies it seriously for a moment, and begins to translate. She reads a line, then translates it. "‘Born on the seventh day of the seventh month, may you be safe and sound.’" She adds her own words: "I was very happy that day when I received your gift, Young Master Ke."

In truth, she has read her own copied translation countless times, and she deliberately stumbles over the words. This was a piece of his heart, after all; perhaps if she pretends not to understand, he might feel more at ease.

"‘The seventh day is the Qixi Festival, and there was the wonder of a falling star. That day, I should have been watching the stars with my teacher on the outskirts of Yanjing.’"

Jing Hu stops. "Young Master Ke, did you really go to watch the stars with your teacher that day? What is a falling star like? I have never seen one."

She is genuinely curious. On her birthday, she had simply had dinner with Li Yi and Qingrou, then performed the ritual of threading needles under the moon in the courtyard before tucking this letter under her pillow and falling asleep. She never imagined he had been watching a falling star with his teacher.

A look of recollection crosses Ke Mingxu’s face. "I was indeed with my teacher that day, though we did not go to the outskirts of Yanjing. Not many falling stars were visible from within the city, but it was beautiful nonetheless." He pauses, then adds, "If such an event occurs again, I shall certainly write to inform the Little County Princess in advance."

*Next time, I shall watch it with you,* Jing Hu thinks to herself.

She continues reading the letter. "‘In the palace, dancers perform, and people feast on fine food and wine, yet the Yellow River has flooded once again, leaving countless commoners displaced.’" She asks Ke Mingxu, "Does the Yellow River flood every year? Is there no one to manage it?"

Jing Hu is truly ignorant of such things. No one ever tells her. The only long journey she has ever taken was to the Jiangnan region last year, but even her grandmother’s house was so comfortable that it kept all such miseries far from her sight.

His expression dims. "When affairs are left to those without ability, it is the same as having no one in charge at all. Or perhaps even worse—when those with no capability but great ambition sit in positions of power, the harm brought upon the common people is endless."

Jing Hu nods thoughtfully. During her trip to Jiangnan, she had seen an elderly man on the docks, so frail he was carrying a load heavier than himself. The overseer had shown no pity, and she, unable to bear it, had intervened to help him. She had not understood—at his age, should he not be at home enjoying his twilight years, supported by his descendants? The nursemaid from her grandmother’s house had said that perhaps he had fled to Yanjing due to the flooding of the Yellow River.

To survive, one must do any work one can. Jing Hu had felt such pity for him that she had given him a pair of her own earrings—made of red coral—so that if he sold them, he would not have to perform such labor for a long while.