Chapter 134 Gemstone: Can chains prove my love?

Chapter 134: Gem: Can the Chain Prove My Love

Winter waned and spring arrived, the capital saturated with the intoxicating scent of melting snow. Gray sparrows chirped and twittered on the withered treetops, the treetops shrouded in a hazy green. After several spring rains, the frozen stone steps gradually grew pea-green moss.

At dawn, Tian Qin wore a soft pink ruqun, wearing a blue sapphire hairpin, radiant and striking. This sapphire aroused envy among all the girls in the establishment; many came to her room just for a glimpse. Although guests had given gifts, she had never received anything so precious.

Tian Qin generously removed the gem for them to examine. She drank a few sips of wine, which made her bright eyes like stars in winter, moisture suffusing her lively spirit, adding to her charm.

She poured herself a drink and smilingly shared her tips: "Men, you know, you play hard to get. Tell him other important guests are vying for you, and they'll naturally feel a sense of urgency, offering pearls and jade willingly."

The gem grew even more valuable, but the wine on her table was downgraded, replaced from aged brew to sweet and sour fruit wine, light and lacking kick, much like plain soft drinks.

Also, her room was strictly supervised, bouncers keeping tight watch, and at night Mama Liu would come and lock the door, forbidding her from seeing male guests again. Due to her seclusion, many guests were dissatisfied, and Drunken Years' business declined.

The women chattered noisily—some serious, some teasing, some envious. Fortunately, Miss Yingge was exclusively kept by a mysterious patron, or else, with her sweet voice and lovely face, she would surely be the undisputed top courtesan, leaving nothing for the others.

Mama Liu witnessed all this from afar. Yingge had finally succumbed. With her loved ones and lethal leverage in the hands of her benefactor, what else could she do but yield? Yingge was clever. Unlike the previous two days when she caroused all night with male guests—which was truly nerve-wracking—she now complied.

Over the years, Mama Liu had seen many forced into prostitution, but Yingge was the most exceptional, the most tragic, and the most pitiful. Unfortunately, her fate was sealed.

Fate forced her neck down, compelling her to submit.

She was isolated, unable to contact other guests or seek other powerful connections. She was utterly trapped on an isolated island, her entire being, her body completely belonging to her benefactor.

In the afternoon, a fine spring rain fell, bathing the tiny leaf veins and vines. Spiderwebs in the wind swayed in the rain, pitifully hanging with translucent raindrops. A cool breeze picked up, lifting the green gauze curtain like waves.

The room was dim, the lamp had burned out, leaving a small pool of greasy oil. Tian Qin, drunk, lay sprawled on the table, sleeping soundly. A gourd lay tilted, fruit wine spilling out. Raindrops blown in through the window wet her brows and eyes, leaving a greenish-blue stain.

The wine wasn't strong; she herself wanted to be drunk.

For someone who wanted to be drunk, even water would intoxicate.

"Pour wine..." she murmured.

Beside her hand lay a scattered sheet of paper, splattered with ink dots, random strokes, and wet wine stains. Earlier, the girls had asked her to imitate the wild cursive of the sage of wild cursive, Zhang Xu, after getting drunk. She scribbled nonsense for a bit to pass the time.

Wine, ink, and rainwater mingled; the room was filled with a faint, strange fragrance—the mellow aroma of wine, the dry scent of ink, the earthy smell of soil and grass, and the tender fragrance of early spring—making the already drunk person even more intoxicated.

When Xie Tanwei entered, he saw this scene.

To a benefactor, it might seem disrespectful.

But Xie Tanwei, instead of blaming, felt a surge of surprise and delight. He examined her carefully, silently etching her natural, adorable appearance into his heart. He moved quietly, afraid to disturb the serene moment.

He sat beside her, also indulging in the room's fragrance of grass, lost in a pleasant daze. He propped his chin, staring at her, leaning closer than before, his breath softly brushing her forehead.

In that instant, their breathing fell into sync.

She slept deeply, dragged into an abyss by wine, her soul in heavy slumber.

Xie Tanwei longed to hold her, to embrace her in this peaceful, unresisting state.

The moment she opened her eyes, she would feel disgust and hatred for him again.

Just one hug?

In the end, he didn't get too close. His palm hovered over her head, rubbing lightly, reaching out then pulling back.

The sapphire hairpin he gave her lay discarded, stained with ink.

Xie Tanwei picked it up and carefully wiped it clean with a damp cloth, restoring its shine.

When Tian Qin groggily opened her eyes, she found a soft cushion had been placed under her neck, saving her neck from being pressed too long on the hard table. A heavy cloak had been draped over her shoulders, the misty rain outside only wetting the outer edges.

It took her a moment to collect herself, then she saw Xie Tanwei sitting quietly opposite, watching her thoughtfully.

She was momentarily flustered, then regained composure, coughed, and said hoarsely, "Why are you here?"

"If I'm not here, who else do you want to be?" Xie Tanwei detected hostility in her tone. He curled a finger to flick away a strand of hair from her forehead and said leisurely, "Why not sleep in bed? Such a mess. From now on, you shouldn't drink fruit wine either."

Tian Qin, still drowsy, heard this and her eyes reddened. She gritted her teeth and retorted, "I'm begging you, have some mercy—don't take away my last bit of happiness."

Xie Tanwei did not insist.

A faint, calm sense of happiness flowed.

He reached out, making an inviting gesture.

After being cruelly conditioned, she immediately understood. She stalled for a moment, then went around the square table to his side.

Xie Tanwei pulled her into his embrace, feeling a warm spring welling up in his heart, an indescribable contentment.

"Don't be like this," Tian Qin murmured, staring numbly at the crumpled paper, resisting subtly. "I still need to write."

"You write." Xie Tanwei adjusted their positions, moving her closer to the table, but still not letting her leave the confines of his arms.

Tian Qin stiffly and carelessly took up the brush, dipped it in ink mixed with the stale reek of wine, and wrote on the messy paper. This didn't calm her mind; it only muddled her thoughts.

After writing two characters, her stroke order fell apart.

Writing under the stern gaze of the greatest Confucian scholar of the era was an extreme test of nerve, a total embarrassment.

She stopped, flustered.

Xie Tanwei understood: "Aren't you supposed to be writing wild cursive?"

Tian Qin sighed in defeat, struggling to control the brush, but the characters she wrote were still square and clumsy. She didn't really want to practice calligraphy; it was just an excuse to escape his embrace.

She said, "I can't write well when you're watching."

Xie Tanwei said, "Then I'll close my eyes."

He shut his eyes.

Tian Qin tentatively wrote a few more, realized it was her own technical problem, and sighed one sigh after another.

Xie Tanwei opened his eyes and pressed her hand.

"You've got ink on your hand."

He took her hand, wiping it with deliberate slowness. The greenish light from outside seeped through the window, bestowing a touch of elegance upon the clumsy characters, a hint of misty rain.

Tian Qin's palm felt unbearably ticklish from the wiping.

"Let me teach you, okay?" Xie Tanwei reverently kissed the Xiang brush in her hand, his cheek close to hers, so tender, love flowing between them—unimaginable that this was the same cold man who had once driven her out of his house.

Tian Qin instinctively resisted, shaking her head, but he only held her tighter.

Having her back after separation made him see his own heart clearly, his obsession and possessiveness escalated to a whole new level.

It didn’t matter whether she wrote the book or not—he wanted to be with her.

She kept wondering when he would grow tired of her again and throw her out.

She kept waiting, but his resolve only grew stronger.

She would never get that chance.

The Love Gu resonated like drumbeats echoing between their two hearts.

“Fine,” Tian Qin conceded gloomily, by writing the book as a way to ward off even worse behavior from him.

Xie Tanwei held her pale hand, rubbing the spot where she once had chilblains, guiding her hand, they together trimmed the candlewick to make it brighter. The bright light stripped the damp discoloration from the paper, restoring its creamy white hue.

Then their hands overlapped as they chose an ink stick together, ground it, wet the brush, and set to writing—every vertical, horizontal, hook, and stroke completed in unison. An ordinary piece of calligraphy seemed imbued with a different meaning, as if ink were not flowing but emotions.

Her hand grew increasingly slack, trying to escape from the stroke.

His hand grew heavier, trapping hers, not giving her the slightest chance to break free.

Her hatred was light; his love, heavy.

In the end, they set aside the unfinished strokes, scattered and sparse. Xie Tanwei’s kiss landed passionately on the side of her neck, portraying his intense adoration, more clinging than rain, like a silent solemn vow—he would only ever kiss her like this in his life.

Tian Qin had nowhere to hide, and her strokes had long since lost all composure. She feared for Wan Cui’s life, dared not exert strength to resist, and dejectedly endured the humiliation like a wooden puppet, her breath ragged.

She heard Xie Tanwei rasping in her ear, “In a few days, come back to the mansion with me. A new garden is already being built for you.”

Tian Qin shuddered violently, unwillingly lifting her head, like a wilted plant. More than the pleasure quarters, she dreaded returning to the Xie mansion—from one tightly shut cage into an even tighter one.

Her nightmare had come true. Ever since he resolutely divorced Xian Qiu, she had vaguely sensed this day would come.

“Aren’t we fine now?”

He had said he would not touch her, would have nothing to do with her.

“No. We can be better,” Xie Tanwei said firmly.

“But here I can drink, talk to people, watch the street scenes,” Tian Qin said calmly and determinedly, with a hint of self-deprecation. “Let me stay here, please. It’s good here. If you miss me, you can come see me. When you don’t want me anymore, it’s easy to cast me aside.”

Her expression was as if taking an oath—she would not run away. She was making it clear she would rather fall into the pleasure quarters than return to be his possession.

Xie Tanwei’s beautiful hopes popped like soap bubbles. He came to his senses, a slightly cold smile on his face. “If even now you still think I would abandon you, then I’ll just have to lock you in the basement with a thick chain.”

“Still no sense of security? Would chains give you enough security to prove my love?”

His eyes seemed to hold rain, and he said darkly, “Or maybe… you want to abandon me.”

Tian Qin’s face turned pale.

She just didn’t want to return to that cage, to be bound by an even more suffocating identity. To resist him would bring terrible consequences.

“You misunderstand.”

She struggled to explain. He had the lives of those she cared about in his grasp—what could she do?

Xie Tanwei laughed bitterly, a feeling of being torn apart. He processed it in silence for a moment, then promised her, “It doesn’t matter.”

“People need time to adjust, I understand. In time you will forget the hatred and pain, and be willing to live in the happiness and comfort I give you. The mansion will have only us two, no one to disturb us. We will be fine.”

He stroked the hair at her temple, very serious.

“Give me a chance.”

Love needs to be cultivated slowly. First dilute the hatred, then take time to cultivate it little by little. They had a lifetime together, after all.

Perhaps they would also welcome their own child.

Who knows.

Listening to his beautiful vision, Tian Qin felt only a bone-chilling terror. Her body was fixed in his embrace; only her eyes, still free, stared woodenly out the window.

What had vanished were those birds, the fresh air, the ordinary wishes forever lost, and that version of herself who, at the beginning of her rebirth, had been full of hope to change her fate.

She had turned into the person she despised most, fallen into a pit deeper than her past life, so that she no longer recognized herself.

…

Wind and rain, dark and dreary.

Nanny Chen rubbed her aching lower back, pulling out two pitiful steamed buns from her bosom. Days of spring rain had soaked them until they swelled inside the cloth, and after drying they were rough as iron.

Ever since Tian Qin disappeared, a happy home had been destroyed, and their days had gone from bad to worse.

“Take them. Eat a little, at least. You’re not made of iron. If you keep skipping meals, you’ll break down. If you collapse, Tian Qin will have no one to rely on. Your mother will have to see you go before her.”

“Mother…”

Bo Ge was overcome with shame and regret, barely holding back tears.

“Tian Qin, where is she?”

Tian Qin had been taken by some unknown group, and all these days they had been searching desperately.

Nanny Chen stroked Bo Ge’s face, a sorrowful tenderness.

“Son, we’ll find her. We will.”

The mother and son embraced and wept.

Hope flickered like a candle in the storm, flickered and faded.