32. How Could She Compare to Him?

Chapter 32: How Can He Compare to Him

Over the past few days of scripture copying, Duan Juanyan had often found excuses to invite her to his residence for tea and conversation. Gu Yuanzhi was reserved at first, but Duan Juanyan's gentle nature put her at ease, and gradually her wariness faded.

Sandalwood smoke curled upward, brushing past the worried furrow on Gu Yuanzhi's brow. Across from her, Duan Juanyan noticed her distracted demeanor.

"Brother Song seems troubled lately," Duan Juanyan said, slowly closing his scroll. "If there is any difficulty, feel free to share it with me, and I can offer some advice."

A faint glimmer of moisture flickered in Gu Yuanzhi's eyes, feigning melancholy: "Your Excellency is so considerate; Song Yan is deeply grateful." Her voice was subdued, her brow clouded with gloom. "I'm afraid, though, that I won't be able to impose on you much longer."

"Why?" Duan Juanyan raised an eyebrow.

Gu Yuanzhi rose and walked to the window, gazing wistfully at the trailing wisteria in the courtyard, which looked even more forlorn in the twilight.

"To be honest, I am not from Huzhou. I ended up here after wandering down from the north. I was copying scriptures to raise travel funds to head south and search for my lost elder brother." Her voice hitched with a sob as she spoke.

"Searching for family?" Duan Juanyan's gaze softened somewhat.

"Indeed." Gu Yuanzhi turned around, her eyes reddened, tears welling but not yet falling: "My brother was conscripted to guard the frontier at Yazhou, and I wish to head south to find him. But... alas." She let out a long sigh, trailing off mid-sentence.

"Brother Song, if you have any difficulties, just tell me straight," Duan Juanyan said seriously.

"The hard part about traveling these days is not having a travel pass." Gu Yuanzhi looked at him earnestly. "I had hoped to save up more silver to see if I could bribe my way through the checkpoints. But as it stands, that's looking hopeless." Her gaze lingered briefly on a corner of the desk, where several volumes of Huzhou household registries sat.

Duan Juanyan did not answer immediately. He lifted the silver kettle and refilled Gu Yuanzhi's tea.

"Brother Song's devotion to your brother is truly moving." He paused. "However, travel passes concern the very foundation of our nation's household registration system. I can't grant one lightly on my own authority; it needs careful thought. But do not worry, Brother Song. Why not take your mind off things? Tomorrow happens to be my day off. Staying cooped up copying scriptures all day—wouldn't that be a waste of the autumn scenery?"

Gu Yuanzhi's heart sank. All that emotional performance, and he'd brushed it aside so casually.

"What does Your Excellency mean?"

"The spring water at Guzhu Mountain is sweet and clear, excellent for brewing tea. If Brother Song is willing, would you care to take a trip with me tomorrow? Consider it a chance to clear your mind." Duan Juanyan smiled.

Gu Yuanzhi's thoughts raced, but a light smile bloomed at the corners of her lips. "Your Excellency's refined taste—how could I refuse?" She clasped her hands in a bow. "Then I'll be troubling you."

Her plan having failed, Gu Yuanzhi rose to take her leave, and Duan Juanyan did not press her to stay.

She went instead to the market to buy meat. When she returned, a man in rough-spun clothes emerged from the alley, walked up to her bowing and smiling, and offered a lacquered food box.

"Master Song, my master sent me to bring you some food."

Gu Yuanzhi didn't think much of it—Duan Juanyan often sent meals. She thanked him, carried the box into the courtyard, and set it on the stone table. Qin Qi was sitting on the porch polishing his saber; seeing her return, he quickly stood up.

"Madam."

"Sit and rest. Lord Duan sent this. Your body is weak—you need the nourishment."

The smell of food filled the air. Qin Qi was already hungry. He grabbed a piece of fish, chewed a few times, then put down his chopsticks.

"Madam, this food is a bit too sweet—cloying." He took a mouthful of rice. "Not as light as what Lord Duan sent the other day. But this rice is fragrant and sticky—quite good."

He said it without thinking, but she took it to heart. Gu Yuanzhi's smile faded. Duan Juanyan preferred light flavors and disliked sweet, greasy food, and the dishes he sent reflected that.

She picked up a bit of rice and savored it carefully. Her eyes narrowed—it was actually the fragrant japonica rice from Songjiang Prefecture, tribute rice reserved exclusively for the imperial household.

Even her father, a Grand Secretary of the Cabinet, had only tasted it a few times when the emperor occasionally gifted it to him. Such a rare delicacy—how could Duan Juanyan, a mere local prefect, obtain it so easily and casually gift it to a down-and-out scholar he barely knew?

A chill ran up her spine. Who had actually sent this food?

Qin Qi noticed her expression change and asked with concern, "Madam, what's wrong?"

Gu Yuanzhi kept her face expressionless. "Nothing. Since you don't like it, just throw it away. No need to force it."

"Madam, don't—that would be such a waste."

Gu Yuanzhi pretended not to hear, grabbed the food box, and dumped the contents into the slop bucket in the back alley.

Dusk fell, and crows settled on the withered willows. She gazed at the quiet alley, a sense of unease creeping over her.

The peace in Huzhou was probably coming to an end.

*

The next day, Duan Juanyan and Gu Yuanzhi set out for Guzhu Mountain.

The two sat across from each other at the bow of the boat. The boatman poled the black-canopied vessel westward along the Zha River—a Huzhou waterway in the Yangtze basin that feeds into Lake Tai—for about three miles. The water widened, turning a hazy blue-green.

Having been cooped up for so long, Gu Yuanzhi felt her worldly cares washed away by the expansive scenery.

The first autumn frost was just arriving, and Duan Juanyan drew his crane-feather cloak tighter. A clay stove beside him warmed a pot of Ruoxia spring wine—a famous vintage from ancient Wucheng—perfect for warming the body. He poured a cup and handed it to Gu Yuanzhi.

He fingered his sandalwood prayer beads. "Brother Song, have a taste. This spring wine is known for being crisp and clean—perfect for a view like this."

Now disguised as a man, she acted with bold abandon. She tilted her head back and drank it all in one go, then praised: "Excellent wine. I've heard that at the Guzhu Mountain Tribute Tea Courtyard, there's the world's second-best spring, according to the Tea Sage. I wonder what it tastes like."

A faint smile rippled across Duan Juanyan's lips. "Once we arrive, we'll brew some fresh Zisun tea—a famous Huzhou tea—and find out."

Gu Yuanzhi changed the subject. "Lord Duan, did you send over that meal yesterday?"

"I did. Why, was it not to your liking?"

Gu Yuanzhi's heart relaxed slightly. Perhaps she had been overthinking. Xu Hanyun would hardly send gifts before resorting to force—he'd simply have her bound and dragged back.

She bowed her head in gratitude. "Thank you for your kindness, Your Excellency."

Duan Juanyan smiled warmly, his steady gaze settling on her, causing Gu Yuanzhi's heart to skip a beat. She looked away toward the water. Though she strove to imitate a man, the femininity in her features was hard to fully conceal, and she feared he might notice something amiss.

As she was lost in thought, a gust of north wind swept across the water, tearing the hemp headscarf from Gu Yuanzhi's head and sending it into the river. In that instant, the silk ribbon binding her hair loosened as well, and a cascade of thick, cloud-like black hair tumbled down over her shoulders.

The wind came so conveniently, as if by heaven's design—her identity as a woman could no longer be hidden. She let out a low cry and reached to gather her hair, but the strands tangled around her fingers, refusing to be tamed.

Duan Juanyan showed no sign of surprise, watching her with a faint smile. He stepped forward and removed a smooth white jade hairpin from his own coronet.

"The wind is strong—use this to pin it up for now." His voice was gentle and sincere, betraying not a trace of astonishment.

"Your Excellency, I..." Gu Yuanzhi lowered her head, not expecting this man to react so calmly.

He said nothing more, bending down to gather the hair at her temple. Gu Yuanzhi started, wanting to step back, but his low voice steadied her: "Don't move. Almost done."

He swept the dark locks behind her ear, loosely coiled them into a bun, and inserted the jade pin. Duan Juanyan stepped back, studied her for a moment, and said, "There."

Gu Yuanzhi touched the jade pin. "Lord Duan, actually... I did not mean to deceive you."

"Don't be afraid," he said. "I knew you were a woman long ago."

Gu Yuanzhi was momentarily stunned. Since they had met, her dealings with him had been mostly calculated, with little genuine intent behind her friendship. Now she found herself at a loss for words.

She simply bent down, cupped a handful of stream water in her slender hands, and patted it onto her face. The turmeric powder that darkened her complexion dissolved, and the clear water washed away the disguise, revealing her lotus-like visage.

She leaned languidly against the bow, turning back to look at Duan Juanyan, and said with a radiant smile: "Does Your Excellency still think this scripture-copying commission is a good bargain now?"

The sky and water merged into one color, mirroring her air of quiet refinement and radiant spirit. Duan Juanyan's eyes were clear, and he suddenly felt that the Guanyin statue he had enshrined for years, its features long blurred, had finally been given clear brows and eyes.

He gazed at her with an open expression, though unable to hide his admiration: "Your past, miss, is none of my business. If you trust me, tell me what's troubling you. If not, that's fine too. The two travel passes—I will still arrange them for you."

Gu Yuanzhi breathed a quiet sigh of relief inwardly. This move of hers had paid off.

"I help you also because you remind me of an old acquaintance," Duan Juanyan said warmly. "I've felt I've known you for a long time. I wonder, is the lotus root cake they used to offer at Xiangji Temple still as sweet as I remember?"

*

The night was cool, like water. On the official road, several carriages rolled along, flanked by a solemn escort.

Xu Hanyun sat with eyes closed inside the carriage, draped in a dark fox-fur cloak, his form swallowed by the shadows.

"Sir, shall we stop at the post station ahead to rest?" the driver asked from outside.

The carriage curtain did not move, only a cold voice emerged: "No need. Push on without stopping."

"Yes." The driver dared not question further and cracked his whip to urge the horses on.

Though he had submitted a memorial to inspect Huzhou as an imperial censor, the paperwork had wound its way through layers of approval and only today had the official document been issued. Knowing she was as stubborn as a reed—bending but never breaking—he didn't try to drag her back by force. Instead, he instructed the patrol office in Huzhou to keep watch, sending daily pigeon reports on her whereabouts and company.

He had read all the records. That woman had dumped out the food he'd sent, and only because it didn't suit the guards' palates. And with those tearful eyes that had once looked at him, she now gazed tenderly at another man. Xu Hanyun's chest tightened with a stifling ache.

He opened his eyes, his gaze cold as frost. "Spread the word: we're switching to the water route. No rest, day or night."

The map lay spread on the desk, his eyes fixed on the characters for Huzhou Prefecture.

This Duan Juanyan was the Earl of Yong'an's third son by a concubine—frail, unambitious, and still unwed. He'd been sent off to serve as prefect of Huzhou, far from the noble clans' power games.

The Yong'an Earl's house had been stripped of rank more than once, now holding only a hollow title. Xu Hanyun, who stood just below the Three Excellencies and Nine Ministers, had no reason to fear him.

He just wondered how she'd react when they met again—joy, fear, or cold indifference?

*

Wanghu Tower was a renowned teahouse in Huzhou Prefecture, now empty after being cleared of patrons by soldiers.

Duan Juanyan dismissed the officials and waited alone outside the teahouse, his stomach in knots. Since entering the city, this Lord Xu had kept a detached air and spoken in clipped phrases, making him impossible to read.

A west wind gusted suddenly beneath the eaves, and Duan Juanyan coughed lightly. After what felt like an age, an attendant summoned him, and he finally stepped inside.

The censor who had the whole court buzzing was even younger than the rumors said—and even more intimidating. Those phoenix eyes, sharp at the inner corners and sweeping outward, sent a chill down anyone's spine when they landed on them.

Duan Juanyan bowed deeply. "I've had a modest banquet prepared to welcome you, my lord."

"No need. I've no taste for extravagance." Xu Hanyun was likewise appraising the man before him.

As for looks, he was merely passable, with a sickly, herbal-medicine air about him. He was so gaunt a stiff breeze might knock him over—he probably couldn't lift a decent-sized sword. Had Gu Yuanzhi's standards sunk this low without him around?

Xu Hanyun sat down leisurely and took a sip of tea.

"Prefect Duan, young and accomplished," he said slowly. "To govern a whole prefecture at twenty-six—you've got a bright future ahead."

Given he could've been heir to the Earl of Yong'an, a fourth-rank prefect was a step down. He must be needling him. Duan Juanyan still replied respectfully, "Your Excellency flatters me."

Xu Hanyun tapped the table with slender fingers. "I observe that the city's population movement is considerable. Prefect Duan, are the household registrations and records of wandering residents in Huzhou Prefecture complete?"

Duan Juanyan maintained his gentle demeanor: "To answer Your Excellency, Huzhou Prefecture has always placed great importance on household registration and would not dare be negligent."

"Oh?" Xu Hanyun drew out the syllable. "Then good. This official will personally inspect them."

The black gauze hat seemed to weigh on his temples, and Duan Juanyan felt the burden almost too heavy to bear. The travel pass he had promised Miss Song was not yet completed—how could this Chief Censor Xu suddenly demand an audit? Pressure descended abruptly, his throat tightened, and he coughed until his body doubled over, his face growing even paler.

Xu Hanyun watched him, his gaze cold. Frail to this degree, unable even to sustain a few words. In appearance, temperament, and power, how could this man compare to him? Yet Gu Yuanzhi was willing to befriend him—had she taken a liking to this sickly look that stirred a woman's pity?

A cold sneer rose in his heart, and his resentment sank deeper. Xu Hanyun walked to the window to get some air, looking down at the bustling street.

At that moment below, Gu Yuanzhi had just emerged from the bookshop, carrying a stack of rice paper. Hearing the sound of a window being pushed open, she looked up inadvertently and froze in place.

A hand with long, slender fingers held a plain silk folding fan, gently lifting the green gauze window screen. The fan surface shifted, casting a glint of light that made her squint.

The window opened only a crack. Too far away, the face was obscured by the shadow of the curtain. She could not discern his brows, yet she felt inexplicably that a gaze was falling upon her faintly through the gap.

The surrounding clamor faded; she felt only silence at her ears, her heart pounding out of rhythm. Having known him for so long, she knew he liked to stand by the window, toying with something—a jade ruyi, a seal, or... a fan.

The rice paper in her arms scattered to the ground. Without stopping to pick it up, she hurriedly melted into the crowd and fled toward the commoners' quarters.

By nightfall, still nothing stirred. Only then did she feel she had been on edge all day. As she wondered where to go to relax, Prefect Duan's servant delivered a theater ticket.

It was for a newly staged play, *The Snow Pavilion Fate*, with the playwright credited as Master Yanshan.

Had there once been a man who, under a pen name, exchanged a thousand words with her on paper, each one striking a chord?