“Brother, I suddenly feel like time has passed so quickly.”
After returning to the Song Mansion, just as the carriage came to a steady stop, Song Youyi helped Song Ning down. She spoke softly, her voice gentle.
Song Ning tilted his head slightly, catching the unusual tone in her voice.
“It feels like I haven’t been at the Song Mansion for long, and yet you’re already about to leave,” Song Youyi said again, a faint, bitter smile appearing on her face.
The smile was light, but it could not hide the emotions quietly breaking apart beneath it.
Song Youyi had always felt there was endless time.
She believed the days ahead were long—she could take things slowly, draw closer little by little, let him gradually grow used to her presence.
She could seep into his life bit by bit, occupy space little by little, and push out those unimportant people one by one.
In her imagination, her brother would eventually fall out with Qi Chuyao because of various accidents.
That arrogant woman, Qi Chuyao, would sooner or later do something excessive.
She would despise him for being blind, embarrass him in public, and do something that neither family could fix.
Then the engagement would be canceled, and they would never meet again.
And after that?
Mother Song would be torn.
Two daughters—one far away at the Frontier, the other frail and sick at home.
Who should her brother’s future be entrusted to? After much thought, the only choice would be between her and her elder sister.
Her elder sister was far away at the Frontier, beyond reach no matter what.
In the end, that position would naturally fall to her.
She would marry her brother, and from then on, they would manage the Song Family together—day after day, year after year.
How wonderful.
But today, at the Qi Mansion, Mother Qi casually said, “The wedding date will be set for the day after tomorrow.”
That single sentence struck her heart like a heavy hammer.
It shook her thoughts, unsettled her emotions, and made her scream silently inside, unable to make a sound.
How did things turn out like this?
She suddenly snapped back to reality—her brother was getting married the day after tomorrow.
Not to her, but to Qi Chuyao, who had never truly looked at him.
Standing beside the carriage, her hand supporting Song Ning trembled slightly.
Song Ning could sense the girl’s reluctance. He smiled, freed one hand, and gently patted her head.
“I’m not going far,” he said softly. “I’ll still be in the Capital City. If you want to see me, you can come anytime.”
“And I’ll come back to stay at the Song Mansion when I have time.”
Hearing this did not make Song Youyi feel better. Instead, it made her even more troubled.
Her delicate, pale face was filled with gloom.
What did that mean?
It meant that once he was married, he would no longer stay at the Song Mansion.
It meant he would move into the Qi Mansion and spend every day and night with Qi Chuyao.
It meant that if she wanted to see him, she would have to send a formal request in advance, wait for permission, and watch the Qi Family’s expressions.
She pressed her lips together and said nothing.
Xia Ling stood nearby, quietly watching everything until Song Ning and Song Youyi parted ways.
Song Ning walked toward his own courtyard, while Song Youyi headed in the opposite direction.
Xia Ling quickly stepped forward, taking Song Youyi’s place and supporting Song Ning’s arm.
Her pink skirt fluttered, casting a soft shadow in the sunlight.
Xia Shuang secretly glanced at Song Youyi, then followed behind Song Ning with her sword in her arms.
At the slightest rustle of grass or faint sound of footsteps, she suddenly turned her head, her gaze sharp like a drawn blade.
Her hand instinctively pressed against the hilt of her sword, her face cold as frost.
But nothing happened. It seemed to have been her imagination.
Xia Shuang tilted her head in confusion, deciding it must have been a mistake, and continued following not far behind Song Ning.
——————
Song Youyi stood where she was, watching the three figures gradually disappear into the distance.
She watched Xia Ling holding Song Ning’s arm, leaning close to whisper something in his ear.
She watched Song Ning tilt his head slightly, a gentle smile on his face.
Her gaze darkened.
Why does Brother seem to treat everyone like this? How annoying.
How wonderful would it be if he treated only me this way?
Then she turned and walked toward her own courtyard.
Along the way, maids continuously greeted her.
“Greetings, Second Young Lady.”
“Second Young Lady has returned.”
Song Youyi did not stop walking. She merely nodded slightly in acknowledgment.
Her pace was slow and steady.
After bowing, the maids stepped aside automatically, lowering their heads and waiting until her skirt passed before daring to resume their work.
In the Song Mansion, everyone knew how formidable the Second Young Lady was.
Though frail and constantly taking medicine, her words carried great weight.
It was as if Mother Song intended to raise her to become the one who would manage the inner affairs of the Song Mansion in the future.
After passing through the last gate, Song Youyi finally entered her small courtyard.
It was not large, but it was exquisitely kept.
Under a tree stood a stone table with two stone stools. On the table was a set of celadon tea ware.
Further inside was a row of flower stands filled with various plants—some blooming, others only green leaves—all delicate varieties that required careful tending.
Song Youyi crossed the courtyard, stepped onto the stairs, and pushed open the door to her room.
A faint medicinal scent greeted her.
It was a smell she was so familiar with that she barely noticed it.
But if an outsider entered, they would surely frown at the bitter scent.
The room was not large, yet it was elegantly arranged.
A rosewood desk held brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone, along with several open books.
The pages were densely filled with neat annotations in her handwriting.
Beside the desk stood a bookshelf, neatly packed with all kinds of books—poetry, stories, medical texts, and miscellaneous notes.
Against the wall was a large carved bed, draped with light teal curtains that hung softly, concealing the scene within.
In the corner stood a dressing table with a mirror, combs, and cosmetics.
But those items were rarely used. She had been sick for years, her face always pale, and no amount of makeup could hide it.
Song Youyi closed the door, walked to the bed, bent down, and pulled out a box from underneath. A small lock hung on it.
She took a key from her sleeve and unlocked it.
Then she lifted the lid.
Inside were neatly folded white garments.
All kinds of white.
Moon white, plain white, silver white, frost white—shades of white layered together like a handful of gathered snow.
On top was a moon-white inner robe, soft in texture, with faint bamboo leaf patterns embroidered along the collar.
It belonged to Song Ning. Xia Ling had sent it over to be washed a few days ago, but she had kept it.
Beneath it was a plain white sleeping robe, thin and soft, folded neatly. That, too, was his.
Below that was an outer garment, also white, with a small ink stain near the hem.
That stain came from when Song Ning accidentally splashed ink while practicing calligraphy. She had kept that as well.
There were handkerchiefs, hair ribbons, socks… all of them his.
All gathered bit by bit over these past days.
Song Youyi reached out and gently brushed her hand over the clothes.
Then she picked up the top inner robe and held it tightly in her arms.
She buried her face deep into it.
A faint scent of soap lingered on the fabric, along with a trace of his presence.