Chapter 115: State of Mind (Part II)

When she woke up again, it was already morning. The sky was overcast and threatened rain, the air heavy and slightly stifling. Her husband was no longer by the window, and Xiaochan had gone to rest, replaced by Juan’er and Xing’er, who were keeping watch. According to Juan’er, the old master had stopped by earlier; seeing her asleep, he had signaled them not to wake her. He had merely asked in passing what the charts on the table were for, and upon learning they were Ning Yi’s work, he hadn’t pressed further, simply telling them to let her rest well.

A single night was not enough to break the high fever. She drank another bowl of medicine, her head feeling heavy and clouded, her mouth filled with bitterness. The anxiety in her heart remained; even though Liheng had said those words yesterday, what would happen in the end? She already knew, in a way, but she was unwilling to accept it—after all, she had put so much effort into this.

The absence of that figure in the room left her feeling a vast sense of emptiness, but she eventually drifted back into a hazy sleep. This time, unlike the early morning, she was plagued by a succession of nightmares that denied her any peace. When she woke again, it was past noon. Ning Yi was sitting in the chair by the window once more, speaking in a low voice to Juan’er, who stood nearby. They were discussing the accounts from the previous year, and Juan’er was whispering explanations for certain entries.

Xiaochan approached and said, "Miss, you’re awake?" Ning Yi and Juan’er turned around.

Her body felt weary; she had no desire to speak or move. Xiaochan came over to prop up her pillows, and Liheng reached out to rest his hand on her forehead. Aside from last night, they had never shared such intimate contact, yet it felt natural. After checking her temperature with his palm, the man nodded. "It seems a bit better. Let’s have Dr. Sun come by in a little while." He then muttered something about "forty degrees yesterday," words whose meaning she didn't quite grasp.

Xiaochan brought over a bowl of congee and "forced" her to drink a few small spoonfuls. Shortly after, Dr. Sun arrived to ask about her condition. Xiaochan spoke occasionally, while Liheng remained at the table, reviewing ledgers and making notes, only speaking now and then. She lay there watching them move about. Sometimes, she and Ning Yi were the only ones in the room. His back, visible from the table, moved with a swift, precise, and methodical rhythm that gave her a strange sense of stability, calming her spirit.

By dusk, the sky had darkened, and rain began to fall outside the window. The fresh air drifted into the room, carrying the scent of damp earth.

She drifted in and out of sleep. That evening, Shopkeeper Liao and the others did not come to the manor, and the restless lights that had flickered through the rain for the past several days were absent. What were they doing? Had there been any changes in the business? She wondered about these things occasionally. With only Ning Yi, Chan’er, Juan’er, and Xing’er in the room, and several sheets of rice paper hung on the walls—which Liheng would glance at from time to time—the room took on a strange, indefinable quality that added to the quiet atmosphere.

Although her bedroom was often used for business and was grander than those of most young ladies of noble birth, it still contained the decorations and trinkets typical of a girl. Yet, the addition of these sheets of paper seemed to shatter that air. Most of the time, the room remained quiet. Chan’er, Juan’er, and Xing’er spoke to her and Liheng in hushed tones, their movements soft as they came and went. Mingled with the sound of the rain, Liheng’s focused industry possessed a certain order that brought a profound sense of peace.

It was only that night that the thought from the early morning became clearer: her husband was a scholar, perhaps even the greatest talent in Jiangning.

Years ago, before she was married, when she was still just a girl, she had longed for such things. She had imagined more than once that she would marry a man of immense talent. Though she was a merchant’s daughter, her family was wealthy enough that such a match was not impossible.

As she grew to understand the ways of the world, those fantasies had faded, but the longing remained. She had been eager to hear the stories of talented scholars and beautiful women that circulated in Jiangning—of Cao Guan, Li Ping, and others who rose to fame, or the rumors of duels at poetry gatherings. Even when she attended the Puyuan Poetry Club, it was mostly for business, but hearing about other gatherings and seeing fine poetry made her feel it was worth her time. It was as if it belonged to another world, but that didn't stop her from admiring and longing for it.

And yet, life was life. She followed the established plan, married, and brought a husband into her home. He was called a scholar, but he had nothing to do with being a "talent"; he was merely a bookworm. Life continued, and she could still admire those great poets. But when her own husband turned out not to be as dull as she had expected, and when certain things began to align, she felt lost.

Her husband was being called the greatest talent in Jiangning. How was she supposed to react? She felt none of the hallmarks of a great scholar or writer here. In the stories and operas she had heard, the great talents were always quoting classics and debating, or in the more unconventional tales, displaying their brilliance at every turn. They were always the center of attention, distant and unapproachable. She had once dreamed of marrying such a man, imagining exchanges like, "You have worked hard, my lord," and "Thank you for your concern, my lady"—formal and distant, just like on stage. But if that distance were gone, what would it be like?

He spoke simply and casually, without arrogance or boasting, with a touch of wit—and yet, this was the man people called the greatest talent. She often looked at those two poems he had written. Their relationship was not like a typical couple; sometimes they were like friends. She had never heard of such friends—they would go to the second floor every few days to talk, about anything at all. Could a man and a woman be such friends? In legends, women often disguised themselves as men to make friends, but she hadn't disguised herself. Did such a marriage exist? She had never heard of one.

She liked this feeling, liked it so much that she didn't know how to change it, or how to take it further. The realization that her husband was a great talent had always been blurry for her, but now it was becoming clear.

From afternoon until evening, she heard him ask a few quiet questions, all of which touched on the most critical points of the accounts from the past few years. Her husband was a clever man, and he was working on these things in earnest. Su Tan’er realized this quickly. But no matter how gifted someone was, there were some things they were powerless to change. Her husband was a great talent, and she was a merchant’s daughter; these things were supposed to be her burden, and she had always strived to handle them well, to keep them from troubling him. Yet, in the end, she had dragged him into it.

The outcome didn't matter here. Her husband couldn't possibly do this well. To comfort her, he had said, "I will definitely handle it." But these things couldn't be solved by determination alone. Regardless, after bringing him into her home, she had ended up burdening him with these matters...

She thought of these things as she drifted in and out of sleep. By midnight, the rain was still falling, but the night felt quiet. The lamplight flickered, and only Liheng’s back was visible as he sat in the chair, reviewing letters from shopkeepers in various regions. Sensing movement, he turned around, set down the correspondence, and stood up to come over.

"Awake? Do you want some water?"

"Mmm..." Su Tan’er nodded slightly.

Ning Yi propped up her pillows and poured a cup of warm water, feeding her a few small sips. "Xing’er and Juan’er are asleep, and Xiaochan is exhausted today, so I tricked her into resting for a bit. But you should be awake when it’s time for your medicine. Uh, if you need to..." Ning Yi looked at her and hesitated for a moment before standing up. "I’ll go call Xiaochan."

There was a reason for his hesitation. He had purposefully disappeared a few times during the day to give her privacy to get out of bed, though her cold was severe enough that she didn't really have the strength to do so. These private matters were difficult to bring up. Under normal circumstances, Su Tan’er’s face would have been burning with shame, but now she only felt a slight embarrassment. Seeing him about to leave, she spoke up. "Husband... there’s no need..." As he paused, she whispered, "You truly are... unreserved." Of course, if he were completely indifferent or didn't think of these things at all, it would be she who suffered.

Ning Yi smiled. "Feeling a bit better?"

"A bit better..."

"The fever should break in another two or three days." Ning Yi looked at her for a moment. He had much he could say, but in the end, he shook his head. "I know your heart is troubled. I won't disturb you. If you want to eat or need anything else, just tell me."

He picked up a letter and sat in a chair nearby. The room fell silent, the autumn rain outside becoming a mere backdrop. Su Tan’er watched him for a long time before finally asking, "Husband... why did you agree to this marriage?"

They had spoken of similar things in the past, but the question felt different now. Ning Yi set down the letter and looked at Su Tan’er on the bed. After a long silence, he smiled and shook his head. "I’ve thought about talking to you about this, but... perhaps in a few days, when you’re a bit clearer-headed? You don't look well right now."

"I am fine... I want to... I want to know," Su Tan’er said slowly. "So, you have thought about it too?"

"It’s not about why I agreed to the marriage." Ning Yi set the letter aside, moved his chair to the bedside, and sat down. "I’ve told you before—I don't know why I agreed to it. I lost my memory. What I want to talk about isn't what happened before the memory loss, but... what happened after."

"What happened after?"

Ning Yi looked at her for a while and sighed before laughing. "Are you sure you want to hear this now?"

Su Tan’er forced a smile. "If I don't hear it, I won't be able to sleep..."

"Alright." Ning Yi nodded. Knowing her consciousness was limited, he spoke slowly, pausing at times. "It’s actually a very simple matter, and if I don't say it now, I would have had to say it eventually. A man named Ning Yi married a woman named Su Tan’er. It was a matrilocal marriage, and that is how we met. That is a fact. Let’s not dwell on it—whether it was fate or a twist of fortune, we are together now. You are part of this. How do you see it?"

Su Tan’er frowned, trying to understand the meaning behind his words. "I... I am very happy..."

Ning Yi patted her hand and paused. "What others say is empty—all that talk about 'talents' or 'matrilocal marriage'... the fact remains. Life is simple. As for me, I don't have many opinions on being a matrilocal husband. As for you, I don't dislike you... No, let me be direct: I like you. Whether it’s your business sense or your personality—you are headstrong, but that's not a bad thing. I like that personality. Besides, you are quite beautiful..."

Ning Yi rested his chin on one hand by the bedside, his tone calm and peaceful, as if he were simply saying whatever came to mind. Su Tan’er was caught off guard, and even in her weakened state, a blush spread across her face. She stammered shyly, "Husband, husband... is it true... you like me?"

"Yes, I like you."

"But... but this is not the character of a lady of noble birth. They say a woman without talent is virtuous, that a woman... shouldn't be like this. They all say... that men don't like this..." She rambled incoherently for a while, and even in her illness, she used her eyes to emphasize her points. A moment later, she became dejected. "I... I am not worthy of you..."

"You love to argue even at a time like this. In the eyes of others, I am just a man living off his wife, but you are more capable than many men..."

"It’s not that you have no ability, husband..."

Ning Yi smiled. "There’s no need to belittle yourself now. These things aren't important, and we wouldn't reach a conclusion even if we argued until tomorrow. It’s just between us. I have no complaints about our life. I like you, I like this courtyard, I like Chan’er, Juan’er, and Xing’er. There are some boring people around us, doing boring things, but overall, living like this is fine. It’s quite good. That’s why I wanted to tell you this."

He squeezed her weak hand. Her fingers were smooth and slender, beautiful. He played with them for a moment before settling. "If you don't have too many complaints either, then perhaps we will continue like this... Regardless of how it was arranged in the past, the situation is what it is. No need to think about why. Since we don't dislike each other, that’s enough."

He pulled her hand, waiting for an answer. For Ning Yi, this was a rather important decision. When he first woke up, he had been prepared to leave at any moment; later, he had simply observed. But now, some things could be settled. There was no need to dwell on romantic ideals—since they were husband and wife, and he didn't dislike her character, and they got along well enough, it didn't matter whether things changed or not. The future was simply life itself.

Su Tan’er looked at him, blinking her eyes repeatedly. Her eyes turned red, and tears began to fall. She bit her lip, unable to speak. Ning Yi waited for a long time before bowing his head and smiling. "No matter what, you have to give me an answer..."

"Husband..." Su Tan’er’s lips moved. "After this is over, and I am feeling better, we..." Her voice was choked with emotion and slightly hoarse, but her gaze was resolute. In the rainy night, she paused for a moment and sniffled.

"Let us consummate our marriage..."

It was not easy for her to say those words.