Snow falls and the wind blows

Chapter 15

Jiang Cheng's cooking skills are excellent. The carp is tender and succulent, and when dipped in the sweet and sour broth, it's incredibly delicious with rice. Two vegetarian dishes—one with diced green beans, water chestnuts, and bamboo shoots, and the other with tofu and diced mushrooms in a thickened sauce—are refreshing and perfect accompaniments to drinks. The two clinked glasses, eating and drinking, chatting casually.

Jiang Cheng was quite talkative in private, and when he told stories, he did so with a mix of teasing and playful banter that made everyone chuckle. Xiao Duan drank one glass of wine after another, and every now and then Jiang Cheng would urge him to eat, which gradually made him relax. His body, which had been slightly stiff, gradually relaxed, and his phoenix eyes were no longer as cold as usual, with a faint smile playing on his lips.

Jiang Cheng took another sip of wine, his brow furrowing slightly as he said slowly, "Xiao Duan, you'd better keep your distance from those two. They don't look like people to mess with. Especially that guy surnamed Zhao..."

Xiao Duan nodded, swallowed the food in his mouth, and said softly, "I know."

"That Zhao, Zhao Ting, right?" Jiang Cheng glanced at Xiao Duan as if seeking confirmation, while scooping up a spoonful of tofu: "I always feel that the way he looks at you is a bit strange, you should be careful about that."

Xiao Duan paused, his hand still raised to his lips, nodded slightly, and then downed his drink in one gulp. The two chatted for a while longer. Jiang Cheng got up to clear the dishes, and Xiao Duan offered to help, but Jiang Cheng pushed him towards the door, saying, "It's getting late. Your inn isn't close to here, is it? Hurry back, hurry back. Don't you have to investigate a case first thing tomorrow morning? Go back to sleep!"

Xiao Duan was pushed out the door by him, and sighed helplessly, "I'm leaving now. Thank you for tonight, Brother Jiang. See you tomorrow."

Jiang Cheng waved to him, signaling him to hurry up. Xiao Duan turned around and walked slowly back to the inn.

Author's Note: Hmm... Daily updates~

I feel so sorry for Duan from our family~

17

Chapter Twelve: The Person Is Gone • Fragments...

Xiao Duan stepped out of the inn and reached the first fork in the road. There, he saw the two men already standing. One was dressed in a flowing white robe, gently waving a folding fan, while the other stood with his hands behind his back, wearing a dark, narrow robe with a cross-collar and right-fastening. Upon seeing Xiao Duan, Zhan Yun waved repeatedly. Xiao Duan nodded and quickened his pace to stand before the two men.

The two walked on either side of Xiao Duan. Zhan Yun folded his fan and turned to examine Xiao Duan's face. His complexion was a little pale, but his spirits were quite good, and there were no shadows under his eyes. Judging from this, he must have slept well last night. Xiao Duan glanced at him, and Zhan Yun asked somewhat flusteredly, "Uh… Xiao Duan, did you take that medicine last night? Was it effective?"

Xiao Duan nodded: "Very effective, thank you."

Upon hearing the word "effective," Zhan Yun was overjoyed. Just as he was about to say something, he smelled a rich and fragrant aroma of chicken soup. Turning around, he realized that he had been following Xiao Duan all the way to a wonton stall.

"Have you had breakfast?" Xiao Duan found an empty table, sat on a bench, and looked up to ask the two. Zhao Ting and Zhan Yun hadn't even thought about breakfast and were momentarily stunned. Zhan Yun had been focused on talking to Xiao Duan, asking about his injuries. Zhao Ting, while listening to their conversation, had been thinking about Xiao Duan having dinner and drinks with that Uncle Jiang last night.

Seeing the two of them still in a daze, Xiao Duan sighed inwardly and patiently asked again. The two snapped out of their daze at the same time, shaking their heads in unison, their four eyes lighting up simultaneously. This wonton soup smells so good! Xiao Duan is really amazing; he always manages to find delicious and cheap places.

He ordered three bowls of wontons, two steamers of xiaolongbao (soup dumplings), and two dishes of pickles. Xiao Duan sat there quietly, his phoenix eyes half-closed, lost in thought. The two people sitting opposite him were somewhat exasperated. This guy was good in every way, except he was incredibly quiet. If no one initiated conversation, he could probably sit there all day without saying a word, without getting bored. Even if someone tried to start a conversation, it depended on whether the topic was interesting; otherwise, he wouldn't bother to engage.

Actually, some people are born quiet, while others develop this quietness gradually. Sometimes, when Xiao Duan drinks a bit more, she recalls herself before the age of nine, and her first instinct is often to touch her face. When she was little, her mother always teased her, saying that it wasn't good for a girl to be so talkative and cheerful; she was afraid her future husband's family wouldn't want her! She was told she should be reserved and gentle, listen more and speak less, smile without showing her teeth, and move with light, graceful steps—only then could she have the demeanor and elegance of a well-bred lady.

Xiao Duan raised his hand to his forehead. Had he drunk too much last night? Why was he thinking about those things so early in the morning? If he still couldn't forget those things ten years ago, then seven years ago, they should have been buried with a handful of yellow earth. From then on, no matter where it was, he should never have held onto those memories again.

"Young master, your wontons. Bringing friends over today?" A steaming bowl of wonton soup sat before him. Suddenly, Xiao Duan felt his eyes dry and his temples throbbed. He nodded and whispered his thanks, inwardly berating himself for drinking that bottle of wine last night. Last night, after leaving his home in Jiangcheng, he reached the inn's entrance, feeling a tightness in his chest with nowhere to vent. He gritted his teeth, turned around, and went to the night market in the east of the city, buying a bottle of "Rose Drunk." He drank as he walked, finishing it all by the time he reached the inn. Back in his room, he didn't even take off his shoes before collapsing onto the bed and falling asleep.

Fortunately, no matter how well she slept each night, she would wake up on time the next morning. Xiao Duan washed her face with cold water, dried herself, brushed her teeth with fine salt, and drank a glass of cold water. Her mind cleared up a bit. She took out the medicine bottle Zhan Yun had given her the day before, applied some ointment to the wound on her left shoulder, took out a light blue long robe from her bundle, changed into it, tied her hair up, and hurriedly went out.

"Did you drink too much last night?" Zhao Ting took a bite of a steaming hot xiaolongbao, chewing as he carefully observed Xiao Duan's complexion.

Xiao Duan remained silent, quietly eating his wontons. Zhao Ting waited a while but still received no reply from Xiao Duan. His brows furrowed more and more, and he felt increasingly uneasy. If this were in the past, and the other person didn't look up, answer, or acknowledge him, Zhao Ting's temper would have flared up, and he would have stormed off! But with Xiao Duan, looking at his calm and composed face, his clear and aloof phoenix eyes, and his slightly pursed lips, Zhao Ting sighed. The more he looked at him, the less angry he became; he could only suffer in silence.

The little girl selling wontons was initially quite happy to see Xiao Duan arrive, bringing him wontons and steamed buns repeatedly and striking up conversations with him. However, the young master's complexion was rather unwell today; he was even paler than usual, his usually rosy lips devoid of color. He remained silent when she spoke to him, and the young master in the black robe sitting at the opposite table looked rather fierce. The little girl pouted; it seemed she wouldn't have a chance to speak to that young master today.

Dipping the buns in black vinegar and finely chopped ginger and cilantro, Zhao Ting devoured them one after another, finishing the entire steamer basket in no time. He gestured for the maid in red to bring him another basket, but then noticed Xiao Duan glancing at him with a rather disdainful expression. Zhao Ting raised an eyebrow, glanced at Zhan Yun, who smiled faintly, and scooped up a wonton: "These are enough for me."

Zhao Ting's lips twitched. "You brat! You usually eat about the same as me, so how come a steamer of buns and a bowl of wontons were enough for you today? You're clearly trying to embarrass me! And that guy across the table, what's with the glare? You're so skinny because you don't eat enough! You're not short, only half a head shorter than me. But look at your waist, your wrists, and that bit of leg you showed the other day—you're thinner than most girls! You don't look like a man at all!"

Little Duan had no idea that a mere glance from him would lead Prince Zhao to so much speculation. He simply wanted to finish his meal quickly so he could hurry over to Song Qiao's house to find someone. Who knew that after downing half a bowl of wontons and half a bowl of rice, this guy would order another basket and keep eating!

The three of them, each lost in their own thoughts, quietly finished the rest of their meal. As they were leaving, Zhao Ting noticed the little girl in red staring intently at Xiao Duan with her large, blinking eyes. He pursed his thin lips and cursed inwardly. "That brat, always attracting women!"

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Song Qiao was still wearing a slightly faded white long gown. When she opened the door and saw the three people standing outside, she showed no surprise and said nothing. She simply stepped aside slightly to invite the guests in first.

In the dim light, Song Qiao's pale face showed signs of exhaustion, her brows furrowed deeper, and her eyes, like cold stars in the sky, were tinged with a faint red, as if she hadn't slept all night. The three sat down at the round table. Song Qiao picked up the teapot, went outside to add some hot water, and returned to the room. As she poured tea for the three of them, she said in a low voice, "This is some pre-Qingming tea that came in a few days ago. It's not top-grade, but the buds are very tender, and the flavor is quite refreshing."

Xiao Duan thanked him softly, took the teacup, took a sip, and looked around the room. He couldn't help but smile slightly. This Song Qiao was truly a refined person. Zhan Yun put away his folding fan, took the cup, took a sip, and praised in a gentle voice, "Indeed, it is sweet and lingering. Although it is not top-grade, it is still a rare find."

Zhao Ting, however, took the teacup but did not drink from it. He slammed the teacup on the table and said coldly, "I waited for you outside the door for a long time last night. I wonder what you were busy with all day yesterday."

The question was direct and impolite, but Song Qiao didn't seem to mind. Holding her teacup, she took a sip of hot tea, and a smile deepened on her lips, but the pain in her eyes grew stronger: "Yesterday was the anniversary of a deceased friend's death. I went to the Misty Slope in the western suburbs of the city and stayed with her for a day and a night."

Xiao Duan put down his teacup, his phoenix eyes meeting Song Qiao's cold gaze: "Would it be convenient for you to reveal the name of this old friend?"

Song Qiao smiled leisurely, gently rubbing the side of the cup with her slender index finger: "Didn't you all find out? Otherwise, why would you come here to find me?"

“We haven’t investigated, we’re just guessing,” Xiao Duan said, his voice even colder.

"Does the layman mean to admit that he had a very close personal relationship with Miss Han Jinglian?" Zhan Yun narrowed his crescent-shaped eyes, his expression slightly darkening.

Song Qiao's smile deepened as she said, word by word, "It's not that we have a deep personal relationship, but that we were once engaged in a lifelong commitment."

"Do you know why Han Jinglian committed suicide by drowning herself in the lake back then?" Zhao Ting asked, his dark eyes fixed on Song Qiao, who was drinking tea with her eyes down.

Song Qiao's hands trembled slightly, and his eyes, which had always been as bright as the stars, gradually became misty. Through this mist, others could not see the expression in his eyes, and he himself could not see the scene in front of him clearly. He took another sip of hot tea, then gently closed his eyes, letting the tears well up in his eyes and eventually disappear.

After a long silence, Song Qiao finally spoke, "I know." He opened his eyes, but still didn't look up. Gazing at the clear tea in his cup, the beautiful and delicate face of the woman reappeared in his mind, and her soft and sweet voice seemed to echo in his ears again: "Brother Song, you must come back soon."

Song Qiao suddenly looked up, her gaze falling on the doorway. The sky was already bright, a deep blue, with large, fluffy white clouds—a truly beautiful day. But she was gone; the scenery, however beautiful, was now empty. Lian'er, how could you be so foolish? Song Qiao's pale purple lips trembled slightly: "She once wrote me a letter. But it was sent through someone else... six months after her death. In the letter, she mentioned her father's business failure and the loss of their fortune. She said she felt unworthy of me and feared she wouldn't live to see me return..."

Song Qiao took a deep breath, his deep voice tinged with a hint of hoarseness: "I came in third in the exam, was granted the title of Jinshi, and could have returned home in glory to marry her, but she's gone..." Song Qiao didn't speak again, his bright, star-like eyes glistening with tears, yet a faint smile remained on his lips. Despite being such a proud and aloof person, the expression on his face at this moment was unbearable to look at.

Zhan Yun was the first to break the silence, taking out the book "Collection of Flowers Among the Flowers" and the light yellow letter paper from his bosom, and placing them in front of Song Qiao: "Layman."

Song Qiao's eyes flickered. She picked up the book, opened the title page, and gently traced the three characters "Zhou Wanxiao" with her fingers. She looked up at the three people and said, "I bought this book with Miss Zhou a few days ago. What's wrong?"