Chapter 132: Marriage Prospects

It was a dream of terror—all struggle fruitless—knowing the end was ruin—unable to stop—watching all march past recall.
She was the murderer.
Thunder rolled—early winter yet such lightning—Shen Miao bolted upright, gasping.
Her hand clutched something unconsciously—someone patted her back—light, steady, calming—she leaned in his arms—clutched his collar—face and head drenched in sweat—almost suffocating.
He was patient—let her curl—paused—hand on the back of her head—pressed her into his chest. She shook violently—bit his shoulder—he flinched but did not move—only soothed her head.
Long after—thunder faded—only rain whispering through the window. Her heart calmed—she released—nose touched something cold—a gold button.
An intimate pose.
She sat up slowly from his arms.
He rose—soon lamp lit—someone set an oil lamp on the table by the couch—he sat on the couch edge. Deep-colored handsome brows—elegant as ever—Xie Jingxing. Under the lamp his gaze held less play, more comfort—faint concern.
Her heart contracted.
Trapped in nightmare unable to wake—the dream felt not dream but truth lived. Shock at the horror—moment's loss—warmth like a drowning hand on straw—she clutched and would not let go—forgot his midnight visit itself was suspicious.
Her locked secret seemed cracked—and before her the sharpest hunter—Xie Jingxing's eyes like torches—from a phrase he might guess all.
"What did you dream?" He trimmed excess wick in the lamp—even that motion under light was perfect silhouette—pleasing.
"Only a nightmare." She lowered eyes—voice still unsteady a moment.
He paused, turned. "You have fear too?"
Anger rose suddenly. "I am not Prince Rui—life in this world is hard—of course I fear."
He looked at her—beautiful eyes—best peach shape—usually half frivolous half earnest—hard to read—women could drown. Now toward her they were autumn pool—ink jade deep—emotion hard to catch. He said. "Don't fear—just a dream."
Her nose stung—inexplicable grief welled. She thought rebirth controlled feeling well—hate and love sometimes slipped—after burst she tidied clean. Tonight's dream—hard to face—perhaps rain too bleak—perhaps his gaze too gentle—hard heart softened—wanted somewhere to cry loud.
Vision swam—something on her face—she looked up—he held a handkerchief—wiping her tears.
She cried at last.
His fingers long—slightly bowed—gentle motion—earnest as finest craft—lashes lowered—handsome as painting—day's cold and mischief gone—gentlest companion—like elder brother—like friend.
She was dazed—until he finished, saw her stare, raised a brow. "Done crying?"
She looked away. "Thank you." This thanks—not dry mock as before—first time so mild.
He looked surprised—suddenly smiled—ruffled her head. "What did you dream? You called Madam Shen again and again—where did you go wrong?"
Her heart jolted—looked at him. "What did I say asleep?"
He mused. "Said Madam you were wrong—sorry to Madam." Thoughtful. "What fault in the dream—so grave?"
She exhaled relief—evasive. "Nothing—just a dream." He saw the ease—fingers curled slightly.
"But—" she remembered—looked at him. "Why come so late?" She did not notice—midnight intrusions were habit now—no anger in the question—as if ordinary.
He drew a letter from his sleeve. "Meant to give you a gift."
She looked puzzled—opened—stared.
Dense lines—not other than Zaiqing's affairs in Liuzhou—including husband and son she abandoned—secrets all hers. She paused—not at content—but that he gave it.
"You don't seem surprised." He glanced. "Knew already?"
"Still thank Prince Rui's kindness." She folded the letter. "Please don't meddle—I will handle it."
He watched a while—shook head, laughed. "This prince meddled."
She was silent—a while—the room felt tight. Eyes dropped to the corner of his robe by the couch—rich cloth—gold thread fine. She felt his probing gaze—looked up—tried calm eye contact. "If nothing else—go back."
He stared.
She frowned slightly. He pulled her from nightmare—thanks owed. But who was he—see a thread, know the weave—longer with him—nothing left. She would not bare secrets—his identity too sensitive—even without hostility she dared not trust fully.
He said. "Rain this heavy—you send me away?"
Rain with fading thunder—as if all night. His words almost made her forget the ache. "Will Prince Rui stay the night then?"
His brows moved. "Good idea."
"Xie Jingxing!" she hissed low.
"You say my style name smoothly." He stuffed the tear-wiping cloth into her hand. "Sleep. I leave when rain stops."
She fumed—the slight warmth in the room vanished. What maiden sleeps with a strange man watching—absurd—he always did such things.
"With Prince Rui here I cannot sleep." Flat face. His interruption scattered the gloom from Zaiqing—her brow eased.
He lifted her chin—forced her meet his eyes—slow. "Look clear—this prince is imperial blood—true dragon qi guards. With me here—no demons dare—no nightmares."
She laughed cold instead of rage—twisted free. "So I should thank Prince Rui?"
"Correct."
She glared—but mood lightened—he asked nothing else—whether he guessed or pretended not to know—escape. No strength for more—his silence was help. Bickering now was trifling.
He went to the window—pulled it shut against rain—sat at the table not far, took a book—as if to read. Without turning. "With this prince here—you may sleep secure."
She moved her lips—said nothing. Outside wind and rain—thunder frightening. She wrapped in quilt—only head out—eyes drifted to the man at the table.
Even seated he was tall and straight—turning pages seriously. Profile devastating—pale lamp light—whole person gentler—past playboy shed—steady, warm—shadow could block all storm—say nothing—yet trust stirred.
Deep schemer—cold, ruthless—deceived the realm—had desperate resolve. Fool royalty—swap dragon for phoenix—playful surface—clouds in one hand. Not a good man—yet not as heartless as imagined.
Sorrow and pain in the storm seemed veiled by pale lamplight—she slowly closed her eyes.
Rain stopped long after—oil lamp a thread—flame swaying—near out.
Purple-robed youth closed the book—stood—walked to the bed.
On the bed the girl slept peaceful—even breath. Long hair on the pillow—eyes closed without daily dignity—more childlike—innocence showing.
She was only sixteen—a girl. Ordinary families—sixteen—think which boy is handsome—which sachet smells best.
His gaze was complex.
From first meeting she had just come of age—yet showed age-opposite shrewdness—not calm alone—Shen house's plight complex—she never seemed flustered—block generals, dam waters—as if foreseen.
Yet still a girl—as her pet name—Jiaojiao—should be pampered—forced to grow. Never showing weakness did not mean none—waking from nightmare—despair in her eyes enough to shake.
She clutched his robe—trembling all over—as if vast horror—yet in a breath returned to dignified poise—wounded beast showing strength always—once enemy sees the wound—cut without mercy.
He was puzzled—not kind—had ruthlessness others lacked—yet facing her always a margin. From first meeting his stance was retreat. He yielded.
He did not know why.
As if saying rain had not stopped—only to watch her sleep. She feared yet showed brave—he could only pretend not to see.
Rain stopped—he tucked her quilt—lowered the curtain—left the room.
On the bed her lashes stirred—she did not open eyes.
One wall from Shen house—the neighboring property was Rui's now. Xie Jingxing came out—Tieyi and Nanqi hurried after.
"Palace invitation—accept again." he said.
Tieyi blinked. "Master said you would not go?"
"Changed mind." A glance.
Tieyi hurried yes—still puzzled. Princes of Ming Qi and Qin crown prince had invited—he refused to be drawn in—why now? He stole a look—master's brows cold—more confusion.
Xie Jingxing's eyes were cold.
In Shen Miao's dream she had called not only Luo Xueyan—but Prince Ding Fu Xiuyi.
Never love Fu Xiuyi again—his lip curled mock—love?
Loved—always an irritating word.
……
Winter thunder in Ding made the next day suddenly colder—as if deep winter in one night. People talked of last night's rain—said it came abrupt.
"Rain without warning—forgot the courtyard flowers—when I thought, several pots shattered—usually tended with care—pity." Chen Ruoqiu dressed Shen Wan, spoke of the rain.
Chen loved elegance—even rare flowers. Shen Wan listened absently—eyes not on her.
Chen noticed, smiled. "Master has worries?"
Shen Wan recovered, looked at her. "I think—Yue girl is marriage age."
Chen's heart thumped—smiled. "I know—always seeking a match—must choose slowly—cannot marry Yue blindly—Master pities her too."
"Two years you've looked." This time he was not brushed off—face stern. "From sixteen—two full years. Other girls wed or betrothed—drag longer and good houses pass. The families I gave you—solid. I checked—matched standing—clean houses—Yue won't suffer."
"Still—" Chen forced smile—"need time for Yue to know them."
"Two years—every family she refuses—you indulge." Shen Wan's eyes sharp. "Our branch is not poor—Yue's heart is too high. If she clings to wrong hope and drags us down—gain not worth loss."
His look had meaning—Chen's heart jumped. Shen Wan was no fool—Yue refusing every match—a father suspects. Yue's heart was Prince Ding—if Shen Wan knew—he would not spare Yue.
"Some houses we cannot reach." Shen Wan spoke layered. "Make Yue plant feet on ground—kill wrong thoughts early. Mud deep—late to climb out."
Cold sweat on Chen. Years as wife—she could bet—Shen Wan knew Yue's mind. Yet Yue's temper Chen knew best—when Shen Miao was here Yue already fixed on Ding—now without Shen Miao Yue would die rather than yield—marry another—Yue would resist to death.
"But Master—" Chen tried once more for Yue—"Yue is still young—some things cannot rush—you doted on her—won't you understand this once?"
Shen Wan breathed deep—looked at Chen—disappointment in his eyes. "Madam always saw the big picture—why muddled now. Prince Ding is not what he seems. When first branch held troops, Shen house had blades—Ding had caution. Now split—we two are civil officials—smooth paths—Ding won't value us. Ding's wife must help his cause. Yue means little—how main consort? At best side room. Even if she wins favor—how fight a consort with great clan behind? Yue loses."
Chen broke cold sweat—she thought Shen Wan opposed because he did not favor Ding in succession fight—now Shen Wan spoke of Ding not as ordinary man but one who weighed gain and loss—hard to have true heart—even with heart—watch her legitimate daughter bow to another woman—Chen would not.
She said. "So—I was shallow. Master thinks everywhere for Yue—I blamed Master—all my fault."
"Don't blame you alone." Shen Wan sighed. "Yue's temper grew prouder—you must discipline—less trouble later. I had men compile good Ding youths into a book—sent to you soon. Pick some—let Yue meet them." Pause. "This truly cannot drag."
Chen had just learned—now aligned with Shen Wan—agreed at once. After he left to court the book arrived—she marked suitable names—truly planned to take Yue visiting.
She did not see—in Autumn Water Court among sweeping maids—one quietly set down her broom and slipped out.
……
Shen Yue's brush jerked—a long ink streak on unfinished painting—mountain autumn scene—ugly mark on the sky—she did not care—raged at the maid before her.
"What—you say Mother is choosing a husband for me?"
"Reporting, Second Miss—" the maid bowed careful—"Madam marked several in the book—sent invitations—in days she'll take Second Miss to call."
"Damn!" Shen Yue hurled the brush—cursing someone—gentle elegance gone—maids held breath. All knew this Second Miss looked soft—disposing of disliked servants showed no mercy.
Shen Yue looked harried.
She was eighteen—in Ding that was marriage age—even unwed girls were betrothed. She had no match—talented, beautiful, gentle, clever—countless men admired—she wanted only Fu Xiuyi.
Prince Ding—youngest among princes—still unwed. When Shen Miao adored him at first sight—bewitched by his grace—was not Shen Yue the same? Such a man dazzled by nature—no prince's odd tempers—young, handsome, heaven-born—after the emperor perhaps Ming Qi's noblest man. Shen Yue felt only she matched him. When Shen Miao shamelessly proclaimed love for Ding—Shen Yue felt Shen Miao insulted her heart.
Fortune—Ding was cold to Shen Miao—now nothing between them—Shen Yue breathed easier. Once she overheard Shen Wan and Shen Gui—Ding might marry Shen Miao to win Shen Xin's troops—she worried long—wished Shen Miao gone—later Shen Miao gave up herself.
Now no Shen Miao to fight—why did parents press her?
"I'll tell Mother—I won't marry! I won't!" Shen Yue stood—swept desk chaos—maids knelt—none dared counsel.
In Colorful Cloud Court someone heard the noise.
Colorful Cloud Court was bleak compared to two years ago—since Ren Wanyun died—Shen Gui ruined for heirs—Old Madam forbade messy concubines—Shen Gui knew no more children—found the yard vexing—spent days in pleasure houses—only Concubine Wan and Shen Dongling remained besides servants.
Shen Gui once had two sons—next to third branch seemed fertile—now one illegitimate daughter—however Shen Dongling was his only blood—servants respected mother and daughter.
"What's the racket outside?" Wan doing needlework looked up—two years she had done better—less timid—harder air.
The door maid said. "Reporting, Aunt—Second Miss storms because Third Madam picks matches—running to Autumn Water Court now."
Wan laughed short. "Second Sister fires up over this." Eyes dimmed. "Blessed without knowing."
Her Shen Dongling was Shen house's daughter too—near Shen Yue's age—Old Madam despised illegitimate girls—Shen Gui ignored the yard—Dongling's rank low—few proposals—those who came were suspicious—clearly not good families.
She worried here for Dongling's marriage—there a managed Shen Yue was still unsatisfied—birth was truly merit stored in past lives.
Thinking—behind the screen Shen Dongling stood—taller now—slender—sharp brows and eyes—some of Wan's opera dan grace.
"Where are you going?" Wan asked casually.
Dongling said. "Aunt always fretted my marriage."
Wan blinked—did not understand the words.
"I waited two years. Now—the chance came." Dongling said.