After some time, he regrettably withdrew his gaze and, when he recalled his own affairs, smiled to say: “Ah Rong, do recommend your third brother to Qilang’s acquaintance when you see him.”
“That is of course,” Chen Rong docilely replied.
Amid the sound of rolling wheels, the two carriages left the Chen estate and entered town.
Restlessness permeated in Nanyang’s air. Chen Rong lifted her curtain to see the streets just as deserted as they had been in her previous life. The shops were especially empty, for many of them were closed.
A warmth neared her while she was lost in reverie. Chen Sanlang had directed his carriage closer to hers. Watching Chen Rong who was only an arm-length away, he gave a hearty laugh: “What are you looking at, meimei?” He next leaned over and took a whiff, grinning as he did: “You smell very nice. Who made your sachet?”
Chen Rong quietly moved away and dropped her gaze. “You tease me, cousin.”
She retreated to the other side of the carriage.
When he saw her move away from him, Chen Sanlang sighed and recited: “Prosperity can disappear in the blink of an eye. Like flowers in the spring, women are at their most beautiful for but a few days. No one knows what tomorrow holds in this troubled world. Why, then, do we not take pleasure here and now? Don’t you think so, too, meimei?”
He flashed Chen Rong a tender look.
The fluttering curtain revealed Chen Rong’s quiet countenance. She faintly smiled and answered, “It’s only natural that flowers bloom and die. That said, there are a few silly flowers that only bloom for someone someday.”
A rejection.
Chen Sanlang withdrew his smile when he said, “Someday? Are you still hoping to become Qilang’s wife?” He had sounded amused.
Chen Rong kept her head bowed dutifully. Not giving him an answer, she only slowly let her curtain down. Her movements were languid, with a trace of loneliness that seemed to have been engraved in her bones.
Chen Sanlang unblinkingly stared at her. “Wang Qilang’s a lucky man,” he suddenly remarked when her curtain dropped.
Chen Rong remained unspeaking.
The bumpy rides soon arrived at the lake on the east side of Nan’yang.
A dozen small boats were dotting the lake. Rippling waves spread into rings under the winter sun.
The playing of zither floated from one of the boats. It was clear and ethereal, as if it had descended from heaven.
Just then, a young man lifted his carriage curtain and asked, “Are you Ah Rong of the Chen house?”