Chapter 114 — The Boat Beyond the Willows

CHAPTER 114

The Boat Beyond the Willows

“You're standing on my sleeve,” Ling Qingzhu said.

Shi Feng looked down and moved his foot. The violet silk slipped free without damage.

“You wore a long one,” Shi Feng replied.

“You said to wear it,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“I said it suited you,” Shi Feng answered.

“Then watch where you stand,” Ling Qingzhu replied.

The boatman waiting beside the landing looked away to hide a smile. His name was Old Su, and his Qi Condensation cultivation earned him enough to handle the small passenger boat without struggling against the river.

Shi Feng paid for an ordinary circuit beyond the willow bank. Old Su offered a longer journey toward a famous waterside restaurant.

“No restaurant,” Shi Feng said.

Ling Qingzhu laughed before the boatman could ask why.

They stepped aboard. Shi Feng held the edge steady while she settled onto the narrow bench. Then he sat opposite her and put the small food parcel between them.

The boat moved away from the landing. Within a few breaths, the shouting merchants behind them became difficult to hear.

Ling Qingzhu relaxed.

“You prefer this side?” Shi Feng asked.

“No one follows us here,” Ling Qingzhu replied.

“There's a boatman,” Shi Feng said.

“He's useful,” Ling Qingzhu replied.

Old Su nodded solemnly from the stern.

“Very useful, young lady,” Old Su agreed.

Her eyes curved above her veil, then turned toward the landing shrinking behind them.

“At a clan gathering, someone always wants me to meet another elder,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Or smile at a guest. Or hear what a guest's son achieved.”

“Should I describe my qualification?” Shi Feng asked.

“You should fall into the river,” Ling Qingzhu replied.

He laughed. She liked the sound and turned toward him again.

“Here, I can sit quietly,” Ling Qingzhu said.

Shi Feng nodded and stopped teasing. He hadn't thought the simple journey would matter so much to her. For a while, he let her enjoy the river without another question.

The river widened beyond the willows. Low stone walls bordered several gardens on the far side. A few birds rested on the roof of an empty pavilion.

Shi Feng looked at his wife instead.

The new silk suited her, just as he expected. Her black hair was fixed with the silver clasp he repaired, leaving a few loose strands beside her white veil. When she turned toward the breeze, he had trouble remembering the gardens at all.

Ling Qingzhu caught him looking.

“What?” Ling Qingzhu asked.

“The clasp's straight,” Shi Feng replied.

She raised a hand to it before recognising the excuse.

“You've become very fond of that clasp,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“It hasn't insulted me once,” Shi Feng replied.

She laughed and shielded the lower edge of her veil with her hand to eat a plum slice from the parcel. He bought the sweeter kind this time. She noticed immediately.

“Better,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“I'll tell the plums,” Shi Feng replied.

Old Su brought the boat beside a small landing beyond the busiest gardens. A low pavilion stood nearby, with a tea seller beneath one corner and an old painter arranging paper under a stone weight.

“Half an hour?” Old Su asked.

Shi Feng looked at Ling Qingzhu. She nodded.

“Half an hour,” Shi Feng replied.

The painter noticed them before they reached the pavilion. His name was Bian Zhuo. He was an elderly Meridian Opening cultivator with ink on two fingers and an expression that became enthusiastic when he saw Ling Qingzhu.

“Young lady, a painting?” Bian Zhuo asked.

“No,” Ling Qingzhu replied.

“Just the landscape,” Bian Zhuo added quickly.

“You were looking at her,” Shi Feng said.

“A fine person improves a landscape,” Bian Zhuo replied without shame.

Shi Feng picked up a sample painting. The river was good. The distant roof looked a little crooked, but the willows were better than he expected from the man's hurried pitch.

He named a fair price for one small painting.

Bian Zhuo immediately agreed. That annoyed Shi Feng briefly. He could probably have named less.

Then Ling Qingzhu sat beneath the pavilion and looked at him with open amusement.

“Regretting it?” Ling Qingzhu asked.

“The roof in his sample leans,” Shi Feng replied.

“The roof in his sample is mine!” Old Su called from the boat.

Bian Zhuo pointed at the real leaning roof across the landing. Shi Feng looked at it and said nothing. Ling Qingzhu laughed until she had to turn away.

For once, the seller hadn't lied about anything.

Bian Zhuo arranged his paper and began sketching the river. Shi Feng sat beside Ling Qingzhu without being told. The old painter nodded as though that solved a difficult part of the composition.

“Don't make me look foolish,” Ling Qingzhu warned.

Bian Zhuo looked at her, then at Shi Feng.

“I can manage half of that,” Bian Zhuo said.

Shi Feng decided the old man was charging enough already.

The painting took longer than promised. Neither of them complained. Ling Qingzhu watched the brush move, and Shi Feng enjoyed having nothing urgent to do for a little while.

There was no furnace waiting to be opened. No prince stood at the next table. No guest needed persuading that the marriage looked convincing.

They were simply there together.

Shi Feng wanted more days like this.

On the return journey, Ling Qingzhu held the rolled painting carefully above the river spray.

“It's paper,” Shi Feng said.

“I noticed,” Ling Qingzhu replied.

“You're holding it like a precious sword manual,” Shi Feng said.

“It might become one if you keep talking,” Ling Qingzhu replied.

He smiled and passed her the food parcel again. She took the last plum, then broke it in half and offered him a piece.

Shi Feng accepted it.

Old Su kept his eyes on the river. He'd ferried many couples, but most young masters spent their journey trying to impress a woman with stories about their own cultivation. This one seemed content to let her threaten him with a painting.

At the landing, Shi Feng helped her step onto dry stone. Her fingers remained around his for two extra breaths.

Neither mentioned it.

They stopped at a small tea stall on the way home. Ling Qingzhu drank half her cup, then began describing the crooked roof in Bian Zhuo's sample again. Shi Feng listened while pretending to regret the purchase.

He didn't regret it.

At home, they unrolled the painting across the table. Ling Qingzhu removed her veil and tucked her hair behind her ear. Shi Feng’s gaze followed her hand and stayed on her face.

“The painting is down here,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“He left out the best part,” Shi Feng replied.

“He painted exactly what he saw,” Ling Qingzhu said, folding the silk beside her. Her voice grew softer. “He doesn’t live here.”

Shi Feng grinned so foolishly that she pushed the painting beneath his nose. Bian Zhuo captured the distant willows and the small boat neatly. Beneath the pavilion, two figures sat close enough that their sleeves touched.

Ling Qingzhu studied the painted woman first. Then she looked at the man beside her.

“He made you look too serious,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“I was considering his price,” Shi Feng replied.

“You were smiling,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“You watched?” Shi Feng asked.

Her bare cheeks warmed. She bent closer to the painted willows.

“The river's good,” Ling Qingzhu said.

Shi Feng let her change the subject. He looked at the two figures again and felt a quiet happiness.

He could remember when sharing a room meant making careful rules about the bed, the screen, and each other's belongings. Now she'd spent the afternoon beside him without needing a reason beyond wanting to go.

That was enough for today.

Ling Qingzhu rolled the painting before a loose drop from the kettle could reach it.

“Where should it go?” Ling Qingzhu asked.

“The wall,” Shi Feng replied.

“Which wall?” Ling Qingzhu asked.

“Not the one that leaked,” Shi Feng said.

She laughed, then glanced toward their shared room.

“Above the table,” Ling Qingzhu decided.

He brought a strip of clean cord and helped her hang it. She adjusted the lower edge twice before stepping back.

The room was still small. His bedding still rested on the floor, and her chest still stood beside the bed.

The painting made her smile anyway—even when a late message from Ling Rong arrived under the gate warning that a witness from Yunze had been quartered in the Eastern Palace's outer hostel ahead of the representative briefing.