Longing for Love (Twice Reborn) - Chapter 28

Juchen’s palms grew slightly damp with sweat, momentarily forgetting to push away Song Yun’s arm resting on her shoulder.

But why should she feel guilty? Wasn’t she just stating facts?

Song Ning’s gaze froze on the unfamiliar hand touching Juchen’s shoulder, his eyes growing increasingly cold.

Though only a few years older, Song Yun seemed to instinctively fear his uncle’s authority like an animal sensing danger. He immediately released Juchen and straightened up. “Uncle.”

Juchen stood to greet him. Song Ning barely glanced at her before focusing back on Song Yun, the corner of his lips curling slightly in a smile that carried no warmth. “What are you two doing hugging here?”

Song Yun shook his head vigorously like a rattle drum, hastily explaining he meant no impropriety. “Nephew and Registrar Li have been close since childhood. We’ve always been like this.”

Afraid his uncle might think him shallow and frivolous, Song Yun desperately wanted to convey their sibling like bond.

Song Ning’s voice dropped lower. “Always been like this?”

Song Yun nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes.”

Song Ning glanced at Juchen again. Since his appearance from the second floor, she had turned into a petrified statue of beauty, frozen in place without moving a muscle.

When Song Ning took two steps forward, those steps seemed to crush directly over Juchen’s heart. A chilling aura made her toes lift involuntarily from the floor as she debated escape routes whether to bolt sideways from the table or crawl underneath it if he came to punish her.

Fortunately, Yuan Ruo arrived just then with urgent news. After whispering in Song Ning’s ear, his brow furrowed slightly before he strode away on pressing business.

The advantage of official duties too busy to discipline her even if he wanted to.

Song Yun’s tense shoulders relaxed as he exhaled silently. Turning to Juchen, he found her still staring down the corridor where Song Ning had disappeared.

Only when shaken did she snap out of it.

“Do you really think I’ll amount to something?” Song Yun asked.

“Of course!”

His childlike grin emerged before he coughed awkwardly, ears turning pink.

“Then do you like that kind of promising man?”

The question carried unexpected seriousness. Though he cherished their brotherly bond, part of him genuinely wanted to stay with her forever. Around Juchen, he felt completely at ease her open mindedness unlike other girls, never mocking his ideas or treating him as an oddity blind to his privileges.

“Of course I like it.”

Juchen answered earnestly before adding with equal sincerity: “But not that kind of liking.”

Song Yun froze momentarily, his eyes dimming before confusion flooded in.

Juchen had always been popular with boys. She never led anyone on, yet wouldn’t outright reject initially appealing suitors either giving them chances to prove themselves worthy of her heart through their efforts.

She had never appended that qualifying phrase before. It seemed the phoenix-tailed butterfly that once illuminated their youth had finally found its resting branch, ready to settle down.

Song Yun’s heart overflowed with endless regret and melancholy when suddenly poetic inspiration struck. He hurried home, took up his brush, and began writing with unrestrained passion.

—

Half a month later, after a busy morning, Juchen and several female officials walked side by side out of the palace to dine at a newly opened seafood restaurant in the Gold Market.

Several graceful figures settled into a corner of the hall. As they summoned a waiter, Lu Yun and Xue Wan studied the menu together while Juchen poured tea into their cups.

At the front of the hall stood a performance stage that offered free entertainment daily. When Juchen entered, a riveting storytelling session had just concluded, making way for a veiled beauty carrying a pipa.

With lotus-like steps and ethereal grace, she bowed to the audience before settling onto the crescent shaped chair. Her slender fingers plucked the strings as her melodious voice rose in song.

Juchen’s ears perked up at a strangely familiar tune. “Is this the lyrics of Prince Yun?” she asked hesitantly.

Lu Yun chimed in with a smile, “Indeed. The prince’s poetry has suddenly gained popularity recently. Many musicians in the capital are performing his works, and they’re spreading rapidly among the people.”

Juchen was visibly surprised not doubting Song Yun’s talent, but distinctly remembering these verses weren’t composed until several years later in her previous life. Back then, his poetry only gained recognition after she turned twenty-seven and confirmed she wouldn’t marry him.

This lifetime, his fame had arrived earlier.

Was it because she skipped the palace banquet this time? Or because she rejected him sooner? Had she been blocking his path to fame all along?

Juchen felt utterly innocent in this matter.

Seated quietly in the corner, she listened to the performance and found herself tipping all the silver she had brought that day. Throughout lunch, a faint, contented smile lingered on her lips genuinely happy for Song Yun.

On the third-floor balcony where the seafood house owner resided, Lin Zongbai sipped tea while following Song Mi’s gaze downward to a particular corner near the stage.

“Why suddenly take interest in promoting your distant nephew?” Lin couldn’t help asking.

Only after watching Juchen pay and leave did Song Mi turn back. “Is the writing not good?” he countered.

“Naturally it’s good,” Lin admitted, “otherwise it wouldn’t have taken off so quickly with just a push.” But he absolutely refused to believe Song Mi was genuinely moved by the young man’s talent.

“I simply think he writes well,” Song Mi said impassively.

After studying him for a long moment, Lin chuckled and refilled his jade cup.

“Fine, your money, your rules.”

As tea streamed into the cup, Lin couldn’t resist complaining: When he had started his business, why hadn’t Song Mi supported him so generously?

The question showed remarkable lack of self-awareness with Lin’s temperament, would he have accepted charity even if offered?

“You didn’t seem promising back then,” Song Mi said bluntly.

Lin clicked his tongue in annoyance.

The corner of Song Mi’s mouth lifted. “Didn’t you succeed without me anyway?”

Lin touched his nose and laughed wryly.

—

The next afternoon, Song Yun visited the imperial library in search of an ancient text and unexpectedly encountered Juchen once more.

He approached with a beaming smile, having learned she was on leave today and had come to the library to cultivate her mind. Nodding, he lowered his gaze and noticed a plate of fragrant pastries beside the books spread on her desk.

“Isn’t this the latest lychee pastry from Taiyuan Tower?” Song Yun had been eager to try it and quickly sat beside her, picking up a piece.

Before he could swallow, someone tapped his shoulder from behind.

Song Yun turned his head and nearly choked.

Song Mi gestured for him to scoot aside and smoothly inserted himself between them, his movements so graceful and fluid that Song Yun barely registered anything amiss. In an instant, however, his hands clenched into small fists on his lap, his posture stiffening with unease.

Juchen glanced at him, recalling how even during their school days when the princess supervised their remedial exams, she had never seen Song Yun this tense.

Leaning in, Juchen congratulated him with a smile. “Your poetry is being sung in every street and alley now.”

Scratching his head bashfully, Song Yun replied, “I’m just as surprised myself.”

He wanted to stretch forward to chat with Juchen, but the person wedged between them was impossible to ignore. Not wanting to appear slovenly in front of him, Song Yun remained rigidly upright, stealing a glance at Song Mi before admitting with flushed cheeks, “It all feels like a dream. I’m just afraid I’m not worthy of the praise.”

The moment he finished, Song Mi said kindly, “Such humility is precisely the mark of a noble heart.”

Praise from him instantly brightened Song Yun’s face. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Uncle, what do you think of my work?”

“It’s quite good,” Song Mi affirmed before offering measured critiques. Then, after a pause, he added, “Though…”

Song Yun pressed eagerly, “Though what?”

Song Mi tactfully pointed out that his poetic style lacked depth, likely due to limited life experience. Song Yun nodded vigorously, as if he had finally found a kindred spirit.

Seizing the moment, Song Mi suggested, “Traveling could actually inspire your creativity and fuel your poetic spirit.”

He expressed great admiration for his talent and full support for him to venture out.

Overwhelmed, Song Yun beamed until a shadow crossed his face. “But Mother would never allow it. Lately, she’s been terrified I’d run away. Apart from basic necessities, she hasn’t given me a single coin. All my valuables are hidden.”

“Is that all?” Song Mi’s lips curled as he offered to provide travel funds and even secure a passage permit.

Song Yun’s eyes lit up, though he hesitated. “Wouldn’t that trouble you too much, Uncle?”

Song Mi sighed with the air of a mentor. “If the younger generation shows promise, how could their elders not support them?”

Ecstatic, Song Yun bowed in tearful gratitude. Without lingering for small talk, he rushed home to secretly pack.

Watching his retreating figure, Juchen turned back to Song Mi, her lips quirking downward.

Song Mi asked, “What’s wrong?”

Assuming she would question his motives, Juchen instead said, “If you’re helping him, why didn’t you ask for collateral?”

Song Mi choked, then touched his nose and laughed. “Magistrate Li, your memory is too sharp.”

Juchen pursed her lips almost imperceptibly, conceding, “Fine. He is your nephew, after all.”

“Who said I didn’t? Funding his trip benefits me too.”

“What benefit? Could it be that his poetry makes the people of Daliang happy?”

Song Mi gave her an incredulous look, never expecting that in her heart, he was so devoted to the nation and its people.

The corners of Song Mi’s lips curled into an irrepressible smile, but once the laughter faded, a faint, almost imperceptible chill flickered in his eyes as he enunciated each word clearly, “Such a talented man doesn’t belong in the chaos of the capital. It pains me to see it, so it’s better if he doesn’t linger in my sight.”

In his past life, many years later, Song Mi happened to pass by the library and overheard Song Yun leaning against a bookshelf, casually telling Juchen that if he still hadn’t made a name for himself by then and she was still unmarried, they might as well settle for each other.

“If you’re still unwed by thirty, I’ll marry you.”

He remembered Juchen had smiled and replied, “Alright.”

Later, Song Yun’s poetry gained fame, but he completely forgot about that promise, too absorbed in wandering the world in search of inspiration. He traveled north to Qinghai Lake, then straight down to India, never returning to the capital even by the time Juchen turned thirty.

Song Mi watched the slight furrow between Juchen’s brows, his gaze darkening.

“You don’t want him to leave?”

Juchen paused, then laughed. “Not really. As long as he’s happy.”

“As long as he’s happy?”

“Of course. In this life, doing what makes you happy is what matters most.”

Juchen tilted her head to gaze at the sky outside the window, her voice tinged with emotion.

Song Mi studied the long lashes casting delicate shadows over her eyelids and curved his lips. “You’re right.”

Juchen nodded firmly, then stood to return the book to the shelf. When she turned back, she unexpectedly met his gaze.

Song Mi blocked her path between the shelves, his eyes lowering to her soft lips. “When will you give me my porcelain doll?”

That evening, Juchen arrived at the Ciyou Retreat as promised, bringing the porcelain doll to him.

Having once experienced kiln firing in Cizhen, Song Mi knew the intricate craftsmanship involved from refining the clay to painting the designs. A fine piece of porcelain required at least seventy-two steps, sometimes even hundreds.

He had pressed her only because he feared she, being so preoccupied with others, might forget her promise to him. Yet, she had fulfilled it so quickly.

Song Mi cradled the delicate doll in his hands, examining it closely. It resembled him, but more so, his younger self.

When his questioning gaze landed on her, Juchen admitted honestly, “I’m out of practice now and probably can’t match my old skill. This was made when I was little.”

She was passing off an old piece as new? Song Mi narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Minister Li, are you trying to brush me off?”

“Brush you off?” Juchen poked the doll’s cheek in his hand and pursed her lips. “You never said I couldn’t use an old one.”

Song Mi let out a scoff, then sighed under her puzzled gaze. “I thought I was the only one who didn’t have one.”

Juchen hesitated, a faint blush rising to her cheeks as she confessed, “Actually, you were the first model I ever made.”

Back then, she had just become obsessed with crafting human shaped porcelain.

Her skills were still rough, and she needed practice. He often sat fishing under a tree, unmoving for entire afternoons perfect for her to use as a reference while shaping the mold.

“You didn’t know me, and you’d never come asking for it. Even if I messed up, you’d never know.” Juchen arched a brow.

So that was why she had always hidden there to use him as practice.

At first, he thought she was secretly watching him. But when he leaned closer, he found her reading a book. He assumed he had imagined it only to realize she really had been stealing glances at him.

“I didn’t notice you took the mold back then.”

“I hid it under the book.”

No wonder she started avoiding him every time they met afterward.

Guilty as charged.

Song Mo let out a soft, incredulous laugh as he examined the ceramic in his hand.

Juchen declared proudly, “This is the best one I’ve made.”

“You’ve made several?”

Juchen cleared his throat. “Well, practice pieces.”

“Let me see them.”

Juchen shook his head frantically.

“Bring them here. If you show me, I won’t say you half assed it.”

In the end, worn down by his relentless pestering, Juchen steeled himself and went back home to fetch the rest.

On the mat, Song Mo pulled her into his arms, spreading out the ceramics one by one. Staring at the motley crew of misshapen lumps, he pinched her ear and chuckled, “Are these really by the same person?”