Longing for Love (Twice Reborn) - Chapter 39
The inn where they were staying tonight was already at the border of Shu Chuan, and the kitchen offered a variety of local specialties.
After Juchen finished tending to Song Mi’s wound, the two walked downstairs one after the other. Lu Feng and the others were just holding the menu, pondering what new dishes to try.
“Zhengzhi, do you want to try one?”
Song Mi stepped forward to take the menu and handed it to Juchen. “You order first.”
Juchen studied it for a while. “Does anyone want soup?”
Her stomach still felt slightly unsettled, and she craved a warm bowl of soup.
Lu Feng said, “I’ve already ordered green pea soup, so no need for another.
See if there’s anything else you’d like?”
At the mention of green pea soup, Juchen’s delicate brows furrowed briefly.
She opened her mouth as if to say something but swallowed the words and focused on another section of the menu. After hesitating between two dim sum options, she chose one.
Song Mi took the menu from her and, without hesitation, picked the other one she had been torn over.
Lu Feng asked, “I thought you didn’t like sweet things?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he suddenly felt a sense of déjà vu, as if a similar scene had played out before.
Song Mi replied calmly, “My tastes have changed recently.”
Lu Feng gave an “oh” and glanced at him, feeling something was off but unable to pinpoint what. Perhaps it was Song Mi’s unusually composed demeanor so unflappable that Lu Feng forgot his usual habit of sitting between two men whenever the group gathered at a table with both men and women.
Lu Feng had deliberately left the seat next to him open, right beside the escort officer, but Song Mi sat directly on his other side, placing himself between Lu Feng and Li Juchen.
Juchen was seated beside him, and Song Mi, tall and long legged, leaned back in his chair. With even the slightest movement, his knee would inadvertently brush against hers.
Juchen froze for a moment, then turned to see him chatting and laughing with Lu Feng, seemingly oblivious to the accidental contact. She lowered her gaze, recalling that while the two of them had never sat side by side for a meal before, they had once eaten in the same place.
After the Empress’s death, the young Emperor ascended the throne, and Juchen became a regent minister, rising to the pinnacle of power overnight and controlling the entire court.
Most of the senior officials in the cabinet were unwilling to submit and instead rallied behind Song Mi, urging his return to the capital to serve as regent and oppose her authority.
Seeing the Liang Dynasty’s new Emperor young and unstable, the Turks seized the opportunity to invade the northern border. The war dragged on, draining much of the dynasty’s vitality. Later, to ensure sufficient provisions and winter clothing for the border troops, Juchen had no choice but to advocate for frugality across the court, merging all institutional canteens into one to avoid waste.
This move sparked protests from many court officials, the most common complaint being that the long commute to meals wasted their working time.
On the first day of the canteen merger, Song Mi arrived punctually and took his seat in the dining hall.
With the regent himself raising no objections, the clamoring officials quickly quieted down, their defiance waning. Before long, they obediently fell in line behind him.
Some, still resentful, approached Song Mi for his opinion on the matter. When asked what he thought of Chancellor Li’s decision, Song Mi tapped his chopsticks against the bland meal before him and said, “Tastes terrible.”
“Why does His Highness still come every day then?”
Song Mi asked in puzzlement, “Isn’t this meal covered by public funds? Eating on my own would mean paying out of pocket.”
A vein twitched at the other’s temple as he gritted his teeth and retorted sarcastically, “Is Your Highness short on money?”
After some thought, Song Mi replied earnestly, “Yes.”
“…”
Amidst the muffled snickers of the female officials on the other side, Juchen sat in the center and glanced back at Song Mi. All he remembered from that period was that the canteen served mostly vegetarian dishes, and the esteemed regent’s face turned green from eating them.
At the post station.
Seeing that Lu Feng had noticed everyone ordered sparingly and was considering adding more dishes, Song Mi lowered his gaze to the menu and suggested, “Change the soup.”
Lu Feng was puzzled. “Why? I specifically chose this because I’ve never tried it before.”
“What’s so good about beans? Pick something else.”
It was rare for Song Mi to show such clear likes or dislikes about food.
Seeing the undisguised disdain on his face, Lu Feng yielded. “Then which one would you prefer?”
Song Mi glanced at the menu. “Lamb stew.”
Truthfully, he did not particularly care about soups and broths. But the slight furrow in Juchen’s brows upon hearing “green pea soup” suddenly reminded him of the days they had eaten together in the canteen.
Minister Li was easy to please she was not picky and ate whatever was served.
Except for one morning when, after working tirelessly through the night, she sat at the table staring at a bowl of green pea soup, her chopsticks untouched.
Juchen’s aversion to green pea soup was a lingering effect from her time serving in Jiangyang.
During the years she was demoted to county magistrate, she had worked tirelessly to dredge rivers and repair dams for the people of Jiangyang.
Living in makeshift thatched huts in the mountains, she endured months of nothing but green pea soup.
Now, the mere sight of it made her reflexively nauseous.
That day in the dining hall, the imperial chef noticed her discomfort and approached. “Does the morning meal not suit the Prime Minister’s taste?”
Juchen shook her head, claiming she simply wasn’t hungry.
It was the coldest stretch of winter. Outside, breaths turned to mist in the air. Officials waiting at the palace gates huddled against the chill, their female counterparts rubbing their hands and stomping their feet for warmth.
Juchen arrived carrying a lantern, wrapped in an azure fox fur cloak. Having eaten nothing, her stomach let out an almost imperceptible growl. She tugged at the fluffy edges of her cloak to muffle the sound, her nose red from the cold.
Suddenly, a tall figure appeared beside her. Their eyes met, and for once, Juchen greeted him. “Good morning.”
Song Mi’s gaze fell on her exposed hands. He asked to borrow her lantern to read a memorial, taking the handle from her.
The winter night was long, the sky outside the Golden Hall still pitch black.
Tucking her hands into her cloak, Juchen noticed he hadn’t brought a lantern.
Recalling how they had both worked late in the imperial study the night before, she couldn’t help but ask, “Did Your Highness come here in the dark?”
Without looking up from the memorial, Song Mi replied casually that he had ridden his horse his horse knew the way. He had dozed off in the saddle and woke up already at the palace gates.
Finished reading, he glanced at her and tossed her a waterskin.
He threw it almost carelessly. Juchen caught it instinctively, the warmth seeping into her palms.
Juchen frowned slightly, puzzled as to why he had tossed her such an item.
Song Mi answered irrelevantly, “There’s lamb stew inside.”
Song Mi added, “I woke up too early and didn’t have time for breakfast.”
Juchen replied, “Then Your Highness should drink it while it’s hot. It’ll turn fishy once it cools.”
“I gave it to you precisely because I want to drink it its too hot. I’m borrowing your hands to cool it down.”
“…”
Considering his support for her canteen merger this time, Juchen repeatedly pressed her icy palms and the backs of her hands against the warm water pouch.
After finally warming it to a suitable temperature, Juchen felt it was ready to drink and handed it back to him.
He opened it, took a sniff, then suddenly changed his mind and tossed it back to her, leaving her to finish it.
Just as Juchen was about to refuse,
Song Mi shot her a glance. “Minister Li, please don’t set an example of wasting food.”
“…”
Soon after, the post station’s chief steward personally brought over a serving of lamb stew, smiling as he claimed it contained their cook’s secret recipe, guaranteed to earn their praise.
Juchen ladled a bowl and took a sip it was delicious, though still slightly inferior to what she had eaten outside the palace gates that day.
But at the time, restrained by pride, she hadn’t swallowed her dignity to ask Song Mi where he had bought it.
Later, after his passing, Juchen never tasted lamb stew that good again.
Grain Buds, First Phase: Silkworms Begin Feasting on Mulberry Leaves.
By the time the marriage procession reached Rongcheng, it was early May. The silkworm farmers had completed their harvest, and the Weaving Bureau had prepared the latest batch of silk materials.
Song Mi entered the Weaving and Dyeing Bureau, where the sounds of busy looms echoed from the three main workshops. Brushers, spinners, warp setters, thread twisters, and weavers diligently carried out their tasks according to the production process.
The Sichuan Military Governor stood nearby, offering assurances and urging the craftsmen to work diligently, ensuring the remaining fifty thousand bolts of tribute silk would be completed before the procession’s next departure.
Song Mi gave a slight nod, then turned his gaze toward the outermost workshop. There, Juchen accompanied Yong’an as they sat before a loom.
Standing beside them, bent over and patiently guiding Yong’an, was none other than Consort Yu’s father Yong’an’s maternal grandfather.
Having fathered a daughter late in life, he was now past sixty, a renowned loom manufacturer in Sichuan. Originally a carpenter, he had made his fortune by independently improving looms, yet never neglected his craftsmanship. His enduring diligence kept him remarkably robust.
As merchants and artisans ranked low in social standing, facing nobility from the capital left Master Yu visibly tense and awkward. Though he instantly recognized his long-lost daughter’s delicate features in Yong’an’s face, he still knelt with the other craftsmen, not daring to overstep.
It wasn’t until Yong’an learned that the loom before her had been crafted by Master Yu himself that her bright eyes sparkled with anticipation. “May I try it?” she asked.
Watching her seated at the loom, the shuttle spinning with a rhythmic clatter, Master Yu felt time slip backward to decades past, when Consort Yu had still been home.
“Has Her Highness woven before?” Master Yu couldn’t help asking, noticing her skillful handling.
“Mother taught me when I was little,” Yong’an replied, turning to meet his gaze steadily. “She said her first childhood toy was a loom.”
Imperial Concubine Yu was formerly the Chief Seamstress of the Royal Garments Bureau. Before entering the palace, she was a renowned embroideress from Shu.
In those days, her embroidery skills were unparalleled, and with youthful arrogance, she insisted on participating in the selection for the Royal Garments Bureau despite her father Yu Gong’s objections.
The constant quarrels between father and daughter continued until Concubine Yu was chosen by the Royal Garments Bureau. Once she entered the imperial city, she never returned.
Yu Gong’s clouded eyes welled up with tears as he hoarsely asked, “How has Her Ladyship been all these years?”
Yong’an paused slightly.
In Baoguang Temple, Concubine Yu had secretly wiped away countless tears.
Whenever Yong’an nestled into her arms to dry them, she would lift her gaze and stare blankly at the loom in the corner for a long time, murmuring, “A daughter’s greatest filial failure is being too competitive, too proud.”
For a moment, Yong’an wanted to tell Yu Gong how much her mother missed him, how she regretted not listening to him, and how guilty she felt for not being by his side.
“Mother is doing well.”
Only by telling him all was well could he find peace in the days to come.
Yong’an smiled and added, “When I go to Tibet, I’ll teach them weaving techniques so they’ll all come to buy Grandfather’s looms.”
A flattered smile appeared on Yu Gong’s face. After hesitating for a long time, he finally mustered the courage to tell Yong’an that since learning she would pass through Rongcheng, he had worked day and night to prepare another dowry for her.
Juchen accompanied Yong’an to Yu Gong’s residence. Seeing the courtyard filled with mountains of red lacquered boxes, while happy for Yong’an, something sharp suddenly pierced deep into her bl00d, opening a wound from which a bitter fluid flowed, spreading through her limbs.
Song Mi noticed Juchen had been in low spirits since returning from Yu Gong’s home.
With half a month still needed to finish the silk, they settled in Rongcheng.
Lu Feng, unable to stay idle, suggested they go out for a walk as soon as they arrived.
He dragged Song Mi, Yong’an, and Juchen through Rongcheng’s night market until they came across a newly opened restaurant with an opera stage inside.
The four went in to watch the performance.
The play happened to be “Zhao Zilong Rescues His Lord” from “Romance of the Three Kingdoms.”
Lu Feng couldn’t help but applaud Zhao Zilong’s impressive martial arts skills on stage. Juchen watched as Lady Mi, with tears in her eyes, entrusted the swaddled infant before turning to jump into the well. She stared blankly at the fake well, lost in thought for a long time.
Juchen sighed silently. Song Mi, sitting beside her, turned and took in the shadowed look in her eyes.
Juchen sat silently before the stage for so long that when she finally snapped out of it, she realized Yong’an and Lu Feng had already gotten up to toss coins into the gong by the stage.
As she was about to rise, her knee was suddenly brushed by a long leg on the other side.
Juchen turned in surprise, meeting a pair of cold, star like eyes.
Song Mi studied her. “Is something troubling you, Magistrate Li?”
After a brief silence, Juchen lowered her eyes. “No.”
Song Mi raised an eyebrow and leaned closer, his voice low. “Do you know when you lie, you’re just like you are in bed?”
Juchen’s cheeks flushed like brushed rouge as she glared at him in confusion.
Song Mi leaned in further and whispered casually in her ear, “Equally terrible at it.”