Longing for Love (Twice Reborn) - Chapter 44
A refreshing breeze swept across the bridgehead, funneling beneath the arches. The river’s clear ripples shimmered, their tiny waves shattering the reflection of endless sky as they carried the water’s coolness to brush against the lovers’ temples.
Juchen tilted her head slightly, her beautiful eyes brimming with sunlight bright, lively, and full of spirit. The stray hairs at her temples danced in the wind, brushing against Song Mi’s ear, sending tingles that slowly traveled from her earlobe to her heart.
He restrained himself for what felt like an eternity before resisting the urge to press his lips fiercely against hers, transferring all that messy makeup from his face onto her porcelain skin.
Lu Feng and Yong’an were approaching with other guards in tow.
Song Mi released her, taking the handkerchief from her hand to vigorously wipe away the cosmetics, revealing his handsome features once more.
Juchen stood up, admiring his crimson wedding attire. Though designed for women, the fiery red softened his naturally cool, aristocratic features, creating an unexpectedly pleasing contrast. Having mostly seen him in deep purple official robes or plain black and white garments, she realized how strikingly dashing he looked in vibrant colors a different kind of breathtaking handsomeness.
Studying him with satisfaction, Juchen suddenly thought: if he were a woman with such beauty, she could not guarantee she would not be swayed by his charms.
Completely unaware of her wandering thoughts, Song Mi swept his damp black hair behind his ears and asked seriously, “How did it go?”
After a pause, Juchen understood he was inquiring about the sacrificial ceremony at the dam. “I threw those three monks into the river to keep the River God company,” she admitted, pursing her lips.
Song Mi stared at her silently before bursting into helpless laughter.
As Lu Feng’s party reached the bridgehead, Song Mi’s current disheveled state made public appearances inadvisable. Juchen and Yong’an tactfully offered their sedan chairs while Lu Feng brought over his yellow steed. Hesitating whether to assist the princess, he watched in surprise as Yong’an expertly mounted the horse with practiced ease.
Glancing at Song Mi’s personal mount, Little White, Lu Feng found the horse looking down its nose at him with utter disdain. Resigned, he suggested Juchen share a horse with Yong’an but before he could finish, Little White (having apparently peeked through the carriage curtains) lumbered forward, shoving Lu Feng aside before reluctantly lowering its head for Juchen to take the reins.
From inside the carriage, Song Mi watched through the curtains as Juchen’s graceful figure rode ahead alongside Yong’an.
He would always felt her youthful personality differed slightly from her previous life’s incarnation. Naturally, he understood the journey from eighth rank official to prime minister must have changed her. But today, watching her decisively punish the villains with poetic justice, he caught a glimpse of the formidable stateswoman she would become.
No matter how much one tries to conceal it, their true nature cannot be completely hidden. Song Mi found her fearless and clear-cut demeanor so different from her usual restrained self far more vivid and lively.
Yet when he returned to the yamen, changed into casual attire, and questioned her in detail about the events,
she seemed to revert back, asking apprehensively, “Does Your Highness think I was too ruthless?”
Most delicate women, especially young girls like her barely twenty, with no strength to harm a fly, would sympathize with the innocent but never dare to call for the punishment of the perpetrators so readily.
Juchen feared he might see her as cruel. Song Mi studied the unease in her eyes for a long moment before reaching out to gently tousle the back of her head. “No, you did well.”
The three monks never returned, and the locals began to murmur, suspecting there was no underwater dragon palace they must have drowned.
Unable to resist, they went to the Jiangyang yamen to inquire about what should be done next.
Song Mi swept a cold glance over them and remarked airily in an icy tone, “Perhaps the River God has married too many beauties over the years and recently developed a taste for handsome men instead.”
The rough men who had searched along the riverbank for Li Niang that day those with no daughters at home, untouched by the matter immediately fell silent, not daring to utter another word.
Later, with Juchen’s subtle hints, the Jiangyang constables found the dowries the monks had embezzled over the years in their temple.
The lie of the River God’s bridal selection was completely exposed.
That evening, after dinner, Song Mi passed by the document room and saw Juchen lighting a candle, smoothing a sheet of paper with a paperweight.
Hands clasped behind his back, he entered and approached the table, where she had already prepared ink and was painting with a brush.
His gaze settled on the tip of her brush as he casually asked, “What are you doing?”
Juchen continued sketching while explaining her reason she wanted to paint portraits of the deceased girls based on their families’ descriptions, to offer them some solace.
Jiangyang was a poor, remote place, so desolate even birds wouldn’t stop to relieve themselves, let alone produce a masterful painter. After those girls drowned, no trace of their voices or faces remained in this world.
Juchen knew her own skills were far from exceptional, barely passable. But something was better than nothing.
Song Mi stood quietly beside her for a while, watching until her snow-white face flushed pink and her strokes grew hesitant. Covering a chuckle, he asked, “Need help?”
Her beautiful eyes brightened in the dim light as she looked up at him. “May I?”
She had never seen him paint before.
The most gifted painter Juchen had ever met was her senior brother Lin Zongbai, renowned as the finest in the Great Liang, excelling in lifelike sketches with just a few strokes.
He was often invited by the Ministry of Justice to draft suspect portraits one of his earliest means of livelihood. The Vice Minister of Justice praised his ability to vividly capture a person’s likeness from sparse descriptions, but he remained modest, claiming his true expertise lay in landscapes and birds, and that in portraiture, he still fell short of the Prince of Pengshan.
Juchen had always assumed this was mere humility an idle way to flatter the Ministry’s highest authority.
Upon seeing it today, Juchen couldn’t help but smile and shake her head.
“Utterly magnificent” she finally understood the profound meaning of this phrase when applied to paintings.
Song Mi casually wielded his brush, glancing back to see the approval in her eyes. “Why don’t you describe, and I’ll paint?” he suggested gently.
Juchen nodded, listing each distinctive feature she had observed about the girls they had encountered.
With each detail, Song Mi paused briefly before his brush descended, effortlessly capturing their essence in strokes.
Leaning over the table with her chin propped on her hands, Juchen watched him work and sighed with an amused smile, “Alright, I admit you’re slightly better than me.”
Her words seemed to refer to his painting skills, yet also quietly dismantled years of stubborn prejudice.
Song Mi arched a brow at her, set down his brush, and placed the artwork on a nearby table to dry. “That’s not entirely true,” he said earnestly.
“Though I can paint, I’d never have thought to comfort those girls’ families with portraits.” His gaze met hers. “In that regard, I fall short. Your feminine sensitivity considers things more thoroughly than I ever could.”
Juchen stood motionless, his praise unexpectedly warming her eyes. If only he’d spoken these words in their past life perhaps their ending wouldn’t have been so desolate.
Yet it was precisely because of that past ending that Song Mi now chose to speak his truth.
—
After deliberation, Jiangyang officials unanimously agreed to distribute the three corrupt monks’ ill-gotten wealth as compensation, sending the portraits to each victim’s family.
Hanging a portrait in the home, Juchen turned with a smile, “Elder, does it resemble?”
“It does truly does.”
Handing the weeping elder a handkerchief, Juchen received a jar of homemade wine in parting.
The abolition of longstanding malpractice became Jiangyang’s rare celebratory occasion. That evening, local officials hosted a banquet for Prince Pengshan.
Under a rare full moon whose silver light shimmered on the flagstones, Juchen sat at the women’s table. After three rounds of wine, her sidelong glance caught Song Mi his chiseled profile illuminated as he conversed with officials, one arm resting on his chair, his careless smile and the movement of his Adam’s apple rendering him devastatingly handsome in the flickering torchlight.
With cheeks flushed from wine, Juchen excused herself. Passing the men’s table, she subtly tugged the sleeve of the guest of honor a featherlight touch barely noticeable.
She worried he might not feel it, yet dared not repeat the gesture.
When she paused at a secluded courtyard corner, Song Mi appeared behind her, brows slightly furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
Juchen’s crescent moon eyes crinkled with a mirror lake smile. “Nothing. I just suddenly wanted to kiss you.”
Rising on her toes, she brushed her lips against his a dragonfly skimming water then turned contentedly to leave.
Song Mi caught her wrist. “Just once?”
Before her murmured “Yes” could fully form, his face filled her vision.
The reputation of Jiangyang as the City of Wine was well deserved. Lu Feng was thoroughly enjoying himself, completely absorbed in drinking games with the others. An official glanced in the direction Song Mi had left and remarked, “His Highness said he needed some fresh air could he be dodging the drinking?”
“Zhengzhi has excellent alcohol tolerance; he wouldn’t need to hide. He probably wandered too far while taking a stroll and needs time to return,” Lu Feng replied, his attention fixed on the drinking game. “Come on, let’s tally his drinks for later and keep playing.”
Yong’an noticed that Juchen had been gone for quite a while changing clothes, but since this was the government office and no one could possibly go missing here, he patiently waited a little longer.
In the deepest part of the rear garden, hidden within a bamboo grove, stood a secluded pavilion. Juchen was propped up against the ornate railing, her eyes which had been fixed on the colorful murals adorning the ceiling now tightly shut from sheer embarrassment.
The rustling of insects in the surrounding grass masked the soft, deliberate movements of the man beside her. When he finally withdrew his hand from her robe, having indulged to his satisfaction, he noticed her cheeks had flushed crimson.
Song Mi pinched her chin lightly, bringing his nose close to her lips as he inhaled softly. “How many cups did you drink tonight?” he murmured.