The weather was growing warmer by the day, and the garden had become increasingly lively. Duan Fei had returned to his indulgent ways—each day, a different beauty accompanied him as they strolled through the garden, admired the blossoms, drank wine, watched dances, and laughed in merriment. Drunk, he would rest his head on a beauty’s lap, as petals swirled in the wind and orioles and swallows sang all around.
The maids and servants found nothing unusual in all this. To their eyes, there was no difference from before. After all, they had never believed that a libertine like their young master would truly spend his life devoted to just one woman.
It was a splendid spring day in March. The tea-blossoms and apricot flowers burned like fire; the peach blossoms glowed like sunset clouds.
A breeze swept through the air, scattering petals in every direction. Beneath the rain of blossoms, Duan Fei sat gracefully before a zither, dressed in flowing white robes. Two richly adorned women leaned on either side of him, their smiles more radiant than the flowers themselves.
The melody he played was not tranquil, much like the man himself—it was dashing and unrestrained, touched with a hint of arrogance, tinged with flirtation, and carried a trace of loneliness that defied easy understanding.
From a distance, Hong Ning watched, unsure whether what she felt was disappointment or guilt. Perhaps, just as Jin Xiu had said, she and Duan Fei had known each other in a previous life—intimately so. That would explain the strange familiarity between them, the inexplicable trust she felt toward him. More than trust—she understood him. She knew exactly what he was searching for.
But even so, she could not give it to him.
What he sought was merely someone who truly understood him.
The music came to an end. The two beauties clapped their hands in praise.
Hong Ning composed herself and stepped forward. “Young Master Duan.”
Duan Fei, still holding the beauty in his arms, looked at her. “How was my playing?”
So he had already noticed her?
Hong Ning lowered her gaze. “I am ignorant and unskilled in music, chess, calligraphy, or painting. I couldn’t possibly comprehend it. But since it was composed by you, it must surely be masterful.”
Duan Fei asked nothing more.
Hong Ning took a quiet breath and gave a formal bow. “I am grateful for your rescue and for taking me in these past days. But I have overstayed my welcome. I heard that you’re departing for Zhangzhou at dawn tomorrow for business, so I came early to bid farewell.”
“You’re leaving,” Duan Fei repeated casually, smiling faintly, unconcerned. “Then go. You’re free to leave at any time.” With that, he turned and continued to feed wine to the beauty beside him, still smiling.
Hong Ning hesitated several times, wanting to say more. In the end, she couldn’t help but murmur softly, “There’s more than one Hong Ning in this world. If you’re truly sincere in your search, one day you will surely find her.”
Duan Fei immediately looked up, a spark returning to his eyes—only to fade just as quickly. He pushed the woman in his arms aside, rose, and slowly walked toward her.
Hong Ning snapped back to awareness. She found the comfort she had just offered laughable and felt embarrassed. “Take care, Young Master Duan.”
“I told you I wouldn’t be mistaken. You know that,” Duan Fei stared into her eyes. “You just don’t want to admit it. You’re unwilling… to give it.”
Why refuse?
Without answering, Hong Ning turned and walked away.
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